Filling In For Beth Part 4 free porn video

Filling in for Beth - Part 4 "I feel helpless," I said to Tom, waving a hand in the air. Rachael had applied fake 'press on' nails to my fingers earlier in the day. Pink. They claimed to be short but stuck out beyond the fingertips and bumped everything, making the simplest task awkward. How do women wear the long ones? "That's how I feel. Like I've gone out of my way to hobble myself in every way. Why? Why do women do this?" "Because it makes you look good?" He replied, passively watching me struggle to open a box of rice with my new claws without squeezing it against my chest which would only draw his attention. "You seem to be getting around in the shoes better." He had complimented the shoes, or my legs in the shoes depending on how you take it, just a moment ago. That made three compliments since I walked into the room 10 minutes ago: Hair, eyes, shoes. A years worth of complements normally, piled on top of an already confusing mix of feelings and emotions. One thing was clear, he wasn't disgusted by the changes. The shoes were shinny 2 inch pumps, beige to sort of match the dots in my dress. Not really that tough to walk in after a few days practice. They were comfortable enough that, with everything else going on, I could almost forget they were there if I stood still and leaned against the counter top. It's almost as if Tom had shrunk two inches when he stood close. The real difficulty, after the nails, was the breasts. That's what was really drawing the compliments I was convinced. The bra, with help from the tight bodice of the dress, held them in place well enough so that they felt somewhat under control when I moved. There was no chance a form could fall out anyway. There was just no escaping the size and weight right there on my chest and the clothes did nothing to minimize the effect. There was the faintest jiggling when I walked too fast or turned suddenly. And then there were Tom's eyes. He looked directly at them, as if waiting for them to do something. It was so obvious I blushed at the thought of how often I must have done the same thing to some poor girl. Was he trying to make me self-conscious? Maybe that was the point, so that I could understand for Rachael, except that I didn't know what to do about it. He would deny looking if I accused him of course. His mocking denials when a girls in our school confronted him came to my ears. What if he wasn't doing it on purpose? Either way, it added to the awkward, unnatural situation. On the other hand, all the sensations so far had been incredible. Air and the loose material around my legs contrasted with the tight, secure hug up top. I had an strong urge to spin, which would have been a disaster in the shoes. The dress was dark blue with beige dots. I was covered in dots, except for the legs, covered in silky black, and my arms which moved free and bare. The dress was cotton, a department store brand, nothing special expect that it matched the shoes and fit like it was made for me. The top part, the bodice, was tight like I said but the bottom, the skirt, billowed out in folds of loose fabric. So much polka-dot fabric. + It had been a strange two weeks since our last dress-up day. So much had changed. The morning after our last dress-up I waited for an hour after they all left the house to try on the skirt again. 'Why not?' I asked myself for an hour. 'It would be good practice. For Rachael.' The truth is, I wanted that smooth, warm tight feeling again, so for a week I wore hose and the skirt while I cleaned. That's all. It felt right. Naturally that required the whole shaving and moisturizing routine on a regular basis and a careful filing of all 20 nails. Once you shave down there you kind of have to keep going to avoid itchiness and the slightest rough nail will tear a brand new pair of hose. A long bath in the upstairs tub every couple of days became a new luxury, then a necessity. Tom was away the next weekend and there were soccer games for me and the girls, so no real family time. Here was an opportunity to escape the girly transformation and instead I found that I missed it. I missed the one-on- one time with Rachael and the excitement and nervousness of it all. The next week after everyone left for school and work, I needed more. The skirt wasn't enough. I stuffed socks into my biggest, new bra - 36B. It was a cheap, uncomfortable thing, really bought to test what the size was like. The band was scratchy and the stuffing only made the cups lumpy and lopsided. 