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The air was stale in the car, stifling really. Loosening my tie helped a little. I went to roll the window down and immediately heard "Don't roll that down, you'll mess up my hair," as my wife stared at me with a perturbed scowl on her face. This was going to be a fun trip back to our home. What was it that the doctor said? Oh, yeah, "unresponsive Crohn's," hence my wife's abominable mood. She has been suffering from chronic diarrhea for the better part of three years now. It doesn't matter what she eats or what meds she takes, the results are, shall we say, uncomfortable. And the latest doctor is about as helpful as, well he was not helpful. We have spent a small fortune on alternative procedures again and again. This is quite tiring. Even the crackpot chiropractors, with all of their claims, are not helpful. Every healthcare "professional" is so optimistic on the front end. They perform a little show for you. You render payment for their treatment and in return, you receive that stony uncaring practiced look. They must practice this look in their bathroom mirrors as part of their daily morning ritual. Then they either admit they are not able to help or the more popular response of letting you know that they think it's all in your mind. Fu**, this is so frustrating. They all claim that you are the one patient that seems to be beyond their knowledge, as they have "helped," so many others. I need someone with a little actual knowledge that can help my beautiful wife, not what passes for medical care in this carnival show that is our current system. The very worst, as someone suffers through their nightmare, is all the unsolicited advice from, well-meaning, acquaintances. The preverbal wisdom from pleather of people that don't have a clue as to what they are talking about. Somehow society expects you to listen politely to all their misplaced wisdom and not tell them to go Fu** themselves. So, you smile and nod and go about your day after thanking them and letting them know that you will let Monica know so that she can try it. What a bunch of horseshit. Just how much of my day was wasted on polite platitudes? In all actuality, the day is quite pleasant outside and the car is comfortable, but Monica's mood sucks the air out of you. The attitude, not that I can blame her, is palpable and seeps into our whole existence. The silence is killing me, I have to do something to make this better. So, I verbalize those hated words, "I wish there was something that I could do." Wrong move jackass, the look of contempt and maybe a little hatred is immediate and striking. She doesn't say anything, however, the stale air in the car was taking over again to the point I was reaching for the window opener again before her look brought me up short. I wish I hadn't said it, but I'm a man, and I need to make things better. It's what we are expected to do. We provide for and protect those that we love and have committed to. "Go, are you going to sit at this light all day, it's green." Monica had seen no response started snapping her fingers to get my attention. I hated this maneuver as it is awfully disrespectful and somewhat demeaning. Also, I believe this response is beneath what Monica should consider appropriate behavior. So, I zoned out. I heard her in a faraway disengaged sort of way, but nothing registered. We were en route again as I glance over to my wife, she is shaking her head. We pulled into the garage and Monica runs for the bathroom. She has no choice, now I feel bad for copping an attitude. I went into the kitchen and started an herbal tea and set out graham crackers. They don't help her but they settle her stomach. When she exited the bathroom she headed straight for the master bedroom and closed the door. She didn't lock it but when it was closed, she preferred to be left alone I went back to the kitchen and put away the items that I set out for her benefit. I settled into the living room and turned the tv on low. You never know if a migraine or some other host of ailments are accompanying her present condition. You learn to live with someone that has a life- altering condition. It would be so much easier if Monica would just let me know what is happening. It would take a lot of guesswork out of the equation. Her pride is not all that helpful. The first five years of marriage were a dream. Monica is a very vivacious woman. Sexy, animated, and social Pyrrha. All seemed drawn to her. She makes friends easily. She isn't judgmental. Gossip is not her thing. All that put guest list together, assume to invite her to make the party rememberable. Monica is always at the top of everyone's list. If she can get some rest or even a full night's sleep, then like most people she will recover enough to again partake in a semi-normal existence once again. This time it was not going to follow the normal pattern that has been the new norm. She would have a flareup, rest while figuring out which foods consumed added to her discomfort. And as she felt a little better join in our shared existence once again. When she would rejoin me things would slowly, quietly return to a regular state and we would resume life as if nothing had transpired. I don't know how but these patterns just develop as things happen. Nothing is discussed we just fit ourselves into groves that still work within the cogs that drive our lives. What other choice did we have? We can only work with what we have or can afford to consume from what's available. This is what we are, in a nutshell, victims of our existence. She stormed into the living room grabbed the remote and hit mute. She seemed to be angry or mad. That is not an accurate description. She is stoic. She has made up her mind. There has been no forewarning; no conversation; no hint; no possible clue as to what is about to transpire. This is serious. My mind is racing trying to get ahead of the imminent onslaught. Did I do something aggreges? Does she know I ate the rest of the lasagna? What is so terrible? Again, I find myself at a complete loss, about to hear the next rule for living with a person that you love. One that, due to her condition, has at times had unreasonable demands. Most marriages iron out all these little idiosyncrasies in the first year. When one of the spouses gets sick it is ongoing and quite frankly stressful. "I want a divorce." I sat there dumbfounded. I was just staring at her. So, she repeated her statement. Then she repeated it again and again. It was a strange mantra. Monica seemed to be trying to convince herself that she wanted this divorce. We have been married for 8 years now and out of the blue, she wants to end our marriage. The sigh that escaped me was that of a tired spouse. I wasn't going anywhere, but I didn't want to have this conversation. The scene was punctuated by the silent flickering of the tv that continued spilling forth a silent movie of sorts. "No" was all I said. I got up and placed her in a gentle but solid hug. I just stood there holding on to her until she resolves withered and her face softened. It was tense for a couple of hours and then things started to feel semi-normal. At bedtime, I just hoped that she felt better in the morning. The next morning, she explained that she didn't want to bring me down. She was the one that was sick. That I should not have to deal with all this. I shook my head at the stupidity of her thought process. Then visibly she noticed that I was angry. She reached out and placed her hand over mine in an attempt to ease the tension, but the look upon her face showed that she now was worried. I was mad and really who knows what she is now thinking. Someone that just a few hours ago was stating that she wanted a divorce and now looked at the person that loved her and the anger on my face was something that I could not disguise. Maybe she thought that she was about to get what she asked for. I would have liked to calm down and alleviated her fears, but F***, I was angry. I have been along for the ride for three years now and I'm feeling very underappreciated. I steeled myself, took my hand back, and asked "what kind of person do you think I am?" Monica was taken aback. The confusion was written all over her face. The relief was there but it was majorly secondary. Then she said the only thing she really could have, "what do you mean?" Then on her face I could see the logic once again reeling through her mind, she was taking the altruistic high road. This was her problem and she was going to deal with it. Since it seemed insurmountable, she would weather that storm alone. She was a control freak. Someone that could handle everything on her own. It has always been this way, it's just her personality. She always takes control and now she finds that she can't even control her bowels. She waited through my silence as I collected my thoughts. "I am your husband do you think I would abandon you because you have an unpleasant condition? I married the woman that I love. There is absolutely nothing that could make me betray my wedding vows. Whatever either of us goes through we will be there for each other. To suggest that I should pick up and leave because you are sick is an absolute affront to everything that I consider myself to be. You make me angry with the approach to our problem that you have taken. How dare you shut me out. And when I say our problem that is what it is. Not only that but as more people have this condition the Pharma industry will be trying to capitalize on this condition for major profits. Right now, the doctors have nothing to offer, but at any time soon someone will profit big on a cure or at least, and more probably, a protocol to control the situation. I am and have always been there for you, do not treat me this way again." I was on a roll. We tended not to discuss our issues. We pretty much just worked through them. It would probably be better to have more discussions as the matters at hand were very serious, but I pretty much followed Monica's lead. It was her affliction; shouldn't she be the one that decides how to deal with it? After months, well maybe years of dealing with the air need to be cleared. I believe I just accomplished that. There was nothing for her to say. She understood how wrong she had been. Now we sat there with this weird tension as she had been put in her place and this doesn't sit well with a control freak. Monica never liked to be wrong and it was near impossible for her to admit it. This occasion was no exception, she hated to admit she was wrong. Then, to the casual observer, a strange thing happened. Monica became very amorous. Maybe she will not apologize in the normal sense but it is an unspoken admission of reconciliation on her part. I believe that most people call it make up sex. I now found myself divested of all my clothes and being pushed back on our California king bed. She is a beautiful woman who just now removed her panties and climbed on top of me. Oh GOD, it has been so long. I want to enjoy this. And I did. You see, three months ago Monica and I were enjoying our marital bed when the Crohn's disease kicked in and ruined our expensive Egyptian cotton sheets. Egyptian cotton my ass, it's just a come-on to charge too much. Well, that is a pretty hard event to overcome. Monica's embarrassment was such that, for the last three months I've taken matters into my own hands, sort of speak. Another three thousand dollars to replace the pillow top mattress and I thought it would be forgotten, but again I was wrong. So now we are back to square one. The air has been cleared and again we move forward but, with no answers about what to do with the condition at hand. Our relationship is again comfortable, that is something but not where we want to be. It's so easy to ask why, but it doesn't help. Monica and I will be alright. We will wait for some medical miracle on pins and needles. The wait is not fun. CHAPTER TWO Did I mention that I liked NOVA? Monica and I were watching the miracle of creating a person. The precise nature of creating a little person was amazing. There seems to be a genetic time clock that follows such a ridged flow chart, it's a wonder that anyone can give birth. But we do and the planet contrives to move forward in such a mundane way that it's hard to believe that anything miraculous happens. As it turns out, everything is miraculous. And then it happened, a simple statement of fact that would change my life forever. As it turns out the newly created person gets biomaterial as it passes through the birth canal. This, as it turns out, is supplemented by breastfeeding. So, the baby's intestine achieves its health by basically feeding from the mother. Nothing happened right away, but I could see there was something on my wife's mind. Monica asked for my undistracted attention. Here we go again, would this be something else that bothered her and needed my adjustment to make things agreeable? No, she brought up the subject of the NOVA program that we watched together. "Eddie, I want to try something that could help my condition. You are the healthiest person that I have ever known. And to that end I want you to repopulate my intestinal bacteria. As I've told you in the past, my mother did not breastfeed me. She was worried about her shape and size. So, her vanity negating what her child needed. "You think you will benefit from a fecal transfer from me. I've said before, that this may help." "It is also nice that you do blame your mother." My sarcastic personality does bubble up from time to time. It's not that I didn't get along with my mother-in-law, so long as she didn't, well in general speak or voice her opinion about any and everything. So as Monica rolled her eyes at my feeble attempt to make light of this conversation, she said. "No Eddie, I've had three fecal transfers with absolutely no success. What I want is you to visit Renee and get a few hormones that would enable you to produce breast milk." To say that I was shocked, would be an understatement. Was she pulling my leg or, more importantly, was she serious? It is excepted knowledge that this is possible but it fringes on jokes at the water cooler. People just don't do certain things. Renee was a friend of Monica. She is an MD and a very sexy woman. Sexy in the serious student with a knockout body and an astute mind sort of way. God, I love intelligent women. The only thing missing was the glasses. She was professionally dressed, no lab coat as this was just an office visit, a smart skirt suit affair with hose ending in high heels that her too-small feet resided in. Her straight black hair is held in a bun with what looks to be chopsticks skewered through it. This left a perfect line sight to the only "unprofessional touch," a set of silver or white gold dangle earrings that brought attention to the fact that, although she is a professional, she still, under everything is a woman. Monica has already talked to Renee about what she wanted to try. Renee was dubious but was willing to try as Monica, her lifelong friend was apparently at the end of her tether. Renee did tell Monica that at best this was a very long shot. I met Renee at her office. She greeted me and expressed her concerns. I countered with I can't tell you how many times I've offered to do anything that I can to help. So here we are. What do I need to do to possibly make this helpful? She let me know that I may have some swelling in my chest area. I asked if this was reversible and Renee believed that yes this was no big deal. So, on my end what was the problem. I could make my wife happy and best case help her condition. My prescription was at hand and I took it dutifully. It's a strange feeling to take something foreign and to swallow. That was my first pill of many and Monica seemed so proud. It's not many things nowadays that Monica enjoys, but this was one of them. I don't know if it was the comradery or the fact that I was willing to try such a left-field long shot, but she seemed to enjoy this little exchange. Maybe it was the fact that she was standing over me watching me swallow what, felt like my impending doom and to be unequivocally in charge of something again that touched her happy zone. Either way, I was now on track for something foreign to myself. Well, I was being melodramatic, as basically nothing happened. I guess I was expecting something radical to change instantly. That is not how this works. As the months wore on and our relationship renewed itself, we both felt better as we were doing something towards making our existence better. For better or worse we were doing something. Which is way better than anything that passes for modern medicine in the United States. At about 3 months and a few days, my chest did indeed start to swell. This was very disconcerting for me. Monica