A Mile In Her Shoes free porn video

A Mile in Her Shoes by Vickie Tern "Relax, sweetie! You aren't the first man ever to do this. Everything will be fine! Why so worried?" She has to ask? All I could reply was, "I'm not worried, Sharon. Only just plain scared to death!" She smiled to herself. It amused her. Her big strong man, afraid to do things that women do all the time? As if it challenged my fundamental sense of self, my manhood, of all things? Defeating it? Of course it did! I felt spurred to ask her, "You say I'm not the first? Other men have gone through ... through this ... this hazing? This ordeal? Why? To test them, test their desire to please their women? Why?" We'd arrived at a traffic light, and while the car was paused she looked over at me. Obviously she wanted me to understand why she'd insisted on this thing. Why I had to do it, what I'd agreed to do. And that it truly was a test. I sat with my hands in my lap and looked back at her, waiting for her answer. "I suppose it looks to you like a fraternity hazing," she said. "Or maybe a sorority hazing." She smiled. "Yes, I do feel it's important, I need to know you really do want to achieve and maintain my approval. To please me. That you aren't just one more man on the make, like other men I've known and awarded ... certain privileges. That you aren't just one more of the 5FM brigade, that old college crowd who preach, 'Find 'em, feel 'em, fool 'em, fuck 'em, forget 'em!' Well, eff that! If I'm going to give my whole life to you, I need to know what you're willing to do for me. How much of your life you mean to give. How much you can share. Even how much discomfort you're willing to endure for the rewards to follow, and whether -- like some Knight in Shining Armor, or maybe his Maid Marion awaiting his return -- you're eager to endure them for me. Those things do figure in. Because if we do marry each other, we'll share everything. We'll become one flesh." 'Yes, but whose?' occurred to me, but I said nothing. Stared straight ahead. The light changed. She turned away and resumed driving. "But don't just think of it as a test, one that gives me crucial information. Think of it too as an educational opportunity. A necessity, really. So you can learn at firt hand all the essential issues of my life. What irritates me and what delights me, what makes me sad and what makes me happy. So I'll know you know how you can make me happy and we'll both know you want to. Your willingness to stick this out is a test of your willingness to understand not just me but all women, how it is for us, what it means to for us to be women. To know what women go through daily, what annoys us and pleases us. So I'll know you understand at first hand the world we live in, what we endure daily merely because we're women." I'd heard all this before. Some of it was standard Feminist cliche. Some of it was genuinely searching. Apparently she had to review it for me once again. To purge herself or maybe me of any uncertainty. "For example, how men treat us. Sometimes like frail, disembodied spirits. Sometimes like convenient soft flesh, smooth, with wet holes for poking. Maybe we're mere property, or trophies, or notches on a belt. Maybe servants expected to do their bidding. Maybe all of these things at once. Well, I'll tolerate none of that. In a way this is a test of your own sexism. And if there is any, it's a way to rid you of it. Because after you've walked a mile in my shoes, you'll know what it's like." She paused. "We need to share everything as equals for at least a short while, if we intend some day to marry and live as equals." I had nothing to say. I still resented it, but I'd agreed to live with her not as her boyfriend as I'd originally proposed, but as her girlfriend as she'd counter-proposed. Together, in her apartment, for at least two weeks, but maybe longer. Until she was satisfied I was the one. I'd agreed too hastily, I was now pretty sure of that, but I had agreed and that was that. Sharon was a marvelous woman, beautiful -- in my eyes and lots of other men's too -- and remarkably good-tempered. But on women's issues, and on the ways men treat women, she was adamant. She'd tolerate no nonsense. "Most important of all, it's a test of your willingness to meet my needs, right or wrong, justified or not. To show me how selflessly you love me. Don't worry, sweetie, you're doing fine so far. I'm feeling very good about you." Finally I found my voice again. "Sharon, you may be feeling good about me but I feel like an utter fool. I mean, here I am, wearing this dress, a dyed blonde, curlyhaired, my face painted like a whore's, my chest pushed way out and my ass padded, peering out at the world from under these heavy black eyelashes! Out in a car on a public thoroughfare!" "You aren't painted like a whore -- your makeup is as tasteful as mine! And you don't look at all foolish, Arlene," she said pointedly, glancing at me. Then grinned. "For a blonde, anyway!" My name is Arlen. Close enough. "Your figure is lovely, attractive, better than I'd hoped. As girly as mine, maybe even as provocative -- oh, I know what mine does to men even at a distance! If the artificial shapeliness, the padding, embarrasses