No More Doctor Nice Guy Part 8 free porn video

No more Doctor nice Guy Part 8 To aid in my subtle plan to be the cure to all Kevin's ills the first step was indeed the modification of my own behavior. It was most definitely time to do as Kevin had aggressively suggested and grow up. It was past due for me to be a big girl about things in so many ways. For starters, my aversion to oral sex seemed a bit silly considering Kevin had been fucking me all week. In the generation before mine it was always sex first. Oral sex was seen as something more intimate even, and that came after. The generation after mine, the teens of today, (although given I was only early 30s maybe I meant half generation) did things differently. Young teen girls were sucking off their boyfriends with abandon as the first step in their sexual awakening; flipping things right around. Whether this worked for them I could not say. I guess they could still claim to be virgins on technical grounds, but I had the distinct impression this arbitrary title was of no importance to the modern day youth. I suppose I must have in part been instilled with that older traditional mindset; sex first; but it was also the fundamental difference in the mechanics of the two acts. My rationale for my avoidant behavior was that thus far sex had been a fairly passive undertaking for me. Kevin's argument had much merit. I just lay there mostly. What he had required of me, or insisted of me, at the dinner table, was to be an active participant. I had to arouse him with my hands and work his pole to the point of orgasm with my lips and tongue. So it was the next step down the slippery slope in my journey to a hetero female sexuality. And it seemed like an extremely big step at that. I needed to be ready and willing next time though. He would tire quickly of my resistance. And if I could get good at that, and better at traditional sex, maybe he'll leave my bunghole alone. Perhaps I should practice on bananas. ****** The next week meanwhile continued uneventfully. After every late shift Kristi and I would walk together in the dark to whoever's car was closest, and then drive to the others. I walked with my keys between my fingers, as someone had instructed me to. I didn't imagine they would be much of an effective weapon, but it gave me some form of faux reassurance. Kristi seemed surprised by my edginess. I guess if you've been a woman all your life you come to terms a little better with the risk. For me my weakness and vulnerability was all so new found, and maybe that made me hypersensitive to it. As a male I was bigger and stronger without making any effort to be. Testosterone just made me that way. So it was for all of them I guess. Some of them worked on themselves to be stronger, but most just accepted their greater physical power over women as a convenient birthright. They took it for granted just as I had. I didn't like living with the knowledge that almost any man could overpower me now, should he choose to. It was a dormant fear, but it was there all the same. This indolent concern aside, in my life in general, compared to when I first transformed, things were slowly getting better. Kevin's anger at me seemed to have burnt itself out, or at least dissipated somewhat. Seemingly for good this time. No more rage relapses, at least so far. I guess, in my defense, whilst they say the road to hell is paved with good intentions, having your heart in the right place can sometimes provide a satisfactory detour. I'd like to have thought my naivety and cheery innocence had earned me the benefit of the doubt. We were being collegial, friendly even. I still did the bulk of the cooking and cleaning but that was probably more to do with opportunity rather than obligation. If I was on early shift I'd be home a couple of hours earlier than him; and it's not like I had anything else to do. If I did the late shift I'd need to take dinner with me, so it was nothing extra to leave half in the fridge for Kevin also, for when he got home. Sex was the same. I'd just brace myself, lie back and take my medicine. Depending on how tired I was I'd give varying degrees of effort to create the illusion of enthusiasm. I had every intent to improve with each session, as I was aware I needed to, like I had mused. I'm just not sure I knew how. At least it didn't hurt any more. We were building on a routine newly established. I did not want to contemplate that this was now to be my forever. One day at a time was the goal at the moment. What made things all the more tolerable though, even if it caused me a little guilt to admit it, was my employment. I loved my job, and I particularly loved working with Kristi. It was only ten days since the transformation, but as it was ten days straight of working it seemed infinitely longer, and I had changed so much in that time too. It will still hard to quantify, as much as I had already pondered and alluded to it, how much of that change had been forced, and how it could accurately be measured. I had an inkling that as things changed in concert I may not have appreciated the magnitude. Maybe