Two women introduce their crossdressing husbands to each other.

by Vickie Tern

---

 
 
I.
 
 
"I'm leaving now, honey."

"Are you? Oh, of course, look at the time. OK, Enjoy yourself, baby. Oh, first let me look at you?"

Slightly impatient but smiling modestly, he came further into the room and then did a slow turn. Beautiful! I could see at a glance that he'd gone all out. He'd given himself a flawless complexion, and bright red, delicately shaped lips, and eyes that were deep pools of mysterious black. His streaky blonde hair was gently curled this evening, and swept up in back. He'd gone all out -- his black brocade dress was set off with the pearl necklace and earrings I'd given him for his coming out party. Which was ... what, only a few weeks ago? Good heavens, only a few weeks ago, and now look at him.

I was impressed, and I wanted him to know it in case he still felt a little nervous about his appearance. "Very nice! You're lovely, honey. Your turn to be the girl tonight? Well, you've done yourself proud -- very suave, very chic, sweetie. Are those new heels?"

"Yes," he replied. He was already using his girly voice, only a little flutey but coruscating across the scales, across the range of the human voice, as women's voices tend to do. "I needed something really high and strappy to go with this dress. They're black, so they'll also do well with my mauve silk. And they're really wonderful with those tailored slacks I found at Simpson's last week. I'll get use out of them."

"I'm sure you will. I've been thinking about shoes something like that for myself. Will you be late, do you think?"

He smiled and looked at me a little conspiratorially. "April, that'll depend entirely on Bob. I was all over him till nearly three last time it was my turn. Or he was all over me. It's so good, after a while it does get to be mutual." He grinned and blushed, then maybe to cover his embarrassment he adjusted his decolletage -- daintily, but even so, that cleft of his remained its most prominent feature. He did love showing it off! I saw that his nails were newly lacquered in the same red shade as his lipstick, with oval tips. A professional job. He really had gone all out.

"Well, Jerri, tomorrow's Saturday, you can sleep in as late as you like. Just don't utterly exhaust yourself. Did Bob get tickets for a show or something?"

"No, he says it'll be dinner, then probably dancing, there's a new band at the Highland Lodge I hear. There's a nice crowd goes there -- I'm getting to know some of them. They know he's married, so they think I'm his little piece of fluff on the side." He grinned. "And it's a nice night, and the air's balmy, so they'll probably open their terrace for dinner and dancing. You can see half the city winking at night from up there, it should be marvelous. By which I suppose I mean it'll be romantic." He sighed. "We'll be meeting Maureen and Garrett there -- you remember them I think, they're friends of the Cartwrights. We'd see them now and then at mob cocktail parties." I recalled Garrett. He'd once somehow managed to get a hand on my breast while helping me on with a coat. If he hadn't been leering when he did it I might have let him, for a moment anyhow -- that was his reputation, and he'd lived up to it. "Oh yes, Garrett," I said. "Garrett's nice enough, as I recall, but he can be a little brash. Does he know who you really are?"

Jerri smiled smugly. "Hasn't a clue," he said.

"Well, watch out for him. He comes on to every woman he meets, as I well remember. So watch out for him."

"I know. I will. Don't worry, I intend to be true to Bob!" His conspiratorial grin broadened into something almost masculine, but he recovered with a toss of the head that shifted his hair prettily away from his face. I'd seen him practicing that gesture for the first time only a few days ago, after dinner. He really was taking this thing seriously. Well, why not? He made a pretty girl, and one of the pleasures pretty girls enjoy is flirting with attractive men, getting a rise out of them. He knew I didn't mind occasional flirtations with men other than Bob -- that's part of the fun. Even when they threaten to become more than flirtations -- that'd happened now twice that I knew of. But no harm. Some of the things Jerry likes to do when he's being Jerri really does tap into his inner slut.

"I may need to watch out for Maureen though!" he added.

"Oh?" Personal or intimate relationships with other women were another matter. We'd agreed, absolutely forbidden. Off limits. I wouldn't allow it. Jerry and Jerri were both mine! I looked at him inquiringly.

"Not long ago we ran into them at Le Cirque, Garrett and Maureen, and it happens she made a full scale pass at me when we were alone together in the Ladies' room. It really shocked me -- I hadn't expected it, I mean, I was feeling romantic, really hanging onto Bob's arm that night, and I know she'd seen how we were together. I found out afterward that she's bi. But whether she'd read me and wanted me as a man who cares about feminine things, or whether she just wanted me as a woman, that I simply don't know. Either way, I guess she saw no harm in trying."

"Well there she was wrong. You're mine, Jerry. And Bob's too of course, when you're being Jerri, because it's important for Jerri to know how good it is to belong to a real man. Gwen thinks so too -- that's why she gives Bob to you when he's being Bobbi, so he can also enjoy being a girl with her fella now and then. We don't either of us mind because you're always only each other's and no one else's, and also because you take turns being the guy and the girl. That way you both enjoy the best of both, and we aren't likely to lose either of you to one or the other -- we do worry about that sometimes. It's all kind of sweet and cute and ... well, you know, fun and exciting, for you and for us too. How many women get to be married to men who are also women?"

