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Every Friday By Vickie Tern "So, gorgeous, where does your husband think you are when you're actually here with me?" Craig asked. He'd just gotten me off yet again and was trying to cool down a little, hold back, so he wouldn't cum again too quickly himself. He wasn't inside me for the moment -- instead he'd just been sucking my tits, which seemed always to get incredibly sensitive as his lips enclosed their nipples. This lovely massive man -- average body but massive where it most mattered -- knew I wanted one more orgasm this session, and he knew he could provide it if he delayed his own final climax just a little bit longer. Usually, he told me, he did it by distracting himself, thinking about the weather, or ball scores, or truck rentals - - he was a building contractor. This time he was doing it by thinking about my husband. The husband he was screwing by screwing his wife. That was his style, score off the one while scoring with the other. He'd already gotten me to confess that he was the bigger man down below where it mattered, and that I came harder when he fucked me. As if that mattered. But he couldn't stop gloating! Guys! They like to do that kind of thing. Fuck the wife and the husband each in a different way. Kill two birds. "What do you mean, where does he think I am?" I confess I was distracted a little myself, moving down to settle onto his crotch after he'd nursed for a while on my highly aroused tits. I was ready to go again. My knees were already planted on both sides of his body and my pussy was centered over his crotch and I was about to impale myself on his erect prick. To use it to fuck myself, as always -- this was sex, not love. To fuck him in the process of course -- with sex, to receive is to give. But with Craig my own pleasure would always come first. He tried pressing me down onto him by my shoulders. "I mean, here you are," he said. "You spend every Friday night with me and you don't leave till midnight. Except for the Friday once a month when you meet with your girlfriends, I mean. When you get home to your husband I know you're all fucked out, because you look it. We both look it after we've been together all evening. Most every Friday for over a year now. It has been over a year now, you know? Since I ran into you at Martine's Bar, and we ordered drinks and then decided not to wait for them and came straight here to my place? Your husband's got to be wondering what you do Fridays ever since then. You can't be telling him you're working late at the ofice -- nobody works that late all the time. Does he know it's that you've found a better man to fuck?" Bastard! He has no idea! But now he'd planted a teeny idea, and I decided to let it grow and see what kind of fruit it might bear. "Oh, Wendell's no problem," I said with a quiet smile, adjusting my labia on either side of the tip of Craig's cock, then sitting back down on the crown. All the way down, and it was in! Deep! God, Craig always feels so marvelous inside me even when he doesn't move! That really thick meat of his! I raised myself up and felt empty, void, then lowered myself again and ... felt full again! Completed! "Ohhh!" I didn't want to give him that satisfaction so soon, but I just couldn't help moaning! Craig had already cum into me twice and was going for three, and tonight I'd been so fully orgasmic I'd lost count of my own peaks. By now I was so full of his jism that my cunt made a squooshing sound as I came down, and the goop squirted out all around the edges. Still, that marvelous yearning sensation shot through me again, so I lifted myself up and crammed down again! Oh, God, it intensified, wonderful! I felt breathless! "Wendell thinks I'm out with the girls," I reminded him. "That this is my regular Friday out with the girls. Every Friday, not just once a month. He trusts me because he wants to trust me. He's so sweet! He doesn't want ever to suspect anything, so he never suspects anything no matter how late I come home. That's how we are. It's a good marriage." It was, too! "But," Craig went on. Sometimes he doesn't quit! "I mean, look how you are when you leave here. Physically worn out after our five, six hours or more of steady humping. Drained, except for your pussy -- that's always overflowing! You never seem to clean up or anything before you leave here, shower or douche or anything. Not even blot. You just seal up all my sticky stuff inside you with that tight panty girdle, whatever you call it, and then you head straight home. There's no way he doesn't notice what happens when you pull that thing off! What does he think is leaking out of you and running down your legs and all over the floor?" We began moving our groins against each other, and he began diddling my nipples with those strong fingertips -- who knew such large hands could feel so ... so delicate. It wouldn't be long! Then he lifted himself up and leaned forward took one breast into his mouth again, diddling the tip with his tongue. An electric stroke shot through me! His other hand reached for my clit and pinched it, and I almost melted! I forced myself