an observer, such as Kevin, would have better perspective on my changes. Still there was an element of frustration from me over my inability to identify the changes or to alter my own fate. I had always followed this mantra in my old life. There were only two things I had absolute power over. I can control my own actions, and my attitude. Now I no longer felt I had sole control over my attitude, and that influenced my actions accordingly. I wasn't enslaved by desire like Kevin was, but I was being manipulated by unseen forces nonetheless. Sometimes it felt inherently obvious, other times more clandestinely subtle. After Kristi and I did our early shift on Friday I went home and attempted to doll myself up. It was only dinner with 'friends'; I was well aware; but it seemed like a good opportunity to practice. I watched some YouTube tutorials, and required a few do overs but I got there. Even venturing onto areas yet unattempted. I was reminded once again of Alex Turner from years past. During his intern year they were taught how to remove metal from eyes. My intern hospital was near an industrial area. It was surprising how cavalier people were with eye protection. Especially when grinding. I psyched myself up. 'Geez Alex. If you can scrape metal and rust off someone's cornea then surely you can run a bit of black pencil lead along the edge of your conjunctiva without tears and ending up all bloodshot.' With this in mind it wasn't long before I was eye lining like a pro, even attempting a bit of a wing, before deciding it was not casual dinner appropriate. I considered it was a good chance to explore my wardrobe as well. Thus far I'd worn nothing but scrubs, or when at home, trackies (sweatpants), and underneath always sensible plain cotton underwear; apart from my initial, possibly partly successful, attempts to seduce my husband. Once again rummaging through my 'good' underwear drawer I had a tendency to overanalyze. Why do I have a red set? When would that even be necessary? Apart from if you were wearing a red dress I suppose. No, red lingerie spelled seduction to me, which made me wonder further about my future as Alex Moore. Past girlfriends had told me that sometimes they wore nice lingerie not for me, but to make themselves feel better. A bit of a confidence boost. I figured it couldn't hurt to try it. I didn't feel particularly confident at any time. Although I was maybe a little more comfortable in my work environment, saying I was confident remained a stretch. Truth be told I was a little nervous about being out in company with Kevin, and socializing in general with my new identity, so maybe I could use all the help I could get. I wasn't entirely sure how having a red lacey tanga disappearing up my clacker would imbue me with boldness but I was willing to give it a shake. (Okay, I'd really better translate that from 'The Strine' for all you non antipodeans otherwise you may have a conniption fit. It means roughly 'Having a G-string stuck in my butt crack did not make sense in terms of improving self esteem but I was going to try it anyway.' Who says we speak the same language hey?) I agonized about what to wear over my underwear. I didn't want to be too casual, it seemed disrespectful, but I didn't want to overdo it. I tried on several different combinations before I became annoyed at myself for turning into a stereotype. The absolute last thing I needed was for Kevin to come home whilst I was still vacillating over outfit choice, so I finally locked in a nice skirt and top combo. Knee length seemed the perfect relaxed dinner dress code. The more logical, Alex Turner choice would have been to go with pants, because that's what he was used to, but it felt so trite to pander to that diminishing echo. I needed to get used to this attire, and this was as good an opportunity as any. I was ready by the time I heard Kevin coming in the house. Well I didn't specifically feel ready; but I looked it. The first thing I said after greeting him came so automatically I couldn't help but wonder if it was preprogrammed and involuntary. "How do I look?" Wrong on so many levels! I was seeking his approval. Perhaps even his validation of me as a woman. "Wow! You look nice. Your makeup looks great." It was genuine; and clearly the answer I was seeking, whether I knew it or not. "Better than I would have done... before. You certainly don't need my help. Not that I could. I don't remember any of that stuff any more." "Really?" I ask alarmed. He hadn't mentioned that when I was pouting and ranting about him not helping me adapt or adjust. "Yep. It was one of the things that precipitated my.... You know..." He pauses before regrouping and spitting it out. "My suicide attempt. I realized after 6 or so months of this I had absolutely no recollection of what it ever felt like to be a woman. Taking those oral contraceptive tablets was a futile attempt to recall that sensation." He had said that to me, that night in the hospital, how he had forgotten. I hadn't thought about it since. I had no doubt now, that I too would very soon find the concept of ever being a man completely foreign. It made me shudder. Standing before my husband as I now was, seeking his admiration, made me wonder if that time had come already. "I ironed you some clothes and laid them out on the bed for you." I volunteer to redirect my thoughts. "I hope you ironed my underwear and socks the way I like them. Otherwise you will be punished," he notes sternly. Underwear and socks? Is he serious? What sort of freak irons that? But he's looking at me so deadpan, and I was well aware of his volatility. "I'm sorry," I squeak. "I didn't...." He laughs at me. "God Alex. Do you really think you're Julia Roberts?" "I don't understand." I'm uncertain how to react. "You know. 