Jerry nodded, his face serious. He knew I was being serious even though I sounded almost silly.

"You're both spoken for!" Now I was speaking emphatically. "You're ours. So ... well, let Maureen find her own girlfriends or boyfriends or whatever!" And I stamped my foot for emphasis. Some of it was for show -- I was sure I could trust him.

"That's exactly what she was doing, April honey, trying to find her own girlfriend or boyfriend." And Jerri actually winked his black eyelashes at me!

So I picked up a couch cushion and threw it at him. "You get out of here!" I said. How I loved him! "Just don't exhaust yourself utterly, save some of your energy and charm for me. When I wake up tomorrow morning I expect to see you lying beside me asleep in your favorite nightie, still smiling, with no memories whatever of Maureen. Oh yes, you forgot last time, I expect to see all that gorgeous make-up you're wearing creamed off. We do not clog our complexions."

"Yes, Ma'am." And he blew me the most darling, delicate kiss. Lightly kissed his palm and held it in front of his pursed lips and gave it a little puff of air. Absolutely fetching! Then flipped his wrist away. He must have been practicing that gesture too this past week, the little tease! I gave him an air kiss back and settled back into my book. Jerri left to walk next door to Bob and Gwen's. Since he was Bob's date, Bob would do the driving. Just as Jerry drove when Bob was being Bobbi.
 
 
II.
 
 
It wasn't that all confusing, and not even very novel any more, though this steady alternative dating got added to Jerry's pleasures as Jerri almost by accident. Jerry'd also been Jerri for a long time, since his boyhood I suspect. I'd noticed the signs and reached that conclusion long ago, though we'd never discussed it. Like most cross dressers, he felt ashamed and tried to hide it from me, as if he was violating his manhood or something. As if I'd think less of him because now and then he wants to be the kind of person I am. As if imitation weren't the sincerest form of flattery! Eventually though, it did seem the right thing for me to force the revelation, to bring Jerri out into the open so to speak. So he'd understand that I love all of him regardless of the parts that embarrass him.

So I did bring Jerri out, and after that things got to be really fun! I picked a good time. The mood was just right. We were driving home from Jenna and Scott Cartwright's -- we'd met them at an art gallery opening and they'd invited us to stop by their house for a drink along with quite a few other people. A light-hearted, spontaneous social situation. We'd been joking with all sorts of people about all sorts of things, and that may be why I decided well, enough already. As as soon as we were alone I turned and said to my husband in a sprightly but affectionate tone of voice, "You really do like imagining you're a girl, don't you?"

"What?" he replied. Obviously he couldn't think of anything else to say. Because it was true and we both knew it. Obviously, he was wondering how after all those years of concealment, I knew. So he stalled, wondering above all how to deal with whatever was coming. The poor angel!

"When you're with women you behave exactly as if you were one of us," I said. "You move as if you were graceful, and curved in all the right places. You try to display your pulchritude prettily," I said, trying to sound both cheerful and delighted. "To be attractive as only girls are. With all sorts of dainty gestures. You're really very good at it, and I know why. I've seen you practicing."

"You have?" Still stalling for time. Unaware that he'd put his fingertips to his lips in a typically feminine gesture expressing surprise. I'd seen him gently lower his coffee cup to the table in a single fluid movement, as women often do, not just set it down and abandon it with his hand as men do. And once, when he thought I was absorbed in a book, he gave the most delicious hip wiggle when he got up from an easy chair and straightened his clothes. If I'd been a man I'd have leaped him! I knew where his mind was then. He apparently didn't know how much this other self of his had absorbed his proper self. Or rather, absorbed his male self -- as I saw it, since it came easily to him and he liked it, and it seemed intriguing to me, both his male and his female self were proper.

I paused, then decided to go all the way. "I've also noticed that now and then you like to try on my clothes, I suppose to see if they help with the illusion. Help you feel more girly. Even my make-up. Isn't that true?"

It was getting toward evening but even so I saw his face go deep red. His thoughts were quite clearly written there. I knew! How did I find out? Had he slipped up anywhere?

Our marriage was built on honesty, of course, like all good marriages, though no more than any other couple did we feel bound to tell each other the whole truth about everything. I mean, that could be insensitive, tactless, even risky. We all have egos to protect, after all. But we never lied or allowed wrong impressions to remain uncorrected. So he couldn't deny the facts as stated. He did sometimes try on my clothes and make-up. I knew it for fact, though he didn't know how I knew.

"I guess," he said, still stalling.