to reply. "Me, Craig. He thinks it's all me, all that juice. He thinks my pussy excretes it when I'm away from him. And it never reaches the floor. When I get home I want to share everything with him, all the pleasure you've given me. So I always ask him to clean me out with his tongue, to suck on my twat till I'm bone clean! So he does just that, every night, sometimes all night! He's gotten to love the flavor, and he especially loves how sucking it up and drinking it down gives me two, maybe three more orgams!" Craig looked hard at me to see if I was joking. I wasn't. Way back when I first started bringing all that drippy semen home, Wendell was puzzled. He couldn't figure how I got so juicy down there. I told him that's how I am, that's all, that when I'm away from him the thought of what he'll do to me when I'm back excites me. Which is true one way. I always find Wendell's tongue such a comfort after I've been pounded for hours by Craig's huge thing. I mean, my labia get stretched out and puffed up, and sometimes inflamed, especially when he's done me doggy style over and over. So as soon as I get home I wrap my legs around Wendell's head and hug it as tightly as I can, as if I never wanted my hubby's mouth anywhere else! In fact, over the months, as Craig has stretched me out and Wendell's little wiener has come to matter less and less, his mouth has mattered all the more! It's miraculous how it soothes and excites me, both! I love it! I adore it! And Wendell more than ever! Fortunately, Wendell never questions anything I've ever asked him to do. My wish is his command, and so on. He loves making me happy, doing whatever I ask. If he ever did have any suspicions about my Fridays with Craig, they vanished long ago. He sees how eagerly I respond to his lips and tongue as they suck out Craig's semen and my own secretions too and he fills his belly. How my pleasure rises until at last I'll finish with a staggering, ecstatic orgasm that gushes so much cum all at once from way up in my twat that he can scarcely swallow it all. Why should he object?? That's pretty much become our sex life. Wendell is nowadays as eager to give me head as I am to get it. He'll still fuck me now and then, but I'm never that all responsive with his prick in me. How could I be after I've been fucked for hours by a man like Craig! So most nights he doesn't even bother to try. Craig pulled away from my breast for a moment, still holding it in his huge hand, and looked at me, "No, seriously. I mean, if he knows you're here with me and he doesn't mind, why not invite him over too so he can suck my cock while I'm waiting to recover and fuck you yet again? I've wondered what it's like, getting a guy to suck my cock. I'm no queer, but for you I'd let him do it!" "For me, would you let him fuck you up the ass," I asked him slowly, lazily, as delicious sensations rose from his prick to set my whole groin in motion. "Or would you fuck him, since you're no queer, so one hole's the same as any other to you?" No answer. I'd insulted him, as I'd intended. Putting down my darling Wendell! This stud could get so arrogant sometimes! Still, I thought I'd better give him a whiff of the truth. "To answer your question, where does Wendell think I am when I'm here, he thinks I'm with my girlfriends. As I actually am the first Friday of every month, the one Friday I don't spend with you. He envies me the the way these nights out with the girls leave me feeling so utterly satisfied by the time I get home." "He isn't jealous?" Craig was starting to pump as well as make figure eights. The old magic was rising higher in him too. "No, but he does get lonely." I said reflectively. "So right off last year, I took him to a meeting so he could see what went on. We have different meetings each time -- mostly we go to a Club and drink and joke with each other and dance with different men we know. But sometimes we're an Oprah book club and talk about whatever she's recommended we should read. The one I asked him to sit in on was just plain card playing at Berry's house, and just plain gossip. You know, we don't any of us have kids yet, so we talk our other girl things. Mostly fashion and styles in clothes and in makeup. Recipes, who's cheating on who else. Most of us are, of course, or we're thinking about it, but we have a rule, we never talk about each other unless there's a problem. Well, Wendell was altogether at a loss, the poor dear -- I couldn't tell if he was confused or plain bored! I mean, he couldn't tell a shirred neckline from a stirred martini -- or a bob from a cloche. He had nothing to say." I looked down at Craig, and saw I was losing him. "It meant nothing to him when Bell told us how Maddy Reynolds pulled a train with all the groomsmen at her sister's wedding out of sheer jealousy. All the ushers. Or claimed she did. The truth was, though, that she'd already fucked the groom dry and was worried he'd tell her sister when he couldn't perform on his wedding night. I mean, Wendell had never met Maddy, so why should he care? He didn't even know Maggie's brother, who seduced Maddy's husband at that same wedding practically