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This began as an early notion of what eventually became the story "Honeymoon" (already posted on FM). "Honeymoon" took on its own shape, and I forgot the initial situational fragment. Then, having encountered it again, "Honeymoon" almost forgotten, I started revising and enlarging it in still other ways. It's a different story this time, though with some superficial similarities. Do enjoy or ignore one or the other or both! Ooooohh! by Vickie Tern Marcie lay back across the bed with one leg draped casually over my shoulder, the other one bent back somewhere else, offering me wide open access to her pussy. Kneeling before her on the floor, I kissed it once and then began to nibble the hood around her clit. When her little nubbin engorged and peeked out, I diddled it with the tip of my tongue. Marcie moaned. It pleased me that she was content. We rarely fucked these days -- for a month or more I'd been inadequate that way, not stiff or swollen enough to satisfy her. So she'd been encouraging me to smooch her down below instead. By now my lips were quite familiar with her far more plump lips, the ones between her legs. "You're so much better at pussylicking than anybody I've ever known," she'd told me. "Even way back in high school, when that was all I'd ever let anyone do, and every boy wanted to do it of course. It feels so wonderful, your head down there between my thighs, your nose deep inside me, your tongue licking and working away! And it's so much more appropriate, these days. After all, that's what girls do to each other, and love to do to each other. Certain kinds of girls, anyhow." I couldn't exactly disagree with her. Not any more. Over time I'd learned just which tongue flicks and lip nibbles aroused her and brought on her most gratifying orgasms, and each evening I passionately provided her with those orgasms, as many as she asked for. It was exciting, watching her grow excited, all because of me! In return, now and then she'd take my whole cock into her mouth, partly tumescent but still soft enough to fit in altogether, and she'd roll it around with her tongue until the sensation became unbearably delicious. Then though it was still soft, a muscle somewhere in its root would tense up and start to spasm and I'd joyously pump a trickle of thin, clear fluid into her mouth. I could no longer raise proper erections, but who needed them? This time she suggested a small improvement in the way I was pleasuring her. "You know what, honey?" she proposed to the top of my head. "From now on, when you're down there with your mouth busy, I want you to look up into my eyes the way girls look at guys when they blow them. Gratefully, as if you were thanking me for the privilege. As if you needed reassurance that it's as good for me as it is for you. As good as any guy can ever get from a devoted lover" I needed no such reassurance -- I could tell well enough by her moaning, and by the ease with which she rose to intense climaxes whenever I tongued her clit and her pussy. Several orgasms each time, that told me all I needed to know. Afterward, as she lay there breathing hard, limp, languid, exhausted, her body resembling the floppiest of rag dolls, I knew I'd done her satisfactorily. But I got her message. Lovers want to feel loved. Cared for. "'As good as any guy can ever get?'" I asked, lifting my now-glistening face from her crotch for a moment, but now never taking my eyes off hers. "'Any guy'?" "I learned to look at guys that way back in high school whenever I sucked someone off," she explained to me. "It got them going like nothing else. Then afterward they'd be incredibly eager to please me too -- surely you wouldn't mind that! I think it's time you learned to do what girls do exactly the way girls do it." "You mean whenever I lick you from now on I should pretend I'm a girl blowing a guy?" She had to be teasing me. "No longer that I'm a girl licking another girl, as you suggested when all this began?" She loved teasing me about my femininity these days, making sly jokes, even though everything we did and the ways we did them were all by her own doing, by her own request. I'd always been the kind of guy girls can feel comfortable with. The kind they call 'cute,' 'sweet,' and 'dear.' The kind guys look at a little warily. I'd never been especially manly in my build or appearance, but all through the past year I'd been submitting to her every wish and whim and performing her every bidding, and now I'd never looked less manly. 'Girlish' was what she'd aimed at from the first moment of our married life and girlish I now was. In fact, as she occasionally reassured me, I now looked not merely passable as a woman, I looked outright 'pretty.' Months ago she'd declared my body finally plump enough on my chest, and round enough on my rump, and thin enough around my waist, all curves and soft everywhere, so she'd gotten me a perm and a radical makeover and a manicure, and then we'd left our old apartment and moved to this new neighborhood. Here the neighbors and local shops knew us only as two close girlfriends living together to share resources, and never thought anything else about either of us. All in all I liked the arrangement. It felt, to use her favorite word for me, 'comfy.' Still, I always attended carefully to all of her verbal innuendos. She had a strong if fanciful imagination, and her most casual or impulsive- seeming notions often turned out to be well-deliberated, demands disguised as whims. So this time as sometimes earlier I teased her back, to see if she was really teasing, and if not to find out what she might really have in mind. "I'll admit I look like a girl these days, honey," I said. "And I live like one and everyone assumes I am one. But there's no way you'll ever look like a guy to me! No way!" No way did my darling Marcie resemble a guy! Maybe I was pretty, maybe even beautiful when fully done over,as she often told me to bolster my self-confidence. But there was no doubting it, Marcie was a ravishingly beautiful woman! "Then I'll have to try harder," she replied. Now I was sure she was teasing. As I tried to obey her, looking up wide-eyed as if earnestly concerned whether I was pleasing her, I saw that her expression looking back down at me was mainly of amusement. No woman ever looked less like a guy. Her skin was smooth, rosy and creamy everywhere, and her taut body was lithe and voluptuously curved. Her soft, firm tits hung from a slender chest, and their pink-tipped nipples were now erect with excitement, filling my vision from down below. Between them I could now and then glimpse that pixie face with the dark eyes I now stared into, a face as exquisite as ever and framed by full dark hair that waved with each lift and toss of her head. There were times I envied her long, abundant hair and the many sophisticated ways she could arrange it. She'd decided on a short, curly blonde halo of hair for my 'do,' something allowing easy care, utterly feminine if a little ditzy. "Perfect for you," she'd said, and I suppose it was. Each time I emerged from between her legs a few fluffs with my fingers and strokes of a brush would set it neat again -- it did have that advantage. She shifted her other leg until the sides of her velvety thighs were pressing firm against my ears and cheeks, holding my mouth snug against her slit and almost blocking off my ability to hear. Her pussy now became my whole world. How could I not adore her? "You haven't had a cock in your mouth since our honeymoon, have you, honey?" she added. "Forgotten how it feels? Miss it? Don't worry, I'll get us a dildo for you to practice on, Double-ended so I can enjoy it too, feel the tug of your lips sliding along its full length. No, don't stop looking into my eyes." It had been a test. Much of our honeymoon had been spent testing me, Marcie seeking whether my devotion to