15 minutes of that and I tore it off and throw it back into the dresser drawer, a failed experiment. That was the same drawer where I kept all the items that didn't work out and would one day go to the girls or to charity, like Beth's breasts and the bras that go with them. The white box taunted me from the back of the drawer. A strip of pretty, purple lace - the top of a bra cup - stood out on the white background. I touched it. The lining of the cup was so soft and the straps were wrapped with the same soft fabric. Bethany Hannover did not wear cheap bras. Although I'd tried them all on once before, this time was different after a few weeks of the beginner bras then that cheap, scratchy thing. Except for the absurdly large cups I could see myself wearing it all day. It would take a lot off socks to fill though. Beth's breasts called to me from the box. The cups pressed them to my chest gently: cold, heavy but soft enough to not pull out hairs or erase my nipples like you might expect. The breasts seemed too big for the bra though, poking up with the wound like appearance. There was no way to cover them without pushing the jiggly globs out the bottom. I swore I'd wear them for an hour and put on the Polo shirt so I wouldn't have to look at the whole mess. It was a little awkward getting it on over the boobs but then, my shirts were rarely tight. What was weird was those big lumps of silicone inside my trusty old shirt with me, shifting around like living things and threatening to fall out when I bent to pick up a load of laundry. The bra would need adjustment naturally, like everything else. After an hour they had warmed up so the cool feeling was gone. When they moved in the shirt it was impossible to tell where I ended and silicone began. Don't get me wrong, they were not very comfortable. My back ached from the weight, my nipples were sweating and an under-wire poked me in the side of an actual tit. And yet, I didn't take them off for another two hours. During that time I probably looked at myself in the mirror a hundred times. There was some groping and squeezing involved that we needn't discuss. I couldn't get enough of how Beth's breasts looked. Even in the ratty old shirt they were beautiful. Or maybe I hadn't seen, much less felt, a great set of boobs in a while. In the skirt and hose and now the large swells up top, I looked good, at least from the neck down. But the woman in the mirror was incomplete. What the look needed next was some sexy shoes. That I could even think that tells you how far gone I was. I needed more. The girl in the mirror needed to 'go all the way.' + It took all dress-up day to get ready. You could even say it took two days since we paid a visit to Beth's closet a few days before to pick out clothes. It would be wonderful if I could tell you that all her shoes fit. It took a half hour to find a pair of non-sneaker shoes that could hold my foot and that I could stand up in, the beige pumps. That led to the polka- dot dress with the beige dots, which had a pale green twin for Rachael. Perfect. She insisted on taking the heels that went with it even though she had to shuffle her feet to keep them on. All night the dress hung on my closet door with the shoes underneath, right beside the dresser where I keep bras and such. They all called out, 'put me on.' Clothes had suddenly decide to start calling to me. Sleep came slowly. I dreamed Beth was there in the dress, watching me from the closet door. In my dream she was smiling. It takes an hour for a proper bath, at least. If you could see the banks of bottles, tubes and jars that populate the girls bathroom now you'd understand. Shaving never ends. Armpits, a place I've largely ignore for decades, were suddenly important. That kind of thing. I got first shot in the morning after Tom left with Suzy for some work related thing. Probably running in fear from imagined perfume and frills. While Rachael bathed I did chores in my usual uniform, yoga pants, a football jersey and hair held back by a scarf. Then Rachael cut my bangs again. They had grown until they poked me in the eyes constantly, hence the scarf. It was a relief to be able to blink again without something touching my eyelashes. She brushed out my hair, long and straight, then I did her hair, this time braids that wound around and were pinned on top her head with enough pins to survive an explosion. Then we retired back to the bathroom to apply makeup. We stood side by side at the twin vanities applying foundation, then eyeliner and mascara and some color around the eyes, light blue for me and pale green for her. We'd both become addicted to lip-gloss. I grabbed a subdued red tube and pulled out the wand. She grabbed 'Pink Candy' and we both leaned in close and touched the wands to our lips, smearing the shiny stuff around with open mouths in a way that I knew Tom would find too seductive for his little girl. I nervously stumbled through an explanation how to avoid arousing boys or pissing off dads that made her eyes glaze over. "You look really pretty, Morgan," she said when I finished the monologue. She