'Sleeping with the enemy.'" "I....I really don't know what you're talking about." I'm getting more and more anxious. "Oh right! I forget you haven't always been a woman. It's an old movie. From when she was young and hot. She plays a wife in an abusive relationship with an OCD husband who beats her. You should have seen your face when you thought I expected you to iron my underwear." He laughs again. "That's not funny. And really dark Kevin! Especially with..." I trail off. Flustered and annoyed. "With my past?" he finishes for me. "Making light of it helps." "I thought we weren't going to talk about that any more?" "You're not. I can." "Oh." I'll ignore the hypocritc double standard for now. "But are you really so insecure that you wouldn't tell me to fuck off when I asked you to iron my underwear?" It was a fair question. And the answer was an unequivocal yes. But how stupid would I be to actually confirm that I was this uncertain of my footing? "Well I didn't know. I thought it might be a weird thing you have." "You need to chill out Alex. And soon. I'll drive tonight. She's your friend anyway. So have a few drinks, and maybe you won't be so uptight for a change." There is a hint of impatience. "Okay." I was in agreeance. Perhaps that's exactly what I did need. ***** It went well, dinner at Kristi's. Kevin and Marty got along as well as men meeting each other do. Drinking beer and watching Friday night footy on the couch, making occasional sport related comment; whilst Kristi and I pottered in the kitchen drinking New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc, and nattering away comfortably. I never usually drank white; but then I'd never really been big on beer either. I had a strong suspicion my new form wouldn't take to Jameson's like I had previously; and thought it prudent I not put that to the test. Still, I liked the way the sav tasted, without feeling the need to hypothesize on that, and between the two of us we got well into a second bottle of wine. Even in spite of the meal I was feeling decidedly heady when it was time to go home. Kevin had drank moderately enough, and absorbed things so much better, so he was alright to drive. As we headed home I didn't really feel the tiredness I should have after 10 days of straight working, and I knew I had to honor my daily marital obligations yet still, which would probably happen shortly after getting in the door, so I rambled incessantly at my husband as he drove, about the highlights of my week. Stopped at some traffic lights I felt a buzzy impulsivity. "I forgot to tell you. I have a surprise for you tonight," I begin. "What's that?" He looks at me with some interest. "This!" I say, and lift my top up over my face to reveal my red bra. "I got my fancy underthings on." Kevin starts laughing with spirit and I pull my top back down. "What?" I half grin. "My wife just flashed me at the traffic lights!" "You don't approve?" "I didn't say that." "Well. Okay then!" I continue suggestively. "And I know this car's an auto, but how about I help you with the gearstick." I reach for his trousers. "Alex!" He tries to be stern but he's still laughing. "You're being a clich?. And you clearly haven't seen enough movies to know that giving the driver a blowjob never ends well." "But I'm trying to be less uptight. Like you wanted. And I've been practicing on all the cucumbers." I'm joking but he needn't know that. "Well remind me not to have a salad!" "No. I didn't mean there. I meant with my mouth." "Even so, it sounds unsanitary." "You won't feel that way when I show you what I've learnt." "Save it till we get home tiger!" he fends me off. I sit back in the front passenger seat pouting and biting my lip. But I do wait. In our driveway I alight the car and sashay to the front door. I unlock it and he follows me in. I turn to face him but he's already pouncing. I quickly grapple him back and return his kisses with frantic craze. We hastily attack each others clothes as we struggle entwined towards the bedroom. Eventually we collapse in a partly orchestrated tumble onto the bed. My red bra and panties not staying on particularly long enough for any real aesthetic effect. "I'm not sure what's got into you tonight, but I like it," he pants. I'm not sure what's got into me tonight either. But I know what's about to get into me, and that I want it. Everything feels so different tonight. Moisture flows from me more freely than ever before, I can feel it accumulate. The radiant heat from his engorged member feels warm and comfortable inside me. Back and forth it goes in waves of pleasurable compression. I have learnt some control over the muscles I have to milk his manhood more effectively. 