her had any limits, whether I'd meant it when I told her I'd do anything, anything, to make her happy. Her ultimate test had been to feminize me, remove all my resemblances to a man. I allowed it, and because she seemed pleased I even encouraged it. By half way through our honeymoon she'd shared many of her beauty secrets with me, both of us testing them out repeatedly with mild flirting in the hotel bar, and during the last week we'd tried them out individually with the men we'd settled on. I was desperately fearful of discovery -- all he had to do was grasp a panty-filled breast or my own filled panty to know I was a fraud. "Suck his cock," Marcie had whispered to me on our last night. "Do what I do and keep at it until he can't stand up. Then lead him to the door and kiss him goodnight. Tomorrow when he comes calling on you for more, we'll be gone." She'd then sat on our bed and gestured to Cameron, her man, to stand in front of her, then with a smile she'd unzipped him. I sat down next to her and did the same with Bruce, my guy. Did I have a choice? My man's cock hardened, and I watched Marcie with my peripheral vision, doing whatever she did. He came in my mouth twice and I swallowed twice -- the second time it took considerable sucking and licking and slurping and pretend moaning, as if I was enjoying it, but a glance from Marcie when I seemed to be wearying kept me going. Later I continued as a woman, as far as the world knew I was her girlfriend, not her husband. But we'd done nothing like that since. "I found out what I needed to know," Marcie explained, pleased, "That blow job was an ultimate test of your sincerity, and you passed superbly! And then when you agreed to share my kinds of hormones too, to round yourself out, ... well, sweetheart, I couldn't love you more deeply." I resumed smooching her pussy and continued to stare at her. I suppose I began to look wistful, because she asked, "Don't you love it, kissing my cunt? Being a girl? Or whatever you are these days?" She looked down calmly into my eyes, studying me, as she added mildly, "Certainly no longer a man!" That hurt a little. True, I was not a man in my appearance, and no one thought I was. These days I was a girl even at work, or anyhow, I pretended to be one, and no one doubted it. The other girls -- also secretaries -- shared confidences with me, and we giggled together and talked boys as if I knew anything about them. Though now and then when I was out with one of the girls, or just by myself shopping, a guy would try hitting on me. Real hunks, I'd point out amused to Marcie when telling her about it, not gay guys. I looked like the real thing! She was always pleased. "You don't seem to have minded your transformation in the slightest," she'd say. She was right, I didn't mind it. Because privately, I knew I was still a man performing a man's most important and satisfying task, pleasing his woman. His wife. I was what Marcie wanted me to be and I worked full time at it and I was good at it! She often told me just that. But ... 'no longer a man'? I lifted my head again to question her defensively. Had she attempted a veiled insult? Merely stated a fact? I kept my voice low and gentle as I said, "Marcie, you asked me to do this, to become what I am. Remember? When I proposed, you told me you'd marry me but I had to know from the outset that you didn't want a husband, you wanted a lover, a dearest companion, a most intimate friend, someone very much like you, someone with the same desires and concerns. I wasn't sure exactly what you meant, but I told you I'd try, and you know that I have tried. That's what I've become. Way more than I expected, I guess, and in ways I never at all expected. But from the first day of our honeymoon! From day one!" She nodded, a slow smile spreading over her face. "You're so pretty, baby, with your face glistening like that. My juices all over you. I'm so glad you agreed to have your eyes permanently darkened and your lips colored, so your makeup doesn't run even when you're dripping. Down on me some more, please!" I returned to sucking her cunt and licking her clit. "Yes, I remember," she mused. "It was exactly day one, sweetheart, the very first full day of our honeymoon. Of our married life. We'd made love the usual ways all the previous night, and we'd slept wrapped up in each other, and then in the morning I asked you how far you'd be willing to go to make me happy. I remember very well your reply, how very gallant it was. 'You're my wife now,' you said. 'My very own wife, and I want your happiness above everything else. Even above my own. I want to be everything to you! So ask me anything. Your least whim is my command.' I lifted my face, but only for a moment. "I said that?" I asked. "I'm sure I meant it." "You did. It sounded a little pompous, I must say, but I never doubted your sincerity! And you did mean it, you really did, and I knew it, and I have never loved you more than I did at that moment! Because those words opened out to me a whole new world of possibilities! You were offering me everything I'd ever dreamed of!" She paused briefly and threw her head back, and her legs stiffened, squeezing my head as a wave of exhileration came over her. Her body tensed and she held her breath, than let out an ecstatic cry, "Ahhh! Ahhhhh! Aaaaahhhhh! Ohhhhh, God!" Wonderful! I'd brought her off yet again! Still gazing up at her, I resumed, sucking up the additional fresh sweet fluids she'd just released, that clear, slick nectar still seeping abundantly from her cunt. That didn't happen too often! I exulted! She recovered and then spoke more quickly. "And you proved it then and there, too, you darling! I had to test how far you'd go, how much you really did mean it, so I immediately proposed the most extreme of all my hopes for our eventual relationship. Things any other man might consider the most outrageous, unendurable humiliation imaginable. I had to know if you'd even give up your masculinity for me. So I proposed that we spent our entire honeymoon as two girls. That we see how feminine you could look, that we make you over altogether to look as lovely as you possibly can, and teach you all of our mannerisms, and then refine them, make them your own. Starting that very first morning! We'd go to lunch in the hotel's main dining room and see if anyone could tell what you really are. And if no one could tell, that we'd spend the entire two weeks of our honeymoon as two girls on vacation. Together the first week and socially the second." I remembered. I knew I had a talent that way, that I'd sometimes been mocked as if 'one of the girls' by some of my classmates in high school, no way a threat or challenge to any of the boys. I'd never tried to dress and look the part. It would have seemed peculiar, even lunatic. But I did want to indulge my bride. So I'd agreed to an initial test in the privacy of our hotel room. She smiled. Whether at the memory or because I had just begun again nibbling her clit with my lips I could't say. "You were doubtful, and a little unhappy about it at first, you sweetheart you, but it was just like earlier, before our marriage, when I'd asked you to remove all of your body hair and soften your skin with emmolients for when we hug together naked, and gave you one in particular with a delicate, flowery fragrance I told you I loved and would love to think of as your scent. I remember you said yes, and you did it, and you used that scent regularly, you darling, and I knew I'd agreed to marry the right man. Insofar as he might be one." I remembered. I remembered the odd condescending looks that flowery aroma had earned me at work, some men mocking me outright, some women defending me especially after I explained simply, "My fiance likes it. "Then when I asked you to put on a full set of my lingerie -- both a bra and panties -- and dab on a touch of lipstick. Not to assert myself or humiliate you, though maybe a little, I have to confess it, you know how I love playing the queen with you as my obedient servant. Not even to test your sincerity -- I was quite sure you'd agree, you'd certainly be willing to wear them at least in the privacy of our bridal suite. It was mainly to see if you really could look the way I've always imagined and hoped the man I married would look, the way I'd hoped for you practically from the moment we met. The very day that one of my friends pointed you out and commented that you looked so cute you must be a girl in boys' clothing, or maybe gay. 