studied me seriously in the mirror. We'd been complimenting and encouraging each other all day but there was something new in her voice that made me blush under the makeup. "Well, thank you, Rachael. You get more beautiful every time we do this." I replied. "You're going to be a beautiful woman soon." So are you," she said with a little laugh, making me blush again. "You're going to look great in that dress with the shoes and mom's, you know." "You mean 'breasts'," I said seriously. It wasn't easy to say. "We have to be able to call them by their names. At least between us, OK?" "Breasts. Breasts. Breasts," she chanted playfully, shaking her chest at the mirror. Little bumps and the outline of a junior bra showed under her worn rainbow T-shirt. Then she hugged me quickly. Little did either of us know what was in store for us in that area. The last step was the nails. Press-on nails are cheap, quick and easy it turns out but the selection of colors is poor at our local super market. Pink or black. I chose pink for both of us. In between bouts of grooming we worked on dinner and straightened up the living room. Tom and Suzy returned and promptly disappeared. The lawnmower started. Susan locked herself in the bathroom when she may or may not have bathed. I suspect she spent most of her time playing a game since she took her computer with her. All the activity kept the nervousness away for a while. When I finally released Rachael to finish dressing and stepped into my own room it all rushed back. There was Beth's dress, waiting with her shoes. Beth's breasts waited patiently beside her lingerie. At the time it didn't seem possible for me to own 'lingerie', I owned underwear, but that line was beginning to blur. Panties and hose like normal then Beth's pretty purple bra (Purple with blue? Nobody is going to see my bra) and the forms. They were getting easier to settle in place. When I reached for the dress I could eel the weight. My hand shook noticeably, like something was about to happen, something wonderful. The zipper was difficult going down. I stepped in and pulled it up my body and slipped my arms in the holes. It's like putting a shirt on backwards. Then the zipper wouldn't go up. I'm pretty flexible but no matter how I bent or twisted it was impossible to get the thing beyond a certain point. I took off the dress and worked the zipper. Very stiff in places but it worked. On again, feeling around behind blindly, with the nails, it couldn't be done. What does a woman do when she can't put on her own damned clothes? Is this normal or was I just being an idiot? I draped a big football jersey over everything, grabbed the dress and headed upstairs in my stocking feet. Tom was in the living room, done with the yard, just coming out of the kitchen with his wet shirt clutched in one fist. He has what they call a 'farmer tan,' deep brown arms and neck with pale white underneath his shirt. But there's no denying his fitness. There were lines and ridges everywhere, glistening with sweat. It made me feel soft and fat. All that took only a moment, then I realized he was staring back at me and I ran for the stairs clutching the dress in front. Who knows what he saw. When I knocked Rachael cracked the door quickly, peered out then throw the door wide and waved for me to enter. "Thank god you're here. I need help with my dress." "So do I," I said, sliding inside and closing the door. Something about the situation made us whisper. She clutched her dress in front where it hung like green drapes. When she turned around I could see she was having the same problem as me, the zipper. It went up easily enough when you can see what you're doing then I took a moment to pin the back to take up some of the slack in the waist. When I tugged at the material and worked the pins there was no avoiding bumping my own front a little. Did she notice? She didn't say anything but I took a step back anyway. When she was done I maneuvered in front of the mirror and indicated that she should turn around. She harrumphed, glared just like her dad then finally turned slowly. In a second I shucked off the jersey, stepped into the dress and pulled it up over my chest. "Okay, zip me up," I said, watching myself in the mirror. My legs looked great. She tugged at the back of the dress. I couldn't see what she was doing but I felt her cold fingers on my back. She pulled my bra strap suddenly, hard. My first instinct was to step away, which is the wrong thing to do. When she let go there was a loud crack and my back stung sharply. "Rachael!" I cried, turning to look at her in horror. She was laughing hysterically. "Don't ever do that again!" "You have to learn about bra straps!" she said between snorts. She dodged away when I grabbed at her with one hand, clutching the dress to my breasts so it didn't