you, we can make it all real enough over time. Turn you into an altogether honest woman. Shall we? No?" She glanced at me and saw me cringe. And smiled, then continued. "So for now, be proud! Hold your head high and don't you feel the least bit ashamed! No one can possibly imagine there's a man inside that bulging blouse and those tight jeans. I mean, your make-up and hairdo alone declare what you're supposed to be, and your tits confirm it. There's nothing embarrassing about them. And the real clincher is your crotch. Really! No one who glances down there -- and men do when you wear tight jeans, all the time, you'll see -- no one who checks you out below the waist can possibly imagine you're not female! I mean, there's absolutely nothing visible there now! That pull-up prosthetic pussy has flattened out your crotch, and the stretched spandex in those jeans gives you a camel-toe crease just like mine, incredibly suggestive. Nothing there! I'd love to lick it -- I'm a little that way you know. I'm so glad Beth offered those items to me for you." She smiled at me sympathetically. "I know, you must feel terribly tight down there. But does it still hurt?" "Not as much as before. A dull ache now, mostly." My balls did still hurt quite a bit, as a matter of fact, but I'd given my word. For the thing to fit me at all I'd had to pull my testicles as far back between my legs as they'd reach, then cram them tight against my lower groin. This very moment I was sitting on them -- try that some time! But I didn't want to put down this idea of Sharon's, or seem truculent or resentful or anything. She'd set me this test and I was trying to qualify as if it were nothing, easy. When she'd first proposed it I'd simply stared at her for a long time. I couldn't decide if she was serious. Then I'd nodded agreement and seen immediately that she was deadly serious, because she'd near-collapsed in relief and gratitude. "I'm so glad," she'd said. "Because I do love you, sweetheart! Now more than ever, you darling, you!" And she'd leaped up on me and during the next hour we'd done ... well, everything! I was well-reminded how much I love her too, and why. Except for this ... kink of hers. "You may feel a little extra discomfort when some man asks you to dance, and like it or not, they will, you're a doll, sweetie! You'll have to swing your hips some, and quite a lot during the fast and wild numbers. Sway the way we all do. If you don't, you'll look prim and dowdy, and that'll reflect on me." She looked at me steadily, by way of warning me not to hold back when the time came. "Then there're those cute crotch thrusts and rotations during the Latino numbers, the ones we practiced yesterday when your genitals weren't yet bound up, and you had a good time 'fucking air' as you called it? Those moves are indispensable! Sexy, and done when everyone can see that near-flat, V-shaped mound you've got now, explosive! I can't wait to see their effect on everyone watching!" Great. More grief for my stretched and crushed testicles. I tried to pull a heel closer to the car's seat yet keep its sole flat on the floor mat. My four inch heels were trying to tilt my ankles way forward. But my foot simply wouldn't move. My arch wasn't anywhere near convex enough, like Sharon's, or any other woman's for that matter. When she stood erect, poised in her highest heels, her shins, ankles, and arches all curved down to the tip of her big toe. But then she'd been wearing high heels all her life, practically, while I'd been practicing my walk and a few simple dance steps in them only during this past week. Each day, Sharon seemed better pleased with me. And tonight my training would end. I was graduating, so to speak. Tonight was my coming out party, my coming out as a woman for the first time! As if a woman. The beginning of the two full weeks I'd promised to spend proving to Sharon that no matter what else, I love her, that I'm worthy of her, and that I'm absolutely sincere in that love. That I do indeed understand how she feels as a woman, that I feel as dedicated to womanhood as she does. That I'll even risk humiliating my manhood for her. Gladly! Risk humiliating my manhood? It was already deep in hiding, terrified! Two weeks from tonight she'd give me my answer. "Don't worry about it, honey," she'd cautioned me with slight kiss before we'd set out tonight. "It'll be fun! I think you'll do fine! Soon, I hope, we'll be able to begin living the rest of our lives together." A bit earlier I'd told my sister Kathleen how much I loved Sharon, how I'd proposed to her, what Sharon had proposed in return, the condition she'd set. Kathleen had just shrugged. "Watch out for her, Arlen," she'd said. "You're a decent man, and it wouldn't at all hurt for you to know first hand what women go through, I suppose. Our routines and annoyances and all. That may be all she's asking. But she's clever! She could really be testing your sympathy, but maybe also your manhood. Maybe if you stand high and mighty and tell her 'No!" -- maybe then she'll cream in her jeans and suddenly collapse in your arms, because you've proved you're so masterful, and all that! Or maybe say 'Yes!' -- show your willingness to do as she asks, to