'Boys that delicate-looking never do care for girls,' she said. 'Not really! That would be too much to ask!' But you did! And wonder of wonders, you cared for me!" I understood. I'd always been thin and short and fine-boned, not a hunk or a bruiser, not the kind of man girls most often find attractive. So I'd learned early to compensate by being intensely interested in whatever interested the girls I found myself with. That made me 'safe,' girls would then think. Some assumed I was gay -- one in fact had asked me to share tips with her on how to please a man while sucking his cock, and she was annoyed when I told her I couldn't say. But they admitted me into their circles and confidences -- unlike any of the guys they knew. "You do remember all those conversations we had when you first proposed marriage to me? How I turned you down flat at first. How I told you I didn't intend to marry a man ever, not after growing up with a bullying father who was constantly abusing my mother and a mother who'd spent most of her life miserable and in tears, and an older brother who was finally convicted of rape when one of his dates finally got furious and brought charges. How I wanted nothing to do with boys, apart from using their sexual services now and then. How I preferred being with girls and expected to make a very satisfactory life for myself with girls. But you were insistent, weren't you?" I was. One glance at her at a happy hour in a bar near where I worked, and I'd been ... well, utterly, altogether, completely smitten. So choked up I'd been unable to talk to her at first. She had a confident look and a lovely face and a slim, curved body that seemed somehow fully revealed despite her loose slipover dress. And she knew she was having an overwhelming effect on me. She even encouraged it with sly, inviting glances. When I begged a mutual friend to introduce us and he informed her of that fact while doing so, she'd been amused and had smiled at me, and then carried on animatedly as if it were normal for girls to do all the talking and for boys to merely stare at them in hopeless adoration. Marcie continued talking while I devoted my mouth and tongue to her slit. "I didn't dare tell you until that first morning of our honeymoon that even as a teenager I'd dreamt that my perfect honeymoon would be one spent with a man who was more a girl than a man. A husband who no way resembled my father. I didn't dare suggest it until we were well and truly married and had already ... consummated, I guess that's what the law calls what we did. You looked to be so exactly what I wanted, so perfect for the part, that from the moment we met I was afraid to do or say anything to scare you off." A lot of that first morning of our marriage had seemed odd to me. Weird. And the days that followed too, though less so as I got used to it. Finally, we got to be so comfortable as women together that when we returned, we took up married life and I began a new working career as a woman. "You were as good as your word! You did it! You gave me an odd look -- I'm sure you had no idea how serious I meant to be. Then you asked no questions at all. You could see it mattered to me and that was enough for you. I handed you my prettiest panties, the pink lace trimmed with just a touch of lycra in them, and you put them on and immediately you had the cutest hips! When you wiggled them I fell in love with you all over again! Those panties held in your genitals so well I considered dressing you in a tight pair of my jeans immediately, displaying your crotch to the whole world the way some slim girls do, seemingly casually but flaunting their pussies! You know, the way your pants and slacks these days display you as a matter of course, now that your ... male things have shrunk to more manageable size and squeeze up between your legs as if they weren't there at all." My 'male things' as she called them were indeed much smaller these days. Even so, sometimes my balls hurt when I walked or sat in a skirt with my thighs close together, as proper girls must. But I never complained, because I knew she might take that as a cue for me to remove them altogether, and despite everything I did still feel attached to them. "You did need help hooking your bra that first morning." She smiled at me affectionately. I looked back up at her appreciatively, my tongue now working its way deep into her pussy. I remembered. The bra that matched those panties had been far too tight for my chest -- she was a 34 at most, and I was a 38 at least. By the time she'd helped me wrestle it onto my chest it was stretched almost to tearing. Yet it did gather up what loose skin I had then, and when her fingers reached to caress my nipples as mine had so often caressed hers, it had all felt ... wonderful! Incredible! Paradise? When she saw the effect on me, she promised that before lunch we'd stop by the hotel boutique to buy me another bra, one more appropriately sized. And we did, once she thought I was otherwise sufficiently presentable, wearing makeup with my short hair brushed fashionably forward. I seemed a somewhat butch female, not a femme male. "Your very first bra of your very own," she'd said to me fondly as she pulled it off the rack and held it up to my chest. "Try this one. The fitting rooms are over there." I'd been a little embarrassed, because the salesgirl had overheard her and glanced quickly at both of us. But she'd seen nothing out of the ordinary, apparently, and she'd said nothing when Marcie handed her the sales tags and she was ringing up the sale, not even glancing at my new bra's slack cups under my T-shirt. Not slack for long. Marcie's next stop was the hotel pharmacy, where she had her birth control pill prescription refilled and then handed the packet to me. "Two a day until we return and can get you exactly the kind you should be taking," she'd told me. "They'll start smoothing and shaping you, anyhow." I'd had no idea then that they'd eventually affect my performance as a male, but she was right. Six months later I had a chest no woman would wish to hide, and I felt proud to display it, or at least imply it tastefully. I also had no erections a woman could depend on, and later still only tumescence, nothing stiff enough for her to use or for me to grasp. The only way I could come these days was when Marcie took my penis into her mouth like a fat noodle and rolled it round with her tongue. But then, heaven! She swallowed every drop of the scant watery fluid I still squirted. Marcie continued reminiscing. "And you had no idea how to do your lips, how to outline your upper lip before doing your lower. You did disappoint me at first when you were reluctant to wear full makeup outside our honeymoon suite. Even though I could assure you honestly that you looked gorgeous! But we lucked out, I remember. I happened to have a pale pink lipstick you found acceptable, hardly noticeable and in fact much more suitable for the dress I gave you to wear than the red lipstick I was wearing. You seemed more comfortable with it, anyhow, and you even thought to refresh it in the hotel restaurant after we bought you your first bra and then went for lunch. Thst marvelous moment when we both fixed our faces before leaving the table! Unforgettable! The whole time, no one noticed anything