fall. Chasing her would be pointless. "Turn around. I promise I won't do that anymore," she finally said when we stopped laughing. The zipper slid up to my waist and stuck. She adjusted the back, which made me flinch and her giggle. She pulled it tight and zipped again. It was tight in the waist. She pushed my hair aside, pulled one more time and the dress sealed around me like nothing I'd ever worn. Neck to waist was secure. Sure, the boobs stuck out but the dress was obviously cut for that. They looked even bigger than before but they were covered and secure. I turned side to side to be sure. In profile I had a very nice rack. "Dad's going to love you in this," Rachael said softly beside me. "What do you mean? Why would you say that?" I asked quickly, more nervous than ever. She ignored that and stared at my butt. "You need a slip," she said. "And a belt." My earlier excitement began to wane into nervousness. At the time I wasn't even sure what a 'slip' looked like and a belt was a wide strap of leather a man users to keep his pants up. What would a belt even hold up? "Maybe this is enough for today," I replied but she was gone out the door, no doubt to her mom's closet. Here was the first opportunity to really check myself out in the mirror. I twisted, copped a quick feel then smoothed the fabric down my hips. The feel in my legs and hips was totally different from the other skirt, like there was nothing below the waist. Even knowing full well what was underneath and the tricks used to hide it, there was still a sexual thrill when I lifted the hem. How often do you get to look up a woman's skirts? The edge of white panties showed under the dark panty of the hose. There was a bump in the hall. Rachael found me brushing my hair back nonchalantly, still twisting in place for the fun of it. "Put these on," she said, holding out what looked like a strip of white silk and a thin band of leather. A tiny belt. It even had a tiny buckle. Her belt was already on, a thin line of dark green around her tiny middle. A demarcation between the flared skirts and the loose folds up top that accentuated the hour-glass effect. The tricks women use, right? While I put those on she rummaged in her dresser. The slip was cool and slick like the lining of the skirt I loved so much. The belt made my waist smaller and boobs look even bigger. I tried not to think of what Tom might like or dislike. Rachael had one last thing to put on me before she would let me leave to finish dinner, a tiny gold locket on a chain so thin it was difficult to see at first. The heart perched lightly on the taut material, a sparkle of gold among the dots that drew the eye to my boobs. How could something so tiny make me feel so exposed? ++ Dinner came out fine. Tom was full of compliments as mentioned. As long as we avoided excess movement, Rachael and I could even wear shoes. After dinner we all retired to our stations to watch an animated movie the girls were begging to see, Tom and Suzy in the easy chair, Rachael and I sunk into the sofa with our skirts in a pile around our legs. For all that material, you'd be surprised at how little of a girl's legs are covered underneath when she sits down. Rachael had to show me how to smooth it under the butt as you sit. Otherwise, you're basically sitting on the seat in your panties. Half way through the movie Susan slid off her dad's lap and shuffled sleepily over to the sofa. She crawled close then flopped down beside me in a puff of hair. She snuggled close and rested her head on my chest. What should I do? Hair was everywhere and she was hugging me like a pillow! I looked at Tom and shrugged, 'Not my idea.' He chewed the corner of his mouth for a moment then reached for a magazine on the coffee table and ignore us. I was afraid to move other than to mash the loose hair down enough to see the TV. Suzy was already asleep with my fake bosom as a pillow. After the movie, Tom carried her upstairs while I helped a sleepwalking Rachael with her dress. It wasn't until I reached my own room that I noticed the wet spot low on my left boob where I couldn't see it without a mirror. Drool. There was drool on my boob. Not nearly as exciting as it sounds but it was surprisingly satisfying for me. Then I tried to get out of the dress. Tom was the only one awake to help. It took forever to get that zipper down, inch by arm wrenching inch. ++ So that was dress up night. Rachael had fun, Tom and Susan didn't seem to mind a nice dinner and I was lost in limbo, weightless and without direction other than a strong urge to somehow turn into Bethany Hannover. That's what it seemed like anyway. Of course all the attention was focused on Rachael but so much spilled over onto me that it was difficult to think sometimes. Everyone would turn to me suddenly to fix a problem or answer a question: What's in the stew? Where's my clean socks? There's been a spill! After years of doctors, nurses and social workers talking at me or about me as if I weren't there, it was like I was becoming visibly and useful for the first time. Heady stuff. The clothes (and Beth's breasts) became an obsession. Rachael's new interest fuel the fire of course and also gave me an excuse for almost any kind of girly adventure. I really expected Tom to say something to stop it all or to at least slow me down. I half hoped he would lose his temper and call the whole thing off once he got a look at me in his wife's clothes and stuff. He occasionally commented negatively on Rachael attire: "Too short. Too small. Too tight." Or, in the case of makeup, "too much, too red," or just "take that off!" Perhaps his comments were for me as well but I was too lost to notice. We began to raid Beth's closet regularly, then her dresser. The first time I opened her bra drawer, the one Tom had had to search for a short while back, it was with reverence. Within a couple of weeks I had favorites that lived in my room and Beth's bra drawer was the backup where I put the bras that didn't work out. I became comfortable organizing Beth's closet. Things changed on our fifth dress-up night. It was started out like a normal evening, dinner, movie, all that. Tom got the girls ready for bed while I cleaned up the kitchen, still dressed in a tight pencil dress and slippers. The heels, cute three inch pumps with an ankle strap, were barely wearable for short periods. Suzy insisted I tuck her in like a "pretty lady" that night so I put them on for that before tucking in Rachael and taking care of some cleaning in the bath. The shoes eventually drove me to Tom's room to begin undressing. I assumed he was downstairs like normal, watching TV or something, so walked right in. He wasn't startled. He was standing at the vanity, inspecting something which he set down quickly. Beth's picture. I really wanted to get the shoes off but that involved sitting down to unbuckle the ankle strap and he was in the way of the seat. While I calculated the options, stay or leave, he moved straight toward me. "Let me help you with your dress." He said, maneuvering behind me and brushing my hair aside. "Umm, uh, I just need to get these shoes off," I said, attempting to step away. One hand held my shoulder, firm and uncompromising, the other slide the zipper down expertly, the way he'd probably unzipped this dress many times before. He didn't stop me from pulling away then, clutching the dress in front so it would stay up. He was kicking off his shoes, one in each direction, looking at me as if nothing weird was going on. I let the dress fall and stepped out, glad for the full slip underneath. "I got those ultra lite beers you like," he said out of nowhere. "Go get us a couple of beers. I'll take an IPA." "Let me take these off," I replied, moving to sit down, irritated by what sounded like an order. "Don't take them off yet," He said quickly. Then, more slowly, "I want to hear them clicking in the kitchen one more time tonight. Ya know?" To be honest, I'd enjoyed the sound myself. It makes me think of beautiful women. So I dashed out of the room half dressed to get us some beers. The click-clack sounded different in the dark, empty kitchen because Tom was upstairs listening. I was conscious of every step, every sound: The fridge door opening and closing, the bottle caps hitting the marble counter-top then every step until the safety of the carpeted stairs. One strong beer can almost easily knock me out, so, irritated to be following his orders, I took a 'lite' beer for myself and something more substantial for Tom and carried them back to his room, eager to finally sit down at least. He was laying on the bed, shoes and socks off, propped on the pillows. He barely moved when I handed the bottle over. "Shut the door," he said without expression. I glared at him uselessly then just went and closed it and hurried to the vanity stool at last. It felt wonderful to unstrap the first shoe and message the poor foot in it's stocking. Too good to bother arguing with Tom. Sometimes I couldn't keep my mouth shut. "What's with all the orders, dude?" I asked lightly, keeping my voice deep to suggest it was just us two guys. He didn't like that, either the question or the voice, hard to tell. His nose wrinkled and he pursed his lips the way he does when he's frustrated or when he's disturbed in the middle of something. "That's the way Beth and I like it. In here. In this room." he said flatly, waving one hand as if that explained it all. I looked at the picture of Beth he'd been holding before. A chest and head shot of her in a tight sundress. Her hair was a golden halo falling around her bare brown shoulders, full of sunlight. Suzy's hair