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Three of Hearts "Him?" My wife Sarah looked across Shady's bar, where the bearded man moved slowly, squeezing in between tables. He was a handsome man, early 30s with short-cropped hair. He was tall, with dimples and brown eyes. You could imagine him at a department store, spraying cologne at passing customer. I watched him walk, considering the possibilities. He approached a table, then leaned down and kissed a blonde woman on the lips. He turned, and then he kissed a black woman on the lips. Taken. "Not him," I said, grinning. "He's got his hands full already." Sarah shrugged. She sipped her wine. She looked across the room. There was a blond woman dining with a male friend. She was thin. Maybe a former trophy wife.She had a good smile. Nice legs. "Her?" I asked. "Not her," Sarah said. "She's seen too many sunrises Curt. A little old for my tastes, I'm afraid." I sighed. This was going nowhere. We had been at this for weeks now. Window shopping, toying with the idea of this third person or that one joining us in bed, well, for fun and games. Unicorn hunting, they call it. The choices aren't as good as you might think. We didn't want a neighbor. Too many dramatics. We didn't want a co- worker. That could mean trouble at the office. We didn't want anyone we knew. We wanted a third person who was, well, like us. Smart, funny, frisky. Adventurous, sensual, sexy. It was Sarah's idea in the beginning, to all you the truth. She wanted to play, but she didn't want to cheat. So we read up on those who widen their marriage. A threesome. My lord, even the sound of it sounded like something from the swinging 70s, didn't it? But a thought became a curiosity, and that became a discussion, and that led to serious consideration. Which is why we were in Shady's, a bar that's known for, um, bicycles with three wheels, if you know what I'm saying. In recent weeks, we had seen the movie "Wild Things." We had seen "Emilienne." We had seen "Vicky Cristina Barcelona. "And it all seemed fun and sexy and hot. So we decided we wanted a third partner. Oh, it could have been easier. We still didn't agree on whether we would invite a man or a woman to join us. Sarah wanted a guy; I wanted a girl Discussing it was one of the fun parts of the discussion. "Women are prettier," I had argued a hundred times. "Women smell better. They're softer. They kiss better. They have breasts and full lips. They're more sensual. They wear soft clothes, like slips. They are the most perfect people on the planet. They've got all these fun parts, AND they can give birth. They're more nurturing." "Men are stronger," Sarah would argue back. "They have beards, which feel wonderful against your stomach. They have dicks. Nothing in the world is more fun than a dick. It can be hard, it can be soft, it can be long, it can be thick, it can curve at the tip. And it spews such wonderful juices. They have balls. Well, some of them do, anyway." Sometimes, it seemed as if we enjoyed the banter more than the idea of actually finding someone. I would pick apart the men's flaws -- they were bald or fat or short or hairy -- and Sarah would pick part the women -- they were cold or flat or ugly or aging. Sometimes, Sarah was sure I didn't really want a third; sometimes, I was sure she didn't, either. Then the conversations would start: "But we could be the Three Amigos." "We could be Three's Company!" "We could be Three Men and a Baby." "If you get me excited, we could go Three the Hard way," "We could make it last for Three Days of the Condor." Sarah groaned. "Now you're going too far," she said. I laughed. Life could get silly sometimes. I took a sip of wine. She sighed. "I have an idea," Sarah finally said. "Something to get this show on the road." "I'm listening," I said. "Okay, the problem we're having is finding the right third," she said. "You always find fault with a guy. I often find fault with a girl. So what if we go with a girl this time, but then guys for the next three times?" I squinted at her. "Why three straight turns with guys?" I asked. "Because we need a push-start," she said. "If I don't give you three in a row for our threesome, you'll never find a guy you approve of. And hey, I'd be more willing to make love to a woman if I was getting three straight turns with guys." "What if I want three turns in a row?" She shrugged. "You can have that," she said. "But I get to go first. I get to pick the partner, and you have go along with it. For as long as the tryst lasts." "Wait. What?" "Well, obviously if we find a partner we like, we may want to do it again the next week. And then the next. The same partner is the same turn. Deal?" I was thinking. If I could get past that first turn, then I'd get three in a row. If someone got an extra weekend, it could last a month. All I had to do was watch some guy screw my wife which, frankly, sounded like a turn-on in itself, but if we were going to be into threesomes, that was going to happen anyway. I looked at Sarah. I nodded. I felt I had won. I hadn't. * * It only took Sarah a week and a half to make her choice. Quick and efficient, that's my wife. "His name is Woodrow Abercrombie," Sarah was saying one night at dinner. "He works for the phone company in the legal department. He's smart, and he's funny, and he's attractive. I think he'll be good for us, Curt." "Um, I guess," I said. "He sounds old." "Woody? Nah. He's 30, maybe