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"What’s this?" Melody said holding up a long blonde hair.
"Thread? Hair? I give up Melody. What is it?"
The hair was bright blonde and a little bit more than two feet long. I recognized it in an instant. It belonged to my hidden wig.
"Who IS she Brian?!" she said breaking down.
"What are you talking about?"
"This isn’t the first blonde hair I’ve found!" she barked through her tears, waiving the evidence between us. "Always after I’ve been away!
Always when I’m gone! I’m not stupid Brian!"
Continued denial was my only hope. It seemed to work for politicians.
"What are you saying Melody?"
"It isn’t just the hair Brian!" she screamed, working into a lather.
"I’ve smelled her perfume on our sheets! In OUR BED you bastard!"
"Melody," I started to plead.
"How stupid do you think I am Brian?" she said icily. "You can’t even tell me the truth now? You can’t even be honest with me when I’m holding her hair?!"
"Melody. You’ve got it all wrong," I practically whined.
"Oh really? Who IS she Brian? How long has this been going on? Do you love her? Was she WORTH it?"
"There’s nobody Melody. I swear!"
"I want a divorce Brian."
I always considered myself a faithful husband. While I’ve certainly "looked", I’ve never even been tempted by the fruit of another. But as Melody continued to rant about an affair that didn’t exist, I was horrified by the sudden realization that there really was an "other woman", ME!
"No really Melody," I pleaded. "It’s not what you think."
"Then what is it? What SHOULD I think?" she snapped.
As terrified as I was to tell her, I was more terrified of what would happen if I didn’t. I was trapped. I really did love Melody and didn’t want to lose her. If I didn’t tell her the truth now, it was over. The pause between my next words seemed like an eternity.
"That’s a hair from a wig Melody. MY wig."
"The perfume is mine too. I dress up like a woman when you’re gone."
Unable to look Melody in the eyes, I dropped my head and my gaze to the floor between us.
"I don’t believe you," she practically whispered.
"It’s true. There is no other woman."
"Show me," she said simply.
I paused again but there was nothing for it. Without a word, I headed down the hall and pulled down the collapsible ceiling ladder to the attic, a world of planks and exposed insulation where Melody never ventured. She followed me up the rickety steps.
Pushing aside some boxes and bags, I retrieved a hidden suitcase. Melody didn’t budge. Laying it on its side, I inwardly cringed before drawing the zippers and flipping it open.
She actually gasped.
"Oh my god," Melody whispered to herself in disbelief. "It’s true."
"You weren’t ever supposed to find out," I said sheepishly, shamefully.
She bent and reached into the suitcase. All I could do was watch. My matted wig was on top. Melody lifted it like it carried disease. She gasped again.
My humiliation couldn’t have gone deeper. My outfit, like my hooker-like wig, was to fuel a fantasy not meant for other’s eyes. Stacy looked with horror on "ballet heels", black patent fetish pumps with seven-inch heels. They forced the wearer to stand on tiptoe, like some whorish caricature of a ballerina. The black leather mini-corset-dress had sleeves, padding under the hips and ass, and was cruelly boned. The low neck had built-in demi-cups, nearly filled with a hard plastic. Melody couldn’t know that when tightly trussed into that dress, my own pushed- up flesh would rest on the plastic in those cups, giving me unnaturally realistic "breasts" and cleavage. She saw gaffs, panties, stockings, garters, pantyhose, jewelry, perfume, a makeup kit, nail-tips, polish, and remover.
"You’ve seen enough," I said trying to block Melody from opening the box on top of the Playgirl magazines.
She just gave me a look and brushed my hand aside. Opening the long box, Melody gasped a third time before lowering the lid.
"Your lover?" she taunted with a cruel smile.
It was an incredibly life-like, though oversized, vibrating dildo. Instead of having "balls" though, the base was bluntly curved with a short plastic lace attached. Its purpose to assist removing the dildo from my ass was embarrassingly clear.