actually. She looked like an angel, free and innocent, except with a body that could still stir even me. I'd learned enough to know Bethany didn't take shit from anybody, even Tom. There was metal under the soft curves. She stood up to the local church ladies, her parents, the school, plus she run a small business and took care of these three. I was convinced he was pulling my leg. It was difficult to imagine Beth taking orders. "Yeah, OK," I said, skeptically, slipping off the second shoe and placing it neatly beside it's mate, pointedly the opposite of Tom's shoe flipping antics. He didn't notice. That foot felt good too. I might have even groaned. Sitting at the dressing table, my thighs touching lightly, the slip sliding smoothly on the stool when I turned and my breasts warm and fragrant right under my nose, I just felt good all over. "It's true," he said, matter-of-factly. "Out there in the world, Beth is tough as nails. Everybody knows that about her. Tougher than anybody I've ever known, that's for sure. So in here, in this room, she doesn't have to be all that. There are no questions or arguments in here. It was her idea and that's the way we like it now." So which is creepier? That he was talking about his wife as if she were still alive or that he was suggesting that they were into some kind of kinky bedroom arrangement? And who doesn't get to ask questions, him or her? He answered that one soon enough. I hardly noticed Tom get up, just enough that I wasn't totally startled when he appeared in the mirror, blotting out the overhead light. One hand brushed my hair lightly, the way he'd done when he unzipped the dress before but then the fingers threaded into my scalp and suddenly he was gripping my hair tightly. It hurt! I thought he'd only gotten tangled but the grip tightened purposefully. "Tom! Ouch!" I tried to turn but he was pushing my head forward and it hurt to move. We'd wrestled enough as kids for me to knew what to do. He's always been stronger than me of course and I hadn't gotten any strong in the intervening years. I relaxed my shoulders, relenting, and the pain wasn't so bad - a few pulled hairs I realized, that's all, no need to panic. I waited. His body was so close the heat warmed my nearly naked back. His forearm rested on one shoulder, a warm boulder. "Like I said, Beth enjoys leaving all that at the bedroom door. All the worries and all the questions. I take care of that for her when we're in here. Understand?" His tone wasn't mean at all, more like he was reliving a fond memory for a child, but his grip didn't ease and his words made no sense. Was I crazy? "Uh hu", I mumbled anyway. "And she understands that it's pointless to have rules unless they're enforced, right?" No need to answer that one. His fist was already easing, fingers became suddenly pliant and his palm almost cradled my head. I paused for a few heartbeats before looking up. He was staring through the mirror at something far, far away while his hand patted my hair down softly in a clumsy attempt to repair the damage he'd just done. Then he came awake the way Tom does, shaking his head and blinking a few times rapidly. The girls and I contend there are actual cobwebs inside his brain that have to be constantly cleared away. In two strides he was airborne, twisting in mid flight to land on his back with a thump of the mattress, legs crossed at the ankle and beer magically upright on his stomach. Back where he started. I took a sip of the ultra lite beer and watched him work the clicker. Taking time to digest what just happened. Plus, Tom stopped being a dick and turned the charm back on, like flipping a switch. He started telling some story about the football guys that really was hilarious, the beer tasted surprising good for a girly beer and I just kind of didn't get up and storm out like I should have. Before he could ask for another beer I did get myself together enough to put away the dress and shoes, and Tom's shoes as well since they were driving me crazy, padding around the carpet in my stockings and slip. He didn't say a word when I gathered my things, including the half finished brew, and exited with a quick "Good night." + So Tom and Beth had this weird 'thing' apparently. I wasn't sure what to call it. It's not like I was afraid of Tom, more like it seemed wrong to become involved their ritual or habit, whatever you call it. When he was in his room, Beth was there too, sort of. So I avoided his room for a while unless I was sure he was out of the house. But dress-up night was a busy time. Rachael and I were in and out of Beth's things more and more and it was so much easier to do it there, in her closet or at her dressing table. Of course I couldn't explain to Rachael why I hesitated before entering or why I begged off entering when Tom was there. Eventually