a little older. Old enough to know better, yet old enough not to care." I toyed with my fries. I didn't say anything. "Curt, this is the last time I'm going to say this," Sarah said. "Do you want to play or not? We can forget all of this if you want. Just be normal. But if we're going to do this, I think we should move forward." "Okay, okay. So tell me about him," I said. "Well, like I said, he's in his 30s. A lawyer for three years. Former college hockey player. He's not married. No kids. As I understand it, he's been in three-way relationships before." "What? Is that on his resume?" I said. "No. He dated Sheila Thompson and her partner. You remember her, right? She lives with Judith Conrad. They, um, had a trois last year. Evidently, Sheila was quite proud of it. She put it on her facebook page. So I had lunch with Sheila, and we started talking. I asked her if she had dated Woody. And she got this big shit-eating grin on her face. She says he's lots of fun." "Has Woody ever had a threesome with a man and a woman?" "I don't know that. But we can ask him. We're having dinner with him tomorrow night at Bella Brava. He picked it out. He says he knows the owner. So we'll just have dinner and wine. If we get the creeps, we can always back out. There is no downside, Curt. It's just an exploratory meeting." I swallowed. I was going to meet the guy who was going to sleep with my wife while I watched? It was frightening, but it was a little exciting, too. Sarah was right. It was time to fish or cut bait. "I'll wear my blue sports coat," I said softly. "Attaboy. This is going to be what we want, Curt. I'm excited. Aren't you?" The answer was complex. I was anxious. I wanted to buy a ticket, but I was afraid of the ride. To put it bluntly, I didn't know whether to touch my erection or pee in my pants. * * Bella Brava is a typical Italian restaurant. Red and white checked table clothes, darkened room. Great bread. It was the kind of joint where Michael could have shot Sollozo and McCluskey in "The Godfather." Sarah gave our name to the hostess, and she said that our party was already waiting. She guided us to a table in the corner. Woody Abercrombie sat in the power seat, with his back to the wall. He had a crooked grin on his face. He was a good-looking guy, you'd say. He wore a billowy white shirt and jeans. He was drinking wine. "I went ahead and ordered some wine," he said. "I hope you don't mind." "Oh, no," Sarah answered. "It looks lovely." Woody poured her a glass. We sat, and the silence was a bit awkward. We all knew why we were here. It's odd. Normally, the mating dance involves wooing and cooing. But we had already decided on sex if we got along. The guesswork was gone. Just the feeling-out remained. "So, Sarah," Woody was saying. "Are you guys new to this?" Sarah blushed. "Does it show?" she said. "Maybe a little," Woody said. "But Sheila told me you guys were newbies. It's okay. Everyone has to start somewhere. How about you, Curt? Is this exciting for you, too?" I looked up. I nodded. "Sex is good between two people," I said. "Why wouldn't it be better with three?" He laughed and raised his glass in agreement. "I've done this four times," Woody said. "Every time, it's worked out well. Just don't be shy about saying what you need and what you want." I looked at Sarah. She looked at me. She nodded. She wanted to proceed. "Okay, here's what we have to agree upon," Woody said. "No jealousies. Curt, I'm going to be touching your wife intimately. Okay? There's no soft way to say that. If you're going to run out and get a gun, well, let's call this off now. Sarah, if you're going to throw a fit because your husband touches another man's cock, let's just go on our way. Right? None of us need more headaches." I flinched when Woody talking about me touching him. I had lulled myself into thinking I would be a bystander and watch Sarah have sex. I could live with being a cuckold. But touching, maybe even cocksucking? Still, if I backed out of the threesome now, Sarah would never let me forget it. I simply nodded. "There will be no drama from us," Sarah said. "I'm okay with Curt sleeping with a guy. Just so I can take pictures." She laughed. "Curt," Woody said. "I assume you've been with a man before?" "Um, actually, I haven't," I said. "Is that a problem?" "Well, not if you don't make it one," he said. "I think cocks are beautiful things. Do you have any problems with them?" Sarah looked at me. I shook my head no. I'm not sure it was the truth. I was still working up my courage. "Okay, here's how it will work," Woody said. "I'm the experienced player here, so I'll be in the middle. Deal? I'll direct. Sarah, you're the woman in this tryst, so you're going to be what they call the guest star. Curt, you'll be the unicorn, okay. That's the bisexual who pleases everyone. It's usually a woman, but not always." Bisexual? Me? "Now," Woody continued. "Does anyone have any phobias. Any fears? Any particular kinks?" "No pain," I said. "No whipping or cutting or permanent damage." Woody nodded. "No saying 'I love you,'" Sarah said. She looked at me. "Except for you, Woody. We aren't going to destroy our marriage. We just want to make it better." Woody paused. "Okay," he said. "Curt, Sarah, I'm what they call a pansexual. But I like some things more than others, like anyone. Communication is key with multiple partners. So I suggest we block out a night for just the three of us. I can host if