that same moment!" The light in Craig's eyes dimmed. Craig likes stories about cuckolding guys, I knew. He'd done a lot of it before his wife did it to him and after she left I began to monopolize his time. But when it's the other way around he's less interested. "So I confidentially asked the girls what to do. They all thought my Wendell was cute, with real possibilities, but they suggested that for next time around I should teach him a few things so he could join in more in our conversations, have things to contribute. Helen Dworski's a beautician, and she looked at me steady to be sure I understood what she was really suggesting. And that told me what to do with him when I'm with you!" By now Craig was baffled. "What?" he muttered into the space between his mouth and my boob. "I asked him if he'd like to join us, talk the talk and walk the walk with us. Do whatever it is we do. My poor dear leapt at it! Then I told him we do all kinds of girl things, so if he joined us he might be bored or baffled. Because guys can't ever really understand most of the things girls care about." "True enough," Craig muttered, his mouth again muffled by my breast. "I never can figure out why women are interested in all that stuff." True enough for men like Craig, but I didn't say so. "Well, Wendell said that anything women care about, anything they like doing, a man can do just as well. I challenged him to prove it. He does love showing me he can do whatever I ask, it gives him a charge, you know? You don't? Well, too bad, Craig, your loss I suspect. That simple statement gave me a terrific opening to get him thinking about all sorts of feminine things. To get him accustomed to thinking about them, even trying out some of them. I figured why not, why not all of them? It'll keep him busy whenever I'm here with Craig. And it did! Oh, God, more of that, yes, yessssss!" The spasm subsided and I resumed. "So that's how he spends Fridays when I'm here with you or out with the girls. I give him things to learn, things to do, things to practice. In fact he's gotten as good at most of the things women do as I am, and he's come to feel the same way about most of them. He understands practically instinctively by now." Craig wasn't listening. Eyes closed, he was in his own world as he slid in and out of me. But he'd started me remembering how I'd begun with my lovely Wendell. By telling him how I was thrilled, really excited whenever I bought a new pair of heels or a pretty necklace. That he should learn all about the different kinds and uses of each for example, so he could hold up his end of any conversations about them. And try them on, feel the thrill. And if he ever had many to choose among, to show reasonable good taste in his choices. That's what would qualify him to be with me and my girlfriends on Fridays. He'd nodded, and I'd smiled and brought out my darling's first heels of his own, in his own size, a simple court shoe, black with a three inch heel. And a turquoise pendant on a silver chain. He put them each on, and I told him they and things like them would occupy his Fridays from now on -- he'd wear them, get accustomed to them, learn more about each, study the sales catalogues and fashion magazines, and all week long observe how other women wore theirs. And each Friday I'd add something else he should learn, clothing or makeup or behavior. Until he was comfortably one of us. Then I'd left the house and came here to fill myself with Craig, to fuck Craig blind. That was a year ago. Now, a year later, my husband had been transformed. He was ready to join us. In some ways his conversation and concerns were more womanly, more feminine, better informed, than some of the naturally-born girls in our group. Which posed another problem I hadn't yet solved, I was thinking as my hips rose and fell over Craig's cock. Wendell was now fit to attend my girls' meetings as one of us on one Friday each month. But how could I account for the other Friday? I hadn't considered the other Fridays, my fuckfest Fridays with Craig, several each month. How could I occupy him then, now that he'd already learned to be a woman? A few weeks ago I'd posed this to the girls, and they'd agreed it was a problem. Maggie offered to introduce him to her gay brother to date on those other Fridays, maybe also to introduce Wendell to the gay scene. But I didn't like that idea. I worried that they might fall for each other, or Wendell might fall for some other guy. And Wendell was mine! I still want him! Yet I hadn't thought of an alternative, not yet. And I had to. Because I do love fucking Craig! Craig changed his rhythm and lunged up at me, so I shoved back down on him as hard as I could. Our juices squeezed out of me yet again. That swollen piston now seemed to be jammed in me airtight, immoveable, so I clenched down on its base and rose and fell on it, and found it wasn't slipping in and out of me any more. Instead, my pussy was jerking him off! That was a first! I quickened the pace and felt another mini- orgasm, a distant fanfare announcing a triumphant crescendo I knew was coming! So I kept jerking him off with my cunt as if