live as a woman for two weeks -- and it may be you'll end up a woman for life, maybe with a pussy and boyfriends and all. Maybe all she'll prove is that you're a wimp sissy, someone she can easily ignore or manipulate, handy to keep around but no way one of the real men she'll want in her life." What could I say? "You don't yourself know which one she wants, do you? Or which one you are!" I didn't. ************* A week into her test I still didn't know -- I was neither and both. After a training session or two in the mall to get accustomed, shopping in various stores and dining in different restaurants, she'd decreed me ready to go all out! So we'd gone out together for a full evening of drinking and dancing, as if two young women looking to meet men. And we'd both danced with different men who came to our table to ask for the favor, quite a few, and then we'd come home, back to her apartment, Sharon still giggling over how thoroughly my male partners had all been fooled, me not quite as pleased. "I do wish I could have seen that!" she cried out at one point. "You say when the dance ended Terry started kissing you passionately while his finger was trying to wriggle into your rubber slit and go the distance? Trying to get you warmed up enough to fall on a bed with him and fuck him, his place or yours irrevelant? The best moment of the whole evening, and I had to miss it?" "Well, where were you?" I was still annoyed that an old boyfriend of hers had seen us and stopped at our table and she'd devoted time and attention to him almost exclusively. 'Oh, God, Scott, it's been so long!' I'd heard her say as he led her onto the dance floor and then disappeared with her altogether, for maybe a half-hour or more. I saw her again just as my own too-ardent partner was leading me back to the table, hoping I'd just pick up my purse and leave with him as he'd been urging. I wouldn't and didn't, of course. "Where was I? Off elsewhere, making arrangements for next weekend," she said. Which was no answer. I waited. "You've were wonderful tonight, sweetheart," she went on. "You did better than I'd hoped. One more week and you'll be perfect, altogether indistinguishable from any of us. I hope. Scott thinks he can still feel something between him and me, and I didn't discourage him, because you and I will both need dates for next week's final exercise in femininity. And now we've both got them! Scott I know well enough, what he's good for and what he isn't. No idea about your man Terry, but Scott assures me he's a hunk and a gentleman." She grinned at me. "Or maybe what he said was he's hung and a gentleman, I couldn't hear him clearly while his mouth was buried between my boobs." "Buried where?" I said, my eyes widening, almost forgetting to use my low falsetto voice as I'd promised. Though we were now back at her apartment, the one we were sharing during this two-week trial, the evening wasn't over. She ignored my question. "I see Terry managed to mess up your lipstick, Arlie. Was that your first sweet kiss, or have you already given your first blow job?" "That last slow dance," I said unhappily. "I couldn't peel him off me." "So, can you doubt yourself now? Remember how worried you were when we were first driving out to the club and I told you you were lovely, flawless, there was nothing to fear? So was there?" She waited. "No," I said finally. Then decided to put a good face on it, and smiled ruefully. "No, you trained me well. Except how to deal with an octopus. Or with a determined smoocher." She was amused. "Oh, that'll always have to be up to you. A man with many hands can be terribly exciting when you're in a mood to be manhandled. But sweetheart, an absolute word to the wise! About your make-up. Never let yourself be seen for a second with your face messy or your hair disarranged. No matter what! People will talk, and they'll always imagine the worst. What do you think I thought when I got back to the table and saw that you looked like you'd been been wiping your face all over his cock and who knows where else?" That had never occurred to me! The clutch purse I'd carried all evening was still alongside me. I opened it and took out my little hand mirror and looked. She was right, I looked a mess! As if I'd spent the whole evening smooching various places on some man's body! I looked up at Sharon, somewhat dismayed. And realized I was feeling what a woman would feel under these circumstances, not a man pretending to be a woman. Disreputable! Sharon saw and looked pleased. "Honey, always go straight to the Ladies from whatever you've been doing with your guy, and once there do whatever needs doing -- mop , blot, insert a tampon, repair the ruins of your makeup. Then no one will ever know what a slut you've been." She smiled broadly at me. "Is that what you did?" I recalled that when she'd re-appeared at our table to go home, her face was as perfect as when we'd first arrived, when Scott had first noticed us and come over and commandeered Sharon. "Ladies don't kiss and tell either," she said, making a teasing moue at me. "Jealous?" "Yes!" "Well, don't be. Scott and I were once an item, and there's very little about him I don't already know well." As she said that, she