odd about you. I was proved right, and that was how you dressed for the rest of our honeymoon. And have dressed ever since." "Some people noticed," I mumbled into her pussy. "That first morning a few people glanced at me." "I've explained all that to you! You were too minimally made up for such a posh place, that's all! You were such a wuss that morning -- mascara but no eyeliner or shadow, your hair flat on your head -- it took a whole day before you agreed to get it streaked and styled at the hotel salon so you'd look like every other woman on the island! Then talk about cute? You didn't have that sassy blonde bimbo look you've got now, but close! You were just fine! And your eyes turned out to be so beautifully expressive once the beautician talked you into using appropriate mascaras and eyeliners and eyeshadows and highlights, and showed you how to apply them. And those false eyelashes!" I remembered my first glue-on eyelashes. Each time I blinked, it was like watching a fringed curtain descend. "I must say, once we got you a decent hairdo and you got your brows plucked and you started wearing full foundation and blush and everything, lots of people we passed in the corridors looked at you admiringly, and not one ever wondered whether you were a boy or a girl. You did get into it so quickly, you dear, what with all that giggling and throwing your wrists around. You looked darling! Never flouncy or lurchy -- by the end of the two weeks you looked like every other decent, reserved young woman in every respect, and that's what people thought you were and have thought you are ever since. Just what I'd dreamed of having for a husband when I was a girl, and so much better than I'd hoped for when I accepted your proposal! A few days was all it took for you to become a real cutey, a living doll! So kissable! My heart rose so high from that moment, and I can't say it's ever come down! And then the cocktail lounge a few afternoons afterward? When we both came down together, side by side, dressed to kill, and then did just that? Ooooooh!" Whether that last outcry was from the force of her memory or from my suddenly plunging my tongue deep into her pussy I couldn't say, but it was satisfying enough. I well remembered every detail of those first two weeks of the rest of our lives together. I've never regretted tossing my briefs and boxers and settling into life as a pantywaist. She'd dressed me to look like a perfect doll that first day and trained my voice and movements all that first week, and she's played dolly with me ever since. But her reference to the cocktail lounge reminded me of a few less pleasant memories. "When we first came into the cocktail lounge, we were surrounded by guys," I reminded her, lifting my head to stare at her reprovingly. "And you were flirting with them. I didn't dare let them think your new husband was a pansy, so I had to seem to be 110% a girl too! I had to flirt too!" She ignored my reproof. "I know. I wanted you to, because flirting is so much of the fun there is in being a girl, making yourself pretty enough to flirt and attract as many men as you can. I wanted you to taste the joys right from the beginning. But I well remember, you didn't want to. I gave you a whole new wardrobe, with several very appealing cocktail dresses fit for the occasion, though I must say, it took nearly the whole honeymoon before my big mans got up enough courage to wear the sexiest of them, that slinky red beaded job. And got accustomed to wearing makeup appropriate to her look, whether casual, classy, or a touch slutty. I do have to congratulate you, though. By the time our honeymoon ended you were wearing even the most dramatic of eyeliners and lipstick shades, even in the daytime. It was just sublime! Ooooh! Oooooooh! Oooooohhhhh, God, you darling! Wonderful! Oooh, more!" This time she seeped copiously, and I swallowed several mouthfuls of fluid. Apparently, recalling the speed with which my modest masculinity disappeared and was replaced by an attractive femininity, that stimulated her to a surge of greater erotic pleasure than even my tongue could induce. After swallowing repeatedly I lifted my head, still eyeing her, and licked my lips. I did love their delicate, slick feel and flavor when coated with her juices. The musky aroma filled my nose and mouth. "I remember," I said. "By the time our honeymoon ended and we left that resort you had me looking utterly girly wherever we went. And I'd begun to think it acceptable. I felt reborn, in a way. I was a 'new woman,' as you called me, even though I didn't have the figure for it yet. But you put me into high fashion anyhow, first that pair of tight designer jeans you insisted I wear to shape my body into 'something acceptable' as you called it, then those flirty summer dresses you kept telling me looked just adorable, because they showed off my thin shoulders. I'd always been embarrassed by my shoulders, but you thought they were my loveliest asset, that I should reveal them whenever possible. All those off-the-shoulder blouses and dresses!" "I was proud of all of you, honey! Once I had you dressing like the woman of my dreams all the time, I knew I'd married the right man." "But the dresses you chose always revealed so much of me! I had to spend half of every morning rubbing in different skin creams and trying on different shades of foundations, so all that exposed skin would look soft and smooth and even-toned. And even when I didn't dress risque I had to wear full make-up all the time or else look naked. I had to learn so many cute facial expressions and gestures to use when guys came on to me, until they all began to seem ... well, natural, part of what I was." Reminded of what I was, I returned once again to sucking and licking her pussy. "What you were becoming, my darling girlfriend! Yes, I knew you'd get habituated. You made me so very happy! Even that first evening you were so fully dolled up that we could go out anywhere and look like two girls and no one could possibly tell which of us was the lovelier! Even then there wasn't the slightest risk you'd look like some ridiculous sissified half-man!" She sighed. "And you've been so wonderful ever since! It took you a while to commit to femininity all the time after we got back, though after our first lunch together on that first day I knew you'd never revert. Oh, precious!" She closed her eyes again. "Oooooh, God! More! One more orgasm and you can come up here and get a great big buss from me, you lovely thing!" It was an odd conversation, me with my face buried in her snatch though all the while staring up at her face. I could see why she wanted me to maintain that eye contact. There was no chance, while I was watching her, that I'd sink into some dark world of my own between her legs, oblivious to everything but her crotch and its lurchings and shudderings. She wanted to feel sure that I was making love to her, not merely servicing her twat. We were having a more intimate conversation than we'd had for months. From between her thighs I paused to remind her that "The entire second week of our honeymoon guys were hitting on us regularly, Marcie, and you were encouraging them!" I still had that complaint about our honeymoon. The single men at that resort wouldn't let us alone! Nor a few of the married ones! She heard my tone of voice, and her own grew insistent. "Lick me, sweetheart! I don't know why you think I shouldn't have encouraged them! It was for your sake, mostly. I didn't want you to finish our honeymoon without being properly kissed even once. By a guy I mean. You were learning how to enjoy being a girl, so you had to really feel it, get to know what guys are good for!" Her expression turned inward, and she smiled. "When you complained to me about men not leaving us alone, I told you the obvious, that it was because we weren't already accompanied by our own men. That's why I