"What do we have here?" Melody said gingerly holding a home-burned DVD labeled "Stacy In Love".
"Please," I said pathetically while trying to snatch it from her. "Give that back."
"Why Brian? Don’t want me to see you with your gay lover."
"No! There’s nobody. It’s just."
"Just what Brian?"
"Just embarrassing. This whole thing is embarrassing Melody. But I had to tell you the truth."
"It’s about time."
"I couldn’t before. How could I? This isn’t a side of me I’m proud of Melody. But I didn’t want to lose you. I love you."
"You love me?" she said pointing to the box on the Playgirl magazines.
"It looks like you’re lying to yourself now, STACY."
"I’m not gay," I said hanging my head again, wishing this wasn’t happening; wishing I didn’t have this painful need to dress up.
"Oh?" she said in a surprised voice and with a doubtfully raised eyebrow.
"I love YOU Melody," I repeated wretchedly. "All that stuff is just part of a stupid fantasy," I started to say.
"A fantasy to be a whore and fucked by a man?!"
"I know what it looks like Melody," I pleaded, "but you have to believe me. I’m not gay. I don’t like guys. I don’t even want to BE a woman. This is all like porn to me. Nothing more. It. It just gets me hard."
I cringed to hear myself admit it, but Melody had to know. She remained silently skeptical. I continued. "I don’t know why it does. It just does."
"Don’t I get you hard Brian?"
"Than why do you do it?"
"I. I can’t help it. God knows I’ve tried to stop before, but I keep coming back to it."
"Well just stop."
"I CAN’T!" I said a little too forcefully. Then I added more calmly, "It doesn’t mean anything though. I don’t do it a lot. It’s mostly forgotten up here, a harmless thing I do when you’re not around."
"Harmless?!" she screamed with more fire than I was prepared for.
"HARMLESS?!!!! Tell me, STACY, what is it that you do on the computer late at night, when I’m in bed needing a man? Huh? How many times have we NOT had sex because you were indulging this sick obsession? How many times have I competed with HER," she said waggling the DVD between us, "when I come back from a business trip, hoping beyond hope that my husband will great me with more than a hello-peck on the lips?"
I could only stare back into her fiery eyes, dumfounded by how disturbingly accurate Melody really was. She continued when I couldn’t reply.
"Another woman I can deal with," she said with a hint of disgust. "But how am I supposed to deal with the fact that you ARE the other woman Brian? Can you answer me that?! Tell me. How am I supposed to react to all THIS?"
After an over-long pause, I lowered my eyes and said, "I don’t know Melody."
She stared long at me in silence. I picked up my head only as Melody abruptly stood, still clutching the DVD. She started for the folding stair.
"Please Melody. Don’t," I begged.
"If I’m going to have to figure out how to deal with this, I’m going to know EVERYTHING. No more secrets Brian."
All I could do was watch as she climbed back down. I was too mortified to follow. Instead, I stayed in the attic, staring into the contents of my suitcase with self-loathing, listening to Melody turn on the TV in the family room.
I silently squirmed, knowing every moment of that DVD and what Melody was seeing.
After the opening shot of me in a perfumed bubble bath, Melody watched the image of me pat dry and become hard while spreading lotion over my skin. The next shot showed me douching my ass to be fresh for "Bob", my vibrating phallic friend, before slowly burying that tremendous cock inside me. Still paralyzed in the attic, I listened to myself panting and moaning in a disturbingly realistic woman’s voice until the dildo’s soft hum could no longer be heard. The TV next showed Melody how I "dealt with" my raging hard on: by jerking off into a little jigger, which I set aside for later as my transformation began.