smirked at some reminiscence or other. "But his novelty wore off long ago, and he was never in line for a serious relationship. He was never as interested in my -- tests of sincerity, for example -- as you seem to be. I'm very pleased with you thus far, incidentally. I'm almost persuaded you aren't merely one more guy trying to talk his way into my panties." I tried to see the humor in her remark. "No, I'm one guy you've talked your way into your panties." She grinned broadly at that, apparently well-pleased. "Well," she said, "There are worse places. I've never objected to your face down there between my legs, you know that. No matter where I've been or who I've been with, when I've asked or merely gestured, you've never hesitated. I love it more than anything! That's why I think you might just be perfect for me for the long run. One more week and I'll know for certain." *************** "Oh, I see you borrowed my rasberry-toned lipstick, honey -- there it is, over there on your make-up table. Hand it to me, please? I want to wear it with this fuschia blouse you bought me for my last birthday -- it'll go perfectly. " I seated myself at my own table, handed it to Sharon, then stared into my mirror to see what else on my face needed doing. And finally decided to speak. "I don't like this," I told her. "That fuschia blouse is way too provocative for tonight -- it's so low-cut you can't wear a bra with it, and it's so clingy it leaves your nipples fully visible." "Yes. And it keeps them fully erect too, sweetheart, because the fabric feels so wonderful rubbing on them. You were so sweet to give it to me, this blouse, telling me in effect that you want me to look sexy. It's nicest present you've ever given me! Apart from you yourself as you are, of course. Thank you!" "Honey, I bought it for you, yes, but ultimately for me. To excite me, not this client you're seeing tonight, this Fred Driscoll. I've asked around -- Driscoll is a known seducer of women. And since you've agreed to 'date' him, not just 'meet for a drink' or something more casual, you know what he'll be expecting!" "I know exactly what he'll be expecting," she said, smiling at her own image in her mirror and smoothing an eyebrow delicately with one little finger. Then suddenly standing up and straightening her gown around her hips. She was now nearly ready, her make-up perfect, only a few strands of hair needing the attention of a very small brush, and I knew she'd attend to it on her way out. She looked around for her purse and glanced at me. "He'll expect what your Patrick expected from you two weeks ago when we double dated. You remember? You wanted to prove to me that you're no longer ashamed to look like a woman in public or behave like one in private? That now, especially now that you have boobs, you're proud of your figure and pleased to show it off? Even willing to cuddle with a man who appreciates soft things like those pressing against his chest? Well, I knew you'd love them and I love them too. I'm grateful every day that you've been willing go that far to satisfy both sides of my sexuality, to be both my man and my woman. I do so love you for it!" Sharon's two-week test had persuaded her that I was raptly, selflessly devoted to pleasing her, even to the extent of being willing to seem to be a woman. That had been the supreme test. So she'd agreed to marry me. But that hadn't ended it. Rather, before the ceremony she'd asked me, wide-eyed and earnest, if -- since I'd done it so successfully -- if I'd continue to live as a woman after we were married -- at least mostly, or for a while longer. "You are so attractive as a woman!" she declared. "As a man too, don't mistake me, but you're outright stunning as a woman! You never knew? Honey, when you're dressed and made up to go out, and your bangs are brushed just a little awry, and you're looking at me coquettishly with that delicious half-smile, I ... I!" And she just stood there staring at me speechless. Then said, "I get so wet I leak!" She then confessed all. Yes, that early two-week test had been just that, a test of my willingness to respect her wishes and educate myself as if a woman myself. Walk in her shoes, as she'd put it. But she'd had a more profound and serious purpose too, she confessed to me carefully, one evening on our honeymoon, while she was lying naked on top of me, my cock deep inside her, my lipsticked mouth getting covered by her lipsticked kisses. She explained that she's always been bisexual, strongly attracted toward both sexes. That she had never been able to choose, to decide which sex she wanted to marry and live with forever. But I'd overwhelmed her, because during those two weeks I was pretending to be a woman for her sake, she'd come to see me not as a man or as a woman but as both, a man because I had a cock and a man's temperament and a woman because I'd learned how to suppress that temperament and seem to be a woman and act out all of a woman's social graces. Persuasively, in all sorts of circumstances. Her affection, her love, her feelings toward me had magnified enormously! I'd become everything to her! As I understood it, she loves my manliness, adores it, though there's very little of it