suggested we pick out a pair of them, one for each of us, and then spend the rest of our honeymoon with them. Then other boys wouldn't bother us at all. So we did, Cameron for me and Bruce for you. You will grant I'm sure that your Bruce was a hunk!" "You wanted me to know what it's like to be kissed? Only kissed? Marcie, my first night with Bruce he settled for smooching, and it seemed very strange, but I did it. Then the very next day he would't settle for less than a blow job! By the time we left that resort I was more familiar with his cock than my own, an utterly accomplished cocksucker! I had almost no appetite the last few days, I was so bloated from swallowing his jism, "Oh, sweetie, you know that your appetite problems were probably from the hormone pills, not just from swallowing cum. Your nipples came up almost at once, you remember -- it was as if you were born to be a girl! Ooh, sweetie, lick my clit now! Yes! Yes!! I told you at the time, when a man's demands grow excessive a girl does need to say 'No!' now and then! I assumed you wanted to suck his cock or you wouldn't have done it, at least not that often. But I wasn't surprised -- it's what girls do to keep their men happy, after all, and a girl's what you were learning to become. I was so happy that you wanted to dedicate yourself and become the best! I wanted that for you! Because word gets around, and then a girl's always popular. You blew Bruce quite a few times then? More than a few?" She looked amused and indulgent, both. In fact every date had began with a blow job, every day of the remainder of our honeymoon. We'd paired off and separated from each other as couples will, and then I'd found it necessary to keep Bruce drained so he'd quit trying to push his cock into my panties and discover what else was in there. And he was persistent in his efforts to get into my panties! So much so that sometimes I'd have to wrap my mouth around his dong two or three times in a single evening, suck everything conceivable out of it. I got so accustomed to the taste of his semen that I could no longer discriminate the different taste of Marcie's pussy before or after we made love, as we always did every night when we'd both returned to our suite from our men. It was still our honeymoon, after all, even though we were both seeing other men. I sucked Marcie as my first and often last act of adoration every night before we went to sleep, whether I fucked her or not. As every night of our married lives ever since. As even now. Back when I still could, we'd always begin with me pushing my tongue between her labia and beginning to lick her, and then after I'd pushed myself into her and climaxed I'd lick her again. That whole week her taste before and after seemed the same. She tasted of semen. Even on nights I didn't fuck her. I'd begun to wonder how that could be. Did her pussy hold the taste of my previous night's semen all through the next day, or did my mouth retain Bruce's flavor so it seemed the taste of her own excretions? Or was she fucking Bruce's buddy Cameron while I was sucking off Bruce? "More than a few times, you blew him?" she repeated. "More than a few times," I said disconsolately. I didn't dare tell her how often. Our last Saturday we met after breakfast and then it was every hour on the hour! "Then you must have wanted to do it. That's nice. Don't feel bad about it, sweetie. I was trying to help you satisfy yourself by keeping Cameron busy, away from you and Bruce. All so you could keep busy learning to do girly things. " She kept Cameron busy? Busy how? Why hadn't it occurred to me before? I had been tasting Cameron's as well as my own sperm in her, not just Bruce's leftover flavors! She'd actually been fucking another man on our very own honeymoon! I was shocked by that realization. Appalled! Marcie had cuckolded me even before our honeymoon ended? The second week of our marriage? I realized immediately that I had no moral standing here -- I could scarcely object. After all, I was sucking cock much of the time I wasn't with her. But I wanted to know once and for all. "You fucked Cameron?" She looked so pleased to be asked that that she swayed her hips teasingly as she replied, "Oh, sweetheart, does it matter?" I sat up, feeling vaguely betrayed, but also feeling like an idiot. "Yes, it would. Because we were on our honeymoon! And I was doing everything I could to please you, to make you happy that you were married to me and me alone!" "Like giving blow jobs to the first boy who was willing to talk to you? Acting like a slut as well as dressing ... well, sexy when not slutty? That was supposed to make me happy? Well, yes, it did, really, because it meant that my darling was more of a girl than I'd thought he'd ever be, and sooner that I'd ever thought possible! You did say, didn't you, that when I'm happy, you're happy?" "Yes." "Well, girlfriend, my honeymoon was the happiest time of my life, and you made it all possible just by being you. So you have every reason to feel happy for me and for you too, And that should serve as a sufficient answer to your question." It was evasive, no way sufficient, but it was as much an answer as I knew I'd be getting. She'd used our honeymoon to make me over into the girl she wanted to live with for the rest of her life. Well, all right, I'd half suspected she'd want to do something like that, though I'd had no idea she'd be so ... thorough. Tone down a little of my masculine gruffness maybe, what little I had. Instead, she'd done everything she could to persuade both of us that I wasn't a man at all, that she'd married not a man but her dearest girlfriend, and that we'd committed ourselves to be girlfriends forever. Then she'd committed herself to persuade me it was better that way, to make me want to believe it, so I'd remain that way and learn how to enjoy it. So of course, as she saw it, of course now and then I might well want to suck a cock, as girls do. As she did mine now and then, even now, long after its days of standing tall had ended. When I first came back to our room from Bruce's room, my mouth filled with his taste, and confessed what I'd done, she'd nodded and then congratulated me. Could it be that she similarly felt no obligation to be 'true' to me, whatever that might mean when a woman is married not to a man but to a woman? A kind of woman? I was beginning to believe I'd spent the second week of my honeymoon filling my belly with Cameron's semen as well as Bruce's. "Whenever you came back to our room from spending time with Cameron you tasted ... well, the way you taste whenever I've made love to you. A little like Bruce. Or me. You never said anything about it." "What was there to say? I didn't want to upset you, honey. You still thought that marriage confers on each of us an exclusive claim on the other person's body. Even after I told you that my body is my own the same as yours is your own. It took a while for you to accept your womanhood as different from your manhood, and our marriage as different accordingly Anyhow, 'fess up! Didn't Bruce's cock feel wonderful in your mouth? Satiny smooth and warm? Fat, alive, pulsing with excitement, unlike anything else you've ever held in your mouth? They're miraculous, penises, the way they grow bigger when you hold them in your hand, but especially when you hold them in your mouth and stroke them with your tongue. The very first night we dated those two boys, Bruce and Cameron, you didn't seem at all reluctant to be alone with Bruce, I noticed. You danced a few dances and then disappeared with him before the orchestra'd even finished its first set! Leaving me alone to do whatever I had to do to keep Cameron from interfering, I might add." "I had to deal with him! He was trying to feel me up! He was about to find out I had no breasts, Marcie, only those rubber pads you supplied me. I had to distract him somehow!" "I suppose you did. I'm