I stayed in the attic, unable to move, listening to the humiliating evidence of my obsession play itself out for my wife. By the sounds, I tracked the progress of my transformation into a whorish caricature of a woman. I heard my slutty alter-ego, Stacy, prance and pose on her tiptoes in those impossible heels. I listened to myself drool and moan over my Playgirl favorites, wishfully longing for their real cocks to be where my hidden vibrator played inside me. I pictured every mortifying scene, right through to the very real climax, when my hidden long-nailed hand working under my dress brought me to a body-gripping orgasm and while I simultaneously slurped my previous cum, plunging my tongue into the upturned jigger to rim it clean of my scrumptious semen.
Once that DVD finished, I girded myself to be ready for Melody face, which I expected to confront me from the foot of the folding attic stair.
But she didn’t come. Finally exhaling a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I peered below. Still no Melody.
The DVD started again.
Not knowing what to think or do, I stood dumfounded as I listened to the opening shot, right through to when I buried a vibrating "Bob" completely up my ass again. Slowly, I started descending the creaking folding stair.
I wasn’t prepared for the sight I saw in the family room as I rounded the corner. Melody had her pants opened with a hand buried in her panties. She softly moaned as she masturbated, eyes glazed as she watched the DVD like it was porn.
"Melody?" I whispered tentatively by her side.
She just shot me a look that screamed, "Don’t bother me!"
Melody was close. I could tell. Suddenly, she arched her back, lifting her pelvis out of the chair as an orgasm shuddered through her body. The image of my wife fingering herself to climax couldn’t help but arouse me too. But I just stood there, silently waiting for Melody to recover enough to pass her judgment on me.
Without rushing, Melody let the last waves of pleasure fully subside before composing herself and doing up her pants. In the background, an image of me tugging and arranging my pushed-up flesh into my corset- dress breast-cups played out on the TV.
"I can’t believe you actually have breasts," she said simply, nodding toward the television. "You do a pretty good job concealing your little chest hairs with the makeup too."
After a long pause, I sheepishly said the only thing that came to mind, "Thanks."
"And those shoes! I don’t think I could even STAND in them, no less walk around in them. Is it hard?"
"Yes," I answered, not knowing where Melody was going with all this.
"Well, it’s hotter than I would have guessed, Stacy."
Her calling me Stacy struck me as odd, as did her questions and recent self-pleasuring. Though part of me didn’t dare to hope, another part of me couldn’t help start wondering if Melody might actually be a willing, even eager, participant in this aspect of my life!
"Thanks," I said again with a smile that I instantly regretted.
"The dick thing worries me Brian," she said throwing me off even further with the name switch. "You seem to like them a little too much."
"I’m not gay Melody. I don’t REALLY want them."
"You could have fooled me," she said glancing at the television, where I was putting on my slutty makeup.
"It’s. It’s hard to explain," I started defensively. "It’s only a dress-up thing. It’s not real. Its just part of the fantasy. When I’m like that, I don’t just want to look like a woman; I want to feel like a woman. Being wanted by guys, being attractive to guys, or the idea of it anyway, somehow adds to the daydream. That’s all."
"She has a thick eight inch dick inside her," Melody said pointing to the television. "She went so far as to eating sperm. Seemed to enjoy it pretty much too from what I could tell."
I just stared. There wasn’t any more for me to add. If she didn’t get it, there was no way I could describe it better.
We continued staring at each other for a long while, the DVD mercilessly continuing in the background. Melody finally smiled faintly before speaking.
"OK Brian. I don’t understand this. I don’t think I ever will. This whole thing, especially the hiding, the lying, it’s all disturbing to me. But I DO love you. In a bizarre way, it’s even hot to see," she said looking over to the TV. Temporarily distracted by the DVD, Melody stopped talking as she watched mesmerized.
"So?" I said meekly to break her reverie.
"So," she said turning to me. "I need to see it for real Brian."
"You want to see me dressed up?" I said trying to hide the growing spark of joy.
"No Brian. I need more than that. WE need more than that. I need to see EVERYTHING," she said waiving a hand at the TV. "I need to see the whole thing, the bubble bath, the douching, inserting "Bob" inside you, the transformation, EVERYTHING, right down to your getting off on the Playgirls and eating a man’s cum."