it were my hand, and continued my explanation. He'd need to be distracted now, given what I was doing. My pleasure had to came first! "I've been helping Wendell get ready. Every Friday while we're here fucking he's home learning one more feminine skill. That keeps him busy. Whatever I tell him or show him, he has to do it over and over until he's perfect at it. Until it's second nature and he does it without thinking." "Like cook dinner? Or carry out the trash? Or suck my cum out of your cunt?" "Our cum, Craig." I looked down on him. That superior sneer had now earned him a painful squeeze of his balls before I leave him tonight, I promised myself -- no one disses my Wendell! But first he needs to get me off again! He didn't realize it, but for months, maybe from the beginning, I'd been using him the way men use whores, strictly for my personal pleasure. He was my whore, but with his ego he'd never see it that way. "Yes, Wendell sucks me, cleans me out whenever I get home. And that's his reward. Every Friday before I leave him to come here I teach him something new to practice. How to put on eye makeup suitable for a morning visit to a neighbor, or an afternoon card party, or a formal dance at the club, three different styles of makeup every girl should know. While we're here having sex here he's home practicing, and by the time I get back he's always got it down! Perfect! Last Friday it was putting on lipstick as if quickly refreshing it after a lunch or as if slowly sliding it on, teasing with it while a lover watches. The Friday before that it was clipping a bra onto his boobs the way girls do it, by leaning forward and catching them and then reaching way back to hook it up. Way back it was simple things, like walking in heels. Now it's how to look sexy when you're being finger-fucked, or there's a dildo in your mouth, or in your rear end. How to enjoy his dildo the way I enjoy your cock I mean, especially whwn I let you use my rear, I mean. Though my poor darling Wendell has only his dildo, not that hot, stiff cock of yours. And only one hole in his bottom, not two. The poor dear." Craig stopped moving as I talked, and looked at me bewildered. "Your husband is practicing what exactly?" I figured I'd gone too fast for him. I smiled a superior smile at him and began rolling my pelvis around and around on that stiff pole of his. Round and round. The old incredible sensations rose into from my groin and started to spread through my body. God, this one was going to be so great, I was thinking! This man feels so delicious! I had to speak plainly. "Wendell is practicing everything a girl ought to know before she goes out with other girls for an all-girl evening. Because we do talk about sex now and then, so he has to know how girls feel about sex. And how sex as a woman feels." I didn't add that I haven't yet confirmed him in his new womanhood by introducing him to a man, so he can get to know how sex as a woman actually feels. That I want him to anticipate and enjoy the heat of a cock in his mouth or pulsing in his body the way I do. To learn how to tempt men to give him a cock whenever he craves one! Craig got the message, and closed his eyes and began lunging into me again. I decided to keep talking -- I wasn't there yet. "I didn't start with him that way, but that's how it's ending. He got lonely, and saw how satisfied I always seemed to be when I come home. He thought it was from all from being with my girlfriends and wanted to join us. He has no friends of his own -- I didn't like them when we first got married, and discouraged them. So every Friday he prepares himself to join us. Learns our talk, our mannerisms. I've even taught him how to do the harmless flirting we sometimes engage in." Sometimes not so harmless, I added to myself. "Your so-called man wants to be a sissy," Craig muttered under his breath. By now I was riding him like a horse -- he was doing all the work, loping, and I was effortlessly riding him, posting myslf in the saddle and enjoying the feel of all that animal power between my legs! ""Well, duh! Yes, you could say that. That's what he is. He did confess to me one time that the desire isn't new. That when he first turned thirteen he'd wanted to be a girl like his big sister, because girls seem to have all the fun. He'd put on her clothes now and then and pretend. He's come a long way since then. Now h can be a real stunner when he takes the time to do Wendy properly." Craig began to get breathless. "Wendy? Who's she?" He wasn't listening closely, I guess. "Next week I intend to take Wendell out on the town with the other girls I hang with and let him attend one of our get-togethers, so he can experience for real what he's been dreaming about all these months. Maybe all these years since he was thirteen." At that moment I decided I'd move Wendell even further! My body was radiant with the joy Craig was spreading through it! Why shouldn't my hubby know that same joy? "I'll get him properly laid by a real man for once," I added, mostly to myself. "See how he likes it. How she likes it, I mean. Because if she does like it, that's what I'll want her to be