10 days ago I didn't even get to look at the 'quick start guide' but now it finally feels like I've had time to sit down and flick through the owners manual. Even with my better pelvic muscle control and plentiful secretions he seems to be lasting longer tonight too. I wonder if it's the beer he has on board. I had experienced, albeit rarely, the old adage myself, alcohol enhancing the desire, but removing the means. It seems male specific. Nonetheless, he'd had no trouble getting hard, and similarly no concern staying that way. I liked that things were taking a bit longer tonight than they had previously. There was a lot about tonight actually that was better than ever before. His body on mine feels firm and reassuring, and tastes delicious. Not just that but his hands on me elicited new unknown tactile sensation that I had never imagined possible. Previously when he had manhandled my breasts as he fucked me it was like he was grappling onto something to stop himself from falling, I suppose they were outcrops that one could use to brace yourself on. It seems that's how he regarded them. But all it had done is hurt. Sometimes a helluva lot. He squeezed them so hard it reminded me of med school when we snotty nosed amateurs had been shown how to check for lumps. All I can say is thank god women are taught how to self examine because the 50% of the medical workforce that didn't have their own had absolutely no fucking idea what they were doing, and specifically how not to inflict pain. I hadn't much cause to medically examine breasts in the field of psychiatry. I mean I still found the odd occasion, but I had to be careful. I was reminded of a guy I went through med school with. He seemed normal enough. He chose emergency as his specialty; which I suppose was a hint ironic, given my current field of employ. But he got fired from the hospital and suspended by the medical board for doing a breast exam on a girl with a sprained ankle. At the time I considered that, his dismissal, an overreaction but it wasn't a first offence, and thinking about how I would feel, as I was now, it was clearly a hideous abuse of a power dynamic. And frankly sexual assault. I can't believe I was ever such a dick to think it wasn't a big deal. I couldn't digress for long given how his caressing hands felt on my nipples. I had read somewhere how nipple stimulation alone, and even breast feeding, could trigger an orgasm. I could feel exactly how that could be true. I did in fact feel under attack on many fronts truth be told. As nice as his hands on my breasts were, and his mouth on my body, it was down where the money was which was demanding the most attention from me. I felt a mounting pressure rising from deep within me that continued to grow exponentially. An inexplicable pleasure emitting from somewhere near my vagina and then an explosion of euphoria that sweeps over me again and again that makes me lose all ability to breathe, and all I can do is expel loud moans. Kevin seems to be approaching a similar state, I feel his penis twitching and bucking inside of me and his loud grunts when it suddenly seems to explode, release its contents into a condom. I could stay in that sensation forever were I able, and I know what it was. Unlike any I had before, it was an orgasm. And it was incredible. It seemed I did indeed have a working clitoris, and my husband had finally found the on switch. In the moments that followed though, as the serene bliss gradually dissipated, it was replaced with a very different emotion. A profound sense of guilt. I'm not sure if I said it aloud or just voiced it internally. But my first ordered thought post orgasmic fog was. "Oh Fuck! It's finally actually happened. I've turned into a slut!" *** The degree of angst I expected to associate with the discovery of this new found, but expected facet of my identity appeared to be not sufficient to stop me from sleeping as I awoke the next morning with a sore head and large serving of self loathing. I was still naked and partially entangled with Kevin in a similar au naturel state. He stirred when I did, I guess it was to be expected when I had to shove him off me. "'Morning," he bellowed. Or at least so it seemed. "Don't!" I snarked. "What's up with you?" he asked in sleepy tone. "I thought that would be obvious," I continued to hiss. "It seemed you were wrong. Mr Black did intend for me to turn into your fuck whore after all." Kevin laughed. Loudly. Booming in fact. At me. "You're so sexually repressed. Were you a catholic in your former life?" "I hardly see how that's relevant," I winced with my eyes clenched shut. "I'll take that as a yes." I don't reply. "I think you'll find Mrs Moore, that the same curse that turned you into a wanton hussy last night is also responsible for your foul demeanor this morning." "What are you talking