left in evidence apart from my cock and balls. But she also feels utterly devoted to my femininity, transported by it! So an ultimate condition of our getting married, whispered to me fearfully only a few days before the actual event, was, won't I continue to be a man who appears to be a woman for just a little longer? A lot longer? Do I truly love her that much? There would be a notable advantage for both of us. My remaining a woman in her eyes and everyone else's provided both of us with the strongest possible assurance that no other man nor woman could ever claim her love. Because I could always present myself to her as a man if I ever needed to, if she needed one, as the man she prefers above all others, and I could even make love to her as that man, depending on our mutual desires and whims. But I would always be, and always appear to be, her special woman too. And she'd always know it! So as both sexes, I'd be perfect for her! She'd persuaded me! I'd agreed, and she'd started me on female hormones, and there'd been a few surgical adjustments, and in the end she'd introduced me to all her friends as her dearest friend Arlene. To all the world, I was now a woman. To Sharon, I was the man she'd married and a woman. "You already know how those new breasts of yours entrance me!" she was saying. "Not only for their lovely selves! Because they're the visible, tangible evidence of your devotion to my desires. Once I start I can't ever stop kissing your nipples, their enlarged tips, no more than I can stop kissing that longer thing you've got hidden further down. And I know that a mouth on the tips of your breasts is paradise for you. I see your face as I suck and lick you." She paused, and began to look reproving. "But you didn't have to let Patrick run his hands all over those knockers the minute you started dancing with him, did you? And all over your reshaped ass? When he brought you back to the table you both seemed so hot I was amazed your gown didn't catch fire! I expected you two to just plain walk away and leave me and Kevin sitting there, so you could go off and get a room somewhere." That was not long ago, and it had been awkward. I hadn't known what to do when my new associate Patrick started groping me -- I mean, I wasn't raised to be a girl who's been dealing with four-handed guys since high school. Sharon should have warned me about him, and she still hadn't given me pointers about gropers before we went out on my "inaugural date" with Patrick, as she called it! What'd she expect? "Honey," I said defensively. "I've told you, I don't know any girlie defensive strategies. I'm new to these things! I did keep pushing his hand away, but I couldn't make a big deal of it out there on the dance floor in front of everybody! So when one of his hands finally grasped one boob and remained there, and the other one haunch, I decided, leave well- enough alone. I figured that's just what women always put up with, with some guys. I wasn't like that when I was a guy, so how should I know? And anyhow, my breasts were your idea originally, remember? Like my apple-shaped ass! And my revealing both sets of bulges in that low-slung dress, that was your idea too! That was why we were double-dating, you wanted me to lose more of my shyness as Arlene, to learn how to act more cute and talk more flirtatiously and so on. How to be more girly and yet in control, so when I'm being Arlene, so I can attract you even when you aren't in the mood, and satisfy you when you are, and I can deal with men any time, especially when they try getting too close. Well, that was a great idea, but how was I supposed to know how to stop a man like Patrick from groping me in those familiar places? I mean, when you and Kevin were dancing, I saw how intimate he was getting!" "Oh?" Now Sharon was restraining her annoyance that I even mentioned it. Barely restraining it. "So how was Kevin being intimate?" "His hands cupped both your ass cheeks! And pulled your crotch up to rub against his ... his thing! And held it there while he rubbed it on you up and down and around!" I didn't mention that mine got hard just watching. "Yes, he had me pulled up so tight against him I didn't dare make a fuss. I did try to shake him off me by twisting my body as vigorously as I could, rubbing against him. But that may have been a mistake -- I think I actually did bring him off. I mean, he went glassy and did some pretty heavy breathing for a moment or two. Which may have been his intention all along! Honey, men are tricky! You aren't when you're being a man?" "I'm almost never a man with you any more. And I've always been a gentleman! You know that! But there you were, masturbating Kevin with your crotch right there in plain sight! Supposedly dancing! And yet you complain because Patrick was feeling me up? What was I supposed to do? You've said it yourself -- men keep trying. That's why, when I first made moves on you and you objected, and then I respected your objections, that's why you thought I was someone worth knowing! Different, with possibilities! But I had no idea how to stop Patrick! You never told me how to deal with that sort of situation!" "Are you telling me you wanted to stop him? It didn't