you want. You bring the wine. We''ll go slow, and we'll give it a night to see if everyone is happy." We nodded. This devil's triangle was going to happen. Bring on the hell. *. * * Sarah drove as we left the restaurant. Neither of us said much as we replayed the conversation. Finally, Sarah smiled. "I thought he was perfect," she said. "Well, not quite," I said She frowned. "What do you mean 'not quite.' Are you backing out on me again?" "Sarah, he called me bisexual. He's going to want his dick sucked." "So what if he likes blowjobs, Curt?" Sarah said. "Did you really think we were going to have a threesome with a guy and you weren't going to suck his cock? When we have a threesome with a woman, I'm expected to eat her out. Right? What's the difference?" "Well, women like that more than guys do," I said. "Do they? Do you think I want to lick where another woman pees? Where she has her period? I'm as straight as you are, Curt. But I will, because we're trying to enhance our sex lives. It's called sacrifice, asshole. I'll kiss the pussy, because that's part of it. But you'll suck the dick." I looked at the floorboard. "What if I can't?" "You can," Sarah said. "And you will. Now, do we need to go to Hurley's and find you a guy to practice on?" Hurley's was a popular gay bar in Cincinnati. "No, Sarah," I said. "I'll be all right." "Maybe. But you're going to gargle with my vibrator tonight, Curt. I mean it. You need to practice. Woody's a pretty big guy. I don't think you'll want to bite his dick, Tinkerbelle." And so it began. We still had a week before our first "date" with Woody. But Sarah had me practice on her dildo. She brought me home my own penis gag. She played with her fingers in my ass. You know what? It wasn't as bad as I feared. I mean, it wasn't my nature. But it was better than a root canal. * * * When we showed up at Woody's -- grand opening night -- I was wearing jeans and a sports coat. Sarah was wearing a black dress and pearls. She was carrying the wine. Woody opened the door, and he smiled at the possibilities in front of him. He took Sarah and kissed her, long and hard, and I felt a twitch in my pants. He then kissed me. It wasn't as passionate, but it was a kiss, and the oxygen was sucked from the room. I had never been kissed by a man, and this one was full of heat and promise. We entered his apartment, and he opened the wine to let it breathe. Sarah sat by him on the couch and linked her arms into his. He kissed her again and rubbed her leg. She didn't seem to mind. It started that way, slowly, a lot of touching, a lot of kissing, a lot of talking. In a threesome, you don't dive into the deep end of the pool. You ease into it. You make everyone comfortable. I compartmentalized. I saw what I saw, but I didn't let myself feel anything. Not rage, not jealousy, certainly not desire. Finally, she stood up. "I have to change, Woody. Why don't you get into something more comfortable too, sweetheart. I'll be right back." The night was moving too fast for me. My wife was obviously ready to have sex with this man in front of her husband. Sarah went into Woody's bathroom. She motioned for me to follow her. She pulled out a silver nightgown and matching panties to wear, then she leaned over and kissed me lightly on the lips. "Curt, I know this has to be a nervous time for you," she said. "But it's just sex. It's pleasurable, but it doesn't mean anything. Just let yourself go with the flow. A million people in the city give head every night. A million get butt fucked. You aren't going to do anything new. And I'll still love you tomorrow." And we exited. Woody had on a pair of blue pajamas. He lay in the middle of the bed and smiled. I was wearing a Bengals' jersey and gym shorts. Sarah approached the bed from the left. I came in from the right. He reached out his arms and enveloped us both. Again, he kissed Sarah. He grabbed my hand and squeezed it. "Touch me," he whispered to no one in particular. I reached by hand down to feel his cock, and Sarah's hand was already there. She giggled, then linked fingers with mine. Together, we stroked it up and down, masturbating him together. She let loose of my fingers, and then it was just my hand on his shaft. "Your hand looks great around a cock,." she said, laughing. "But you need fingernail polish for the contrast." "What a great idea," Woody said. "Time out." So Sarah and I got out of bed, and she went to her purse on the end table. She dug out some burgundy polish and started to stroke it onto my nails. Woody went to his closet and found a black nightgown -- an old girlfriend's, I suppose. He dug in the drawer and found a pair of black panties. "Here, Curt," Woody said. "Just to get you into the mood. Put these on." My eyes widened. But when I looked at Sarah, she was staring hard, as if to tell me not to mess this up. I slid the panties up my legs. I pulled the nightgown over my head. It was soft, and it was silky. It felt erotic. But I couldn't help but feel awkward. I had never worn women's clothes before. Sarah looked at me. "Lipstick," she said. And so I let her put lipstick on me. I thought of it as role-play, as Halloween. I didn't think of it as a first step toward feminization. But maybe I should have. She put her right arm over his stomach. I touched his shoulder with my left. I took a deep breath. I looked at her. I looked at him. She pushed down on my shoulder, and I slid down the bed. I kissed his