thought it was miraculous, as it did show my commitment to her and us. All those times I said "I wish there was something that I could do," now actually meant something. And there was physical evidence to prove what I had verbalized so many times. She became much closer to me in a way that I never knew was possible. We truly are in love. Now that we were certain that things were proceeding, we needed to purchase an adequate breast pump. Being that Monica made much more financially than I did, she not only insisted that it would be a double pump but one of the highest calibers. I could not argue but I didn't see the need for buying the best for something that quite frankly will probably not produce results. Monica however, was adamant and I soon found myself attached to a double pump sucking at my nipples. Now I can't complain as the feeling was exquisite. I've never felt anything like that. Monica has on occasion taken my nipple into her mouth while we made love, but this felt very different. Was it the mechanical device or were the hormones adding to the feelings that I now experienced? Nothing came from the pump. A real small amount of clear liquid. Monica seemed delighted. I wonder if she knew something that I didn't. Anyhow our love seemed deeper and more genuine than ever before. There were no more empty words, no epitaph, and no false platitudes. Everything was now proven and very real. And I had a side effect of sensitive breasts that I never expected to bring such a feeling of joy. I don't know how to describe it but joy seems to fit. So, as we continued down this seeming forlorn path, I started to get a bad feeling as to the near future. It is great to prove my dedication and love to my wife but the grabbing at proverbial straws was starting to get to me. What will happen after this distraction folds in upon itself and Monica sees that it is just another dead end. Nothing on the horizon medically to hope for? She had me pumping every evening to stimulate and see what will happen. After all, we didn't know the simple biological outcome of our little experiment. Renee had warned us that this might not even bear fruit to the point of producing real milk. It was a real surprise when not only did the pump start producing milk, it looked of quality and substance. So, at almost five months in, I started to produce what could only be considered mother's milk. My now almost b cup breasts were more than a source of embarrassment, they were seemingly producing exactly what we were after. CHAPTER 3 False hopes and disappointments were to follow. We pumped my breasts. Monica always helped for some reason, if she was around. We ended up with three, which seemed to be high-quality jars of mother's milk in the fridge. Now after all this time Monica poured herself a small glass of, if I may say so, prime mother's milk straight out of the great Eddie's B+ breasts. I know it seems strange to find pride in this but I never thought I would be able to do such a thing. Now after all this effort and time Monica didn't seem capable to drink this blessed concoction. The site or texture or what was off-putting. I love my wife but after all, I've been through this is not acceptable. "What the F***, Monic drink the damn shit." And she did. The face that followed, well that was something of a mixture of disgust and horror. A fit of giggles followed from both of us, as she screwed up face made the situation laughable. Afterward, she admitted that it wasn't all that bad, but a merlot was much more to her liking. She hugged me and thanked me and apologized to me, I believe for the first time in our 8-year marriage. Now we have made the elixir and delivered it, all we have to do is wait. More pumping, which for me was enjoyable, more drinking that Monica seemed to be able to tolerate. But as I learned, it is not nice to say something smart-ass while she is trying to ingest her "medicine." We had no idea how long before we could get some results, but we were hopeful. This strange experiment seemed to be bearing fruit. After another three months and now C cup breasts, nothing had changed. So far, I've been able to compress my new appendages so that while I was at work no one seemed to notice. I like my breasts minus the obvious embarrassment that their size and occasional leaking if my pads are not in the right place. Monica came into the living room where I was watching NOVA again and switched off the volume. This is a habit that I do not appreciate but have learned to live with. She wasn't mad or stoic this time. She seemed defeated. There was something else there though. Now she completely understood that I am in her corner. She proceeded to turn the TV off. "Eddie, I want you to know that what you tried to do for me is amazing. I love you so much. You don't need to take those hormones anymore as this is not doing anything for the Crohn's." She then grabbed both of my hands and led me to the master bedroom. She stripped my clothes off and pushed me onto our bed. She started to shed her sweats in dramatic fashion revealing that underneath she was all decked out in female finery. As they came off her she revealed the most amazing female form that I have ever remembered. Monica was after all a complete knockout. As I started to move, she warned me to behave or she would tie me up. I decided to cooperate. The disappointment was not in my immediate future. There were seductive kisses, nibbling at my newly acquired appendages and stroking at my inner thighs. She was an animal. When she felt that I was hard enough she climbed on top and unceremoniously impaled herself on my neglected man meat. Up and down she started to ride to the music that she put on, Luther Vandross. I didn't care what music was playing, I flipped us over and landed on top of my beautiful wife. I started slowly pumping in and out when all of a sudden, she latched onto my protruding breast. Momentarily I paused having lost my bearings. She began to suckle which was an amazing turn-on. I've never felt anything like it. We continued to make love as she emptied both of my breasts. The orgasm that followed was earth-shattering. We were spent. I rolled off of her and laid on my side of the bed. "wow" was all I said. She looked at me with a knowing smile. And with typical male gratitude, I feel into an immediate deep sleep. CHAPTER 4 I haven't taken the hormones now for three weeks. I don't know when my breasts will subside but Renee seems to think that it is imminent. Honestly, I'm torn, I've come to love my breasts. That is contributed mostly to the fact that our love life has returned and Monica is fond of sucking all the milk directly from my breasts. I like it. The feeling is like nothing that I have ever felt. It's almost like having additional orgasms before the quintennial male orgasm quite frankly ruins everything. I don't understand the plethora of lovemaking as before it has been rare and not too often. I know that returning to my original male chest would be the easiest route. Living in society's norms and not having to hide things that fall outside of excepted pathways is simply the easiest existence. What I would be giving up to have an easier existence though I've learned is substantial. I came home from work today, surprised to see Monica waiting for me with my meds in her hands. A glass of cool water on the counter and my wife with an overjoyed expression on her face. Take this she demanded. Handing me my foregone pills as they didn't help her. I took the proffered pill and was dragged to the shower and washed and led to our bed. I can't complain, but I wondered what was happening. Sex, sucking and my very vivacious wife of five years ago held me spellbound. "Want to tell me what that is all about?" Yes, she did, it seems that mother's milk from the bottle does nothing, but somehow straight from the source works miracles. Well, I was speechless. What we did, she believes is working. I never held out much hope for this endeavor, but here we are? "Are you sure it's not just a coincidence?" She answered that either way she was not looking a gift horse in the mouth. At the very least she said that I enjoyed having my beautiful tits emptied while I Fuc*** her. This is true and there is no arguing that. The fact that she was able to continue performing in the bedroom was all the proof she needed. I was not so sure. I did however like my breasts and I have decided that I didn't want to see them go. Now I have a reason to keep my breasts and get bouts of lovemaking like when we were first married. How could this be a bad thing? CHAPTER 5 Monica hadn't been going to her Crohn's disease support group for some time. Wednesday was the regular night. She had fostered many friends there, not a surprise, as her personality almost dictated this occurrence. Tonight, she was going to attend. Everyone had missed her and wanted to support her upon her arrival. She relayed the bad news by her latest doctor and the platitudes were forthcoming. She felt all alone that night as her fellow sufferers didn't know how to support her. They each had had some success with the treatments offered. Although not enough, to have no advancement towards a healthy existence they could not fathom. When she came home, we opened a nice merlot. Afterward, she took me, emptied my breasts, and screwed me raw. Monica's health seemed to be returning. Just maybe this silly experiment was working. Monica sure thought so. I searched on youtube that night on Crohn's disease and spontaneous cures. Nothing came up, maybe she was right. Every day Monica was getting healthy and becoming her old self. I was getting my wife back. This is all I wanted; she is getting better. I don't care that I am sporting small D size breasts now. I can still sort of hide them. Even if not all the way, most people don't look so close to care. I've only had a few commits at work that maybe I needed to hit the gym. Life goes on, my wife is now "cured" and our lives and sex life, although slightly changed is so much better. Upon Monica's trip to her support group today, everyone noticed a change in her demeanor. Staci wanted to know what is up. Monica hemmed and hawed. This was not well received. Staci was an A-type personality that doesn't let the sleeping dog lay. "I've noticed that you haven't run to the bathroom all night, what gives?" Staci had a way of cutting to the chase. "I've stumbled upon a cure, I think. But it's embarrassing." Staci raised her eyebrows and dug into what Monica had just said. "You may have a cure and you are not willing to share with the rest of us?" Staci was not happy. "I know you know how bad this condition is and yet you hold back possible relief from this terrible condition?" Monica was the most, affected member in this group, or maybe John, however now she seemed symptom-free. Staci left no room for her contempt that she now freely showed. "I want to know what you have discovered and what is making you feel better which I can see." All the members of this group were well endowed and have spent a small fortune trying to fix themselves. Monica was now sitting on a "cure" with a wealthy group of people that would try just about everything and probably already had. "Ok, Staci but I must insist on privacy." She went on to inform her friend of three years what has transpired with her condition and her husband. "OK," Staci said I'm in. "I'll give Eddie Ten Thousand to let me suck off his tits 5 times." Monica sat there in stunned silence. So many questions, with really no answers. So, the simple answer was to say that she would try to convince Eddie to play ball. Eddie, we need to talk. Staci in my support group is willing to pay ten thousand cash for the privilege of sucking your mother's milk from you five times. The amount of money she has spent trying to beat this thing is upwards of $78,000.00. I want you to help others with this cure. "I can't believe you told others about this." What am I supposed to do now? Do I even believe that this is what has helped my wife? Can I open this up to help others? God, I don't know about this. Two weeks later Staci was knocking on our door when Monica went to greet her. I wasn't nervous anymore after 3 scotch and sodas. Staci handed me an envelope of cash, I led her to the spare bedroom. Thirty minutes later and the very good-looking Staci was leaving our home with a full belly. I could not hide the erection that was still tenting my sweat pants. Monica thought this was funny, but I felt like I had just cheated on her. From my end, this was a problem but Monica just shrugged and led me through to our bedroom and took advantage of the hard object. Is this a problem or a Godsend? I don?t know. Every three days Staci came back for her booster feeding. I had the same results every time. When someone is sucking your milk from you, it just feels really good. There is a feeling of a strong vibration that fills my whole chest area that becomes more intense and falls away with each heartbeat, but without an actual vibration, I do not know how else to describe it. So basically in 3 hours, I?ve earned ten thousand dollars. I wasn?t sure but it seemed that I started to lose weight. When breastfeeding fat is taken from your body at a rate you simply cannot replace. What a great side effect. You get a whole lot of money, a really pleasant experience and top of all that you lose weight. There doesn?t seem to be a downside to this. Monica said we needed to talk again. I don?t like that interlude. Nothing good usually comes after such a statement. She informed me that Staci was indeed feeling much better after receiving her treatment from me. I told her that I felt that it was great that we helped her. Then the bomb went off. "Eddie," Monica said, "most of the group is interested in having the same treatment." I think we should help them. What happened to privacy, as you told me that Staci understood? Was this not to be a one-off? Now everyone knew what I may have under my shirt and wanted access. This is not supposed to happen this way. What to do? Could I be selfish and deny everything? Just go about my business and deny access to all these people that needed help? Unfortunately, I could not. This is not who I am. Damn this experiment. Why do I need to be several peoples? health messiah? How could this have transpired? Now money started flowing in. I helped all the women in her group. Fifteen in all. And then with the success with the women, the men in the group wanted a go. This was problematic for me. Women seeing my condition was one thing but a guy sucking my milk from me is quite another thing. I know it?s a double standard, but some things are just what they are. The therapeutic effect for some reason was only effective from the source. With all these people that I helped my weight loss was almost extreme. Now I was one hundred and twenty-five pounds to be generous. I swallowed my pride and sucked it up sort of in a distended way and took payment from several men to come five times and suck my milk from my new beautiful breasts. We had bought a gun safe and started storing my earnings in it. This is the first time in our marriage that financially I was outperforming Monica. In a jovial way, she started to refer to me as her cash cow. This is not a joke that I could get fully on board with. Although I certainly could see the efficient ties to reality, it stunk of a mean streak that didn?t sit well with me. I did all this to help her and being relegated to the level of a farm animal just didn?t seem right. I let this slide as she didn?t bring up that all my clients left here leaving me with a boner that was indecent at best. Sometimes Monica can be very unappreciative and condescending. You have no say in whom you love. And boy oh boy I did love, Monica. CHAPTER 6 Bob Emmerson enters our home handing me the standard fee. It is actually in a used envelope from some bill he had received and repurposed said envelope to hold the ten-thousand-dollar fee. I bring him back to our spare bedroom to administer his treatment. When I unbuttoned my shirt, he got very quiet. Then as he was leaning in to take my nipple in his mouth he abruptly got up and hurried for our door. Trying to cover me, I pursued after him saying "take your fee with you." He didn?t listen and just basically fled our home. It was two days later that I received a note from Bob apologizing for what had happened and an offer that I found strange yet profitable. Long and short of it, Bob could not get past that I was a guy with tits. Well? no duh. But the fact that I?ve already helped most of his group makes him want to try it. The note informs me that he has already spent north of eight hundred and fifty thousand dollars trying all sorts of remedies. And his proposal is simple. For the sum of an additional twenty thousand dollars he