feel good? When his hands were caressing your nipples you didn't feel ... rapturously feminine? I was sure that's why you let him!" "It did feel good, yes. And that's why. But ...." "Well, all right, never mind. To return to your original comment, I've got no choice as far as Fred Driscoll is concerned. He asked me for a date, and our firm wants his business, so I accepted. Yes, Fred has his seductive ways, that's how he negotiates with women. Last year at a sales convention he charmed a woman out of her mind, Ellyn Dorfman, she's married to Jason Dorfman the broker, you know them I think, we went to a reception at their place once, lovely people. You wore your silk organza, remember?" I remembered. I love that dress! Sharon's gift to me on our first anniversary! "Well, he leaned in on her with the most adorable grin -- just watching him I felt a kind of thrill down there, a moistening. You know? Or maybe you don't, I sometimes forget you're really .... Well, when you see a real hunk these days, yes I know you've got no pussy to get wet the way ours do, but doesn't that prick of yours at least drip a little bit in anticipation? Sort of from feeling him enter you, lunge into you? No, I don't suppose it does. Anyhow, she was melting all over him when they went off to his room to sign papers, and when they emerged the next morning it seemed he'd gotten all sorts of concessions from her. Her company started trying to renegotiate, but when they looked close it turned out he hadn't taken advantage of her -- more like vice versa. He was so eager to please her he gave her way more than she gave him, she told me. She spent the whole night being grateful to him. No complaints at all." A secret smile played over her face as she paused. She looked lovely, regal, sculpturesque, a formal hairdo crowning her head -- she'd decided to have her hairdresser bring her hair up off her neck just for this occasion. "We'll soon be able to do that kind of thing to your hair too," she pointed out. "Arrange it in a more elegant style. It's lengthening and thickening beautifully now, especially under the influence of those hormones. Another month or so and you'll look stunning. We've got to get you a barebacked, strapless gown. Aren't you pleased?" "I guess, Sharon. I went bareshouldered when my hair got long enough to touch my bare shoulders, and you've loved it -- there's not an evening when you don't stop to kiss me there when you pass behind me. It's long enough to pin up out of the way when I need to keep it off my face. But ... but remember, I did all this to me, or rather I let you do it, and Veronique and the girls at the salon, and Dr. Macready and her staff, originally, I did all this to bring out what ... femininity there was in me, so we could feel closer. To bring us closer. So we'd feel utterly married, uniquely exclusive to each other! To give us more excuses to do more things together. Above all, so I could satisfy you the way girls do as well as the ways boys do. That's what you wanted, remember? Last Spring, when you first handed me that first pair of lace-edged panties and I tried them on to see how they'd fit? And then once I had them on, how you grabbed my head and pushed it between both your thighs and pulled me up tight against...!" "You still love those frilly panties, I've noticed. So do I. They make you so feminine I forget altogether that you're still a man in some ways. You even wear them when you're supposed to resemble a man, now and then, I've noticed. But I've said it before, you shouldn't cover that darling tush of yours with panties any more, no matter how delicate and lacy. Your tighter dresses and slacks show distinct panty lines thse days, now that your bottom has filled out. Now that you're practically a 'broad' like the rest of us. My dear, panties on your bottom these days borders on immodesty! It's time you started wearing thongs. "Maybe. But I don't like the way thongs feel when they're tucked deep in my bum and rubbing against my opening." "A girl gets used to things being tucked deep in her bum and rubbing on her openings. Most girls learn to cherish the sensations!" She nodded to emphasize her point, even wriggled a little, and her wicked smile remained on her face as she returned to arching her thin eyebrows with an eyebrow pencil. I didn't like what I knew she was now thinking. "For example, has Patrick called you since you turned him down last weekend?" "Yes, twice. " "Will you be going out with him again? You're free this weekend, aren't you? Tonight and Saturday night at least? I hate to think you'll be all alone the whole time I'm with Fred. I won't be back till Sunday late afternoon the earliest. You have a phone, why don't you just call him and suggest a movie or something." "What ... how...? Not till Sunday? Sharon, this is Friday! A Friday night date with this Driscoll guy is worry enough for me. But you're ... you're not coming back till Sunday AFTERNOON? You'll be with him the whole weekend? What kind of a date is that? Where are you going? What are you planning to do? Sharon, we're married! You shouldn't be ...." "Honey, I told you! Yes, it's a date, but it's also business. Tonight is dinner and dancing in town -- we'll