chest, then his stomach. Then, slowly, I leaned down and kissed the tip of his cock. I could feel a thumping in my temples. It was hard to breathe. Sarah was watching me intently. She was a spectator now as I began to lick up and down Woody's shaft. I kissed his testicles, and the hair ticked my face. Then I had the bulb in my mouth, and I was trying to get as much of it into my face as possible. I bobbed, and I shook it from side to side with my mouth. I wasn't fighting it anymore. I was consumed by lust, and I worked my head faster and faster, yearning for him to cum. I would lick, then then I would suck, softly and then harder. I wasn't gay, but I have to admit: I wasn't repulsed, either. And then Woody was bucking and I was swallowing as fast as I could it, and I was coughing and hacking as the sperm jetted into my mouth, and Woody was moaning, and Sarah was laughing. And that's how I became a cocksucker. * * It was Sarah's turn now. Woody was hard again in a matter of minutes, and he was on top of her, and he was inside her, and it was beautiful. I kissed her shoulder and rubbed her breasts from my side of the bed. But she lost in Woody now, and she more or less ignored me. I was erect, and I thought about her mouth. But she was busy moaning. I thought about her ass, but it was underneath her. I lay there, and I played with myself, and I watched. Was this what a cuckold feels as he watches someone else take his wife to heights he could not reach? Was seeing someone you love feel so good really worth it? Woody's cock was big, almost twice the size of mine, and little animal noises were gurgling out of Sarah. Woody came like a sprinkler system spewing out of control. He rolled off of her, laughing in pleasure. I reached over and touched his limp cock. I rubbed it. I smiled. "Baby?" I looked up, and Sarah was looking at me. She parted her legs. "Baby?" she said again. I finally figured out what she wanted. Women like to be licked after they come. Sarah's pussy was red and wet, and her legs were splayed as if she were issuing an invitation. She shifted so she could rest her back on the headboard. I kissed her thighs, and I could see white droplets all over her pelvis. Slowly, I began to lap them up. She grabbed my head and forced it into her. I could hear Woody and her kissing, and I felt her body go tense as he massaged her breasts. I kept licking at the salty taste. Finally, Sarah lifted my head, and she turned me toward Woody. Then she started to rub something hard against my rectum. It was a vibrator -- she had brought it along -- and she was forcing it in and out. She hadn't brought her strap, so she penetrated me simply by pushing and pulling. Still, it was nice. We lay there for a moment, and then Woody started to rub up against her again. I thought about my role in this trio. I had sucked a cock. I had masturbated it. I had licked the sperm out of my wife's vagina. But I hadn't penetrated anyone; no one had asked. Apparently, it wasn't my role. I started to say something, but then I saw Woody enter Sarah's ass, and his cock was so much bigger than mine was that I was ashamed to protest. It was like a third arm as it pumped away, and Sarah moaned deeply as he hit spots she didn't know she had.. Sarah smiled at me, laying there in my nightgown. She could always tell was I was thinking. "Aw, did little Tinkerbelle not get to spew?" she said. "Next time, sissy. Next time." And, arms wrapped around arms and legs wrapped around legs, we all fell asleep. * * We got home in the wee hours, but I stilI woke early the next morning. There were so many images, of a nightgown and lipstick and a penis in between my lips. My life had changed overnight. My wife had a boyfriend. Hell, I had a boyfriend. I rose from the bed and went into the bathroom to wash my face. I still had fingernail polish on, and it wouldn't wash off. I went to ask Sarah for some remover. She was in the kitchen, smiling like a woman with a secret. She was sipping coffee. "Hey, baby," she said, greeting me. "Last night was...wow. Don't you think?" "I guess," I said. "You guess? I came like planes landing at the airport. Every time one landed, here came another one. It was terrific. It was the best sex ever. Except for you, of course. I can't wait to see Woody again, I mean..." "Sarah....I sucked a dick." "So what?" she said. "I've sucked lots of dicks. I mean, I've sucked a dick a lot of times. Your dick. You get used to it. You certainly seemed to enjoy Woody's. I mean, you may not be gay, but you live next door." "Sarah ... let's not sleep with Woody again. We can find another partner. Even another guy, if you want. I just don't want to wear a nightgown. I don't want to be a girl." "We most certainly will NOT find another partner," she said, her voice rising. "Woody is an amazing partner, the best I've ever had. And I'm not going to give him up because you're a pussy. Just admit that you liked sucking dick, and we can all move on" She was angry in a hurry, as they say. It was obvious she had enjoyed his fat prick rutting around in her groin last night. I could have insisted, but something told me she'd continue to sleep with Woody, and where would that leave me? "I'm sorry, Sarah," I said. "We'll keep going if you want." "Well, I do, dammit," she said. "And something else. You are not going to embarrass me by playing with yourself in bed. I saw you, pounding your peter while we made love. Well, today, we're