wants me to go to a service that makes men look like a woman. He will pay for everything the service suggests and would appreciate it if I would consider this. Monica asks to see the note. She peruses it then lets out a low whistle. She looks up at me and gives me a quizzical look. "What?s there to think about that is three times the money for a little dress up?" She didn?t get the big picture here. Basically, with the appointments made all that remained was to confirm the appointments. Monica was only too happy to call and confirm, per the directions contained in Bob?s letter. This she did with a flourish, to my dismay. Looking at me she thought I was being foolish for not jumping at this opportunity. But at any rate, the wheels were now in motion. I would show up at the appointed time and do what was necessary. Friday, I found myself entering a beautiful brownstone building that had been converted to a beauty shop of sorts. I was a little surprised to see various lasers at several stations on the ground floor. Ashley was what her name tag said, led me upstairs to a shower room where I was asked to disrobe. She handed me a Merlot and said that this particular moniker is simply so wonderful that you will have a feeling of euphoria and relaxation like never before. Tasting this, I could only agree. I was sent to the showers and asked to soap up. To my surprise, Ashley joined me in the shower. She produced a razor and started shaving almost everything off my body. I asked her why they didn?t use a dilapidator cream she informed me that the lasers worked better with a cleanly cut hair follicle. Now with the smallest panties that I have ever seen, I was led to a hair removal laser. Beverly now took my hand in the most feminine of greetings and I giggled. I was asked to reach for a bar that hung from the ceiling while she spread the cream all over my body. This was not going to be a quick dress-up session. As it turns out, the Merlot was most definitely spiked. When I asked what the cream was for, my speech was slurred. Beverly answered as if nothing was out of the ordinary. "It?s to make you comfortable through the laser treatments." Well, that makes sense, I thought and proceeded to lie down on her table. Sometime later, I was coming too with someone rubbing my whole body with another cream. Not asking this time what it was I noticed another woman coming at me with a tray of unrecognizable items on it. She started handling my testicles and penis. Well, that is a wake-up call no matter what they have administered to you. "What are you doing?" Bob has paid to have my man parts glued back out of the way, was my answer. Well, no Fuc**** way will I allow this to happen. I get up to leave and am informed that if I don?t want any service that I only need to inform them of my decision. Ok then, now I?m in charge again. I?ve only had Permanente hair removal while unbeknownst to me I had ingested some harsh tranquilizers. I would like to see what has already transpired since I?ve been drugged for a procedure that I may have already declined if I understood it was "optional." And, when I say permanent, this treatment was everywhere. Well, as I understand it, one treatment doesn?t do all that much but boy was my skin red. And it was red everywhere. An hour and a half later Ashley, was taking me back to the showers. Of course, I wanted to know why. She said, "we need to remove the self- tanner to stop its development." Now I?ve had another procedure that I wasn?t aware of and now felt out of control once more. I was starting to get aggravated once more. As I came out of the shower, I started to notice the beginnings of a very nice tan across the spectrum of my hairless body. Off to wardrobe, Rita was already pulling things together to make me into what everyone would assume was a "natural" female. As I entered, she noticed that I negated the gluing of my penis back and out of the way. She became flush as she realized that I was not only above average in this department but was probably in the top 20% as to size. Understandably, most of whom find their selves here are probably on the small side. She disappeared into one of the wardrobes and came back with a gaff. Taking the pro-offered item, I donned it quickly to regain some modesty. This is much better, being covered in front of strangers until Rita started adjusting the gaff for proper effect. Well her administrations did not have the desired effect. Suddenly the gaff was rendered useless. Her intentions were purely professional, but the flushness of her face upon seeing the unintended results made me so uncomfortable that I nearly bolted from this facility. It was not as ridged as after a client takes their "medicine" from my body, but that has been taken care of by Monica every time. Now Monica is not here to take advantage of my situation. Monica was gaining back her health and with it a renewed desire for contact, love, and a newfound lust for the sex that has been missing from our relationship. I?m a little off-put that every time someone latches on to my newly formed sensitive breasts, I get a raging hardon. Monica has been scheduling my appointments and after discovering the extra benefit to my rendering help to these unfortunate souls, she has made sure that it is convenient for her to take advantage. I?ve started to feel that I?m being conditioned, not intentionally but, as every time I render service to a client, I am also rewarded with my beautiful wife pushing me backward on our bed, mounting my ridged member and sucking any remnants of mother?s milk from my body. I have to be careful not to let my clients see my condition. But the result is Monica basically schedules my "fluffers" at a high price and then takes a ride on the resulting physical response. It?s nice and clean and straight to the main event. I always thought women wanted all of the precursors to lovemaking, but in Monica?s case, this did not hold. I guess it was quantity over most people?s definition of quality. I?ve already been here for five hours; I was thinking three tops. I think Rita was envisioning going home at some point today as she suddenly had a blue gel pack shoved against my predicament. Well, that was efficient. Now with things clearly in hand, my gaff was fulfilling the intended purpose. Moving on to a bra fitting, I discovered that I?m just a large C cup breast. When you have breasts suddenly on your former male chest and spend much of your time concealing them, your impression is that they are larger than you thought they were. It is shocking how much more pronounced and now comfortable my chest was with a properly fitting bra. Now having some modesty with a robe and properly fitting underthings, I?m asked to follow Rita to a nail and hair station. Melisa grabbed my hands and started putting these strange black u-shaped stickers under my nails. Someone from behind started grabbing my hair and putting silver alligator clips dividing everything into sections. Jessica tapped my leg prompting me to lift it onto a stool that was now in front of me. My sensory overload was apparent to me, but no one was paying any attention to my state of mind. Or even my willingness to follow along their prescribed path. The fascination of what was occurring simultaneously preempted any complaint or control that I should have put forth. This was not a relaxing day spa treatment; these ladies were turning out a product. Some sort of gel was being rolled off a brush across my natural nails and onto the strange little stickers that adorned my fingers. My toes were held one by one while an emery board was slid back and forth across them. A weight seemed to be being added to my scalp. Color now adorned my toes. My hands were free of the little black stickers. My hair was now a foot and a half long. That part I could only feel. My fingernails were treated to the emery board the same as my toenails, but with a much-extended white material that looked a little like Japanese rice paper. Some smelly chemical was added to my hair and I would assume extensions that have just been added. All of a sudden Rita appeared with some shinny delicate material and started rolling them into little doughnut shapes. She did the tap at my foot. Then licked her finger and seemed to be checking the dryness of my toe lacquer. Satisfied she manipulated my foot and started installing the most sensual material that was soon to encase my legs. Suddenly time stood still. As Rita worked whatever brand hose these were to my legs, all of my anxiety dissolved. Having so many technicians reworking my personage to present as something I?m not. And the efficiency that they developed with time practicing their craft, made for an overwhelming attack into my personal space. Never even having gone for a massage, this was not only new to me, but it was also an extreme affront to my boundaries. But now, as this wonderful material was glided first over my glistening toenails then rounding over my heals past my ankles and onward being shimmied front to back as this silky material sent new sensations over my freshly denuded legs. Rita was undoubted "Fu***** with me," She understood how to get the most dramatic effect with this procedure and she was incorporating her developed methods. Her slow ministrations seemed to be an attempt to test the quality of their company?s supply of gaffs. "Bliss, simply bliss," was all that remained in my now addled mind. How could this possibly feel this good? As she placed my first leg back to the floor and started the next, I was going into overload. I don?t know what causes some people?s eyes to roll back into their heads, but this must be a contender. She looked into my eyes to see if the desired effect was transpiring, my expression must have confirmed that she had achieved her intended goal. Now as she started to proceed, she slowed down and seemed to readjust the fit a bit too much. She might be a little evil but, she certainly added to the enjoyment of my time here. How could women complain about this? If my manhood wasn?t already trapped my boner would have outdone the previous hormone-induced sensations caused by suckling at my breast. A guarder belt was added to the ensemble with a flourish of an awkward dance that got the job done. After she connected the eight suspenders of my newly acquired guarder belt she stood back with a knowing smirk on her face. I was taken to a sink to wash the die from my hair. I didn?t know what to think anymore. All these sensations were adding up to an experience I never thought was possible. A little paint on my fingernails. Now I matched. The hairdresser now started trimming and shaping the new volume that I possessed. A small thin boy with a zest for sculpting hair to a new category of perfection. Johnathan, I believe the others called him. The hair, well it was perfect if you were a beautiful woman. And I guess that was the point of this exercise. Johnathan was a talented little shit. The appearance of Elizabeth was the start of the first major sour note. Here she was and she was going to sculpt my eyebrows. It might be silly at this point but with everything else that was semi-permanent, the eyebrows would not be able to be concealed at my place of employment. I took semi total control at this point leaving Elizabeth with disappointment written all over her face. She was able to get me down to a Brook Shields look and that was it. A far cry from where she wanted to end up. Back to the wardrobe. Oh no, a stop at makeup first. A half-hour later I left that chair with an exurbanite amount of powders and creams. Surprisingly, with all that had been applied, it was a lot, it didn?t seem much at all. It looked very natural. I honestly do not know how this is possible. As I entered the presence of Rita, I was noticing a little black dress, heels, and a small clutch. Oh God, we are at the finish line. So, decorated with the final items of feminine finery, the transformation was finally complete. To say so myself, with my naturally occurring beautiful tits, the weight loss by suckling clients, hair make-up, and beautiful yet simple clothes, I looked a natural woman. Good looking and vivacious myself, a term that I have used to describe my soulmate many times. Rita then used an atomizer to liberally add some favorite perfume. CHAPTER 7 Bob collects me from the transformation service. He is very pleased. "Edith, he said, please do me the honor of accompanying me to Rothchild?s." I have heard of Rothchild?s but never dared enter the premises due to the astronomical cost of dining there. Three hours later Bob and I are at his luxury apartment taking in the view. He sits on his favorite Lazy-boy of all things and pats his lap. I join him and he lets my dress unfold in such a way he can access my breasts. Slowly, as if to enjoy himself, Bob leans forward and takes my nutrient-rich nipple in his mouth. He starts suckling gently and is rewarded with what he has sought out. This time there is no hesitation or awkwardness, just Bob attaining what he wants. Bob is on his way to receiving the help that he desperately needs. If to create such an illusion is what it takes to gain the result, then the end justifies the means. He informs me to meet him at Nathan?s three days from now. He will send the required outfit. I walk into our home to hear Monica asking me to join her for dinner. I answer back that I just need to go get changed. No, she said to come through as dinner is already on the table. I walk through, she knows that my boner is probably painful at this point. She insists that I sit down and have the fellowship of this fine meal together. I?m decked out as a beautiful woman, sexually frustrated at this point, and a very sexy wife that seems intent on changing the nature of our game. Monica doesn?t say anything, but I see she is sexually charged by what the transformation business has achieved. It was a weird meal, in that nothing was said. We sat in silence eating a wonderful meal. She stole glances at me throughout and would look down and, I don?t know if she was blushing or turning flush. She had at one point removed her shoe and used the instep of her foot to rub my hose covered leg. The overpriced meal that I consumed with Bob was virtually nonexistent. Monica was enjoying my predicament and thinking about how to take this to her full advantage. It seems that she had a few ideas that she would like to try. In the bedroom, Monica asked that I go down on her. We are now in new territory. For some reason, this has never come up before this evening. I gave it a good effort. Slowly I started to lap at her nether region. All I needed was her response to know if this is what she needed and how good it felt. In the next half hour, I believe I was an accomplished pussy licker. Monica could no longer hang back, her pointed feet started to involuntarily shake. Her nipples were as extended as I?ve ever seen them. And then she screamed. Oh God did she scream. "Damn I?m Good" was the egocentric thought that prevailed at this moment. Then she removed anything that impeded her access to my boner and impaled herself on me. Looking straight into my eyes she started her ministrations that would yield an orgasm from each of us that was life-changing. Monica liked what she had just experienced and wanted much more. Then, after she was sated in a very carnal way, she started exploring the soft fabrics that adorned my body. Her foot started a slow rubbing sequence up and down my chins exploring and feeling causing an explosion of sensations within me. She noticed the effect, smiled, and while continuing to stimulate my hose-encased leg placed her hand just to the inside of my crotch rubbing the soft skin that surrounded my tool without ever actually touching me directly there. She kissed me softly making our lips part and our lipsticks to mix and pull slightly away as she disengaged the kiss. She nestled down on my breast and started suckling while still maneuvering her other ministrations. I?m pretty sure that I never did it twice until that night. This time she didn?t climb on top of me though, she was tired from her earlier exertions. She rolled onto her back and invited me to penetrate her. I obliged. Having entered her, she had this almost relaxed on the beach expression on her face. I started noticing my hair cascading down my back and falling in front of my view of a very contented Monica. I pushed up to give space for all this hair and noticed my glistening fingernails digging into the pillow on each side of her beautiful face. I smelled my perfume, sensed the makeup that still adorned my face minus the lipstick and foundation that was around my mouth but had since been mostly rubbed off. Looking down my breasts that have come into their own, were just so beautiful, I started to pump softly up and down and