As much as this seemed like a dream come true, I wasn’t sure I was ready to do EVERYTHING in front of my wife.
"I don’t know if I can do all those"
"If you want ANY chance of me working through this Brian, that’s exactly what I’m asking of you, and then some."
"I need you to do this for me Brian. I need to see. I kneed to know. I need you to trust me."
"I trust you Melody."
"I need you to do everything I ask of you Brian. Will you do that for me Brian? Will you do that for us?"
I had already told Melody my deepest, most embarrassing secret. I had already let her watch my secret sin. I would do anything for her.
"Yes," I whispered timidly.
She stared at me expectantly.
"What?" I said. "Now?"
"Yes Stacy. Now."
"For us Stacy."
"OK Melody. For us."
With that, I climbed back into the attic to retrieve my no-longer-secret-suitcase. I heard the bath being drawn in the bathroom. Buffeted by doubts as I stared at the ballet-pumps and dildo box, I zipped up the suitcase and brought it downstairs.
On the lip of the fragrantly filling tub, Melody had laid out a douche as well as her pink razor. Surprisingly, there was a ripped out magazine photo of Pamela Anderson taped to the steamed mirror.
"What’s this?" I said picking up the razor.
"No opaque tights tonight love."
"Everywhere," she said significantly.
The thick pinkish bath foam steamed with a fragrance of lilac. Melody shut off the water and sat on the down-turned toilet seat to watch. I stripped, staring at her.
"Talk Stacy. Talk like I’m the camera in that DVD."
I felt stupid, but I did it.
"Hi," I started in my disturbingly sexy woman’s voice. "My name is Stacy and I can’t wait to feel pretty."
Gently stepping into the hot bubbles, I began recreating the DVD. This time though, I added the shaving. Having to lift my soapy legs above the foam to work, my froth-dripping legs took on an even sexier look as I made them smooth. Melody didn’t have to repeat the word, "everywhere". Her look was enough. I stood long enough to shave my pubes, pits, arms, and chest. I was painfully hard long before patting dry and lotioning my poor smooth skin.
Melody didn’t speak. Her eyes alone revealed a fog of arousal. Otherwise, she just watched silently as if I were some program on the television. She moved away from the toilet long enough for me to douche. I didn’t think I could insert that huge vibrating penis inside my freshly scented anus in front of my wife. I didn’t think I would be able to get myself to cum into the jigger with her watching. As it was, I barely caught it all by how fast I climaxed. Not quite soft, but soft enough afterwards, I pulled my hairless privates back between my legs,
firmly holding them from sight under the tight Lycra gaff I pulled on.
Melody made my choice for me, picking stockings over tights. Still silent, she lengthened my garter straps before handing the garter to me. She spoke her first words as I went to put on my stockings.
"Not yet," was all she said.
Wriggling into my padded leather mini corset-dress, those garter straps hung a few inches below the hem. It took a while to alternately suck in my gut and draw the front lacing ever tighter, gathering and bunching my pushed-up flesh above into the semblance of breasts. I panted with the short gasping breaths that the dress would allow when finally finished. Without my admittedly sparse chest hair, I almost wanted to cry by how real they looked and seemed. With the hourglass curves cruelly imposed by that dress, along with my hairlessly smooth skin, I already felt more feminine than ever before in my life.
"Do your toes," Melody said while handing me the bright red nail polish, "so they can dry while you do your makeup.
When I finished, I stood before the mirror to do my makeup. With wads of tissue separating my pretty toes as they dried, Melody stopped me again.
"Do them just like the picture," she said handing me some tweezers. "Do you need me to tell you what to do?"
"No," I answered in my breathlessly slutty sex-voice. Then, "Are you sure Melody?"
She just stared into my eyes in answer.