sorry, I forgot that back then your boobs weren't real. Still, you could have given him some excuse. I bet you didn't want to. I bet you were wondering the whole time about the feel of a cock in your mouth. Don't be ashamed, I like the feel of a cock in my mouth myself now and then. Weren't you?" "No, I wasn't. I married you because I ...." She gestured toward her pelvis. There, centered in her crotch, were those two lovely lips, puffed out, swollen, with her drooling slit between them. I returned to my immediate task at hand. "A full-sized man's cock, I mean, baby, not that thing of yours that's been growing smaller all the while your breasts grow bigger. You didn't like the feel of a man's body against yours while you were with Bruce? I don't mean only the throbbing of his rod in your mouth when you've excited him. I mean things like the matted hair on a man's chest rubbing against your tits, or his hard muscles. That need they all have to ... ahhh ... thrust themselves at you? Have I been depriving you, girlfriend? No need to feel ashamed of it, even a lesbian girl like you can daydream about men that way now and then, Ooohh! Ohhhh! Oh, yes, yes, yes! YES! SWEETHEART. YES!" Her eyes clamped tight shut as she went rigid in those last throes, her legs squeezing my face deep into her quim. When again they relaxed, I judged it was finally time for me to stop servicing her, to come up and lie beside her, to join her. My face and hair and even my torso were now drenched, soaked in her juices! It seems that thinking about our honeymoon had excited her beyond anything previously. That honeymoon had fulfilled her girlhood desire to be married to another woman, or better, to a man who was a virtual woman, someone dedicated to her and no way a bully like her father. All those memories had aroused her erotic desires again. Had Cameron been an early beneficiary of her effort to feminize me? I knew that when we were first engaged she'd want me always to be gentle with her, attentive to her desires. That I'd needed to give up or suppress any assertively masculine habits I'd developed during my adolescence when I first found that girls admired them. Most girls. That first morning of our honeymoon, when she'd made it plain that she wanted me to give up living as a man and join her in a loving womanhood, that had surprised me. And challenged me. But I'd meant what I'd told her earlier -- her happiness was my happiness. I did love her. So I'd done it. Made what would be for most men a supreme sacrifice, my masculinity. "If I'd wanted men, I'd have gone looking for men," I commented. "But I'm not gay. It's you I want. It's for you that I've changed my body and my appearance, my job, my whole life, so now everyone thinks I'm a woman and no different from you or any woman anywhere!" "No different from any other woman," she corrected me. "Yes, you're now everything I'd hoped you'd become." All true enough. Our honeymoon had re-made me. These days the world saw me as what she'd decided to marry, a girl companion. Not a husband. To all appearances I was a woman, and a proper one at that, always made up properly for whatever the occasion, and dressed accordingly -- it was by now no big deal at all. Since our honeymoon we'd not gone out to cocktail lounges, so my suggestive cocktail dresses remained in my closet. I'd begun thinking of them as honeymoon costumes, designed to assert rather than express femininity. But then, Marcia hadn't suggested we go out looking provocative or racy since our honeymoon -- I assumed she was trying to keep my femininity domesticated, so I wouldn't one day find some man more attractive and run off with him. As if ever! "I bet these days I own more different lipsticks than you do!" I commented. "That's just my point," she replied, returning my gaze. "These days you look like a girl, and you dress like a girl, and you move like one and you live like one. You enjoy being one! You work as one, and all the other girls think that's what you really are. We live in a new neighborhood where no one would dream you're anything else. We even make love as two girls these days, not as a boy and a girl. Mostly. Your pretty mouth provides me with all sorts of licks and promises. I must say, it's gorgeous! Magical!" She looked both sleek and pleased. "More than licks and promises, I hope. Fulfillment too, maybe?" "But I do feel sorry for you now and then, sweetheart. Because you have no pussy, and you know how much pleasure a girl can find in her pussy. How much a girl can love sex. And despite all your lipsticks and all your womanhood and all the pleasure in it we explore together, despite whatever you think you are, no matter how pretty, as far as sex is concerned except for that one week with Bruce your mouth has been entirely all show and no blow." She smiled quickly to acknowledge her joke, but her eyes remained steadily on mine. Veiled, inexpressive, waiting to see how I'd received that comment. I kept my own face inexpressive. "I don't care that much for the taste of semen direct from a man," I said finally. "Really? You used to seem eager enough for it when you were eating me." Was she telling me something I didn't want to hear? "I've always tolerated eating mine. And Bruce's." I hesitated, and decided not to add 'And also Cameron's.' "I'd hoped for better when I married you. I'd hoped Bruce would turn you onto guys, so when we got back home we could explore together what that half of the world has to offer a girl. Girlfriends do that, you know. They go out cruising and meet guys and compare notes the next morning. I did suggest it a few times, you know. You didn't seem to hear me. Maybe because you didn't want to hear me?" She was right. I hadn't, so I suppose I didn't. She pressed her body against mine. "Is that your finger or your leftover cock dawdling against my clit, baby? Does the idea of going out with guys turn you on? Rub me some more down there please?" She turned to take me into her mouth, and nodded toward her groin. I obliged. With my finger. My cock no longer stiffened enough to rub her, much less penetrate past her pussy's outer folds, certainly not when I was thinking about the ways women desire men. That way I was no woman. I caressed her as best I could. She in turn sucked on my cock and fondled it with her tongue, soft as it was, and dawdled her fingertips on my nipples, which were now fully erect and poking out at her from my enlarged breasts. They were richly responsive, and they felt simply heavenly! I was floating! During the past months, however little traditional sex I'd had with her, I'd gotten to love whatever her flavor, licking her until she came several times and then offering her my boobs to be sucked and caressed until I too climaxed. Tonight, for whatever reason her pussy juice had been especially abundant. She was excited, and she'd been seeking to excite me. About men, it seemed. Was she planning some kind of change in our relationship? I closed my eyes as a delicious spasm seized me, and then another. A clear fluid dribbled from my cock, from what had once been my cock, and I knew that I'd cum yet again. "Now, lovely girl, do me one more time, and then we'll sleep," she said in a dreamy voice. She spread wide and pulled her knees high up, and looked at me. I accepted her invitation and crept down below one more time. Never losing eye contact, of course. She shook her long dark hair back over her shoulders and allowed a slight smile to flicker across her beautiful face as I gazed up at her, my wide eyes still wistful, my mouth clamped on on her pussy, my tongue flickering, intensely busy. Her huge eyes gazed back from under large, grey-shaded eyelids and thin, skeptically arched eyebrows. With her own pretty, bowed lips, much more delicate than mine, she looked like a grown up little girl. Oh, God, I realized, I love her so! I did, I did! ************* The next