going to get. you one of those cock cages, so there will be no more of that. You'll get released every week when we're all together. But that's it." Huh? She was fucking another man, and she was upset that I had masturbated? She wanted to put a clamp on my dick so I could drive it on weekends like it was a classic sports car? According to Sarah, I wasn't savoring sex enough. I wasn't letting the idea of someone else controlling my erections take hold. It was the anticipation of release, Sarah said, more than the release itself. And so we went out shopping to an adult book store, and Sarah shopped for a chastity cage for me. Some were colorful. Some were made out of plastic. Some out of stainless steel. Some had rings down the shaft. They were fascinating little contraptions, and my penis twitched just looking at them. I picked up a stainless steel one. It was light enough, but it still felt like jail to me when it snapped shut and the lock clicked.. Once I was locked away, I admit that I changed. I became meeker, more docile. Sarah had always been in charge of the major decisions, but now she was making the minor ones too. She got in the habit of walking past me and tapping the front of my pants, just to hear the familiar clank. She started calling me Tinkerbelle more often. Sometimes, just Tink. She started expecting me to cook our meals. To clean our floors. To iron our clothes. Once a week, she would lay out a dress for me to wear. Then twice a week. Then all the time. A bra and heels were common for me now. When I protested, my words were laughed away. In those days there we're times when she'd look at me and shake her head in something resembling scorn. Had she had decided I was gay? She still cared for me, but now, to her, I was something else. Something less. * * Our second night as a threesome was wilder than the first. On the first night, we were cautious, tentative. But we had had sex now. We were getting more comfortable. When we entered the bed this time, Woody immediately mounted Sarah, who didn't exactly fight him. They were like old lovers, with him sliding his large penis inside of her. This time, I touched her breasts as they made love, and Sarah smiled at me. I was wearing a silver nightgown this time, and silver satin panties. Sarah had bunched my hair into short pigtails, and in addition to lipstick she had me wearing eyelliner. I felt awkward, but I wan't going to let that stop me this time. As I rolled around the bed, I made it a point to avoid Woody's penis this time. No offense to gay people, but that wasn't going to be my signature move. I rubbed against Sarah's legs, and she grasped my cage. She shook it until it rattled. She chuckled. Sarah came hard, the way she often did, and then she fell backward onto the matteress. She looked at Woody and kissed him. It was a raw, intimate moment between new lovers. But this time, I wasn't going to be left out. Sarah sat up, then reached into the the nightstand. She turned me, so my ass was in the air. She lifted my nightgown and began to rub the knob of her strap-on against my rectum. She inserted it then, and she began to hump me like I was a virgin bride. "Hold on," Woody said. And he twisted his torso until his cock, again, was in front of my face. Woody rubbed his penis against this cheek, then that one. And then he slid it into my mouth again. "Good sissy," Sarah said. "Good sissy." I wanted to say I wasn't a sissy, but it's a hard argument to make with a dick in your mouth. He was big, and he was cut, and his pubic hair tickled my nose. He grabbed my head and set his own rhythm, forcing me to bob at his pace. I came from my anal penetration. He then came from my blowjob. Sarah grinned at us both. Then she looked at Woody. She touched him as if he were money. "Round two?" she said. * * * It was a week later, and Sarah was humming as she went through the apartment. She was usually in a good mood, but today, she was Scarlett O'Hara on the day after she and Rhett got together. I smiled as I entered the room. I liked to see her happy. "Hey, sweetie," she said. "You're, um, dressed very macho today." I glanced down. I had on a dress shirt and a pair of slacks. "Macho?" "I thought you might be en femme," she said. "You know." She flopped her wrist. "Sarah, that's just for our role play with Woody," I said. "Well, you just look so good dressed up," she said. "Yesterday, Woody was saying that he liked you with makep." "Woody? You talked to Woody?" She smiled. "We spent two glorious hours at the Palms," she said. "You were working." "You ... and Woody?" I stammered. "Baby, you know we sleep together." "Yeah, but only as a threesome. The rules say two parties can't pair off." "Rules? What? Are you going to call the threesome police on me?" she said. "'Officer, these two people broke the rules while they were fucking around.' Come on. We're adults, and we played. Ur was good." I felt betrayed somehow, which I knew was silly since they had my approval to sleep together. But I felt cheated upon. Hell, I felt left out. "Anyway," Sarah said. "Woody was saying that he liked you a lot more as a sissy than as a man. He thinks you should be feminized most of the time. I mean, you obviously like sucking a man's dick. So why not embrace your girly side?" No. No. A thousand times no. I protested because of my work and my upbringing and, well, my fear. Look, I accepted that I had had gay sex with Woody, but that didn't make