I looked from the tweezers in my hand to the picture of Pamela Anderson’s eyebrows. Her high thin arches did little more than give those ultra-feminine brows something for the skinny penciling to highlight. It was pointless to lie to Melody about knowing how to pluck my brows. I had dreamed about doing it since I was a child. I had feared it too. Unlike polished toes and smooth skin, brows weren’t something you could hide. But there was nothing for it. With a nervous thrill shaking my hand, I started plucking my brows for the first time in my life.
The result was frightening. My brows were so delicately thin that I would NEED makeup to define them. But what scared me the most was how transforming they were. I hadn’t realized just how much they could feminize a face, but those brows, more than anything, erased my face, Brian’s face. With those unmistakably feminine brows framing my now-sexy eyes, there was no other way to describe it. I had a woman’s face, Stacy’s face. My whole body trembled as I started doing my whorish makeup, completing the transformation.
"That is SO hot," Melody whispered in awe, reminding me that she was there behind me.
"Thanks," I purred in the only woman’s voice I knew.
It was time for my wig, which I pulled into place. As always, I did my best to tuck my brown hair around my sideburn under the blonde skullcap.
Melody frowned, shaking her head.
"It might be good enough for the DVD, but it’s not good enough for tonight," she said. "Take it off."
"Take it off?"
"I’ll help you on this. You won’t want your wig to give you away. Nothing can show, and it can’t slip off," she said.
"Give what away to who?" I said nervously.
"Trust me Stacy," she answered as she pulled off my wig.
Melody then fished out an old electric trimmer I bought when I tried wearing a goatee. As much as I liked the look of a goatee, the Stacy in me would always find an excuse to torpedo the effort. Now Melody bent my head forward over the sink and started buzzing my hair to the scalp! I could only watch in horror as my hair fell away in huge clumps. When my head looked like G.I. Jane, Melody took out some shave cream and her pink razor, cleaning my head to a disturbing sheen. With my wig back in place, Melody said, "Don’t move."
She left and came back in holding a small tube. After all that had been done, I didn’t even flinch as Melody strategically applied crazy glue to my head, binding that wig to me as if it were real. There was no double-sided tape to hold on my inch and a half dragon-nails either. With crazy glue holding the nail tips firmly in place, they were similarly "real".
Somehow, I put on the wide leather slave-collar around my pretty little throat. Somehow, I put on my earrings. Somehow, I slide sexy sheer stocking up my now-smooth legs and clipped them to my exposed garter straps. Somehow I buckled the tiny ankle straps on my patent leather ballet pumps, angling my toes to the floor like a whorish mockery of a ballerina. With a liberal application of perfume, I was done. I stood up in my shoes, perched impossibly on my tiptoes.
"Well?" I said to Melody, who could only gape in disbelief.
"Oh my god," she finally whispered. "Let me see you walk"
I minced across the room and back, the tiny toe-steps forcing my tulip shaped ass to jiggle and sway with an erotic motion I had no control over.
"Drink this," she said handing me the jigger of semen, shortcutting the rest of the DVD. Melody was serious. After seeing me do it before and all that had been done that night, it was pointless to protest. I slurped it down with not-so-fake delight as I licked the inside clean.
"Let’s go," she said almost numbly, still whispering.
"I have to KNOW Stacy."
I didn’t know what she meant, but I knew our relationship hinged on my obedience.
"OK," I breathed.
I looked, and felt, more feminine, more erotic, more fuckably hot than I had ever felt in my life. My hairless legs looked amazingly long and sexy perched in those shoes, with sheer stockings clipped to exposed garters, which held their lacy tops just a few bare inches of smooth thigh from my mini-dress. My mane of blonde hair cascaded over my bare shoulders as if it were my own. My face, framed by those exotically lined whore-brows utterly transformed my heavily vixened face. I was terrified leaving the safety of our house, and of the stairs. Somehow,
with Melody’s help, I navigated the three front steps on my toes and hurried as best I could to the car.