"It isn't just appearances either, is it? Take tonight. There were the husbands talking about somebody or other top-seeded in the semi-finals of something or other, and there were the wives talking about Helen's Versace and whether sequins are coming back for formal wear, and whether 'Sex and the City' was worth seeing, and also dishing about how Veronica never seems to be home nights when her husband's on the road, just call her and see for yourself. And so on. And which group did you choose to chat with?

"The wives."

"Because?"

"I like the way women talk. They share. They talk about people. Men get pretty pompous when they aren't actually putting each other down -- they're always 'guying' each other -- needling and pretending it's joking and so on. It's annoying. Or they talk about things, or they talk shop, and that's boring."

"And?"

"OK, yes, I like the things women talk about too. I'm fascinated that Veronica may be a little bit naughty."

"A little bit, yes. I guess you are. Very much like the rest of us." I looked at him proudly -- now he needed reassurance, lots of it I was sure. "Some of the women congratulated me as we were leaving for having a husband who cares about things we care about. About fashion, for example. 'He must be a great help when you're putting an outfit together,' is what one of them said to me during those few minutes when you went to refresh some of the women's wine glasses I had to agree. I told her I'd intended to wear rhinestones tonight but you knew that this silver choker was more appropriate. And everyone agreed you were right."

"So, given my interest in clothes, in women's styles, you think I want to be a woman?"

I grinned at him. "Oh, no, Jerry, not exactly." There had been one point in our gossiping when Jerry'd fallen silent. We were wondering aloud why Samantha had dumped her husband Patrick for Ralph, who was nowhere near as clever. Jerry'd contributed some shrewd observations about Patrick as a man with a temper, quick to argue about nothing. "He's a little man in every sense," he'd said, and we'd all agreed. But when we began to joke and smile wickedly about Ralph's contrasting attributes -- Ralph is tall and muscular and generous, a body-builder, a big man -- Jerry'd had nothing to say. Especially when Joanne wondered aloud what it must feel like to snuggle up to a man-shaped wall his size. We'd all giggled at the thought of a massive man lying next to us, maybe with a massive part of him inside us. Jerry acted as if he was as amused by that thought as the rest of us -- he did want to seem one of the girls. But his knowing smile was forced, and it was certainly inappropriate. Jerry did not share a woman's sexual desires. He couldn't be a woman that way. Not yet, anyway. I hoped he wasn't feeling too excluded, too left out.

"No, I don't think you want to be a woman," I replied. "Not always, not for good. But I'm sure you like to imagine you are one, now and then. That you like to doll yourself up and let the mirror persuade you. Like when you were talking with us about other women -- didn't it feel sort of sexy to imagine you were one of us? Am I wrong?"

He swallowed hard and struggled with himself a moment. Then, "Yes," he replied. And, "No, you're not wrong." He drove a little further toward our house. "I do like imagining I'm one of you. How long have you ... been wondering about this? Suspecting it? About me?" His eyes were almost pleading. He was terribly worried that the compromised masculinity he'd just confessed might compromise my love for him. Maybe already had?

No way! No way imaginable! "How long have I suspected? Oh, honey, for years and years! Practically since we first met. I remember how you were obviously different from all the other boys, how you endeared yourself to me forever simply because you knew about different hair styles -- you knew whose hair was layered, or shagged, or bouffant, and so on. Only women see such things -- men appreciate the result but not the art, unless they want to be hairdressers. But you cared. You knew the styles and their names and their effects on how a girl looks wearing each, and yet you were a young financial wizard, no way a hairdresser. That was so flattering to all of us! It made you special."

"My mother and my sister talked about such things all the time," he offered in explanation. Pathetic!

"Yes, but how many brothers pay the slightest attention? Then again, I knew almost right away that you were browsing through my drawers, no, not only those kinds of drawers, I mean my bureau drawers. I noticed long ago that you'd gotten into my underwear, and I mean that in both senses! And I've been aware for some time that my make-up isn't always the way I usually leave it."

I paused, giving him plenty of time to review his failings as a thief in the night. Then I went on. "How long have I known for sure? Well, I'm ashamed to say I started deliberately trying to collect evidence and at the same time to please you ... maybe it was a year or so ago. I began leaving certain items of clothing out, and certain shades of makeup I thought might especially appeal to you. And I was so pleased when I saw that they'd done just that. You'd worn them, the evidence was obvious enough! I imagined how you'd looked in them, given your face and figure, and I was pretty sure you weren't too bad, rather cute probably! The whole time I thought it was a lovely hobby, and harmless enough. But you never mentioned it to me so I always assumed you were ashamed. That you must have thought it a fetish or something like that, disgraceful, not one of the ways a free spirit enlarges his range of experience. Which is what life is for! That was when I really began trying to help you in earnest, but always trying not to embarrass you." I smiled ruefully to myself, remembering the subterfuges. It hadn't been easy.

"You've been helping me?"