Monica bent forward and took my right nipple into her mouth. "Oh my GOD," I hate this expression especially coming from very young girls? mouths as it is so overused and annoying, but "OH MY GOD," was all that I could think of at this moment. ?I believe you will need to call into work and ask for your vacation time." I don?t see how you can disguise what has been done for the immediate future. Monica was right of course. Press on nails and a wig should have sav-iced. Not that I opted for such semi-permanent changes but here I was all decked out with a repeat performance just three days away. I called into work and made arrangements. Even with an explanation, eluding to a family emergency, work relented but seemed unhappy. Now I was Monica?s free and clear. She delved in and didn?t come up for air until I needed to meet Bob at the appointed time. I don?t know why I did what I did, but I did not inform Monica that Bob had given me an additional $5,000.00 not to undo what was done by the institution. This would save him a serious sawbuck. It also had the effect of sowing a serious amount of guilt that I had hidden this small addition to our deal. I?ve never kept anything from Monica until now. Not sure why I hid this information from my wife I departed to meet Bob at Nathan?s, having donned a very beautiful sequined number that had arrive just the day before. It was a soft rose color and probably out of today?s current style, but it made me the center of attention. I?m not sure how an antiquated dress looked so good on my frame but compliments galore poured from the mouths of many strangers. Bob was cordial and nice. He simply needed to create an environment that would allow him to partake in an unusual treatment. Many of the treatments were self-debasing or at least extremely humiliating. Recognizing that what I had in my now perfect looking breasts could be an actual Godsend, Bob seemed eager to please and continue the relationship. He admitted there was a certain attraction when I was dressed this way which allowed him to partake of the treatment. Can you imagine swallowing someone else?s shit, literally? Most of the support group has done that two or three times and other treatments that they considered worse. Bob wanted to know why I refused the corset. Although it was beautiful, I just felt that somethings were just going too far. I did let him know that I appreciated his willingness to spend an exuberant amount of money for the illusion to be perfect. He let me know that he expected me to go back to the institute before the third treatment for a refresher course. This seemed out of place as Bob although willing to spend huge amounts of money also seemed to be a cheapskate on so many other levels. In the back of his limo, I administered Bob?s treatment. This dress was not entirely thought through as it was so cumbersome to the task at hand, it needed to be removed. Bob had himself delivered to his place of business and instructed the driver to take me home or wherever I wished to go. By the time I arrived home, my dress was back in place and I looked impressive exiting the stretch limo all decked out in feminine finery. Monica was appreciative of my coy look and beckoned me forth to our master bedroom. "I?ve never made it with a celebrity before," what was it that Bob called her, oh yes "Edith." "Yeah, I don?t think that name goes. It?s just something Bob does for his justification at the weirdness of this situation." Monica didn?t registrar what I was laying down, she just took my purse from me and indicated for me to assume the newly found position of head pussy licker. And boy did I deliver. Slow drawn-out exaggerated tongue lashings that would make a nun consider giving up her vows. Three screaming orgasms later, I was flipped over and taken advantage of from my preferred joint venture. The changes in our lives are becoming extreme, but I don?t think I can complain. Life, as strange as it has become, really has never been this delightful. I?m so lucky to have such a partner as Monica. CHAPTER 8 I arrived back at the still beautiful but somewhat untrusted brownstone, for my refresher course. Ashley came out front and grabbed me by the hand and brought me back to the shower rooms. A quick interpretation of my raised eyebrow brought a small giggle out of Ashley. "Bob doesn?t want all that razor stubble destroying the illusion he has spent so much to create." Disrobed and back in the shower again Ashley joined me with a safety razor and proceeded to denude all of my body again. I must say I liked the feeling. Soaped up and someone drawing a razor across all of your flesh leaving hair free trails of suppleness was a very new and appreciated feeling. As we exited the shower, I noticed the glass of Merlot. This was something that I did not intend to fall for the second time. "You know what Ashley, why don?t you enjoy that beautiful merlot." And she did. She drank it like a mermaid sucking back the biggest slug you have ever seen. Now I felt a little more relaxed. No one was trying to gain an undue advantage over me any longer. I liked to be in a position of control. In my marriage, I pretty much allowed Monica that luxury, as she succumbed to the ravages of her condition, it only seemed right. Then I noticed a large platter of catered chicken salad sandwiches. "Do you mind," I inferred? Ashley only answered that no-one was going to eat those as the high-calorie intake was beyond anyone?s waistline. It?s so nice to be able to eat whatever and not worry about gaining weight. I ate five triangles of half sandwiches. And these were not the gas station chicken salad sandwiches with all the filling at the front with nothing but bread towards the non-display side on white bread. These were 7 grain with cranberry bread piled with an even layer of diced chicken salad with plenty of whatever that white cream sauce was layered across this delicious convection at least ?" thick. Suddenly, I found myself on the laser hair removal table with an exact repeat performance as the first time. Who drugs chicken salad sandwiches? Ashley let me know that the institute just wants me to be comfortable when they perform the hair removal treatment as it could be somewhat painful. Well, thank you, Ashley. Remind me to never play poker with Ashley. I left the institute with a darker tan, eyebrows that didn?t escape as they did last time, and second complete hair removal. A new outfit had been installed and even if I didn?t feel like a million bucks, I looked it. I felt vulnerable as I hailed a taxi to bring me to my home and safety. Up to this point, I hadn?t considered that now I?m moving through my day as a female. At first, this is just something that is part of an agreement, basically a work requirement. Now I realize that I?ve crossed into new unfamiliar territories. Now presented in a very short bone-colored linen skirt 4" above my hose covered knees with 4" black stilettos and simple black angora with rabbit hair turtleneck sweater and a matching headband with globe-shaped little fur-covered black ball earrings, dangling from newly pierced ears. I wonder if Elizabeth is happy with herself. The corset that now adorned my skinny frame was not overtightened and I was more like a swaddled baby hugged in a blanket to keep calm. In a few hours, Bob?s limo will pick me up. What have I gotten myself into? There was a ring at our door. It was too early to be Bob?s driver (no one says chauffer anymore). Monica and I exchange looks seeking knowledge if the other had been expecting someone. Shrugging her shoulders Monica went to answer the door, she realized that I was still new to all this feminine paraphernalia and saved me the awkward shuffle to the door. "Special delivery," Monica announced as she signed for the package. A note in a separate envelope, I opened it as she handed it to me. The note proclaimed that something was missing from the outfits thus- far and Bob had intended to rectify this oversite. Monica looked at me with childlike enthusiasm filled with curiosity and excitement. I don?t get why women get so excited over little packages, especially ones that are delivered to the door. A little nod from me while looking in the direction of the package and Monica attacked the packaging to reveal its contents. Inside were many velvet covered boxes and strangely a piercing gun. Monica gasped; I was confused. Opening the little boxes revealed many high-quality costume jewelry trinkets. The kind that women just swoon over. Starting with the smallest, for some reason, was what looked to be an engagement ring. Monica quickly donned this, held it up to the light with her fingers stretched out in a dramatic flourish seeing it bounce light in multiple directions. She then disengaged the ring and took my finger looking directly into my eyes slipped it into place on my ring finger. There was some unknown to me, meaning behind her look but this was beyond my grasp. Next, she moved onto the largest, women have their reasons, inside was a large diamond sculpted neckless. This didn?t compute in that the turtle neck would completely cover this item and was too big for it to be worn over my turtleneck. Moving on there were matching fake diamond 1 ?" wide bracelets and anklets. The last box contained three quarter diamond earrings with a note asking for a second ear piercing on each side just behind the dangling earrings. I don?t know if this is a good idea. I already have one hole in each ear that will take a while to heal. Monica smiled and disappeared into the kitchen. Coming back into view she had a bowl with ice in it and a Sharpe marker. "Oh, please let me do this," she gushed. She argued that two holes will heal the same as one hole and Bob had paid an awful lot of money for this endeavor. Soon, not wanting to disappoint Monica, I was sporting two very beautiful cubic zirconia earrings. They were the smaller earrings residing behind the dangly fur covered balls that hinted at some secret meaning hanging off of a silver chain three inches below their place of attachment through the ear lobes. Now I am as complete of an image that I think is possible. The only thing that might give me away as people glance in my direction is my narrow hips and ass. The clothes that Bob has chosen do seem to camouflage this aspect of my vulnerability. I wonder how he knows to pick the correct clothes. He had the option to have me padded out at the institution but had not chosen to do so. Did he choose to negate that aspect due to cost or for some other reason, I wondered. Bob brought me to another bright spot. A very expensive and sought- after location, a place where celebrities who need exposure can be assured, they will have it. As we exited his limo flashes started going off. Paparazzi were everywhere. Bob set me up, tomorrow our picture will be in some paper exclaiming the new girlfriend of Bob Emerson. I should have been mad, but curiosity got the better of me. "what gives Bob?" He informed me that a business deal was hinging on if he was in a committed relationship or not. Then a bombshell went off, as Bob explained that the jewelry was real but would be a great tax shelter for tax planning purposes. The deal pending his relationship could not be preserved with anything but the best. I now had the best and I quite frankly don?t know if I can share this new information with Monica. Knowing that I was wearing a large sum of money somehow made my penis twitch. I have no idea why. Looking down at my crossed legs sheathed in stockings sporting now what I understood to be a very expensive anklet sitting above my stiletto heels pointing my feminized toes, I squeezed my thighs together producing a response from my trapped penis. This reminded me of Katie Couric squeezing her lower set of lips as she gives an interview. I can?t be the only one to have noticed this. So, a beautiful evening being dotted on and treated as a beautiful lady maybe is affecting me. I gave Bob his treatment, the whole 30 minutes that Bob suckled at my developed breasts, I couldn?t help but look at the various diamond enhancements that now adorned my dark tanned skin. I was dropped back home. He stayed in the limo this time to see me home. There was something that he wasn?t saying but this was his third treatment and six more days from now he should be into the recovery. Monica was there to welcome me home. Chapter 9 Now that I have finished with Bob, I disassemble much of what has been levied against my personage. The clothes and makeup. The hair extensions cut away. The fake nails were removed. High heels traded for men?s loafers. Simply, just a more relaxed existence. I can?t believe that I am missing the complicated clothes. As restrictive and cumbersome that the female clothes are, they are also very soft and sensual to the touch. But now I?m back in my environment, work does define the man. Having bound my substantial breasts and put forth the manliest facade possible, I endeavor to take on the backlog created by my absence. As I was about to enter my office, I?m flabbergasted, how could there be such a pile on my desk and the credenza right behind it. Before I enter, hand on the frame and the other still clutching the doorknob, my head swivels in the direction of my PA. "Jennifer, what the Fu**?" Mobile again the lights come on with the motion detected and the site is worse than it seemed upon first glance. I?ve made it to the far side of my desk leaving my attach? case in one of the guest chairs. Two things happen in one cofounded moment in time, it is an obscene happenstance I now find myself in. Jennifer enters looking downcast and a pile of files shifts, almost in slow motion, onto the floor. This is just Fuc**** GREAT! Jennifer retreats and brings in some, much-needed coffee. No sugar with a splash of cream, this is probably the only real benefit to this job. This company never skimped on the quality of the supplied coffee. She steps in carefully so as not to disturb any more files and suggests that I call maintenance and have a folding table brought in. I exit my office and procure a table myself. Why would I wait for some stooge to bring me what I need? And we dive in. Prioritizing, organizing copulating, and lastly assembling the fallen files back to their original jackets. Now it?s gone just past noon and we haven?t even started any actual work on the road in front of us. I thank Jennifer and tell her we will start just after lunch, but I want to know who has dumped their load on my office, as this can?t possibly be only due to my three-week absence. Johnathan Kendal Prince summons me to his office. This is not my immediate boss and I find this unorthodox move somewhat disconcerting. As I enter his office, he seems indifferent to my existence. He didn?t acknowledge my presence but seemed to know that I occupied the same space that he did. "Starting with your lack of performance over the last two weeks, I must say that I am disappointed." In the middle of his much practiced, montage, Johnathan loses his train of thought and leans in with his eyes studying my face in an utmost uncomfortable manner. His eyes shift down to my bound breasts and a quick nod as to his justification of sorts and his course of action is foolproof. A little shake of his head and he was back on track for the great impressive act of managerial importance of the day. Johnathan had come to some conclusion that reaffirmed his superiority to the masses. Is this guy a moron? "Sir I?ve been on vacation for the last three weeks." I don?t understand what you think my office would have to contribute to that time frame. As it turns out, this guy is retarded. I?m sacked. Ten years with this company and I?m let go for using vacation time that I?ve built up for years. Reasoning with a swing set would have been easier. How do people with no mental capacity get management positions? I emptied my desk, taking only what belonged to me, minus a stapler. My effects being carried in a liquor box, I stop at the men?s room and take a careful look in the mirror. My breasts are not as hidden as I thought they were. On my face, even with all my efforts to remove all traces of makeup, there are still remnants of the applied substance. I guess that I?m not as clever as I thought. I must say in my defense that this is all new to me and given time I would have been more proficient. I would have liked to know what devilish plot had been levied against me in my absence. The pile in my office was on the scale of a practical joke, but Jennifer wasn?t laughing. We were giving it the old college heave-ho, but then I found myself unemployed. The only thing that I could think of is that it may have had something to do with my new appendages and that I hadn?t concealed them all that well. Devastated I head home and wait for the inevitable