me a woman. Or a sissy. I was falling. I was drowning. I was dizzy. "Look, I don't know how long this affair will last," Sarah said. "But I want it. I want it bad. So I want you to go along with this. It's just dress-up. Besides, you are kind of a sissy." I stared at her. I shook my head. And then I was caught up in the whirlwind, and before you knew it, I was trying on dresses at Macy's. Sarah loved it. She picked up a black dress and folded it over her arm, then a yellow, then a red. "Can I help you, ma'am?" A young salesgirl offered. "Yes," Sarah said. "My husband here needs some women's clothing, and we're willing to set fire to our credit card if you could help. Do you have a problem with men in dresses?" The girl's eyes widened, and she looked at me. Then at Sarah. Then at me. "Uh, no, I don't have a problem. We can use the manager's office as a changing room. I'll take these dresses, and you can keep shopping. We have a lingerie sale." I was dying. I'm not the most passable woman on the planet, but I didn't see why Sarah had to out me.I felt like a freak at the circus. "Oh, hush," Sarah said, reading my thoughts. "People are going to know you're a sissy eventually. Embrace it. Be proud of it. But first, try on this bra." * * * We weren't scheduled to be with Woody that night, but he came over anyway. Sarah had me greet him at the door in a red dress and heels. I was wearing full makeup. I peered up at him, and I felt shorter than ever. Girly. "Oh, you look charming," he said. "I love you in pantyhose. Did it take long to shave your legs?" "She took right to it," Sarah interjected. She leaned across me to kiss Woody. "Walk across the room," Woody told me. I did. I twirled out of some sort of instinct. He laughed. "Now curtsy," he said. He clapped his hands. "I knew she would be better as a sissy," he said to Sarah. "I think she's found herself. Let's keep her dressed as a woman all of the time. It makes me horny just looking at her." Soon afterward, we found outselves in the bedroom. Sarah would run her hands over me. "Whose dress is this?" she would ask. "It's my dress," I would say. "And whose hose?" "They're my hose," I would say. "And whose panties?" "They're my panties," I would say. "And whose bra?" "It's my bra," I would say. "And whose earrings?" "They're my earrings." Woody stripped off his pants and undershorts. "And whose dick is about to be in your mouth?" he said, laughing. "It's your dick," I said, going to my knees. * * * Stereotypes are odd things. Part of the reason we pursued a threesome was to rebel against conventional lifestyles. But we still fell into familiar roles. Woody was the breadwinner. He came home, and he at at the head of the table, and he drank his day's martini. Sarah was the trophy wife. She worked her charities, and she made her phone calls. But she was the matriarch of the home, the grand dame. And I was the the sissy who shined shoes and folded clothes. Sarah bought me dresses, and she reminded me to redo my makeup. It wasn't right, part of me screamed. Woody was getting the kind of sex he wanted. Sarah was getting the kind she wanted. Me? I had a dick in my mouth. I dreamed of another partner. Next time, and the time after that, and the time after that, our partner would be a woman. But first, Sarah had to tire of Woody. Judging by the way she climbed all over him, I wondered if that would ever happen. Woody, frankly, loved it when I was in my nightgowns. He joined in with the Tinkerbelle nickname. He had her refresh my makeup often. And he had me blow him every time we were together. The thing was, for a self-avowed pansexual Woody didn't show me a lot of affection. He pegged me only once, and he never blew me, and he never stroked me. He explained that he was a top, so he had no use for my dick -- it was good that it was locked away. I wasn't gay, either, I told myself. But fair was fair. If he was gay, he had forgotten to read the manual. I found myself wondering if he had misrepresented his sexual history. Oh, he still liked getting his blow jobs, thank you very much. My jaw was sore from giving them. But more and more, I felt like I was his woman, not his man. It was obvious he preferred Sarah. They began to slip away on two-person dates while I stayed home and cleaned. And cried. Woody and Sarah were bonding all the time. They would whisper to each other, then look at me and laugh. They would touch each other's arms, gaze into each other's eyes. A blind man could have seen that they were falling in love. Oh, I was still involved in the threesome. Usually, it was with my mouth. I sucked him, and I ate her, and as a change of pace I licked her even as his dick plunged into her, lapping up the mixture of their juices. But I was now the third party of the threesome. It was Woody and Sarah's show. One night, when we were going out to dinner, one of Sarah's lavender dresses was laid out on the bed with underwear. "Wear that," Sarah said. It wasn't a questions. "But Sarah," I said. "What if someone sees me?" "What if they do?" she said. "This is who you are now. Why not embrace it? If a guy from work sees you, well, maybe you'll get a date out of it. If a woman sees you, well, you can compare shoes. Just come out, Tink. It's time." There was a wounded look in my eyes as I looked around. "It was just supposed to be about sex," I stammered. She smiled. "It is just about sex, little one," she said. "Great sex, but sex. And I know