"Of course! Do you think it's accidental that my dresses happen to fit you so well? Remember when we put ourselves on that crash diet, and you lost forty pounds and me ten, and we ended up practically the same size? The same dress size?"

I wondered how much more I should say, then decided, in for a penny. He is my beloved husband after all. And I do love him. And he's in a rather ... sensitive state of mind right now, "We aren't shaped the same of course, I'm sure you knew that. Or anyhow, we weren't. Nothing fit you quite right. But I wanted you to be happy with your new ultra thin figure, so along with your weight-loss pills I got you some others to tweak your body just a little to look a teeny bit more like mine. You lost weight, but you also redistributed some of it. You started getting softer here and rounder there, remember when you first noticed? Little by little you began to get quite shapely. You thought it was flab or something and wanted to join a gym and work out, but I kept telling you not to worry, that I didn't like hard bodies, I liked you soft, that you felt wonderful soft. And you did! You do! You remember how I steered you into my Yoga class so you could learn to stretch out your muscles and become more limber, the way women like to be, instead of toughening them up and going musclebound the way men do?"

"So instead of getting buff I got pliable as well as soft? You did that?"

"No, you did that. I encouraged it. Yes. You're better than soft now, you're deliciously curvy here and there. I love it. You don't?" I knew he did.

"I have noticed that parts of me look ... a little feminine." He looked a shade guilty, as if his secret enjoyment of his new body was somehow a crime

I glanced at him. Only a little? With those hips and breasts? "Well, I should hope so. When you try on my panty hose these days, aren't you impressed with how glamorous your legs have become? Wide calves, slim ankles, luscious!"

He was silent. He had noticed, of course. They were now altogether satisfactory for his feminine ambitions, those gams. He loved that they were so arched and rounded -- I'd come upon him admiring them in the mirror once or twice, and immediately I'd wondered how they'd look in stockings or pedalpushers or clamdiggers. And how his new wider hips would look flaring from his narrow waist if emphasized by a short skirt. Sexy as could be, I was sure!

"My legs do look like a woman's, that's true," he said finally.

"And your breasts? You think you've been getting a little flabby there too, but when you wear bras, I bet you're pleased that you now fill them so beautifully. You're a B cup, aren't you?"

Now that was really embarrassing. Jerry glanced at me -- I was looking at him with the widest-eyed, most accepting expression any woman has ever mustered on her face. Waiting for him to agree as I knew he had to. "Well, all right April, yes, I do try on your bras. And the way my pectoral muscles sag these days I guess I do fill them. But your breasts are way bigger than my pitiful excuses for ...."

"Oh honey baby, they aren't at all pitiful, they're darling! Really cute! I have news for you. I'm a C cup, I have been since I was a teenager. What you've been wearing are your own bras, not mine. I got them in your size for you! It isn't just your pectoral muscles that are sagging, honey -- you have real breasts now, your own lovely B cup breasts, and enlarged nipples to go with them, and you've been wearing your own bras for months. When we make love and I tweak them or suck on them just a little, do you think I don't notice how you go ape? How I can bring you off just by caressing them? You may end up a C cup, but that we won't know for a little while longer."

"These are breasts?!"

"Honeybun, yes, of course they are! Real breasts for a part time real woman! And you love them, don't tell me you don't! You now have a perfectly respectable figure with very nice boobs, even if they are still a bit small for your shoulders. And your hips emphasize the marvelous lush tush you've been growing. I know you've admired those globular buns whenever you've looked at them over your shoulder in your mirror. Do you think I've never seen you checking out your rear guard like any woman who's pleased with her body and making sure it's all still there? Did you think you were only imagining that gorgeous butt of yours?"

"Well, yes, in a way, I ...."

"That's why we're talking about this kind of thing now. Honey, just listen. Your birthday is coming up soon and I love you and I've been racking my brains for a really fabulous present for you. Something that would really express how much I love you and at the same time give you the greatest enjoyment. Well, I've just about settled on getting you a whole female wardrobe of your own, and a whole day's makeover at Sally's so for once you can really look as fabulous as you deserve to look. I want you to really show yourself off, to be all you can be! And that's why I decided tonight to let you know that I know all about your hobby and I don't mind it, that in fact I think it's flattering to me as a woman, to all women. And think about this, it has possibilities for all sorts of new fun relationships we can explore with each other. I might well find myself attracted to a new you in new ways altogether! And you to me! Really, it's nothing for you to worry about at all."

And so on. Well, that was my speech to him that evening as he was driving us home. It was an incredible revelation to him, and at first he was terribly embarrassed, even humiliated. Also uneasy, because he couldn't quite believe I meant what I said. Then gradually, as I'd hoped it would, it made him incredibly happy. By the time we got home his mind was filled with wild surmise. He was glowing! Now he could play at being a girl as much as he wanted to, out in the open! And I'd help!