from then on. A woman." Craig was now going at me full force, his eyes closed. I kept talking, though it was now clear he was listening only to distract himself from his rising urge to ejaculate. Not really listening -- he was losing the battle. I could tell that the urge to pump semen into me was overwhelming him! "Everyone in his office already thinks that's what he is, even though he comes in completely dressed up only on dress-down Fridays. We took a two week vacation at a beauty spa a few weeks ago and spent the whole time being girls, getting our hair and nails and complexion done and so on. Dancing with guys in the evening. He loved it, and of course he didn't want to hide his new look when we got back. I forewarned his boss and the girls on his staff, and asked them as a personal favor not to seem to notice except maybe to compliment him, ask who'd done his hair and so on. Some of the girls invited him to lunch with them, and when he came home that evening he was absolutely ecstatic! He'd been with his own group of girlfriends! That was when I decided he was ready to join my group. I couldn't stall him longer. So it'll happen at our next regular meeting, next Friday." Craig suddenly flexed, then violently rolled me over, and once on top he slammed into me. Then again. And again! My legs splayed out on either side of his hips and his full body weight crammed his prick deep into me and my ass deep into the mattress. This was it! What could I do? I wrapped my thighs tight around him and hooked my heels into his back and rode beneath him while he thrust into me over and over, faster and faster, harder and harder. It was as if he were trying to jam his whole body into me with each shove, and to judge by how full my pussy felt, how stretched out, he was succeeding! Forget talk! With each slam I met him half way, and the two of us got really violent. Then frantic, each of us reaching for our ultimate peak! Then I felt him go over the top and begin spurting, pouring hot jism deep into me, and I came too. I tensed my legs and squeezed his body almost tight enough to break one of his ribs, maybe, and I entered paradise! Ecstasy! It was sublime! I felt a euphoria so great that I passed out! When I came to and opened my eyes, Craig was standing alongside the bed looking down at me. "I was a little worried about you," he said. "I was thinking of calling 911 and telling them I've just fucked my girlfriend to death." "You wish," I replied. "I can outlast you any day. No contest." He grinned confidently. But we were both played out -- no way could either of us take up the challenge again, take no prisoners. So he just said, "We'll see. We will see." Then to change the subject he reached toward the last thing I'd said that he remembered. "What do you mean, he'll join your group next Friday, this nancy husband of yours. What group?" Jesus! Talk about a short attention span? Well, he was fucking me at the time, so I supposed I could forgive him. "He'll join some of my other girlfriends who also see boyfriends on other Fridays, like me," I explained carefully. He'll become one of us. We all get together at the Sutton Hotel once a month, remember? That's what's coming up. He doesn't know there'll be any men there, of course, but it's set up so this time we'll each happen to see some guy we know and invite him over, and dance with him, and so on. Maggie will introduce her brother and my Wendell may become a complete woman before he ever finds out how we all spend our other Fridays. If he can get himself properly laid I'm sure he won't care any more. Then we can really and truly be girlfriends as well as husband and wife. Though our marriage will continue on a different basis I suspect." "You mean, you won't mind being married to a faggot? A guy who sucks other guys' cocks and takes it up the ass?" Craig seemed amused, but also edgy. Aggressive. Was he really homophobic? A lot of arrogantly masculine guys like Craig preen themselves by detesting queers! That idea I'd had earlier now broke ground and started to grow. I decided to let it. "No, my sweet Wendell isn't really gay. Only a transvestite. A man who now and then likes to imagine that he's a woman, and dress the part. I suspect he's partially transgendered, one of those men who really are women in some ways, at least in their own minds, but afraid to confess it maybe even to themselves. Some transgenders really are full scale women born to believe they aren't because they lack a woman's body, but they're women even so. I don't think Wendell is one of those. He's always loved his body. Though I've got to say, he loves it much more these days, now that the hormones I've fed him all year have taken hold, and he's grown some lovely breasts and a sweet, tight ass, and has learned to be proud of them, and knows how to dress to show them off when he has the opportunity. I can't blame him -- he really does have a figure to die for." "Gross," Craig said automatically. For him, maybe. He was all man. Not for my darling Wendell. Not any longer. He'd always admired women, and envied them it turns out, and he was now no different from any. Well, a little