onslaught. What husband wants to inform his wife that he is no longer gainfully employed? When Monica comes home it?s to a wonderfully executed home- cooked meal, but the look on her face even before the bad news is an extreme disappointment. "What?s wrong Eddie?" I?ve been sacked, I inform her. The reaction is not what I expected, raucous laughter. "I don?t think that I was as successful at hiding my breasts as I thought I was." More laughter, then a serious note, "did they fire you over becoming more feminine?" I believe so but they put it in light of work performance. Monica didn?t see the problem. "Eddie, she said, you are making so much money without even trying, that it doesn?t make sense for you to keep that dead-end job." The problem as she saw it was that all of Eddie?s clients felt more comfortable "receiving their medicine," from someone that looks the part. I want you to go back to the institute and redo what you removed. Our love life has never been stronger and our love never deeper. "Just so that you know, some of the Chron?s group may want a second helping to maintain their results." All of them have been more comfortable with your new choice of dress. "This is not my choice of dress, Monica." "You know that." "Ok, but I must say that I have enjoyed everything that has transpired over the last couple of months. Was Monica?s retort. She softened it by adding "Eddie, you are my world, what you have done for me has saved my very existence. The fact that you were willing to help my whole group is just amazing. I never knew that someone, although very well compensated, could be so unselfish." She just gushed over the fact that she was so happy to have ended up with me. "If I was a Godfearing person, I would have to believe GOD personally delivered you to me." Then she went through to the kitchen phone and made an appointment for me at the institute. In two weeks, time I will again be subjected to that place that I have such mixed emotions about. She seemed very happy to contrive this existence for me. I enjoyed the simple life of dressing as a casual male in the role I was born. It is so much less labor-intensive than the ritual of presenting as female. As I reflect on my current situation that "presenting as female," really does sum up what I feel I?ve been doing. Two clients later and yes there is again the uncomfortable hesitation from each associated with receiving their medicine from a male with albeit beautiful breasts. I returned home with another complete body hair removal and an upkeep tan. I didn?t let them trick me with the tranquilizers, I requested them. There is more than one way to be in control. My hair was back in place as if I never cut it off and my fingernails were immaculate. My skin for some reason seemed smoother than before. My eyebrows were thinner. All in all, I looked to be very attractive if not an average woman. Monica was overjoyed at my return to the softer side. Shouldn?t this bother me? Later that month my former PA Jennifer and I did have a conversation somewhat explaining the catastrophic mountain of paperwork assembled in my former office. The other managers did not know what was different but had perceived weakness in my demeanor and were doing their best to take advantage of it. Those Bastards, well with Kendal sacking me, not only did their work which was woefully behind their allotted schedules descend back upon their shoulders but also all of my workload which was substantial. I?m going to miss that coffee. CHAPTER 10 Staci has another treatment course started. Happy to pay her suggested rate when all this started. While in the middle of her treatment I inquire if Monica?s statement is true. This was not good timing. The awkward repositioning, swallowing, and trying to talk while some milk dripped off my engorged breast, reminded me of an overly talkative hygienist. She reached forward with her tongue and licked my milk not wanting to waste anything. She pulled back and had a questioning expression on her face. I needed a small pause, as that tongue lick set me back on my heels. Monica said that everyone was more comfortable taking mother?s milk from someone that looks the part. What I need to know is if this is true. Staci shrugged her shoulders and said that she hadn?t thought about it. She didn?t know if the fact that she has gotten to know me better or the fact that she could not argue with results, had made the difference. Knowing that something helps sure lets you look past a whole lot of preconceived notions. But now that you mention it, "it does put me more at ease during these sessions." And then as she was going in for more she asked "does it bother you to dress up?" I didn?t realize it before, but I do not have an answer to Staci?s question. "Does this bother me?" I looked into the mirror that showed two attractive women performing a taboo. The site along with the hormone-induced sensations was a turn on, to say the least. My head tilted back sending my new masses of hair to dangle free off of my back and slightly my chest pushed ever so subtly forward with this movement. My toes pointed and things, in general, became more ridged. Goosebumps appeared and Staci kept ingesting. Closing my eyes seemed to help, but this was a sexually charged interlude. Yes, this bothers me, and God it feels so good. I guess I will have to quote Cher. When asked why if she was bothered by people having nasty comets about the things she does, "why don?t you stop doing these things if their comments bother you?" The unequivocal response by Cher was simply "it didn?t bother her that much." Upon entering our home after another hard day at the office, I say in jest, Monica had invited a small clutch of friends from her single days. She introduced me as Ashley. Being blindsided and needing special attention that Monica normally provided, I saw red. I went to storm off to the master bedroom when she grabbed me by the wrist. She pulled me close and hugged me. "someone, bring Ashley a Merlot, my girl needs one. These five women are now working on their 3rd bottle and have been discussing our relationship and the new dynamic with all of the changes and the in-depth reasons for everything. In other words, we have no secrets on any level. No saving faces. No pretenses that things are different than they appear. No doubt as to motive or need or desire. Our relationship has been laid bare. I do not know why our business is now everyone?s business. Still, now that there are no secrets, a lot of pressure has strangely been removed. In front of all Monica?s friends and associates and at this point presumably family, we do not need to hide anything. I wonder how much they know about our newfound sex life. We all sat and I listened to stories about their times together. I answered questions about being cross-dressed. I saw the pride on Monica?s face as she relayed the real reason that I now had taken on this form. Seeing jealousy in her friends? eyes and the ego boost it brought to my wife?s status, made my initial anger calm to a quite lump in the back of my throat. We will need to have a rational discussion about this later. As this small curious group plied me with Merlot, the questions became much more personal. Not willing to take things at face value, even with the proof of me standing there all decked out making an attractive figure in the dim light, they started probing the truth that Monica had put forth. Things started going down yet another strange road. Sandra, fu** she is hot, gets this alcohol-induced faraway look in her eye. "I want to taste it" The three other friends in unison chorus "WHAT?" A fit of schoolgirl giggles ensue and I?m feeling very uncomfortable. Monica hands me a scotch and water, which I take, and as I look at her, I have the surreal understanding that she is ok with this. This particular group of women reminds me of the time my former company sent me to of all places, the God-forsaken spot on the map known as Tucson Arizona. While there by my hotel, I didn?t see a better fare than the hooters that was essentially in the connected parking lot. This was not your average hooters with politically correct hires. This was a small group of extremely good-looking college girls taking advantage of poor sops willing to fork over big tips for bad food with a nice view. I?ve even gone a few times to local Hooters and was left to wonder why this chain has not "fixed" the food if the hiring standards were shifted to avoid being sued. Even Jennifer, the least shining diamond among them overcomes her lack of extreme good looks with her personality. This is an attractive fivesome, I?ve never felt this uneasy in my life. This is not a wholesome endeavor to help those that are in great need. This is Monica showing off and offering me up. A silver platter for her sexy drunk friends to satisfy their curiosity and show the sway she enjoys over me. I?m so torn I don?t know, what to do. My sexy wife is coming at me with unwholesome objectives. She had been drinking and now it seemed that I was being offered up as some plaything for their entertainment. It would seem that most red-blooded American boys could only dream of being offered up to such a group. I downed the proffered scotch, excused myself, and headed for the master bedroom. Monica followed; it seems that I have embarrassed her in front of her friends. Tit for tat, accusations, bribery, and Monica not seeing much different than me making it my job to let people suck at my breasts. Just to get her to shut up, or was the scotch kicking in, I found myself prone on the living room couch waiting for a bizarre procession of my wife?s sexy friends licking, sucking, and trying to out due each other. I was mad but holy crap I?ve never been treated to multiple orgasms without shooting my load, ever. Looking over at Monica, I saw that she was engrossed at the image developing in front of her. I might as well be tied up as my helplessness at allowing this outrageous occurrence to unfold with my cooperation. My toes were curling, my back arching, at one point my whole torso involuntarily started shaking. At that point, I looked up to see Monica latched on. I could not possibly take this much longer. They went back for drinks as they waited for their turn at tonight?s entertainment. Having sated themselves of this weird little game of debauchery and fact-finding expedition, they pulled me up to a sitting position. This all reminded me of Monica relaying the history that occurred when this group was very young. Yolanda had pilfered her mother?s cigarettes. All including Monica wanted to show each other that they were worldly, experienced, and had the flair for smoking in an attractive manner, the little brown sticks that occupied the little carton. Each, in turn, lighting up and sucking most tantalizingly. Monica and Sandra both went into a coughing fit, with Monica losing her twinkie she had consumed only minutes ago. Nine and ten-year-old girls acting all grown up, sucking for their preverbal status as women of the world. Only now, I was the cigarette in question. The lipstick mark that was missing from the paper cigarettes, was stamped all over my milk offering breasts. Who would be the one that looked best while sucking and manipulating this situation? Someone handed me another scotch. The air was palpable with sexual tension. Jennifer broke the tension as only someone with her keen sense of humor could. "Monica can we now test out his other tool?" Sitting there with breasts exposed holding a scotch that would soon be gone in one gulp, the look on my face must have netted her desired result. The laughter that ensued was contagious. Monica reached and gave me some modesty by pulling my clothes into a more unrevealing position. Everyone admittedly had too much to drink, so we popped a movie into our (some people still remember these) VCR and made sleeping arrangements for everyone. Later, in bed, Monica thanked me so much for being so understanding. I can?t imagine what she needed to prove to these ladies but I guess friends from younger times have different influences on your psyche. In the morning, I made bacon and eggs, sausage, and greasy hash browns. All of our alcohol effected systems liked the greasy confectionary delivered to our suffering bodies. Everyone thanked me profusely as the breakfast was just what the doctor ordered. Jennifer could not help but comment that I was making a habit of helping people with their ailments. Sandra was the last to leave. She and Monica were saying their goodbyes at the front door. I thought I heard Sandra whisper Fiction-something-a and then tell Monica that she was jealous of her newfound potent sex life. A couple of air kisses and she was gone. CHAPTER 11 Monica said that she has never wanted me so bad as of right this second. "It?s too bad that my hangover will not allow my need to be fulfilled." So instead we started tiding up together. The house was ship-shape in no time, just taking out the garbage and cleaning up a few breakfast dishes didn?t take very long. I went to grab the vacuum and finish but Monica asked if that could be done after her hangover cleared up some more. It seems my breakfast helped but it was still going to be a long day for her. She grabbed her work iPad and started getting comfortable. Today she was very interested in whatever she was reading. She was taking notes and having ah-ha moments. She must seriously be making headway with whatever work-related task she must have been assigned. At noon she sought me out and we enjoyed a steamy shower together. Laying panting in bed after my wife has become such an aggressor, I?m moved to a new level of appreciation for this woman who has overcome so much. Not only have I gotten my wife back, I believe I now own the new improved model. Several weeks went by and Monica was spending an exuberant amount of time on her iPad. I would usually leave her to her devices, but I was starting to feel neglected. Twice now, returning to our home after administering "medicine" to my clients, I did not receive proper care from my beautiful wife. I?ve come to expect the use of my condition after what she knows is a conditioned response to what I?ve been paid for. Now I don?t know any longer what I can expect to transpire. It is nice knowing the pattern of everyday life. What to expect, rewards for this, punishment for that. Now I do not have a clue what to expect or do. I do not like being put in the passenger seat. I found it strange that work people showed up to remodel the spare bedroom. We always told each other what was up or happening. Except that, I had an additional payment from Bob Emerson that I didn?t registrar with Monica. Now I saw an extremely feminine room being created without my knowledge or consent. I think that my new found relationship that I assumed to have recovered has been changed somewhat dramatically. I?m so glad that Monica seems to be recovering, but I don?t understand what has changed from the original formula. I was not impressed with what was done. Not only that, but my sacred belongings started to be assembled in this grotesque homage to femininity. My indestructible drone was placed on a landing pad just to the left of the window. My computer was now front and center of a small work station and all of my makeup appeared at this little cute vanity. What was going on? Monica informed me that she has had this unquenchable desire/fantasy to have a French maid at her beck and call. This was news to me, where all this inspiration comes from, I didn?t know. With all that has transpired over the last year did she want me to subject myself to further subjectivization of my manhood? I already have assumed the newfound role of a domesticated female in our relationship. I now cook and clean while she is at work. And when I go to work, she is usually there to take advantage of my prone condition. I?m at a loss. Where she is going with this, I don?t understand. "What have you done to the guest bedroom? I can?t believe you changed our home without consulting me." She then informed me that this was part of the fantasy. That I found myself with, as her friends called amazingly beautiful natural looking breasts, decked out as a woman, was Monica?s will that was forced upon me. That in essence is the fantasy. So, the room was changed on her orders. She knew that I did everything for her benefit, out of love, but this fantasy was that she forced these changes. The kinky evening with her childhood friends, was a clue that my mostly healed wife has a sexual deviation from the strict normal, is now revealed. Now I didn?t have a ridged job, nor any ties to cultural norms as is dictated to most of the population. My real purpose in life now revolved around keeping my wife healthy and helping rich people overcome Crohn?s disease. Also, having had