night, when we settled onto the couch in the family room to watch TV, she looked at me steadily, silently, though for only a moment. I got the message. She opened her legs and I slid to the floor and again buried my face into her already-drenched crotch, rubbing my nose deep into her slit, kissing her clit at the peak of every up swing, bottoming on the down swing to kiss her rosebud. Once again she began moaning and squirming in response. In between gasps, she returned to our previous night's conversation. "You aren't quite yet what I've wanted, sweetheart," she said as I ministered to her. She paused to draw in a sudden breath, then continued, "Not quite yet. You knew when we first met that I mistrusted men. That I would never tolerate being treated the way my father treated my mother. That for years I never intended to marry anyone, that instead I meant to live with a woman and use men as I wished. But from the moment I met you, so much about you was so endearing, so promising, that ... well, in the end I couldn't stand the thought of losing you! At first I decided only to ask you to try to act less ... manly. Not in so many words, not at first, but I swore to myself that if you were willing to act ... a little more effeminate, I'd marry you! And you did! Then during our honeymoon you proved it!" That was true. From the beginning I'd understood how she felt about her father and brute men in general. So did I, so I'd always tried to behave otherwise. Even when we were only dating, I never requested anything from her -- rather, just commented on what I might want undemandingly, told her how I felt in as high and flutelike a voice as possible -- sometimes sounding plaintive, always trying for small and cute. I'd worn flowered shirts and a gold necklace unashamedly. Allowed my hair to grow long, and whenever I was with her I'd worn it in a ponytail off the crown, as girls do. Kept my movements graceful, walking always with my legs close together and a slight sway, and always sitting erect, even crossing my ankles. I tried flouncing once, but that only amused her. She did grow more comfortable with me, and eventually we grew familiar. One day she'd came home late from her office and apologetically asked me to eat her out as a reward for waiting. That established the nature of our intimacy, my face in her twat whenever possible, now and then her mouth on my cock. Occasionally followed by fucking. "Then on our honeymoon, when I first asked you to pretend you actually were a woman, and we actually dated those two guys, I was overjoyed! In fact ever since then I've been feeling a little guilty that I haven't encouraged you toward the rest of it." "The rest of what?" I asked, my words muffled in her muff. Her voice sounded relaxed, but her thighs were beginning to grow tense and I didn't want her to lose the rhythm. Bring her to orgasm and then we can talk more quietly, and I'll find out what she really has in mind. "You were willing to be seen as a woman by everybody, almost at once. I know it wasn't easy, that you probably felt you were sacrificing your manhood and self respect and so on. And of course you were. But honey, I couldn't love you more for your willingness to make those sacrifices. And when I found out during the second week of our honeymoon, that second week when you were presenting fully as a woman, when I found that without my urging it at all you had indulged in one of a woman's most distinctive pleasures, that you had sucked Bruce's cock, well, I can't tell you how thrilled and happy that made me. Far happier than Cameron made me when I was distracting him, you know, keeping him away from you and Bruce." She'd expressed all this before. This was leading to something else. "Then there's everything you've been willing to undertake since then. To move to a new neighborhood where everyone thinks you're a woman and treats you accordingly. To give up all your poker buddies, and all your golf buddies, simply not see them and never let yourself be seen by them, until you're finally so unrecognizable, so unlike the man they once knew, that it wouldn't matter. So passable it wouldn't matter if you were recognized. So passable you could flirt with them and confuse them utterly." I'd done that. Marcie had set me a task one evening when we were going out with some of her friends -- choose one of their husbands and dance with him and see how it feels to be held in a man's arms. I'd done that. He'd held me at a distance at first, but by the end of that one dance I was squirming against him and he'd gotten just addled enough to press back. I could feel his hard on, and exulted for Marcie's sake! When we returned to the table his wife was frowning but Marcie was obviously delighted. That night after I'd lapped her to several orgasms she allowed me into her rear as a reward -- I could still get that stiff back then, sort of. She even allowed me to cum into her there, though it felt strange to lick myself out of her there afterward, as I always did whenever she allowed me to go all the way into any of her openings. "You're small enough these days not to hurt me there," she'd said with great satisfaction as she pushed her ass at me. "And you do deserve that special treat before you lose the ability altogether." I was pleased to think so. "Then there's the rest of it too," she continued. "You gave up your work as an investment analyst and took a job as a receptionist instead, so your old shrewd male reflexes could die out and more delicate feminine instincts replace them. So boredom on the job could dumb you down a little. So you'd have a professional incentive to keep yourself pretty, and to mix with the other office girls to see what they're like and become more like them. Then too, there were the months and months it took for you to bring your weight way way down to mine, so we could have fun shopping together, knowing we can each wear the other's outfits, as dearest girlfriends often do? You've done so much for me! For us!" She paused and for the next minute or so attended only to the feelings now spreading out from her clit and pussy and overwhelming her whole body. "Ohhh," she complained luxuriously. "Oh, God, you darling, more of that! More!" A small orgasm absorbed her utterly. Then she began to breathe again. "But now, sweetheart, now I think it's time you did some things for yourself!" Uh oh! What now? I stopped kissing her snatch, and paused to listen. "You're so close! You're everything a woman should be except maybe for that one thing. And you have pretty nearly everything a woman should have, also except for maybe one thing. Yes, You've been marvelous about all of it, trying so hard to please me. I couldn't be more grateful to you, baby! I do love you! You're perfect! Very nearly!" Her secretions were still swirling in my mouth. I loved trying to take anything of hers into me, to make them part of what I was. That was why she'd so easily persuaded me to take those birth control pills the very first day of our honeymoon, then to supplement them with other female hormones to help me 'catch up' with her. So estrogen and progestin and other such girl things would enrich my blood and become as much a part of my life as hers. So even as I lost weight in certain places, mainly my gut and waist and shoulders, I'd gain weight proportionally in certain others, my calves (I now had 'dynamite legs' a man in our office had told me), my hips and my rear end, and of course my chest, where what were once cute little bulges had now ripened into hanging fruit. Certainly those hormones had mellowed my temperament! I now seemed to flow, in my feelings as well as in the way I walked. "What one thing?" I asked from down below after kissing her pussy again, between kisses, grateful for her praise. "I mean, apart from a vagina. I thought by now I'd done it all!" She didn't answer right away. "I remember how my oldest friends