about?" "It's called alcohol my love. Last night you were pissed and disinhibited. This morning you're hungover!" "But I only had a few glasses of wine!" "You had a whole bottle. And do I really need to explain the smaller body less metabolism thing to a health professional?" "I guess." Is he right? Was it alcohol that turned me into a sex kitten, albeit temporarily, rather than Mr Black? "So tell me," he announces as he pulls the sheet off himself. "If you're such a slut then surely you can't resist all this prime man flesh." I look at my naked husband. I mean I'm not exactly repulsed but sex is the absolute farthest thing from my mind right now. "I feel sick." Is all I can say and I rush for the bathroom. I slide the en suite door shut with a slam and lean over the sink taking a few deep breaths. I do note that the girl in the mirror looks a sickly grey green, and not too attractive for that matter. "Do you need me to hold your hair back honey?" I hear him mock from outside the door. "Like a good husband should whilst you're driving the porcelain bus?" Fuck you! I think. "I'm fine!" I say. Through force of will I am, in fact, fine. The colour comes back into my cheeks and the profound nausea gives way to a grumbling background level of queasiness. I'm not going to be the naked girl vomiting in the toilet bowl. I just refuse to be. A shower will surely help. I turn the water on and stand well clear till it's hot. I specifically don't want a cold shower. Nor do I need it. I hear the en suite door open behind me. Don't even think about it mister. I silently threaten. And turn with a scowl. He's grinning and holding a large glass with fizzy bubbling orange liquid in it. "It's a Berocca," he states as he hands it to me. "Drink it before you hop in or you're likely to end up unconscious on the floor." He's right. I'm probably markedly dehydrated and the hot water will vasodilate me. Which will increase the likelihood of passing out. I drink the vitamin supplement and follow it with a glass of tap water. I feel marginally better. "Are you going to watch me shower?" I ask slightly sarcastically as I finally climb in. "You know, you're still pretty hot, even when you're a train wreck." I flush as the water hits me. I hate that he can do that to me any time. He seems pleased with himself and turns and leaves. It seems a good moment and location for soul searching; standing in the shower, feeling seedy. Turning my mind off, as the wine seemed to have effectively done, allowed my body to run amuck. They were not on the same page it appears. I guess I knew how to make sex with my husband more tolerable; dare I say pleasurable; but it was probably at the expense of becoming an alcoholic. I had enough problems without that. Surely there were other ways of uncoupling my actions from my brain. It was something to aspire to I guess. After a protracted water wasting exercise I emerged from the bathroom. "Feeling better?" my husband asked me, apparently genuinely. "Much." It is an accurate honest self assessment. "Good. Then pack some clothes and get in the car." "You're throwing me out?" I ask, alarmed. My eyes widening and heart rate increasing. "God Alex!" He laughs. "What the hell is wrong with you? Paranoid little lamb!" "Then what are we doing?" I gather I'm not being thrown out then. "It's our first day off together. I thought we could go away for the night." "Why? Where?" I'm suspicious. "Any other interrogatives Alex? You ask a lot of questions. I'm the one that was the lawyer. It's my job to do the asking." He deflects my queries. "Psychiatrists do too. You know: 'Tell me about your relationship with your mother?' That sort of thing." I've relaxed a bit and decide to tackle Kevin's banter. "Yes, but then you sit there writing in your notes whilst they ramble lying on the couch. It's all about the active listening isn't it?" "I've never used a couch in my life. Now that's an awful clich?. You really should know better." It's a mock scold. "Duly noted." He knows I'm not serious. "You didn't answer me." I redirect. "It's a surprise." "Then how do I know what to pack?" I'm not sure I want any more surprises frankly. "Something warm and comfortable to hike in, something nice to wear to dinner, and something nicer to wear for after." He makes the last part sound suggestive. "Are you taking me away on a dirty weekend?" And I don't even know, as I ask the question, if I'm asking it expectantly or anxiously. "Something like that. We might get muddy on the hike." "You're hilarious husband! Clearly I married you for your charm and wit." "And I thought it was for my big dick." Don't you dare turn red again, Alex; I tell myself to no avail, for it's already too late. "Well that too." I try to recover. Kevin just laughs. I like the sound of his laugh, I decided. Well it sure beats him yelling at me. **** I had worked out where we were going long before we got there. Up into the Ranges. A pretty standard day trip from our metropolis. It was a location I definitely approved of. We pulled into a very quaint B & B in Olinda. It backed onto Rainforest and its grounds were dotted with a couple of luxury cabins. We checked into one. Complete with 4 poster and open fire. (It was colder in the mountains.) "Wow Kevin. You've got the whole seduction thing going," I remarked on inspection. "I'm not sure you needed to. I'm pretty certain I'm a sure thing." "It's our first day off together," he explained. "I thought it was an occasion worth marking." "And how were you planning on doing that?" I ask as I sat on the large soft bed. I thought I sounded convincingly flirtatious. I just wasn't sure why I was trying to be. "Well I thought we'd go for a walk on one of the forest trails." He ignores my suggestiveness completely. "And later have dinner at that restaurant we passed. 