We arrived home, and he parked the car, and without a word he led me upstairs and without a word he got naked and insisted I do the same thing, no nightie, no nite cremes, no nothing, and he guided me, half-lifted me onto his cock and then lay me down gently on our bed. And for two hours we made love. Oh, Lord-God, we made real love, sweetly, devotedly, passionately! Not fucked, loved! Well, maybe we fucked too -- we both did get absorbed in our own pleasures now and then. It was heavenly -- he was so exhilarated and so raunchy that his cock simply would not quit!

When finally -- I think it was three climaxes for him and I got lost in how many for me so I'm not sure -- well, I told him I'd had enough, I had to sleep. I was oozing, his semen dribbling out on my thighs and filling my crack, and my mouth was so sore from all the kissing and sucking. Which gave me my own slightly raunchy idea.

"But before we sleep," I said. "I'd love for you to kiss me down there with your mouth. With lots of tongue!" And I beamed at him mischievously, even a little smugly. Because I knew he would.

At first he didn't understand -- he'd always gone down on me before making love to me, never after, so I always felt clean down there, pristine and ...well, eager for him when his cock head finally poked me and parted the ways. Afterward I was always messy, gloppy, sloppy, maybe even a little smelly down there, and I disliked the feeling even though getting that way was so marvelous. But now? I just kept looking at him, drowsy yet insistent. Trying to look insistent anyhow. There was a wry expression on his face -- I couldn't read it.

"Haven't you ever tasted a boy's cum?" I asked him. "Girls love semen, the feel of it in their mouths, on their lips and tongues and everything. It means they've made their lover happy! I surely love it -- you certainly know that!"

I'd suck him off now and then when he was feeling hornier than I was, and when he spurted into my mouth it was always satisfying. I'd be sure he knew when I swallowed his loads that I loved it. I actually did. My main reason for cocksucking him wasn't that, though -- it was to increase the time before his second cumming, so I could enjoy long, leisurely sequences of orgasms instead of hoping for just one while he raced frantically toward his first climax. This time though I looked at him meaningfully and then just lay back. He wants to be a girl? Then he ought to swallow semen like the rest of us. I wanted him to know that.

He finally understood that I meant it, and his head disappeared under the covers. Almost immediately I felt him between my legs. I raised my legs high up and rested them on his shoulders -- thank God for Yoga! -- and immediately felt his tongue licking the ooze from my crack. He pushed my thighs wide apart and then ... there came this ... this desire in me down there that grew and spread and became incredibly intense, a terrible yearning I felt through my whole body, growing until it filled me and ... oh, God, it finally peaked, and I tensed and screamed and came and came and came, exulting, as long-lasting, powerful, orgasmic spasms squeezed me and sent all his juice pumping out of me into my darling's mouth and all over his face. And he swallowed it all down just as I wanted him to. Just like a girl! I have never loved him more than I did then!

He emerged with his face glistening and his hair soaked and clotted by our mingled cum, and he licked his lips and patted his belly. "There now," he said, smiling at me. "All back inside me again. Ready for recycling!"

"Was it so terrible of me to ask you to do that?" I asked, as if unsure. I needed to know how he felt. The idea that my hubby was swallowing sperm, man juice, somehow appealed to me. It was what he would do if he were a real girl. It felt ... well, friendly. More intimate than sharing our undies. Somehow more ... bonding as equals, as girl to girl.

"I loved it," was all he said. "Because you wanted it." And he fell asleep almost at once, wrapped in my arms as I was in his. As I drifted off I mused contentedly, so very pleased that under the right circumstances my Jerry could enjoy and swallow semen. Like me. One more way for him to be a girl! I hugged him, and his breasts -- there were pectoral muscles beneath them, but I knew they were breasts -- pressed themselves against mine. And this time I knew he knew too.

This would be so much fun! Why didn't I encourage him to confess this desire of his years ago?
 
 
III.
 
 
The next morning when he came from his shower I handed him one of my robes to wear to breakfast, one so girly-girly I hardly ever wore it myself. Frou-frou, layers of chiffon, embroidery, and lace, a bridal shower gift that was still practically new. He instinctively froze, then gingerly accepted it, and with a single understanding glance at me he put it on, carefully. As if it was impregnated with something that might destroy him.

As well it might! But rather, I wanted it to complete him!

It did have a magical effect! His boyish, slightly effeminate body suddenly became willowy! Just like a girl's, though a girl with a plain face. He looked at me shyly, proud yet embarrassed to be himself so obviously. Then looked at himself in the mirror and ... preened! He approved!

"You do know what I'm going to ask you to do next, just quickly, minimally, before we go down together for breakfast," I said.

"Yes," he said.

"And you know why."

"Yes," he replied in a subdued but nevertheless excited voice. "So there's no more secrecy. Because we're open with each other from now on. And because a girl ought always to look decent."

"As open with each other as we can be," I corrected him. "From now on your femininity is mine to have and to hold, something I married along with the rest of you, something I love and want to see whenever you feel you want to express it. But done right. Tastefully. You know.