"Can I ask where you’re taking me Melody?"
"Listen Stacy," she started with a deadly serious tone. "I need you to do one more thing for us."
"But Vine Street?" I whined. Vine Street was our red-light district. It’s where John’s went to pick up the whores walking the street.
"If we are going to have any chance at a life together Stacy, you’re going to have to do this for us."
"What do you mean by "this"? What do you want me to DO Melody?"
"Walk the street.
"I have my reasons Stacy," she said with finality.
I just stared ahead, dreading events that didn’t seem real, that couldn’t be happening. I felt like I was on death row. Suddenly, there we were, a block away from Vine Street. Melody slowed the car, pulling over to the curb.
"What are you stopping here for?" I asked, literally shaking.
"I don’t want you getting hurt. I understand that the girls and their pimps can be pretty territorial."
I didn’t ask where she developed that understanding but it made sense.
"Here," she added as she started unbelievably tucking condoms into the lacy top of one of my stockings. "I don’t want you coming back to me with any diseases Stacy."
"You have this whore fantasy; and it runs pretty deep from what I can tell Stacy. I don’t care how you get it, just come back with fifty dollars and no diseases. I’ll be around the corner on 3rd Street. I have a feeling I won’t have to wait long."
"This isn’t a joke?" I said staring into her eyes, waiting for Melody to end this ordeal with a bad punch line. "You’re really serious?"
Melody just looked at me, waiting for me to leave the car. Still shaking and on the verge of tears, I finally opened the door. I swung my long legs out of the car, placing my tiptoes on the pavement. I somehow managed to stand, exposed as a whore to all the world, perched in my ballet pumps. The sound of the car door didn’t seem real as I closed it. I couldn’t be standing there on the street corner, watching the red taillights of our car drive off without me.
I was terrifyingly alone.
"Oh my god," I whispered to myself. "What am I doing?!"
I didn’t have time to think of an answer. The sound of a slowing car behind me briefly gave me hope that Melody had driven back around to end my torture.
"Hello gorgeous," a leering professional-looking man said instead as he leaned toward his open passenger window. "It looks like you might like to get off your feet for a while."
Inwardly cringing but outwardly smiling to get this over with as quickly as possible, I minced over to his now stopped car and leaned my cleavage in towards the window. Against his car, I could feel how those heels made my bent ass rise.
"You thought right handsome," I purred.
"Why don’t you climb in and put those pretty lips to good use?"
"It’s tempting," I smiled, licking a long-nailed finger seductively.
"Fifty," I said thinking about what Melody wanted.
"Hop in," he smiled, reaching over to unlatch the door and gently nudge it open for me to come in.
I’m sure the guy didn’t notice any hesitation. For me, it seemed like I stood outside his opened door for a lifetime before I buried my pride and my sanity and swung my ass into his car. Almost hating how sexy my legs looked as I drew them in behind me, I finally closed the door and we drove off.
"Where to?" he said simply. His pants already had a disturbingly large bulge over his crotch.
"Third Street," I said. "Just loop around the corner."
The guy did as I said without a blink. Parked at one darkened end of the street, I could make out our car at the other end in the distance. The engine stopped and I heard the man unbuckle his seatbelt. Unceremoniously, he counted out fifty dollars and handed it to me with an almost predatory look in his eye. Not knowing what else to do with it, I folded it and slipped the money into the same lacy stocking top as my condoms. I took one out.
The John just looked at me hungrily. With a resigned big mental sigh that he didn’t see, I smiled and reached for his pants.
"Let me see that beautiful cock of yours," I said with my sultry sex-kitten voice as I started undoing his pants.
I opened his pants and fished his hot hard penis out with my long-nailed fingers. The picture of this guy’s dick in my pretty hand looked like sex itself. In spite of the horror of what I was doing, another part of me was also getting turned on by the wrongness, the very taboo, of it all. I could almost hear my pulse pounding in my restricted breaths as I undid the condom and rolled it over his gloriously stiff penis, a penis that was stiff over ME.