do some preliminary planning, feel each other out, you know. Then tomorrow we're off together to a seminar resort in the mountains north of Holcomb. There's where we'll explore our various options, find out what we can do for each other, feel each other out some more, and he'll fill me in about his firm, its size and its abilities, what it can keep doing regardless of hatever circumstances, how we can each satisfy each other's needs. Then I'll be back Sunday. What's so mysterious about that?" "The nights! Where will you be sleeping? Are you thinking of...?" "It's non-stop negotiating, honey. Tonight in a hotel restaurant maybe some sixty miles away, too far to drive back when we've both had a few drinks. And Holcomb's another forty miles further the following day. So he's engaged a room for me for tonight, he says, and we'll leave from there tomorrow maybe mid-morning." "The same room as his?" She glanced at me with her eyes narrowing. Now she was filling her purse with different selected cosmetics. "Would you feel better if we each had our own room, say, next to each other, or maybe just across the hall? Would you assume anything different would then take place? Certain things are going to happen regardless. We intend to reach a meeting of minds, and that means we'll have to be with each other the whole time, defining desires and seeking ways to satisfy common interests. This weekend will certainly produce the results we're both seeking." She nodded to herself, and then added, suppressing a smile, "I'm sure it will." I could only gulp. "Sharon!" It came out like a high-pitched wail. The throat spray I use to 'gentle' my voice failed altogether! She clicked her purse shut and turned toward me. Absolutely stunning, she looked . Gorgeous! "Honey, I don't want to think of you here alone, feeling lonely. Do call Patrick! Now! Here, use my cell-phone, he's on the speed-dial!" "He's what?" "He's an old ... associate. Since high school. We still do business. That's how I know he wants to go much further with you." "You mean you slept with him once?" "Of course not! He's gay! You didn't figure that out when you were dancing and he was tangling his cock with yours, practically tying them together into love knots? We're good friends, have been for years! How else do you think I got him willing to meet up with us? I know he feels attracted to you -- he told me so! Really, you need to make love at least once with a man who really, passionately adores you! Every woman needs to know what that's like!" She smiled secretly and glanced at herself in the mirror. She looked perfect. I decided to play the man for once. Despite my impeccable make-up -- I'd finally learned to keep it that way always. And despite the fact that I was still wearing the short skirt I'd worn this morning for the Girls' Tennis Match Sharon had arranged for me, so I could practice running and swinging and so on in a manner more appropriate to my new appearance. More like a girl than a boy. And incidentally, practice making girl chatter with Merle and Shana, two of Sharon's associates who think I'm one of them. All so I'll think of myself as one of them instinctively, and that way learn to serve more of Sharon's needs. "Sharon,. I don't like this. He's going to try to seduce you. And you've already told me that he's very effective at it." "Yes I should hope so. We have a lot to get done, and it's easier to persuade a man, I've found, when he's feeling close to you if not already inside you." "What?!" "Honey, my firm needs what he's selling and I'm their ace negotiator, so I'm the one who deals with him. I'm trusted to get prices well below previous bids per-unit, and I know I can. I can be pretty persuasive." She grinned. " I mean, just look at you!" I didn't have to. I mean, I've proved to her that I understand pretty nearly everything a man can give a girl like her, the things a girl can take from a man. Like his manhood. I've given it, and she's taken it! And since getting serious with Sharon, I've had enough experience with my dual identity to know how some men can make a woman feel, and enough experience to want to keep feeling it. I now understood why Sharon didn't want to give up doing different things with different men after she married me. She wanted me to know these things too, to understand them, to feel the same way! So we could have a good marriage, with no surprises or complaints. "Babe," she said suddenly. "If you're so worried about me with Frank, well, why don't you just come along with me and help me distract him? " "Sharon, I don't think that I ...." "Yes, of course you could! I've seen you with cocks in your mouth, being utterly girlish! Why didn't I think of it earlier? I'll seduce and you'll distract him, and together we'll blow him away! You'll wear your lime green sheath, it's perfect for you now that your figure's come in! You'll explain how we're engaged and that'll confuse him. You can show him our matching rings, and if you want you can tell him that means I'm off limits to him. Of course -- he loves seducing married women, forbidden fruit and all that! But it doesn't mean you're off limits, you're not a married woman, after all! Tempt him to seduce you first! While