you like this sissy stuff. But I love Woody, too. And he told me what you told him. "What did I tell him?" I was baffled. I had nothing to say to him. "That you wanted a full set of tits," she said. "That you wanted to wear dresses all of the time. That you wanted to work a glory hole." "I didn't say any of that, Sarah," I said. "No? Well, maybe I misunderstood," she said. "But I notice you don't say any of it is untrue, do you? It's okay, Tink. A lot of homosexuals don't realize they're gay until balls are pressing on their chins. I'm happy for you." "I'm not a homosexual," I said, the tears coming. Sarah shook her head sadly. It was obvious she didn't believe me. * * * For weeks, Sarah had been expanding my wardrobe. A dress here, a skirt there, a pair of heels there. She was playing with Barbie, and I was the doll. Okay, Il'll admit it. The clothes were soft, and they were pretty, and there were times I got into my role. One of the most embarrassing moments of them all, I thought at the time, was when she bought me a khaki skirt and a black polka-dot blouse. The blouse was sheer to the point of being see-through. When I put it on, you could plainly see my bra underneath. She had me dress up for her friends' weddings. She had me walk among the prostitutes on Beale Street, as if I were one of them. Before Woody, I had never looked at another man. But now, everyone assumed I was a gay transgender man. And maybe I was. Then, one Sunday afternoon, she came to me with a large package that was wrapped in silver foil. Cautiously, I opened it, and there was a short pale blue dress with white strip and an apron attached to it. A maid's dress. I looked at her, my jaw agape at being given a domestic's uniform. She winked at me and mouthed "you're welcome." Just like that, I lost my partnership in the house. I was a full-time domestic. Embarrassing me became quite the hobby for the two of them. One day, I came home from shopping for groceries and my old golf foursome was sitting there. Roy's jaw dropped. Kenny made a joke about going to the other side. Rashad asked me where a guy could go to buy a blowjob. It was completely humiliating. I stood there, in a dress, in heels, in makeup, and they were trying to outdo each other with their barbs. Roy said he always knew there was something "funny" about me. Rashad compared me to Transformer toys because of my transformation. Kenny told me his wife was looking for a maid. I took it all. I absorbed the barbs. I got them drinks. I curtsied. And when Rashad called me later, I politely turned him down. Sarah laughed and said I shouldn't have. I should have slept with him. It hit me then that we were no longer a threesome. Sarah and Woody were a twosome, and I was the servant washing the dishes. They would have long conversations about a movie, for instance, and then tell me they wanted more coffee. They would talk about politics, and then tell me to get them some cheese and crackers. They would use me -- Sarah liked to peg my ass and Woody liked his blowjobs -- but except for that I was the girl who cleaned up after them. They talked about renting me out as a maid for their friends. Sarah joked that if I could find work as a hooker, that would at least pay for my uniforms. They weren't serious about it -- at least, I didn't think they were -- but the suggestions still hurt. I was less than they were. On the nights where we didn't see Woody, she would lay in bed and trace her fingernails over my flat breasts. "You want them to be bigger?" she would ask. And I'd tell her no, that I was fine with my body, and she would scowl. "I want them bigger," she would say. It went from a desire to a request to something close to a demand. She would make fun of my breast forms, calling them "glorified balloons." She wanted the real things. She wanted me to have the real things. Wtthout my knowledge, she made an appointment with her doctor, who talked to me about estrogen vs. implants. There were positives both ways. With estragen, I would get more of feel. I didn't really want them bigger, but no one was asking me. It became a theme with Sarah. She would make fun of my "volleyballs," her name for my breast forms. She wanted me to go to the doctor with her. We talked about estrogen vs. implants, about the better feel of hormones vs. the immediacy of implants. Sarah's vote was the silicone. "Why wait?" she said. "Honey, you dress as a woman every damn day now. My sissy needs puppies in your shirt. I need them. Let's do it, okay? Pleasepleaseplease?" Yeah, she wore me down. Sarah always wore me down. There are women who dominate a relationship with handcuffs. And there are women who dominate with their persistence. So I got breasts. Nice breasts. Perky breasts. An for a while, it enlivened us. Sarah loved to lay in bed and play with them. Even Woody loved to kiss and suckle them. And, yeah, I liked them too. This womanhood had snuck up on me, to tell you the truth. I was in dresses before I was aware I was feminine. But breasts were ... validation. Nothing had ever made me feel more feminine. I would catch myself posing, turning from side to side. I would touch them. My clothes fit better. I loved buying bras ... in multiple colors. I loved wearing t-shirts. I liked flashing a bit of cleavage. I had entered the threesome because of Sarah. It was my choice, but she led the way. I sucked a cock because of Woody. Again, I'm not blaming anyone else. But he was