'The Snooty Fox.'" I had seen it just down the road, it looked nice. "Then tomorrow," he continued. "I thought we could ride the tourist steam train." There was a steam train that ran through the mountains that did indeed attract tourists from far and wide. It was run by volunteers, who I would politely describe as eclectic. I unconsciously breathed a big sigh. And whilst I didn't really think too much about it, I imagine my face glazed over as he looked at it. "What?" he asked with uncertainty. "Are these things you hate?" I broke my own reverie. "No actually. These are things I really like!" He looks both surprised and pleased. "I used to love coming out here on days off," I begin to explain. "I would walk, or more often, run the Kokoda memorial trail; it was a great way to clear the demons from my head." "You mean 'The thousand steps'?" It was its colloquial name. And it did have about a thousand bluestone steps to ascend. "The one that all the young mums do? In their active wear?" It was true. Large groups of women in their 'Lorna Jane' or 'Lulu Lemon' or '2XU' lycra wear would wend their way up the 1000 steps on a daily basis. Never faster than a brisk walk and chatting all the way. I must say their snug arses were always a fabulous bonus as I clambered by them. "The very same." "I used to walk that too sometimes. Back before." He was a hint wistful. "Did you wear compression tights like all the rest?" I tease. "Of course. And designer sunglasses. The latest ASICs or Nikes too. You'd be a pariah if you didn't!" His grin was large, and infective. "Did you have a group of girlfriends to walk with?" But then I regretted asking it the moment it had left my mouth. "No!" It's a statement, not a sad reflection. "I told you. I didn't like other women. I'd just walk on my own." "Well I'd run on my own. It was more peaceful that way too. Easier to get immersed in nature. So I think you had the right idea." I tried to recover the conversation, seemingly successfully. "Yup. Perhaps," he grunted affirmation. "But maybe we could do it together some time. Even if it's just walking. No running or talking." "That will be good. But you do realize you'll be the one in the tight activewear now!" "I hadn't thought of that." Which was true. I hadn't. "I doubt I even own any." "I bet you whatever you want you've got a drawer full back home," he challenges confidently. But I realized he's right. I had seen said drawer when I was exploring for lingerie last night. I just hadn't fully processed it. He sees my machinations and knows his assumption is correct. "So I'll be walking two steps behind you the whole time. Enjoying the view!" he sleazes. "Men!" I scold. "You all think exactly the same." It was true. Kevin Moore had a lot more in common with Alex Turner than I do. Yet I used to be him. How oddly ludicrous. Furthermore, how could I be indignant? If my husband wanted to admire my bum, made all the more shapely by black tights, how could I deny him, when I used to enjoy doing the very same thing? I was caught in a double standard I suppose. "Anyway." I feel the acute need to move on. "I know it's totally kitsch but I also love 'Puffing Billy.' I like old steam trains and vintage cars and the like. Things made before mass production. With skill and care and love. And I don't think I've been on it for ages." Kevin seems pleased. "Is it just luck? That you chose the perfect weekend away for me?" I ask, but not probing. "Or do you have secret insight?" "Do you think Mr Black secretly gave me your bio?" he jokes. "Or is it possible we just accidentally have some common interests?" "With our lives the way they are. I'd honestly have no idea." But I smile. "Get off the bed and get your warm stuff on." He decides to prompt us back to the itinerary. "I know the perfect secluded forest trail. You won't see any women in lycra where we're going." "Secluded? Are you taking me out into the woods to murder me and bury me in a shallow grave?" I jest, and I'm virtually ready for hiking anyway, but I put my coat and boots on. "Sociopath remember. Not Psychopath. What would I have to gain by murdering my wife?" "Insurance money?" "Hmmm. There's a thought. But I don't even know if we're insured." "Oh! Well you really should have checked that before you lured me to a gruesome death." I indicate my readiness and prompt us to the cabin door. Kevin takes the lead once we are outside. "It's this