"I’m a lucky girl," I said coyly before lowering my head toward his penis, my long mane of blonde hair cascading into his lap around me. I tasted latex as I put my lips around it, but there I was, bent across the seat of a stranger’s car with his dick in my mouth! It couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t real. But no matter how I wanted to deny what was happening, I continued playing my role. Filling my mouth with his dick, I slowly started to lick and suck and fuck this guy’s penis like I was the whore I looked like. The sound of his moans and increasingly heavy breathing only drove my own unwanted arousal to unexpected heights. My own stuff-mouthed moans were no longer fake. Feeling my John’s body stiffen, I nearly came myself as his cum pulsed into the condom in my mouth.
"That was amazing," he whispered in sated awe when I finally pulled off.
"Thank you handsome," I smiled, catching my breath even as I gingerly removed the condom from his shrinking penis.
"Here," he said after zipping himself up. "Take it. I was going to spend that much anyway and you were more than worth it."
He handed me another twenty-five dollars.
"Thanks stud. A good looking guy like you makes my job easier," I lied.
"Are you a regular here?"
I shrugged demurely.
"OK," he laughed before starting his car. "I just hope to see youagain."
"Me too," I lied with a smile.
The drive back to where the guy picked me up was quick. My walk around to Melody on third was thankfully short in those shoes. I was solicited twice before getting there. I went straight to the passenger side. The window was partially opened. The door was locked.
"It’s locked Melody. Let me in."
"Do you have the money?" she said almost numbly.
"Here," I said, pulling the folded bills out of my stocking top and pushing it through the window. Melody looked at it without unfolding the money, lying uncounted on the seat like a dead fish. In spite of the gravity of what his just transpired, that I had sucked a guy off for money, I had pushed the bills through the window with an almost spitefully proud smile, like I had risen to her humiliating challenge.
My smile quickly melted when I noticed Melody’s shoulders quietly begin to rise and fall. She was crying!
"Melody," I said with genuine concern.
She quietly sobbed, looking down into her lap.
"Melody," I repeated as soothingly as possible but bent toward the open top of her window like a whore in negotiation.
"WHAT?!" she spat, looking up with a heat that surprised me. "What do you want, you cock-sucking whore!"
"Melody," I said confused.
"You can’t even talk to me in your own voice!" she ranted. "LOOK AT YOU! LOOK AT YOU!"
"But I thought you wanted," I started to say, only realizing that I hadn’t used my Brian-voice after Melody cut me off.
"What I WANTED, STACY, was for you to refuse to do something like this! What I WANTED was for you to not even leave the HOUSE, no less the car! I wanted you to FIGHT me from shaving your body-hair, from plucking your brows, from being THIS," she said waiving her hand toward me. "But instead, you sell your pretty little mouth like the whore you are!"
"But NOTHING!" she spat violently. "We’re THROUGH! Don’t come home! I never want to see your face again STACY! Don’t expect the locks to work if you try!"
Fumbling with the ignition through her anger and tears, Melody started the car.
"No! Melody! Wait!" I started to say, again using the wrong voice. But it was too late. Melody hit the gas. I barely leaned up off the window in time as she pulled away.
I stood perched there in a dazed horror. How could I be so stupid?! Could my obsession have blinded me to Melody’s needs that much? How could I have allowed myself to mess up so royally?! Only after lamenting how I had ruined the one true love of my life did the reality of my immediate situation hit me. I was alone in the dark, penniless, with no place to go and dressed like a prostitute. Though a couple of blocks from the main drag, another car was already slowing.
It was the same John who had picked me up moments earlier.
"Hello gorgeous," he said with a smile as he leaned across to the passenger window again.
I just burst into tears, burying my fuck-me face into my long-nailed hands.
He waited. I finally calmed myself enough to look up. The look of concern on his face was genuine.