couldn't believe you were now living as a woman full time. They all had to see for themselves. I was so proud of you! When I invited them to that surprise soiree in your honor to celebrate your first 'C' cup bra, you were just marvelous. I'll never forget how self-assured you seemed despite your embarrassment, how very femme you behaved, how sweetly shy. I was so extra proud to see you flirting with their husbands a little. By then you were dancing with them so easily and comfortably, the way I'd taught you, the ways all beautiful women dance with men. Feeling them up with your whole body! That established your authenticity even better than your new figure. Now our girlfriends hardly remember you've ever been anything else, those who knew you back when -- now you're simply one of us." True enough. After that party, the few men who'd known me before dropped me altogether as a buddy, as someone who could be called up on no notice to do guy things with them. "No way," one of them told me flatly when I suggested we meet at the club for a few games of squash. "Look at you! You're a woman now. Your arms are thinner, you can't possibly have the stamina you'd need to run me ragged. Anyhow, I'm married. My wife would kill me!" I took that as a compliment. On the other hand, the wives all took me up readily enough, so bridge and Yoga and book discussion groups soon replaced all my male activities. I really was physically weaker, as charged, and anyhow, using the club showers after an activity became ... inconvenient -- my breasts were unfit to be seen in the men's locker room, and my genitals -- what remained of them -- in the women's. I narrowed my interests and developed others. And began to love them. It was sort of nice, satisfying, being a girl! "Everyone still marvels at how far you've been willing to go," Marcie went on. "Even my Endo was impressed when I first told her how you insisted on growing your own woman's figure, with large-nippled breasts, instead of getting fast implants with little man-nipples. How hard you worked to reshape your body when surgical reshaping -- implants and liposection and so on -- would have been by far the faster and easier alternative. I was certainly impressed when you were willing to simulate my periods with laxatives, to match my cramps and flow days, so you'd know what it's like. Lord knows how many pills and shots you've taken to become what you are -- your body's had so much catching up to do. But it's all been so much more worth while, hasn't it? You do feel so much more authentic now, don't you? Ahhhh, oooh, oh, honey, don't stop doing that! Yes, that! Ohhhhh!" Now she really was getting into it. Both legs lifted onto my shoulders and began to hug my head. Soon she'd orgasm and cram her pussy into my face. Soon after, I'd find out what was really on her mind. As instructed, while my mouth remained busy I stared into her face, waiting. "I know you love having boobies -- you're always lifting them up in the palms of both your hands and flicking those huge nipples of yours with your thumbs. Even kissing them, don't blush, I've seen you! Yours are now more sensitive than mine I suspect -- you seem to go into a sort of trance and then melt and climax whenever I happen to graze your nipple tips, even if only a few times. Isn't that so? Don't think I haven't noticed! And when I deliberately caress them, even through your blouse and bra, your eyeballs roll up toward heaven and you're gone! Out of sight! Isn't that so too?" I nodded. Since my face was in her vulva and my nose on her clit as I nodded, just that motion alone almost brought her off again. Remembering how my breasts feel whenever I touch them, or she touches them, that alone almost brought me off. "You probably feel the way I do when we're at a party and some man's hand happens to graze my nipples -- I can't help but moan, and I'm immediately tempted to let things go further, and oh, God if I ever do yield to that temptation, then .... Oooooh, yes, on my clit, baby, my clit, yesssss! That's ... that's ... ahhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhhhh!" She was now altogether out of it. I wanted to raise my head and ask her what she meant, did she in fact sometimes let things go further? But her hips and her groin rose and rotated and her thighs seized my head and her lower lips pressed against mine in a tense ecstasy. She stopped breathing and hung there, so I did too. Then at last she relaxed, seemed to sink way back into the couch, breathing in gasps. I was filling my mouth and swallowing as fast as I could, and still swallowing when she finally eased away from me and allowed her knees to go slack and opened them up, allowed my head to rise. Showed me the door, as it were. Informed me that she'd been well-served, thank you, and now we could resume a more relaxed though still loving relationship. I rocked back on my heels and looked at her. Her eyes were now closed, her mouth set in a beatific smile. Good! She was at peace. So I rose up and straightened my dress, then sat down on the couch, alongside her. Took her hand and held it in my lap. I felt a swelling there and I wanted her to feel it too. It might remind her that I hadn't gotten off yet. She continued her musings as though they'd never been interrupted by that massive orgasm. "My dearest darling! No one can tell now that you're not a woman like all the rest of us, not without peering into your panties. And even if they could, they might not see much of anything any more. You're so small these days!" She opened her eyes and turned toward me, smiling indulgently. "It's sort of sweet, really. A little pathetic, too, the way that teeny thing still defines who you are." "It does, doesn't it?" I replied. I was beginning to wonder where she was taking this. "Though you seem to find what I am satisfactory!" "Sometimes it seems so," she said rather ambiguously. Now she was being serious. Thoughtful. Regretful? "True, it's a real pleasure to take all of it into my mouth at once, because it never grows so large I can't!" I just stared into her face. I'd originally wanted to be all the man she might want as well as all the woman. I knew those hormones had reduced my size and finally eliminated my stiffness, But that was what she'd wanted! She reached across and affectionately brushed back my bangs. The very bangs she'd insisted I always wear so my face would seem smaller, 'more like a little girl's face,' she'd said, way back. 'More innocent and vulnerable.' Her beautician Sally saw to it that they stayed that way, and these days kept the rest of my hair cropped to swing just below my chin. 'Sweet,' was Sally's judgement each time she trimmed it and refreshed its styling. 'A lovely schoolgirl look. Just darling!' Marcie was now studying me intently. She reached over again, this time to place a palm affectionately on my furthermost cheek. So I couldn't turn away from her? Regretfully? To assure my close attention? She had it, that was certain! "You know you've been getting smaller and softer, sweetheart. Through this whole transition. And now you're no longer functional. The doctor told you that would happen as your breasts grew and your bottom rounded out, and all the rest of those things, but you'd decided on authenticity, so that's the price we've paid. You did feel like a stallion to me once. I thought you did early in our relationship anyhow -- that prick looked so marvelous, so deliciously scary whenever you hovered over me to give me everything you had in you. Or whenever you just lay there and it projected up toward the ceiling and I sank myself onto you. But now you're more like a puppy when we make love. Your tongue is marvelous, but your cock isn't any bigger or any more firm." She glanced down at my lap. "It is sort of cute," she added. Her hand in my lap stroked it gently. It felt good, but didn't stiffen at all. She smiled reassuringly. "