"Yes," he replied.

He sat down at my make-up table and began to look for a mascara brush. I always came to breakfast wearing minimal but adequate make-up. Just mascara and a light lipstick -- the major facial artistry came later. Because, as my mother had explained to me, I was a girl twenty-four hours a day, so I should look like one twenty-four hours a day. Girls who are not in bed asleep always wear eye make-up and lipstick, whatever else. Sometimes even in bed, sometimes especially in bed -- I had to smile at that wicked thought. I must make love to my new girl soon, I decided then and there.

"Your things are in the large central drawer. Now that you're kind of ... ah, my live-in girlfriend as well as my beloved man we'll fill in all the other things you need. And when you look presentable we'll go out together and give people a chance to admire your other self."

"No!" he uttered, shocked. "I ... I...." He couldn't speak! That simple proposal freaked him out! I saw I'd need to go slow.

"Well, we'll reveal you only to strangers first," I declared, concerned not to spook him. "Only in passing. But maybe eventually our friends. Honey, remember, being a girl is a privilege, not a secret vice. You are not going to hide yourself away."

Still worried about exposing his secret vice to the world but obviously deciding he'd deal with my liberal ideas another time, he began brushing mascara on his upper lashes. He was obviously not unaccustomed. Then he expertly twisted on some lipstick. His face actually did take on the aspect of an innocent doll! This would be so fun! For the first time, I noticed he'd plucked his eyebrows -- cautiously, so I wouldn't notice, and I hadn't. But I could see, now that he was wearing make-up, that they were shaped, thinned and neatened, adequately enough to sustain a feminine appearance. He could go further with them, came the random thought. Imply delicacy by making them look really delicate, as some women do.

"Oh yes, when you shower this morning, depillate," I told him. "And use a body lotion. And let's say all day today you practice your sitting and standing and walking, and using a girl's voice, I'm sure you know better than I do just what I mean. Oh yes, for now just run a brush through your hair a few times -- we'll get you professionally done when you're ready. Your eyebrows aren't a problem now -- you've been shaping them, haven't you, you sweetheart!"

He nodded, his open secret no longer secret.

"Since you intend to be a part-time girl, you'll want to be as complete and persuasive a part-time girl as you can be! I'll expect no less!"

"Yes, Ma'am," he said. And he stood up, keeping his elbows close to his sides, another feminine gesture. It looked a bit clumsy but definitely he had promise. "Shall we?"

"I don't dine with just any girl," I replied. "What's your name, sweetheart? We've just slept together, so you can tell me."

"Jerri. With an 'i' not a 'y'."

"Well, Jerri with an 'i' not a 'y', let's see how good you are in the kitchen. I already know what you're like in the bedroom."

Arm in arm we descended, to make breakfast together. It was fun! We divided the chores and worked together as if we really were two girlfriends. The whole time we chatted and giggled together over some of the gossip we'd overheard at the art gallery, then later at Jenna and Scott's. It was so delicious! Several times I had to stop doing whatever I was doing and just kiss him. On impulse, I couldn't help it! Then after breakfast when we'd cleared the dishes and put everything away, I simply took him by the hand, led him back to our bedroom, told him to lie flat in his back, mounted him, settled myself onto his distended prick, leaned forward to kiss his sweet rosy lips again and again, and screwed his ass off. And of course my own.

When his penis finally lay there slack, unable to engorge again, a total flop, I slid forward to kiss him with my labia and bury his face under my ass. His tongue had barely touched my clit when I tensed up and came, orgasmed all the juice he'd squirted into me onto his face and into his mouth. He not only didn't seem to mind, he moaned as if he himself were orgasming. I decided then and there that all our lovemaking would end like this, with me sitting on my darling's face while he serviced the my pussy and his own cum.

An hour later we were both sore and exhausted but blissful. It was the weekend, so I suggested that Jerry spend the whole day as Jerri. He accepted the idea as eagerly as a puppy. I handed him the four bras I'd bought him and told him to put one on and to put the others in his own undies drawer -- he'd wear them daily from now on. He did, bending expertly to clip it on his chest more expertly than I'd have expected, and I saw that indeed he filled his B cups easily. I then loaned him a pair of tan shorts, a pair flared wide at the legs to look like a miniskirt, and sandals to match. And a shocking pink, scoop-necked, embroidered tank top left over from before I lost weight. It seemed to him oversized enough to provide the illusion that his breasts didn't show, though it was obvious to me that they were thrust out nicely, noticeably, his bra saw to that.

He was in heaven, my darling! He seemed rapturously unaware that he was still wearing make-up, and I didn't remind him by suggesting he fix his face -- despite all the kissing he was still wearing enough lipstick to preserve decency. "Now you're my girl," I said, and he beamed. He felt comfortable enough to agree to adjourn to our back terrace to lounge there, reading.