my original wife returned to myself, continuing Monica?s happiness for the newfound zest she has discovered with regaining her health, how could I possibly deny the aspect of life that after basically three years, Monica was starting to live again. My whole goal in life was to see her happy again, and now she was. She had already started down this road she called a fantasy without my consent. I could play ball for a while. I asked her if she wanted me to get a maid?s uniform. "Oh no, was her response. When that time comes, I will reveal your uniform to you". Always the control freak is my automatic thought. What she wanted was a long drawn out conversion of docile hubby into a compliant maid. So full of sexual energy, she ordered me to our master bedroom to service her and then to be ridden hard and put up wet, as the saying goes. I don?t quite get that saying. Again, this was a pleasant experience for both of us. Something just changed, but I had no idea what had changed. CHAPTER 12 Bob, as it turns out, belongs to additional support groups. And Bob is not tight-lipped about the glorious cure that he has found. His description of the most perfectly formed breasts residing on a man that all but the skinny ass and hips could be a woman?s fashion model had cured him of a most unpleasant condition at a fraction of the cost he would have been willing to pay. This got the attention of his other group, they all understood that Bob was tight and cheaper than a free night stay. Bob at some point had taken snapshots of me all decked out, these he used to show what his prized cure?s external package looked like. Three members of his other group contacted and immediately contracted me to perform a five-session curing regimen. This is great we are on the way to easy street if this continues. As with Bob, all of this group basically "needed" to set the stage with dinner and now added dancing or other appropriate activity before consuming, well me. Each had a preferred feminine name they referred to me by. It started to feel like they were trying to out due each other as each sent fabulous outfits now combined with, I assume very high quality, costume jewelry. Roses and candy started appearing before our "dates." When two of my clients sent custom perfumes, Monica for the first time, inquired if I was doing more than administering medicine. Wow, that line of questioning hurt. I was taken aback. "Monica, you know that this is all because of you. All of it." Out of an altruistic sense of duty to mankind or alleviation of guilt for being "cured," while so many other people remain sick, Monica had opened up my solution to pretty much anyone. "You pushed this on me and no I am not doing anything but administering help to those that need it." "Unless of course, you consider what you and your friends did to me." Now Monica was wishing she could take back what she had inferred. She knew that I would never break our marriage vows. That simply was who I am. When it comes to it things that swarm around in my head, they are very black and white. All these new colors of existence are very new to me. I resolved that Monica and I needed to spend more time together. It was a whole lot quicker to have a client show up do the deed and leave. Now there was an evening out at the finest establishments with a play or opera to follow. A limo ride and a treatment is given in some extravagant apartment the likes of which I never knew existed. All of it seemed to have the romantic atmosphere of being courted. I found myself decked out as the ideal mate of whichever client was creating his stage and found that I felt like an actor about to give a winning performance. Monica was being left behind. Only in her mind, but that doesn?t make it any less real. I was given outfits that if Bob Mackey designed truly beautiful outfits for Carol Burnet (as she truly thought) today's designers would be hard-pressed to beat. Wined and dined and then taken to the best events that today?s society had to offer. Then brought to the finest residences where I was taken most sensually. God, I?m good with this acting stuff. Most of these clients believed they had had me after I administered their treatment. I probably needed to spend more quality time with Monica to alleviate the extra mile I?ve gone with some of these new clients. Monica started to develop a certain disdain for what was starting to occur. Her husband was being wined and dined in the best establishments with gifts the like of which I never understood transpired in certain circles. Jealousy is an ugly companion. She watched as I was transformed into a fine specimen of female something or another, the idea escapes me, but here we are. I?m collected, doted on and no expense will be spared to ensure my happiness. These are things that I could never afford when I dated Monica and now are an expected part of my clients? offerings. We do not even venture out anymore as our lives seem to be all consumed with sex. This is not what it used to be. With these new clients, I noticed that I was not the only one leaving the session with a raging boner. I was somewhat disturbed by this but it would be a double standard if I held that against them. They may be rich but they were kind of geeks. Having access to a "beautiful woman?s breasts" must be a new occurrence for them. Spending a half-hour consuming Mother?s milk for someone that must have a hard time kissing their date good night, really must be a turn on. There was much in common with these three from Bob?s support group. The only major deviation was with Ramone. When he sent me to the institution, the treatments were pretty much the same, however, when I left under his guidelines for procedures, my backside was increased twofold. I guess Ramone liked his ideal woman to have plenty of backside. Also, higher heals, my walk with these new apparatuses was extremely feminine. How could they not be? Two more earrings were added to my ears. With each of these groups wanting certain looks, the institute was their preferred method. They could be assured that their time with me was as they expected, look wise. Now I don?t even know how many laser treatments I?ve had but body hair certainly will not be destroying the illusion ever again. These geeks certainly know how to set the stage, even if their performance was Ill-fitting when the time arrived. Still, they had paid a lot for their experience and any failures during their evening were not due to their lack of putting forth the best effort available to themselves. Ramone?s requirement for the rear end to be padded was the first time that things for me felt fake. It might seem strange after everything else that was visited upon my personage, but this was the first time that silicone enhancements had been deployed. For whatever reason, everything else had a natural feel to it. Now I had lumps added that was just stuck to my sides and rear. When I returned home to Monica, I had the unpleasant experience of removing the girdle that held the padding and the enhancements fell to the floor. This almost destroyed the mood. Monica however was forthcoming with enticements to solve this dilemma. I can appreciate that the enhanced lower half seemed to complete my look, but nothing felt natural anymore. This simply translated into something else being somewhat off. Some things probably needed to be left alone. At some point good enough needs to be accepted. On the fifth treatment of the last new client, things got a little strange. Norman, when it came time for his treatment removed most of his clothes leaving on only his underwear. And topping that off his underwear seemed padded to some extent. Explaining several of his very expensive clothes ended up having breast milk stains when I gave him a quizzical look. He climbed on my lap and grabbed on to my breast way too hard. Well, this hurt, and my response were to slap him across his face hard enough to leave a handprint. The red outline of my palm and fingers now decorated his cheek. In all the treatments that I have rendered only a little discomfort has ever been part of this. Now Norman has been slapped the crap out of seemed more energized. What was going on? After this interlude was over, I will reserve the right to refuse treatment to anyone that I see fit. When I went home, Monica was there to greet me as usual but there was nothing for her to take advantage of. "What?s up Ashley?" Monica inquired. My response was that I didn?t know, but I felt that something was wrong with what happened tonight. Later, after some searching, Monica informed me that Norman didn?t have Crohn?s Disease. "What was he paying me for then," as soon as I uttered those words, I realized what he was paying me for. Holy shit, without knowing it, I had just prostituted myself. I?m going to need a psychologist to get my head wrapped around this one. Monica couldn?t help but let a giggle escape. "He sucked your milk; he didn?t screw you." Still, I felt dirty. Moving forward I will demand that everyone wanting my services to produce a doctor?s proof of diagnosis. What was Bob?s other group? Were the other two also getting their jollies sucking at my pump? I don?t know but I think that I will just look forward as anyone who doesn?t want the answers says. It is a cop-out but much easier to deal with. CHAPTER 13 Monica announced that we needed a vacation. Oh GOD yes that would help. Things have gone off the rails and we need a reset. The Bahamas here we come. The question in my mind is do I go as male or female? Monica simply then stated we need to get your identification as Ashley. The look on my face prompted her response. "Tits like those need to be displayed on a beautiful woman, whom I love." It?s hard to argue with the sentiment Monica created. I was standing before a judge in a very sensible sweater dress being asked why I wanted a name change. Looking at my personage the judge simply granted the motion and I was no longer Eddie. Now I was legally Ashley. This felt permanent. I don?t know why but I lost it and started to cry like I haven?t since my childhood dog died, "Butter." The name might be strange but it fits him. Now I was crying at a similar loss, only I really could not identify it. I?ve got a new identity and we head out on a beach filled vacation. Just me and my wife on a second honeymoon of sorts. No clients, nothing demanding from my wife?s work, just quality time together. Strangely not much was going on sexually. Most of our time was spent shopping, swimming, and sightseeing. We renewed our friendship and took a break from the demands of constant sex. Strangely I was relieved. Monica also seemed just comfortable to hang together and enjoy the comforts of life without the added pressure that sex can bring. Now that the pressure was off, we did enjoy an amazing interlude of spontaneous sex. I collapsed on Monica?s nether region and brought her several orgasms. After she emptied my sculpted breasts, she flipped me over and enjoyed her previous ministrations on my standing at attention penis. Slowly at first, she started to ride up and down. God, she was beautiful. While she rode me and entertained my senses she started to speak. "Eddie," she hadn?t called me that in at least two weeks, "when we go back, I want to role play and have you as my bondage slave." I didn?t know what that entailed but right now reality didn?t matter to me, this was bliss. "whatever you want my love." The two weeks were coming to an end, it?s funny unless you have a job the calendar doesn?t mean much. Soon we would head back to our lives such as they were. My mindset was much better after our break. Monica was headed back to her old grindstone, nothing for her has changed much. Except for her husband now presents effectively as a beautiful woman and there are no home chores for Monica any longer. I will see who wants an appointment with me and make sure that there is a medical reason for it. All have a purpose in life and mine would not be wasted. I will help those that need it and prevent myself from being subjectified all that I could. It?s not a perfect existence but I will be happy to know that I have helped many people. CHAPTER 14 One evening I came home after servicing one of the men in Monica?s group. To find objects laid out on our bed that I didn?t understand their purpose. In short order, I would find out. Monica, stripped me down to the basics, leaving the hose and shoes. And I soon found myself in a bevy of bondage devices that severely limited my movements. My now perfect looking breasts were on full display and the overall look was at least erotic. She led me over to a strange device that looked like it might be painful if administered wrong. An adjustable pole on top of a circular platform with a realistic-looking phallus attached to the end. "Up," she demanded, I didn?t see a choice and found myself being strapped in and things inserted in an inescapable position that I didn?t know how to react to. This is all very foreign to me. Now, I basically can?t move and am attached to a pole that has been set against my nether regions. A push of remote control as Monica looks into my soul and then grabs onto my left nipple with intentions to receive whatever still resides there. In and out the fake phallus starts pumping and stimulating my back passage. She is sucking for all that she is worth, but having breasts of her own, she understood the gentle nature that this activity requires. At first, this is not only disconcerting but painful, suddenly there is a phase shift and I enter a delirious catatonic state that only produces extreme pleasure. This can?t be bad, can it? I have no idea where she is getting all of this, quite frankly, strange inspiration. Or for that matter, where does someone obtain these strange devices? We have been on a strange journey together that started with an altruistic purpose, now things are developing in a primal carnage sexual way that is coming out of the left field. I never would have thought that not only that I would present as a woman let alone be relegated to the role of pseudo sex slave or maybe a better description would be sexual artwork. Looking into the mirror that was hung across from my platform, sexual artwork is a fitting description. After an undetermined amount of time, I?m released from the platform. My hands are still immobile being attached to some strange collar that is locked around my neck. My legs are hobbled by a pole attached to some sort of leg cuffs as I try to move around. My breasts that I am informed have caused a few of Monica?s friends to be quite honestly envois to their shape and size, are still on complete display. Access to these beautiful appendages is unimpeded at this very moment. Where this goes from here is totally out of my control. I believe that this is the intended result of this new experiment. I love Monica but I will admit that at this moment I?m completely at a loss in my life and my purpose for it. I do not know where this will lead. Monica leads me to a niche in the wall that we used to have a life-sized traveler sculpture installed. It?s no longer there and I seem to be its replacement. From somewhere a buttplug has been inserted and a random vibrator comes and goes at various intensities. Monica comes back and starts applying more layers of makeup and adds several squirts of perfume. She changes my shoes adding two inches to my standing angle. What a sight I must make. Standing back and rubbing her chin, Monica seems to be divesting the best way to improve the esthetics and sexual atmosphere of my display. She removes the but plug and brings over the machine that she had me attached to just previously. She indicates that I need to move to the side and she places it in the niche. "Up," she demands again and I find myself impaled once more. Only this time I?m now three feet off the ground being impaled on my little private stage. So now I feel, besides the insistent phallus sliding back and forth in my back passage, that I am a sculptor?s piece of art on display. She produces her I pad and presses a few places on the screen. This first turns on a fog machine then the lights go off leaving us in darkness. All of a sudden, a strobe light starts a slow pulse while simultaneously the machine starts the slow in and out motion once more. Monica starts clapping and jumping up and down then starts rubbing her clit in a most unwholesome way. After she has contained her excitement, she released me, and still hobbled she slowly leads me to "our" master bedroom. Pushing me back on "our" bed she lowers herself onto my lips and later impales herself on my member. I don?t know if it should feel this good being used. I?m not sure what has come over us but our whole relationship seems to have changed. Now, I?m not a farm animal or a show pony or a glorified