I got curious though. Had I imagined the whole thing? It wasn't all that weird really when you think about it. He helps Beth with her dress and she waits on him, much like lot of wives probably. No big deal, right? So one night I boldly stepped into his room again when the girls were asleep and I knew he was in there. Well, maybe 'boldly' is the wrong word. I stood outside his door for long minutes beforehand, adjusting my clothes in anticipation, nervous, maybe excited but not afraid. I had to find out if I was crazy at least. No, I wasn't crazy. In seconds he was off the bed and behind me, unzipping my gray skirt then pulling at my loose silk blouse. Beth's skirt and blouse I should say. This time I was more ready and just waited to see what he would do, standing still and lifting my arms at the right time. There was an excitement in his movements that thrilled me. Then it was over. He handed me the blouse, the skirt lay in a puddle around my feet and he was already flopping back on the bed. The room was cluttered with debris of various kinds: Tom's dirty clothes of course and Rachael's mess in the closet and around the dressing table. And my skirt. It gave me something to do. There was an order for beer and some funny stories from Tom's work while I fussed about the room and enjoyed the pleasure of taking off my makeup in Beth's seat. Everything is so much easier with the right tools all in one place. It was actually kind of nice to just sit and listen to an adult talk. So, every dress-up night, unless I got there first which was rare, the instant I entered the room he had my dress or skirt and top off. That was usually all. I rarely made it all the way across the room fully clothed anyway. "Here, let me help you with that," was his normal greeting. So I learned to stop when he approached so he could unbutton, unzip or simply shuck the whole thing off my body while I attempted to hold some part of my underwear and dignity in place. He wasn't mean about it, it was more like he thought the dress might suddenly catch fire and he was saving me. After that I'd usually go get us a couple of beers and we were buddies again except that I got to enjoy dress-up day a little longer, minus the dress which usually wasn't all that comfortable anyway. Sometimes I fetched us another round or even a third in heels and underwear before finally slipping off my shoes for the night and ducking out. He was usually working on papers or on his computer with the TV on some kind of sports. I occupied myself straightening up the weeks damage to the room then at the vanity while we chatted about his work. There's was plenty to experiment with at Beth dressing table. Honestly, that's about as weird as it got for a while, except for the foul language. Remember, I grew up with Tom. I learned to curse from him. He works with young men all day, so it was no surprise that he peppered his speech a bit when we were alone, after the girls were asleep and all. At first I rationalized that he was crude and graphic in an attempt to make me feel more manly with locker room talk. That's what it was - The way a crude man might talk about pussy in a locker room. Women were all 'whores' and 'sluts'. "There's some sweet new pussy on campus this year. You should have seen this bitch today, trying out for the cheer squad. Stupid as a bag of hammers but her tits made up for it. The whole team was hard watching her bounce around." And, "That slut I went out with last week wants a rematch. Should I oblige her?" The big surprise was when I realized that he wasn't exactly talking to me, his old buddy. This was some kind continuation of the ritual with Beth. Could it be that he really spoke to his angelic wife this way? No questions, no arguments, even when he swore like a drunk sailor or talked about another woman's pussy? Hard to believe but then, I didn't say anything to stop him either. Mostly he talked about himself, work or the team, which are all the same thing really. I didn't know much about football then but some of his stories were funny anyway. It didn't take long to figure out he didn't want to hear my problems while we were inside the bedroom either and, unless they woke up, the girls were an off-limit topic. Issues with the house, problems I'd had that day and pretty much anything from the recent past was off limits in Tom and Beth's room. Mostly he ignored any topics he didn't like. If I persisted he let me know. "That's enough prattle," he would say. 'Prattle?' Yes, he used words like that. At first I winced, because I'm not a child, but you get used to it quickly. Sometimes, it was even possible to stop worrying about the girls for a while, once I learned how pointless it was to mention the topic. File it away for the morning when he has to come to me in the kitchen. That's where the food is.