different, still. "He still sounds like a faggot to me!" Craig added. "No," I replied. I pulled my shoulders way back and thrust my breasts straight up at Craig. Might as well torment him, now that his erections were over for the evening. He'd managed three tonight, commendable! "Wendell isn't gay. Nothing wrong with being gay, but he just isn't a man who loves other men. He's a partial woman who loves being a partial woman. He still loves women. The woman in him might learn to love men too, but only as a woman. The man in him loves me. He needs to take one more step and learn to love men the way most women do, that's all. Then he'll be as complete a woman as he can be. But he's no way gay." This was a little too complicated for Craig. He looked puzzled. I gestured for him to start caressing my breasts again with those huge hands of his to give him something to do. That he understood, and did. At the same time I began caressing my own clit, and realized that I might yet get off one more time. "I'm rather proud of my sweetheart," I said. "I made him what he is today, and I do hope he's satisfied. Or will be. I think so." "So he spends all these Fridays flouncing around like a woman? While we're fucking each other? Every Friday for a year now? And he calls himself a man? He likes it?" There was no explaining it to Craig. I really should give it up, I was thinking, and let his hands on my boobs do all the talking. But I owed it to Wendell. Or Wendy, as I hoped he'd end up after next week. My lovely Wendy! My germinating idea at last flowered! It was bearing fruit! Why hadn't I thought of it earlier? "It's only fair," I said. "We spend hours here satisfying each other. Why shouldn't Wendell spend his hours at home satisfying himself? That's what he's been doing." "Masturbating?" Hard to believe Craig had so little memory. Or was he being deliberately snotty? "No, fulfilling his boyhood desire to be a woman sometimes," I replied. All this was beyond Craig. There were men, and there were women, and there were gay men and women, and the gays included sissies. And that was that. He'd never understand anything as complicated as transgendering. Our fucking and the memory of fucking and our anticipation of more fucking marked the edge of his interests and absorbed the whole of his attention. Well, to each his own. But I'd try one last time. "Craig, way back, even before I knew you, Wendell confessed to me that now and then he gets an urge to play with my lingerie. Not just play, he really gets into it!" "So? Lots of guys do. I used to wrap my ex's panties around my cock and masturbate with them. All the time. It felt great!" "No, I mean he'd put them on. Wear them. He told me he always wanted to wear my panties. My bras too. He'd always enjoyed thinking he's a girl and pretending that's what he was." Craig gave out a guffaw! But his hands continued to knead my breasts and his thumbs rubbed the tips of my extended nipples, so who cared? "No, seriously, soon after our marriage I caught him at it one afternoon when I came home from the office early. Even then, with no training at all, he looked cute! I hadn't thought of it before, never noticed, but last year, even before I started lacing his food with hormones, he already looked good as a girl! I mean, he's always been thin, with small features and small shoulders, a naturally androgynous look. Now on that thin chest his little boobs look huge, sticking out the way they do, and his bras are no longer optional -- he needs them. Yet, even way back he made a persuasive female. He never looked like a guy in drag. He's a natural. A natural woman!" "Hmmp!" Craig muttered. Plainly he didn't believe me. A guy is a guy and a girl is a girl and you can always tell which is which. "Of course he lacked finesse. Even now, now and then he'll mix and mismatch clothing. Plaids on prints! Taffeta on wool! Can you imagine? And he still wears purple lipstick even though purple hasn't been fashionable for years! But he's learned so much! YES, do that again." Craig had begun kneading each of my breasts from base to tip, pinching their nipples before letting them go, and each time they felt twice their size and gave me twice the pleasure! Obviously he wasn't at all interested in the women's things Wendell cared about. Or how his mismatching of women's clothes had driven me early on to want to train him properly. Most men won't ever understand women's clothing, I'd decided long ago. But these days my darling advises me! The thought struck me, maybe he's not really a man at all any more? Maybe next week with any luck he'll be a full woman? Enough of a woman to stay that way in his head and in his desires. To be my full time girlfriend? Could I want more than that from him? While I have Craig to fuck, that would be perfect! "When I first found out he was a crossdresser he was so ashamed! He was petrified that day I came on him trying on my undies. He tried to hide in a closet, and he called to me to go away, he'd explain later. And then he actually started to cry! My poor darling dear actually lost it! Can you imagine? Well, my heart went out to him. I had to help