cigarette waiting to be inhaled, now I?m an object, for Monica?s entertainment. I?ll let her have her day but this is not what I signed up for. For God?s sake, I?m now a sculpture being fu**** in the ass for my wife?s entertainment. I don?t like where this is heading. Demands are forthcoming. Monica informs me what to expect. All my efforts have had serious shortcomings. Therefore, she has hired a professional to teach me the correct ways to perform my required duties. From now on she will expect a certain level of performance. Petra, as she was introduced to me, takes me by the hand and brings me to our kitchen. "This is the most demanding room for cleaning." She informed me then proceeded to teach me how to do it admirably. The process was repeated for every room in our house. Now I have been taught how to perform cleaning most proficiently. "Great, I feel so much better." This the great wisdom passed down to me. I have realized that my purpose in life is to grant a "cure" to those in need. And I can make my wife extra happy by playing a role-playing game that puts her in the driving seat. On Tuesday Monica brings me a wrapped present. She is all kinds of excited. This brings new energy to what is happening. Inside the tissue paper is the most beautiful French maid?s outfit that ever existed. Not what I expected, however, the quality and artful existence of the said object brings a newfound excitement to what our relationship has become. The skirt portion of the dress is not the petticoated look that you would expect. It?s more like black satin leaves cascading down and around the bodice almost in a classical ballerina style. It?s full yet so very classical. I go forth to don the exquisite dress. When I return, I?m immediately removed from the new garments and taken in a new manner that instills fear for the future for myself. Never had anything made me feel so vulnerable as that "lovemaking" session that we shared. Now I?m a French maid. My duties don?t seem to bother any of my customers with the way I "choose to dress." It?s not my choice but no one seems to care. Monica installs me into the new maid?s quarters. All my male clothes have been boxed up, by me, and placed in the garage. I?m truly living as a female domestic now all at my wife?s bidding. Monica decided to invite her little clutch of friends back to see the new developments in our relationship. As I answered the door, three of her friends entered, but as they passed all of them rubbed my chest as they entered. Embarrassment aside, I announced their arrival to my wife. "Yevette, go and bring refreshments to my guests." Without missing a beat, I produced beautiful trays of ordures and a decanter of their favorite wine. I am well on my way to being the perfect domestic. One of her friends doesn?t show up, and this seems to bother Monica more than Trump being called out for being a liar. Sandra as it turns out has a more pressing engagement. As sexy as she presents herself, there are times that it is necessary to focus on things that don?t involve Monica. Although she was impressed with the latitude that Eddie showed in reverence to Monica, she thought that with some training Eddie could go the distance. That boy shows real potential for being the ideal mate. According to Sandra, Monica should be astatic to be in a relationship with the former Eddie. As her friends consume a plethora of fermented beverages Monica claims that she has something she wants to show this reduced ensemble. I now am installed in the niche. Some changes have occurred. Instead of a collar holding my arms cuffs have been attached to the sidewalls of the niche. A neck collar is strapped around my neck and fastened. All of this is happening behind a tapestry that is hanging from a very stout rod that now hides the fact that there is even a niche behind it. I am completely immobile as Monica starts tapping at her IPad. The tapestry starts to roll up on the new rod above and now, I?m on complete display about to feel the machine start to penetrate and slide backward for everyone to see. The fog machine kicks in the strobe light starts and then the machine starts adulating in a most revealing manor. Her little group has a small pause and as things registrar, they clap with excitement as they realize what tonight was all about. Now being on full display in the best light possible, I find myself offered up to Monica?s friends once more. I am immobile and I find that with a set of stairs on wheels my wife?s friends have uninterrupted access to anything they deem pleasurable. If I could communicate I would, I?m not happy. Suddenly Yolanda is on the ladder and inserting some gag in my mouth and strapping it to my head. These women, having consumed pleather of alcoholic beverages proceed to take full advantage of me. I don?t understand but I?m now having my breasts emptied and my cock used at their discretion. No one directed my cock into their pussy although two of them seemed inclined to take advantage of what they considered a wasted anomaly. Ressie sets the ladder on a course to the uppermost level and proceeds to impale herself on the protruding end of my gag. Grabbing onto the stout rod holding the curled-up tapestry for balance, she takes advantage of the sexual artwork that Monica has offered up. This girl must not be afraid of heights. I wonder if Monica is recording this. Thanks, are offered up all around from Monica?s friends, as they make their exit towards a proffered cab that Monica had called. At some point in this activity, Monica happened to notice that I was extremely perturbed by what was transpiring. She let me down and undid all of the constraints that impeded me. I set off to the "maid?s quarters" with no concern towards Monica?s need for affirmation that she did not cross a line unacceptable to me. When I entered, I locked the door. I had no intention of letting Monica off the hook as it were. I do not deserve this treatment. I did not exit the new bedroom that I had been relegated towards until Monica had to leave for work. I did not answer any phone that day. I, in short, was not happy. The unappreciation for all that I have done for my wife was weighing very heavy on my thought process. I do get that for three years plus, Monica lived a shell of an existence, but I also suffered through those years. I wanted adulation for all of my efforts but received none. Why do I always put forth such an effort only to be relegated to the back of the bus every time? I left for the day and let Monica stew in her juices as it were. They say that if you want to fix a relationship, you need to be able to abandon it. I was now at this point. Furthermore, Monica received the message. When she returned home, it was with gifts and a catered dinner. Chinese food, and not the sweet Americanized crap. This was eggrolls and cashew chicken. General Tasso beef and shrimp and scallop with green onion entries. Yeah I know this sounds like the Americanized version, maybe it is, but at the next level. We didn?t converse about the events from last night, Monica didn?t apologize. She rarely did. I believe that only once did she lower herself to apologize to me in our now proceeding marriage of nine years. I don?t believe that she will be placing me in that niche ever again. I hope that we are starting to reach an understanding of the limits in this newly defined relationship. The niche remained unchanged residing behind the now rolled down tapestry. Upon inspection, as I held the corner away from the wall, I noted that everything remained. The stand and bondage devices were still there waiting silently for their next occupant. This does not instill trust on my end. We reached an equilibrium. I went back to performing miraculous healing procedures and cleaning and cooking for myself and Monica. Monica received a promotion at work and that affirmation did wonders for her ego. She was a new person once again. She seemed to forget all about her debacle with her friends and putting me on display. Now her attitude shifted once again to the dominant role. She started bossing me around again and finding the limits of my cooperation. I do find that I have a natural submissive streak and Monica has control issues. So now I?m a maid that outperforms most people in the money-making area. I service people that need help with the affliction of Crohn?s Disease. And I find myself lately denied sex and only a participant in cunnings for my dominant wife. My French maid outfit is simply divine. So soft and body-hugging that it is almost enough to rediscover myself unto myself, under the guise of a healed wife. My meal preparation has improved tenfold with the supplemental classes that I have had time to undertake. I now know the absolute best way to approach cleaning a room. Whichever description that it calls for. Nothing but the best results can be expected from the newly formed French maid that is me. Monica informs me that she needs me to cook for two on Friday night and serve the same. I don?t know what to expect, but this isn?t sitting well with me. I clean Monica?s house, for that is what it is, a prenup declares all assets belong to those in position before entering this, our marriage. Also, any earnings of each individual shall remain in the possession of the individual that earned such an asset. The house was Monica?s when we married and remains in her possession. I?ve made several payments on her behalf when things were not in their best light. With the house clean and the table set, I make a meal that would make ex-presidents envious. There is a ring on our doorbell. I cross the room to welcome our guests. Monica and a gentleman are standing outside. I welcome them into Monica?s home. She introduces me to Mr. Woody. I curtsy as taught and my face lights up knowing that this is a put-on (Mr. Woody indeed). No one is named Mr. Woody. Still, this is somewhat uncomfortable with my wife entertaining some man at our table while I serve them. The meal is perfect and the couple enjoys what has been served. Many drinks by this time have been consumed by this couple. I serve and supply all that is demanded. A curtsy with every commandment. Except for looks of sexual appreciation for the image I bring to this evening, I?m largely ignored. This is becoming a strange game with my wife rubbing her hose covered foot up and down Mr. Woody?s pant leg. My feathers are beginning to ruffle and my mind is sliding into a dark place. Monica had better be careful where she brings this new game. Monica now announces that they will be retiring to the master bedroom for a much-needed Rodgering by a real man. It has been so long since she enjoyed what a real man could bring since her husband had left her. The servant should bring refreshments as they conclude their interlude and be ready for additional clean up services that may be required. The place was a wreck due to the cooking and preparations. The couple left the clean-up for the in-house servant. Ashley, now Yevette, entered the maid?s quarters and turned on her computer. There she chose the English French program and quickly typed out in English turned French a note informing the reader that we need to talk before things are too late. With this article printed out, Yevette entered the master bedroom to witness Monica heavily petting and kissing Mr. Woody. A silver tray with a note on it waited for an acknowledgment. Monica in a perturbed voice asked what she wanted. The tray set forth so as not to break character as was warned by Monica the preceding day with a promise to discuss everything in a fortnight. "Yes girl, go ahead say what?s on your mind. My new lover here is not someone that I keep secrets from." "Well go on girl say what?s on your mind we have urgent business to address." "No, then keep your tongue and clean the house and prepare to serve us our desired drinks as outlined in your directions." Well, I stamped my foot in anger and started with an exaggerated pace, then I remembered to stay in character. I stopped and with my back turned to this unnatural couple I slumped my shoulders forward and resumed my exaggerated feminine walk. Monica, first filled with concern watched and as my shoulder slumped assumed that this was my breaking point and all that she read about on Fiction mania was about to transpire. Now I was on autopilot, all the colors that I had experienced were now very black and white. Totally and utterly betrayed, I proceeded to my room and turned on the computer once more. Unbeknownst to me Monica being somewhat worried came from the master bedroom to check on me. I was hoovering the maid?s room carpet, with my back turned to the door. She returned to the master bedroom proclaiming that they had a whole lot of time as the maid seemed intent on cleaning the whole place top to bottom. This has been a long time coming, all of the feelings of neglect and humiliation that my wife?s actions have descended upon me were no longer bottled up. My anger now came to full fruition. I booted up my drone and sent it out the window. Monica and Mr. Woody were starting to get busy. The drone easily captures Monica climbing on top of Mr. Woody and taking advantage of his somewhat acceptable manhood. Monica was cheating on me with someone who had a penis smaller than myself. This didn?t make any sense but now I don?t care. The computer was up and going so I uploaded the proof of infidelity to the prenup that Monica had me sign all those years ago. A click of the mouse and the prenup was filed with the county. Now I had a fully executed prenup with full proof evidence that was indisputable in court. This vision was now public knowledge if someone cared to investigate. Monica?s insistence that our money is kept separate made this exchange extremely easy. A quick trip to our safe and my earnings was on their way to my car. Monica and her new lover were very busy. I shed the maid?s uniform and placed it very neatly across the maid?s bed. Grabbing my clothes, I reached the garage door. Out in the garage, I had a disturbing thought that Monica?s way might be ok. A shake of my head and that thought passed very quickly. I loaded all my clothes from the upstairs maid?s bedroom into my GTO. A classic muscle car that I have hung onto all these years. My male clothes are already boxed up in the garage. What I forgot was to stay in character. I went back upstairs and utilized the French program to type out an in-character letter of resignation. I left that in the mess in the kitchen. Back in the garage after standing close to the master bedroom and hearing what was transpiring, I opened the garage door marveling at the quiet of the new garage door that I purchased for Monica. Pressing the brake and shifting into neutral I felt my freedom start to bloom. The incline of the garage having been set at more of an incline due to the natural setting and the winter months sending more snow than usual into the garage, made for a natural movement down and out of the garage. The car fully loaded with my earnings and belongings and a whole lot of jewelry started a quiet escape from the unappreciative souls that didn?t matter to me any longer. Seeing my wife sliding up and down another man?s pole whatever size it was threw cold water on the back of my neck. I now felt no feelings for Monica. Strangely, you could love someone so completely, but with the understanding that the commitment is one-sided, love can turn off almost like a light switch. I never knew love was so fragile. When at the bottom of our driveway, I turned over my key bringing the beast to life. The noise created as only a true American muscle car can create, hearing this, Monica thought that someone else had a GTO or Injun in our neighborhood. God how she loved that car. The vibrations that it created were an aphrodisiac unto themselves. She might have to learn to drive stick to fully enjoy her newfound existence, totally in control of every aspect of her life. Looking out through the windshield of my GTO, I couldn?t help but think that maybe this was my fault. My freedom was at hand but I didn?t know where all these problems were coming from. Did the slow descent into accepting her conditions under her sickness bring forth me being susceptible to strange and unreasonable demands? Did her attitude mandate these responses? With everything that I did for her health and future, why did she pursue a secondary relationship? Did my slow consent take me to a place that allowed my wife to think that fu***** someone else would be acceptable to me? All the time Monica was sick, was this a slow permission of sorts to allow her any discrepancy, while I and she gave me no latitude? Why did I go along with this game of hers, that other than a physical response and curiosity satisfied, that I derived no satisfaction from? My only goal was