We were doing just that, still being two girls, when behind Jerri's back Gwen Shanahan from next door looked over the fence and waved at me. I waved back. She glanced at Jerri, smiled at nothing in particular, then disappeared elsewhere. Maybe she thought Jerri was a house guest or relative or something? I hoped so. I didn't want to embarrass Jerry -- he was presentable enough, marginally passable, but still a long way from feeling the confidence every woman needs to feel that she's properly presentable. All in good time.

And so the next few weeks went. Jerry became Jerri whenever he could -- most evenings and weekends, and as he grew better at it we both grew accustomed to it. Always though, only in the house. We watched chick flicks on the tube and gossiped together as women will, sharing amusement or outrage about the delicious things some men try to do to women and how charming other men can be, mostly chatting about women's things. I deliberately kept away from masculine or even neutral interests during this period -- this was a kind of indoctrination by overcompensating, if you will. Each night I gave him his hormone pill deliberately, "so you can feel more comfortable with yourself." Each night he had to decide for himself whether or not to take it, and each night I watched him hold it in hand as if it were a magic talisman, look at it, then swallow it with a glass of water and smile at me as if seeking my approval. Clearly, he needed me to help him overcome whatever his doubts about changing his body quite so deliberately. I was happy to help.

If he'd chosen not to take them, I'd have smiled at him and approved that too, I suppose, but the fact is, he didn't. Immediately afterward, both of us in our nighties, we'd make love devotedly, or sometimes we'd just fuck hard and steady -- I can be pretty relentless until I've risen to my third orgasm. Then without my even asking any more, without my moving a muscle, he'd go down on me, suck out all the cum he'd just spurted and swallow it down, and I'd cum yet again against his mouth. Sometimes, when his nose was nuzzling into my ass, I'd bounce up and down and wriggle it in deeper, as far as it would go. It was heaven.

For casual wear after work and on weekends I wear pants more often than not, but my Jerry needed to get accustomed to skirts, to full femininity. So I praised his legs all the time, trying to convince him they were too attractive to hide. So he took to wearing pantyhose all the time, even to work -- as he told me, it gave him a sense of secret sisterhood with all the women who worked in his building, that in this way at least he was one of them. When I pointed out he ought to wear a bra every day too, his breasts needed support, he did that too. It wasn't true of course -- his breasts were soft outcroppings but no way pendulous, not yet -- but he loved the sense of belonging his bras provided, and I thought he should get accustomed to how a bra feels. So wearing one would become as second nature to him as his breasts.

I pointed out as a truism that any woman in skirts, no matter how informal her outfit might be otherwise, always wears full proper make-up -- it was true for any woman wearing a dress, of course. When I commented on it as if a fact, he looked puzzled, but then duly nodded and left the room. Only ten minutes later he came back looking ... well, smashing! Just perfect. Obviously he'd mastered not only mascara and lipstick but also the arts of spreading foundation over his face as a beard cover, brushing on blush and face powder, stroking on several shades of eye shadow, then tracing and blending eye liner around his eyes. And making it all look ... natural, customary. He sat down again so ... delicately! Like a lovely maiden in a floating dream! Well, if that's what he wants to be, I decided, that's what he is. Though it was a pity he didn't want to go out and show the world how lovely a specimen of femininity he could be.

One evening when I came into the living room and saw him buried deep in a book, oblivious of me and biting his lower lip, hair a little askew and wearing only minimal make-up, I suddenly realized that he was nevertheless an altogether passable woman. He'd been trying very hard, and he'd crossed some sort of line between imitating a woman and being one. Now he just was. "You're lovely, you know that, Jerri?" I burst out.

He looked up at me and flashed me a dazzling, confident smile. He did already know! My heart warmed when I saw how happy he was! How much happier would he be if the world knew too? All in good time, I told myself.

Meanwhile we were enlarging his wardrobe. Sometimes I'd announce to him, "Honey, there are some marvelous sales this week, I'm going shopping, want to come along?" A lot of the time he did. I waited while he changed back into his men's clothes -- he'd leave his bra and pantyhose on of course, because they were anyhow undetectable under his shirts and jackets, and as a concession to me he'd wear his women's loafers -- they looked almost like men's. He'd wipe off his lipstick, but as often as not he'd forget or not bother to remove his mascara or eyeliner. I thought that was fine -- it made his eyes more emphatic, like a woman's, and it put at least some of his commitment to femininity on public display. So I'd say nothing about it.

We had a ball. We went into lingerie shops, sportswear, better dress shops, all sorts of places, and bought all sorts of things. At first he enjoyed playing the beleaguered husband protesting his extravagant wife's bottomless desire to purchase -- let's face it, some well-tailored clothes but also some really sexy clothes for herself, even though he knew all the time that lots were for him and being purchased in his sizes, which were mostly the same as my own. I'd try on an item, make mental adjustments for my slightly broader hips, narrower shoulders, and larger bust, and decide whether it would do. I could always tell by his face whether or not he'd love it, the moment I emerged from the dressing room to show him. Some things obviously not, but some things he was eager to get home and try on himself.