him. Oh, God, do that again with my breasts!" Then and there I came! Just from what Craig was doing to my breasts and me to my clit! It was heaven! I had to do that to Wendy too! Or find him a man to do things like that to him! Maggie's gay brother maybe for openers. Despite the risk! Craig was amused to see me shudder, but also pleased. He said, "So that's it? You find you're married to a sissy faggot, and that's how come I get to take care of your real needs?" He grinned. What a simple world he inhabited! I'd try once more. A reason was emerging. "No, that's how I found I was married to a man who's partially transgendered, who could really understand and appreciate women, and now does. Who's really is one, in some ways. I suppose you can call him a sissy -- he wouldn't mind that now, because he's accepted himself as he is and that's what he is. He's loved being a woman with my help, and little by little that's what he's become. Transgendered men aren't really gay, Craig, the term doesn't apply. So I don't think you can call him a faggot. As a man, what's left of the man he once was, he still prefers women. And as the woman he acknowledges in himself, he should care about men, but he doesn't. Not yet." Craig leered. "Maybe he just hasn't met the right one?" What an opening! Craig meant his remark to be contemptuous, but it contained a truth! If Wendy doesn't yet care for men, could it be merely lack of experience? Lack of opportunity? I'd assumed, when I began helping my lovely man learn to be a woman, my best girlfriend, that he'd end up a lesbian. But I did want him to find out what he was for himself. He ought at least to try to confirm his womanhood with a man. If he can't, I'll be justified in declaring him a lesbian. But we both have to know. Maybe he can end up as a woman who swings both ways? "I could say that about you too, Craig," I said. Time now to get dressed and return to my girly- hubby. But first I had to stick it to Craig a little deeper. "I bet somewhere there's a man with a cock that fits your mouth in exactly the right way!" Craig wasn't buying. Not even hearing me. That's how it is with all- man men, I suppose. They're so sure of their masculinity they can't be insulted by being called queer. Yet, I knew a man with a mouth that fits Craig's cock, with an ass that can do the sdame thing. The idea I'd been germinating now became fruitful. "It's obvious, you come fleeing here from your sissy wimp to me in order to fuck a real man!" Craig said, staring possessively at me. He just couldn't let it go. So I made up my mind. Not Maggie's gay brother but Craig would be Wendy's first man. It seemed only fair. Share and share alike. "No, I'm a little unconventional, " I said. "I love my sissy wimp." This was inconceivable to Craig, but it no longer mattered. Craig would never knowingly help me complete Wendell's transformation, no matter what how convenient we'd both find it. So he'd help unknowingly. The idea I'd been germinating was now fully ripe. "Speaking of real men, Craig, you remember how you've been wanting me to set up a three-way? How you want me to bring in a girlfriend so we can play with the permutations?" He perked up. "I sure do!" "Well, it occurs to me, next Friday an old friend will be in town. Wendy, you may have heard me mention her? She's ripe for both of us to take her on, I suspect. Why don't you join us girls for dinner the way their guys do sometimes. The Sutton Hotel at seven. Happen to notice us and be invited to sit down, and then later dance with some of us, and so on. Wendy will be there, and if she's willing she and you and I can return here." He didn't hesitate. "You bet!" he said. "The Sutton!" Repeat it until he gets it. "Sounds good." "Great! Let's shake on it." I reached for his balls and gave them the squeeze I'd promised them earlier, and threw in a hard yank. His eyes grew huge and shut tight, and he doubled over. I smiled. Thus much for any man who trash talks my Wendell. My Wendy. If a man having sex with another man is what makes a faggot, Craig was about to become a faggot. Sure, Wendy would blow him, suck on his first real meat penis, but I was going to make sure that Craig also blew Wendy's 'clit' and thought it a special treat, an extra-large clit. I was sure I could get him to fuck Wendy in the ass too. If he thought of entry into my ass as a privilege, imagine how he'd feel about Wendy's! Maybe afterward I'd let him know what we'd all done together, who Wendy was, but maybe I'd wait for a few Fridays before telling him. Maybe I'd never tell him. I rose, dressed, picked up my purse, kissed Craig once again, and left him. Why hadn't I thought of this months ago, and saved myself those pangs of conscience that had afflicted me now and then? I couldn't wait to get home to tell Wendy that from now on I would never abandon her for the girls on Fridays. I would never desert her for others. That we'd each be all the girl we ever wanted to be with each other, all the time! That it was time she joined me. Then next Friday Craig would fuck both of us, and we'd both fuck Craig. Each of us killing two birds! (c) 2010 by Vickie Tern