the impetus. But the breasts? They were for me. It was the ultimate completion of who I am. It was the embracing of my inner sissy. With boobs, there was no going back now. * * * In the early days of our threesome, Sarah would come into my room and lay with me. She would uncage me, and she would play with my boobs, and we would have sex. I'm sure it wasn't like what she had with Woody, but it was my one release, and it was sweet. But then she would lick it instead of take it inside her. Then she would just play with it. Then she would ignore it. Ah, but she wasn't evil. Don't get the wrong idea. She was sweet. She laughed. And she smiled. And she loved this life with multiple partners. I loved her, even to the point I could live with her loving Woody. All was good. Still, I felt like was an afterthought for her. I was her sissy, but not her love. Still, it was good. Mostly. * * One night, Sarah came rushing though the front door while I was vacuuming. She was shouting and squealing, and she thrust her hand in front of my face. She had a new diamond on her ring finger. She and Woody were engaged. And my heart sank. For her to marry Woody, she was going to have to divorce me. Probably, she already knew it. Woody and his giant cock had stolen her, and now they were going to make it official. I didn't know if I should stay. Hell, I didn't know if I was even invited to stay. Tight-lipped, I congratulated her. What else could I do.? Then I went my room and I cried. I remembered that one of the first things that Sarah had said was that we wouldn't destroy our marriage. And now my life was shattered. My old friends had abandoned me. My wife had replaced me. I had gone from a threesome to a one-some. I was alone. I felt the emptiness in my heart, the hole in my soul. I put my suitcase on my bed. Tearfully, I started to fill it, starting first with my practical clothes. But I put some nice things in, too, in case I might end up on the streets. In my old life, I had been a computer programmer, but there was no work to be had there. Not anymore. Sarah, missing me from the kitchen, finally entered the room and saw me packing. "What are you doing, Tink,?" she asked. "Baby?" "You're getting married," I said. "You're going to divorce me, and you're going to marry Woody. These days, it's about you two anyway. I'm just the maid. You guys will want a fresh start, I suppose. I don't want to be in your way." "Oh, Tink," she said. "We 'll make room for you. You're our maid, baby. I don't know what we would do without you. And if we have babies, you'll be the nanny. You'll always be a piece of us." "Not a big enough piece, though," I said. I kept packing.I kept crying. * * I still loved Sarah. Deep down, I believe that part of her still loved me. But there were cracks in the foundation now. More and more, I felt like an outsider, like an extra part. Love never dies, but servitude does. Our relationship was in trouble, but no one was paying attention. Sarah and Woody were too into each other for that. For months, Woody and Sarah had slept together in the Master Bedroom and I had slept in the maid's quarters, supposedly so I could arise before anyone else and prepare the house. Woody was nice enough, but he rarely had anything to say to me beyond "more coffee, please." But there in my room, I felt more and more detached from them. Sarah hadn't tried very hard to talk me into staying. Perhaps she agreed it was best if I did not. It was over. I knew it. I suspected Sarah knew, too. We had altered the dynamic of our relationship, and it couldn't stand the changes. It wasn't Sarah's fault. It probably wasn't even Woody's fault. People grow apart. So what did us in? Time. Maybe it was nothing more than that. To Woody, our threesome was 80 percent about Sarah. For Sarah, it was probably 70 percent about Woody. And I was to blame, too. I'd surrendered far too easily, and as a result, I'd become the gay entity in our relationship. I never meant that to happen. Nothing is wrong with gay, but if I had insisted on time with Sarah, it would have been better. So what now? A large boarding house across the river was hiring maids, and the pay was decent, and room and board were included. I decided I should take it. To Sarah, I was an obligation. To Woody, I was a burden. I prepared to talk to Sarah, to say our goodbyes and to wish each other well. We had been very important to each other for a long time. But now I was lost. Dresses? Pants? Should I keep my implants? I didn't know quite what lay ahead. As I prepared to enter the living room, however, I heard her voice as she spoke to Woody. Her words were chilling. To a confused young sissy, they sounded like goodbye. "So you're really interested in you and I joining a threesome?" Sarah said. "Are you sure?" "Why not?" Woody said. "It worked out pretty well last time. I got you. You got me. Tink got titties." "Do we invite Tink?" Sarah said. "Or is it just you and me this time?" Woody thought for a minute. "Well, I don't want to say anything bad about Tink, but ...she's kind of a waste in the crotch area. Another vagina would work for me. Maybe for you, too. And now that Tinkerbelle is halfway to being a woman, she might want to start a threesome of her very own. She'll be happier." Sarah sighed. "I want her to be happy. Woody shrugged, then raised his glass "...to new beginnings," he said. Sarah nodded. "And to sad endings," she said. Copyright, Cassandra Morgan