way." As I had noted, the property we were staying at backed straight onto mountainous forest, and it was clear he knew where he was going. "I think I'd miss you too much if I killed you," he notes dryly as we walk. "I'm glad I didn't get hit by a truck then," I quip. Warmed by his warped sentimentality though. "And I'm glad I didn't die of an overdose of the pill." He laughs. "That'd be very unlikely. Still just be thankful you didn't grow a pair of boobs back. They really don't suit you now." "That can't really happen can it?" He doesn't believe me although he's just a hint uncertain. "Non medical people!" I laugh. "Of course not. It requires constant dosing for over 6 months. And in supratherapeutic amounts." "What the hell does that mean?" "Oh right!" I was using medical lingo. "It means you need to take a lot." "My wife. The clever nurse!" he remarks. I'm not sure if he's being sarcastic or genuine, so I decide to best leave it alone. The trail was beautiful, but both damp and undulating. With large amount of fern forest, rocks under foot were slippery, and we had occasion to climb over many. Kevin lead, and at times when the incline became steep and treacherous he would hold out a hand to assist me up. I was perfectly capable of scaling any obstacles myself, yet every time he offered his limb I took it. In the intermittent silence between us I reflected on that. I think for Kevin it was a natural instinct. I wasn't sure if he would do it for any woman following him or simply me, because I was deemed by him to be his mate. Regardless, in our quest for true equality with men we required them to desist from acting on the compulsions ingrained from eons of evolution. No wonder they were so confused. In a time when following this behavior, which may be as simple as holding a door open, could see you stoned to death by hordes, they had to forego their desire to be protective for their own and societal well being. It was an interesting observation I felt. Ten days in there was absolutely no doubt in my mind that life was so much harder for a woman, in any facet you cared to name. But for men, modern life, was without a doubt much more confounding. The rules had changed dramatically; and in compass with that, part of the game seemed to not let them know this was the case. So that we could seize any opportunity that arose to condemn, scold and chastise. I guess we all had challenges, no matter what angle your perspective had you looking from. *** Our walk was long; exhilarating yet exhausting. On return, I took advantage of the big spa bath in the cabin to have a long bubbly soak whilst Kevin watched some TV. I climbed out before I got too wrinkly then set about prettying myself for dinner. I couldn't quite say I did so with consummate ease, but it was certainly less stressful with every attempt. I knew that from Alex Turner's viewpoint, as it sounded far less conceited if it came from him, that I was kinda cute. My own relative youth and good bone structure meant I could get away with a lot less make up than I was currently choosing to wear. But it was more about inventing my own style. I hadn't had the years of practice to do so; I really was just doing it on the run. It was not lost on me, as I got ready, that as far as I was concerned at least, this was our first date, so I felt I had to invest an appropriate amount of effort accordingly. *** 'The Snooty Fox' was pretty classy even though we were up in the sticks. Alex Turner, amongst his many other faults and vices, was a bit of a culinary snob. Dinners at Attica, or Rockpool or anywhere else the A listers fancied. Personally I much preferred the rustic coziness this restaurant offered, and the food was nice. I even chanced some sparkling. Not exactly 'hair of the dog' stuff considering I'd started the day with a hangover, but that was a distant memory. I guess the advantage of being an alcohol light weight was that I was quick with the bounce back. Like in paediatrics I suppose. Children get sick quicker, but they get well quicker too. Or at least that's what they'd told me since I'd started working in the E.D. Kevin had a beer. He remarked that it was the first time he too had drunk back to back in a couple of weeks. Since me apparently. I guess that was true. He no longer had to liquor himself up to chase women, and he seemed happy to sleep with me when completely sober. I think I was still aspiring to that, but alcoholism didn't appear to be a problem for either of us. Back in the cabin after dinner then, I only had the slightest of champagne bubbles in my brain. The drunk trollop from last night was nowhere to be found. I had to do this on my own. "I'm wearing my 'Something nice for after'," I said to Kevin as he tended the fire. "But you haven't got changed." "I know. I wore it underneath at dinner. To get me in the mood." And it was just a tad uncomfortable, if I were to be honest. "And did it? Are you? Because you haven't flashed me yet so how would I know?" He finds himself exceedingly amusing. "That's not fair!" I laugh. "I'm a different woman to that awful skank you brought home last