to see Monica happy, well what about my happiness? Now that this decision was made for me, I started to ponder this conundrum. Being dressed as a beautiful woman and having my substantial member being drawn into Monica?s mouth as she proceeded to insert a butt plug in my rectum, seemed to confirm some preconceived notion, that she was going in the right direction. Things just kept going towards some fantasy that she had contrived. Maybe as things spiraled into directions that I didn?t fully enjoy; I should have put my foot down. Maybe I could have put a stop to this ill-conceived direction. Did Monica ever actually love me? If you listen to David Emerson Thorough, "Your actions speak so loudly that I cannot hear what you are saying." The answer is no, she never did love me. My course is totally clear and I will not feel any guilt whatsoever over what has been forced upon me. Diving my GTO decked out as a sexy woman, I could appreciate the vibrations that Monica eluded too. My car from my high school years now contained a driver slipping back and forth on a short skirt with pantyhose clad legs shifting 455 horses at my sole command. Not only was I hot, after years of making everyone else happy, but I was also now in total control. What a vision I must make. Stiletto heels and what turned out to be my favorite sweater, the black angora rabbit hair turtle neck with diamond jewelry in a white GTO convertible cruising to God knows where. What a beautiful sight. Bringing to the forefront, where was I going? Now divorced, dressed to kill, and a plethora of my earned cash, what should I do next? I never wanted a divorce, but those were the cards I was dealt. No choice is given, freedom thrown upon me, and no guilt for anything that had transpired to date and a whole lot of cash while not needing to answer to anyone. What to do? What to do? This is a strange accommodation to find me in. For years, perhaps all my life, I have taken on the mantel of caring for someone, now all this has been removed. I?m not sure what to do with myself. I feel the sumptuous clothes that adorn my body, every movement sends familiar if not new, sensations to my enhanced existence. What I came up with is to find some racing fuel for my beloved beast. I can?t tell you why but I seem to have reverted to my earlier days, only just decked out in an entirely new fashion. Only now, I was not going to apologize to anyone or anything. I was a beautiful person in an engineered time capsule finding its lifeblood to live life to its fullest. All of my time wasted on others would not see another daybreak of the same equation. Finding a gas station that caters to such needs, I stick my card in the slot and push the appropriate buttons. Soon racing fuel will enter the hole that I just penetrated the gas nozzle into, to purchase what I came for. Looking up I realize that, not only am I on display with my Gto but there is a pleather of interest in my female persona. The gas station is lit up like daybreak and I?m on full display with many onlookers that seem to have forgotten their task at hand. Every male has stepped around their respective gas pumps and is now just standing mesmerized at the display in front of them. I must look incredible with the added backdrop of the Gto and the purchase that could only be for racing this stock beast. Slick car and slick legs with breasts that were seemingly manufactured for impressing the masses. I, at this moment in time, did represent many wet dreams that even I had entertained. The original paint job on the Gto and a new paint job on the driver and things are just as they are meant to be, sort of. I ended up driving all night. Dolled up to the max, with every truck driver ogling either my car or the sexy little driver or both. The overhead street lights making my pantyhose covered legs shine at just the right times. A pothole in the street making my angora covered chest bounce provocatively. A legend in the making of clean lines, power, and a certain sexiness of a time gone past. Many witnesses would undoubtedly use these memories to create explosive interludes as necessary to achieve relief shortly and for years to come. I was lost in thoughts as to what had gone wrong. How had I contributed to the failure of my relationship? In the end, it didn?t matter, Monica had performed an act that I simply could never forgive. Nothing now could change that; I wish she would have talked to me. I don?t know how much money I have on hand but tomorrow I will declare said money and pay the tax. I will not give Monica the upper hand. When Monica and Woody were done taking satisfaction from each other Monica rang the bell that should bring Yevette running. (Yevette, had grown to hate that disrespectful bell.) She should bring our drinks then perform cleaning services as we feel necessary. Yevette was about to learn how to serve a couple with her mouth. Providing the last vestige of service to those that are superior to her. At last, she would have what she truly needs, and even if she didn?t realize it, what she desires. Monica was such a good and decent superior. Always thinking of what the help needs. Monica intended to use Ashley?s tongue to bring forth an orgasm that Woody was not able to deliver. When no one materializes Monica went to investigate. The house was dark but the light to the servant courters was on. Looking around, the house was in shambles. Nothing was cleaned up and the house seemed deserted. Entering the maid?s quarters, Monica was amazed at how clean and organized it was. The computer was on but the screensaver had just transpired the drone was gone and so seemed the contents of the open closet. The only thing that remained was the computer and the maid's uniform placed with extreme care on the bed. Monica screamed at Woody to bring the crop as her maid needed negative attention. This was too much and Monica was going to install complete control. She had been nice thus far but her sissy has just gone too far. Yevette was nowhere to be found. Monica didn?t know what to do. She went down to the garage to find the prized GTO and all the boxes belonging to Eddie gone. Racing up the stairs she opened their safe. Everything was gone. "Oh my God, what have I done," was Monica?s comet as she collapsed on the living room floor. Woody was at a loss. Woody held up a piece of paper that he found amongst the mess in the kitchen. Quickly Monica closed the distance between them and took the letter of resignation from her "new lover," as she had called him. Yevette had composed a letter stating that she could not work for unappreciative white trash that would treat her loving husband so terribly. It went on to say that she did not care for a letter of reference as she would never again be anyone?s maid. Furthermore, she was glad that Monica?s condition had improved but it was no excuse for treating people so badly. Signed "Yevette." There was also a p.s. asking if this was staying in character in a good enough fashion for Monica. Monica went to Eddie?s computer. The only remnant of Eddie that was still in her house. The screen had expired but hitting the space bar brought it back to life. There was a new screen saver. It danced across the screen as a photo bouncing everywhere in a scheduled pattern. It was a video in a photo sized outline showing Monica screwing Mr. Woody. If this was not enough, it suddenly changed to an executed prenup. Monica was officially divorced. Her prenup had been used against her. Legal separation and Eddie was gone presumably forever. Immediately she dialed Eddie?s phone, nothing. Again, and again, nothing, what would she do? How could she fix things? So many questions and no answers. To always be in control and all of a sudden have none is a very vulnerable place to find one?s self. Monica sat at Eddie?s workstation clasping her head in her hands. She seemed very distraught. He didn?t understand why the loss of a domestic should be so traumatizing. Surely, Monica could hire a new maid. What was the big deal, they had with each other? They could make each other forget their sorted pasts. He, for his part, was willing to try. CHAPTER 15 Monica now found herself cut off from every avenue that could help her. Ashley wanted nothing to do with her. Monica had told Yevette that they could talk tomorrow. And that is what she intended. Finally, that is what she thought was fair. But, the next day still no answer. She tried to text message. She texts that Eddie said he would never give up on their marriage vows. This brought a response. Eddie wrote that he didn?t abandon his wedding vows but Monica had. "We need to talk Eddie." This is what Monica wrote to his response. "you want to talk when there is nothing to talk about. Go back to your lover. I have nothing left for you. "I do not want to see you ever again. I hope you are happy with your new-found lover, "a real man." Monica responded with; she didn?t understand what he meant. There was simply no more communication from Eddie. Monica was now truly on her own. Upon reading Fiction mania stories, Monica had the impression that she was doing what Eddie needed. People like him needed someone to take control and guide them in their endeavors. After all that Eddie had done for Monica, she felt compelled to give him the environment that every natural sissy would need. Her logic dictated that no one would so easily do the things that Eddie did unless truly they were a sissy. And she loved her sissy. For God?s sake she was screwing a boar of a man with a smaller penis than her sissy, what more could she possibly have done for Eddie? Now she has lost her husband, her treatment, and a huge cash cow. Nothing left to do Monica called Sandra. Monica filled in Sandra with all of the gory details. She informed Monica that, "holy shit girl, there is a big difference between fantasy and reality." Eddie wasn?t a sissy he did everything to help you. And you betrayed him utterly. When you play these games, you need to discuss everything and develop safe words so that certain unacceptable lines do not get crossed. I hope that your Crohn?s disease is at a point that you are cured or at least the current meds will now be effective. "I don?t think Ashley will be there for you anymore." Upon hearing this Monica broke down knowing that she ruined everything. How could she have been so clueless? Then Sandra dropped a bomb asking," since Ashley no longer wants anything to do with you, would you mind if I pursued her?" Sandra wanted to take Eddie away from her. Monica was heartbroken. Sandra went on to say that although she "cherished" their friendship a superior find like Ashley was very rare. And to say that her qualities were valued was an understatement. With an appropriate time for Ashley to grieve over the loss of his beloved Monica, Sandra was sure that she could ensnare the beautiful Ashley. And that is what she intended to do. So, in one small time frame, Monica lost her husband and one of her best friends. Sandra was a little late. Ashley had made quite the contact in the park. A regular jogger had seen Eddie transition right before her eyes. A regular pattern of both Eddie and this jogger visiting the park finally caused Micha to stop during her run and inquire about Eddie?s situation. Micha was intrigued by the story of Eddie willing to help first his wife then a plethora of Crohn?s sufferers. She didn?t understand her attraction to Eddie/Ashley as no one ever really interested her on a romantic level before. When Micha found out of the troubles Eddie?s and Monica?s relationship was having, she didn?t mix words. She swooped in and took possession of Ashley and protected her and coddled her. She built up all that she had done and marveled at her accomplishments. When Micha finally came up for air, she was in the possession of what she never realized she needed. A soulmate to share the rest of her life with. She didn?t understand the attraction but she accepted it. She was the one person that Ashley was meant to be with, everything else notwithstanding. It is a strange circumstance that brings this story to an end. Everyone is content and happy, except Monica and Mr. Woody. When Ashley first learned of the betrayal of their marriage vows, she sought to remove all vestiges of her feminine appendages. She had scheduled a bilateral breast removal. Monica?s Crohn disease group caught wind of Ashley?s intended course of action and put together an appreciative dinner to honor Ashley. The night this dinner was to go down all of the group showed up at an extremely upscale venue. They found Eddie in attendance. He did become much more efficient at binding his breasts. All other vestiges of womanhood had been removed. His clothes however smelled of the exhaust. All of his male clothes had been boxed up and placed into the trunk of the GTO. Even after several washes, the exhaust smell remained. Hopefully, this would abate with additional washes and time. Maybe the American car companies had improved over the years. There before Eddie was a group of people that had benefited from his willingness to help. All of their efforts to obtain help from the American medical establishment went unheeded. Now all of them started sharing stories as to the extent of help that Eddie had provided. One customer, Jane informed the group that another individual having heard of Eddie?s financial gain had tried to repeat the formula that brought such riches to Eddie. His price was reduced but yielded no benefit. It seems that tomorrow Eddie will remove our cure permanently. The only thing that ever helped us will be gone due to Monica?s selfishness. "Please Eddie for our sake, do not make a rash decision and remove those most perfect looking breasts." "I?m sorry to put this all on you but none of us have an alternative." The whole room, except Monica who came stag hoping to reconcile with her former husband, began to implore Eddie to continue to make available their desperately needed treatment. Having heard all of these testimonials and seen the actual appreciation for all that had transpired, Eddie was moved. He looked to Micha for a response. She already had tears in her eyes as to the wonder that Eddie had provided to a very desperate group. Monica had not expected Micha to be in attendance and her hopes were utterly dashed when she approached Eddie and only received a look of disdain. How could someone that loved me so completely have no feeling for me any longer? This was a quandary that Eddie himself could not understand, but actions do have consequences. Eddie was now in a new relationship and Monica no longer was a consideration. Eddie?s new squeeze did not feel comfortable if Monica was to ask for treatment, paid for or not. She felt that this might make her a smaller person, but she could not help the way she felt. It was a lovely night. To be given such accolades for services rendered was such an affirmation that Eddie was on cloud nine. It is nice to receive credit for what you have accomplished. Micha informed Eddie that she didn?t care how he presented himself, that it was his soul that she was attracted to. This left Eddie with a lot of decisions to make. First off, he canceled his breast removal, he could simply not let so many people down. The confusion created from this decision brought Eddie to an impasse for several weeks. Finally, Eddie made an appointment at the institution. The image that was created for Eddie made everyone, including Ashley, very happy and content. Ashley was still his legal name. The beautiful female version of Ashley continued to make appointments to help those that needed it. No jealousy was ever displayed from Micha. The only exception to this is when Monica sought out help from Ashley. True to his promise, Ashley did not render service to Monica. When he/she had kept information from Monica it caused a lot of guilt. Ashley did not want to go down that road again. She simply informed her past wife that if she wanted treatment that she would need to obtain permission from Micha. Monica was too proud to seek Micha?s permission, so she went without. Monica, well Monica probably should have communicated with Ashley. She had everything and now she does not know what her future will bring. Whatever it is she will have to face it alone. Her first response to face things alone has now come to fruition. True love is very hard to come by. She never realized that her control with her prenup would ever be used against her. How could things have gone so very wrong? The loss of someone that you truly love, is something that you can never overcome. But to have someone that you truly love, no longer believe you is devastating. Ashley has truly moved on and wants nothing to do with Monica. The only road left for Monica, as it were, is the "high Road," for now she truly is on her own.