his hands are all over those precious boobs of yours the way Patrick's were, I'll redraw the contract. And when he's altogether distracted because you couldn't wait, you're already on your knees sucking his cock, I'll get him to sign it! Yes, perfect! That's just what you need, what Arlene needs to further her career as a businesswoman. Finally, I'll give him what you don't have, and he'll fill it full of himself and plumb it until morning!" She turned and looked at me with her eyes gleaming. "Yes, why don't you get yourself ready right now? I'll explain how you've been out of town negotiating things, we haven't seen each other for a while, so does he mind you tagging along? This is supposed to be a business date we're on, Arlene, but he did describe it as 'dinner and so on,' those were his exact words. I'm sure you'll want to be there when the 'so on' takes place. And participate. Especially if things get heavy between us. If you can't distract him, you can always rescue my virtue by sacrificing your own." "Sharon!" "Well, honey, you've been eager to find out if those new girls of yours look as gorgeous as they feel. There's always one ultimate test -- exhibit them with a cleft as deep as the Grand Canyon's, and then see if men lose their balance and fall in! I won't mind! I love the girl you've become far more than I loved you when you were a boy. You're the love of my life either way! I mean, I've never forgotten how, way back in college, I walked in on you in my dormitory when you were inspecting my underwear drawer, how I was so overjoyed that right then and there that you cared, I had to have you! And I can't ever forget how well you passed that two-week trial period, how superbly, and then stayed willing to remain that way. And now here we are, married yet still living in the best of both worlds!" "Sharon, I didn't intend to grow these. Not that I mind, I love them, but when you suggested them ...." "You know me, honey. With that flat chest you were never really Arlene, no matter how prettily you made up your face. You were a man in a padded bra. I told you when you passed that two-week test that to give me a full life you'd have to live as both your sexes, but especially the more challenging and less familar one. That I wanted you to be everything to me, both a man and a woman, but not a man when there were others I had to deal with. And you are, darling! You're both, even though in some ways not quite either. I did hesitate about putting you on hormones -- they're good for your skin I knew, and I knew they'd grow lovely breasts, as they have, and they have certain other other advantages. But I do also love the little man you keep between your legs, and there's always been a little too little of him, so I didn't wanted to risk losing him altogether. But I soon realized I could always make up that loss in other ways, and if you loved me enough you wouldn't mind. And you proved you did love me enough when you took that first birth-control pill yourself. The first night of our honeymoon! So now we have our very own "His 'n Her" birth control pills! Mine so I won't get pregnant and start wondering which of my business associates is the father, and yours so whoever our associates, they can be distracted by your figure and devote their time and energy to trying to get your ass pregnant instead of my pussy. When you agreed to let girly hormones complete your womanhood, that's when I was sure the two of us could live happily ever after." I wasn't sure what to say. "I love you, Sharon," was what came out. "Oh, dearest darling. I love you too. Both aspects of you, but especially the girl you are now! And I always will! I'll always remember how you agreed to take on your first real live cock. How I arranged for Patrick's. While I watched and practically applauded? I was so overjoyed to watch! Arlen wasn't too happy, but he wasn't needed and chose to go elsewhere while it was happening. But Arlene loved it, so I did too! Oh, darling, you're so perfect." Patrick's cock in my ass, after I'd sucked him to a first orgasm so there was no hurry, had been unobjectionable. Not a problem. At first it had felt merely pleasant -- warm. filling. But when it started sliding in and out it became something marvelous, magical, and when finally it throbbed hot sperm squirted into my guts? Oh, God!! Before then, Sharon's dildo had seemed satisfactory, but only satisfactory. Adequate, it held no surprises. Patrick's thick dick on the on the other hand, once deep into my other opening, had astonished me. Now, like Sharon, with Sharon, I was wondering what Fred Driscoll's fabled monster cock could offer. Me merely distract him, fluff him, until finally, she beds him down? No way! We both of us talk the talk these days, chat about all sorts of wonderful feminine things. There's no reason why we shouldn't both of us also walk the walk. Each wearing her own shoes! "Sharon," I said carefully. "Suppose you register me in that hotel where you and Fred are staying tonight. And introduce us, and I agree, I'll do whatever seems desirable. Even if you don't want me to go the extra mile for you, or instead of you, I'll be delighted to do so anyhow! You'll see!" (c) 2016 by Vickie Tern