night." "I'm not sure I'm altogether happy about that. She fair fucked my brains out after all. Thank God for Mr Black's curse." It still makes me nervous, to think about that. And that I'm still not entirely sure whether I'm under the influence of it or not. Nothing more toxic than the illusion of free will perhaps. "Well I'm afraid you'll just have to make do with me." I say as I undo my navy dress; (Thank goodness for a side zip); and let it fall to the floor. I let him soak in my white satin and lace torsolette with matching panties. "I'm pretty sure this is my bridal trousseau." I announce after a timely pause. I feel the full effect has produced the desired result. "What?" He seems to have become mostly non verbal. I of course had two rapid fire questions. How did I know what they were called? And how did he not? But they were to be pondered at another time. "It's sort of a term that means bride's things. But in this context I mean bridal lingerie. Specifically what Alex Moore, I, wore underneath my dress at our wedding. Which neither of us were technically at." "Oh." He still can't seem to get his tongue to work. It is, after all, hanging out. "So." I begin. "Seeing as we never actually had a wedding night.... And you've taken me on a romantic weekend away. I thought we could try our own re-enactment." He begins to regain the use of his faculties. "Who am I then, to refuse the new Mrs Moore's wedding night request?" "Why thank you," I reply. "But I have a confession. I'm not exactly a virgin." "Don't I know it!" He laughs. And approaches me with zeal. ***** After we made love I dragged all the cushions and pillows off the bed, along with a blanket, and propped us on the rug in front of the fire. I snuggled into him and watched the flames crackle and pop. I guess it was that now. Making love. Rather than simply having sex. It was as good as last night without the alcohol, due to the big slice of emotional attachment in its stead. I was developing feelings for my husband. I couldn't deny it any longer. I strongly hoped it was mutual, but I didn't yet know. I figured given I'd only known him two weeks, and we'd fought for much of it, there was no doubt Mr Black had manipulated me into having a level of affection for Kevin. Would I eventually love him? Would Mr Black make me? And if he did does that actually mean it's less real? Love is love after all. I didn't know what it would feel like to be a woman in love. Truthfully I don't think I really knew what it felt like to be a person in love. And what about Kevin? My original agenda was to make him feel. Get him to love himself. But there was no doubt I wanted more than that now. I wanted him to love me eventually. Not just to prove he wasn't a sociopath. But purely and simply, to be loved. I knew I was overthinking, and probably overreaching, but cuddled into him. In the midst of this idyllic romantic weekend, it felt nice to think of a happy future. "It's so mesmerizing," I remark of the fire, in an attempt to refocus my wandering thoughts. "I've never had a house with a fireplace. So this is a novelty." "You're so easily pleased Alex." He smirks. "And entertained." "Small things.." I self depreciate warmly. "I like your friends by the way." He starts a fresh dialogue. "I think that they're actually our friends. You and Marty got along well." "Yeah. He's a good guy." "We'll have them over to our place next time," I plan. "Look at us being social! I can't imagine either of our former selves organizing dinner parties." "No. I guess not." He was right. "Speaking of 'former selves.' I recognized her from the night at the hospital. She's the one you argued with, right?" "Don't remind me." "Imagine what she'd think about her new bestie if she knew who you really were." It wasn't mean spirited, he was just speculating. I reflected for a moment. I propped myself up off the cushions and turned my face towards my husband. "Given as it seems that we are going to be like this forever, did it ever occur to you now that this is who we really are?" "I suppose," he says thoughtfully, looking me straight in the eyes. "Would that be so bad?" I ask pensively. "No," he says after a small pause. "No it wouldn't. Not at all." He leans up off the cushion and places his hand behind my neck. Gently pulling me forward to bridge the gap between us. He begins to kiss me. It starts out romantically, but eventually slides into passionately. "Are we ready to go again then are we?" I confoundingly tease. "It seems so!" He continues to kiss me. "Oh great. I've always wanted to make love on a bear skin rug in front of an open fire," I coo. "I can tick it off my list." "It's not a bear skin rug though Alex. It's just a rug rug," he says whilst orally exploring my body. "Just as well!" I observe. "It sounds terribly ecologically unsound as well as morally abhorrent." "God! I figured out the key to shutting you up Alex." Kevin interrupts his process to remark. "Really is to kiss you." "Works for me," I reply. And I roll on top of him to start all over again. And right at this moment I couldn't imagine ever feeling any happier. TBC