"Want to talk about it?" he said sincerely.
I gave him a look that said, "Come on. Get serious. My meter’s not running right now!"
"Look," he said taking the hint. "I’m not trying to score again. I just want to know if you’re OK, if you need help or anything."
"I’m sorry," I said. "But I don’t think anyone can help me now."
"Why?" he persisted.
"Because," I started blurting out, not caring what I said or to whom, "I’m a guy! My wife just had me turn tricks as some kind of test and kicked me out of the house. I’m penniless, alone, and look like a fucking whore! Are you happy now?!"
He looked me up and down for a second and I instantly regretted revealing that I was a guy. If this guy was the violent type, I suddenly realized just how vulnerable I was like that.
"You’re definitely one hot looking babe," he said finally, "even if you are a guy. Shit. That was the best blowjob I ever had in my life!" he added.
"Oh joy," I said.
"Look. I can take care of you for tonight. Bring you home. Set you up with some clothes to change into tomorrow. Drop you off somewhere. No hanky panky. Seriously."
"Are you crazy or something?"
"Just trying to help a pretty girl," he laughed.
I looked at him for a long moment, trying to decide if this guy was for real. Oddly enough, I felt comfortable around him, like he was harmless and sincere.
"Look," he added. "It’s either let me help you; or you turn tricks to pay for cab-fare and a cheep hotel for tonight. You figure out how to get a change of clothes."
"What’s your name?" I asked.
I immediately thought of the irony and of the other "Bob" still humming quietly inside me.
"I’m Stacy," I said not breaking character. "Thanks Bob."
And with his same gentlemanly stretch to open the door like he did before, I was sitting in Bob’s car, shivering slightly from fear but hopeful.
Conversation was light as we drove. We made it to a suburban area that dripped with money. Bob shrugged almost apologetically as we turned into the driveway of his large home.
"Care for a drink Stacy?" he said after helping me up the stairs and into his home.
"No thanks. I think I’ll just go to bed if you don’t mind."
"Sure," he said.
Even holding them in my hands after taking them off, those ballet-pumps made me look whorish.
"You know Stacy," Bob started to say at the threshold of his guest room.
"It’s almost a shame that you’re NOT a real woman."
"Because a man could get used to taking care of you," he smiled simply before drawing the door shut. "Goodnight Stacy."
The door closed and I heard Bob’s footsteps retreating down the hall.
"Bob?" I called out after flinging the door wide.
"Do you need something Stacy?" he said turning.
"It is pretty lonely in here by myself," I said coquettishly.
"Really?" he said brightly.
"MMMMMmmmmmmm HMMMmmmmmmm," I said with a come-hither motion with a long-nailed finger.
"Oh Stacy," he said coming back. "You are SOOOO beautiful!"
Once in the room, I let Bob lead me to the bed.
"You know what Bob?" I whispered into the ear I started nibbling on. "A woman could get used to taking care of you too."
"Really?" he repeated.
"MMMMMmmmmmmm HMMMmmmmmmm," I repeated as my hand went to undo Bob’s rapidly tenting pants.
I awoke the next morning refreshed but sore. My poor ass felt stretched and tender. I stared at the ceiling, thinking about everything. On some level, I was almost angry at myself for not feeling more pain at the loss of Melody. On some level, I knew that I should have felt wrong for indulging my inner Stacy so freely with Bob. I was confused and oddly contented, still feeling the after-glow of the best sex I had ever
Alone, I gingerly stepped over the two spent condoms on the floor and opened the door. There was a small cart waiting outside. On one side was a pile of men’s clothes that I was sure would fit me. On the other, was a pretty little sundress and strappy high sandals, complete with a makeup kit.
Bob did seem like a nice guy. Smiling at the choice Bob laid out for me, I took a pile in, hoping he would notice which was left on the cart.
"A woman could get used to being taken care of," I mused as I headed for the bathroom. "Even if only for a little while."
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