One Saturday at Nordstrom's we were staring at a fitted dress, a tight sheath designed to hug close going around curves, wondering if he needed a size larger, when it occurred to me. "Try it on, honey," I said. "Then we can be sure. There's no one in this section of the store right now. Use the fitting room I've been using."

He was eyeing it wistfully enough, and could see that with a style like that fit was everything. "All right," he said in a small voice. "But will you stand guard?" The poor dear was frightened. Of a dress!

"Of course," I reassured him. "Just slip into it and let me see for a moment. That's all it takes."

I waited, and a few minutes later he emerged and stood in the door to the fitting room area. "OK?" he asked hopefully. "It feels fine, I must say that!" He was using his girl voice, maybe from fear, maybe because he always did when dressed as a woman and was no longer aware of it.

Something wasn't quite right. "Wait just a moment," I said, and I reached out with both hands to fluff up his hair. "There," I said finally. "I wanted to see the full effect."

"O, yes indeed," came a woman's voice behind me. "That's just lovely! Kate Beckwith's styles are so flattering on a slim woman. It's perfect, that sheath -- if Jerry won't buy it, I want to take it home for my Bobbi!"

I turned, and who should be there but Gwen! Our next-door-neighbor Gwen, also shopping -- she had a few garments draped over her arm -- but now she was gazing admiringly at Jerry. Or was he Jerri now? He was standing there frozen. He realized I suppose that if he disappeared back into the fitting room and then reappeared as himself, it would be obvious that he was a man ashamed to be caught on a crossdressing expedition. But he was also ashamed to seem ashamed! So he'd decided to stand there and brazen it out.

But she already knew who he was! She'd said 'if Jerry won't buy it'-- she knew whose figure that dress flattered! I decided that being carefully casual and matter-of-fact was my only option, and also the best example I could set for Jerry at this point. He'd been outed, and that was that.

"Oh, hi Gwen!" I said in response. "You're shopping too?" That much was obvious enough. "Your Bobbi?" I then asked. "Don't you mean Bob? Your husband?"

"Not when he's dressed like your Jerry -- that's when he's Bobbi. You didn't know? Bob's a crossdresser too, a little bit transgendered like Jerry I imagine, maybe even a lot. He loves it! And he's very good at it, like Jerry. Sometimes when you leave your blinds open Bobbi and I will watch Jerry putting on a fashion show in your bedroom, trying on whatever you've gotten him and altogether unaware of his appreciative audience. Some of his outfits we feel like applauding! We've gotten some good ideas for dressing Bobbi from seeing what seems to match Jerry's moods and temperaments, and how he accessorizes. He is Jerry when he's being a girl, isn't he? That's still his name?"

"Jerri," I replied. "Same sound, different spelling. Different other things too. As you can see." The jig was up. Jerri was now known to someone outside our household and there was no denying it. There he stood, still petrified. But an idea was forming, a way to help Jerry overcome his fear of being seen as his alternative self! If he got to know another girl just like him ...!

"Gwen," I said, pulling myself into my most authoritative mode. "Why don't you and Bobbi come over for dinner next Friday evening? Around six, we'll have a drink first? We'd love to have you. Just a foursome, just four girls getting together, nothing elaborate." I stared at her as meaningfully as I could. She understood right away.

"Four of us with no guys around to interrupt our girl talk? I'd love that," she said, staring back at me. "We both would. But do ask Jerri to wear that darling dress he's got on so Bobbi can see it -- I do so want him to get one just like it."

"All right, dear?" I turned back to Jerry, still standing there in humiliated silence. He'd heard as clearly as I had that he'd long ago been outed, that Gwen and Bob Shanahan had known for a long time about his shameful if delightful compulsion. And that her Bob -- her "Bobbi" -- shared it, that he also loved to dress to look like a woman. He had no escape, but now there was no reason to try to escape. He nodded. "Well, I guess we're buying you that dress," I added. "Or else Bobbi might look prettier than you will next Friday, and we can't have that, can we? Will you change out of it or would you rather wear it home?"

"I'll wear it," he said. Then hearing what he'd just said he added abruptly, "Next Friday I mean. I can't ...."

"Oh, I think you can," Gwen interrupted. "I mean, my Bobbi's further down the mall this very minute wearing his Gloria Vanderbilt jeans and the highest heels anyone's ever seen. He's getting his hair done -- now and then he feels he should do that. And his face, too. He's promised to take me dancing tonight at the Glen Island Club."

An intriguing idea. "You go out dancing together? The Glen Island crowd doesn't think that's strange, two girls ... ahhhh...?"

"Oh, we aren't always together, dancing together I mean. Though I'll go out with Bobbi sometimes as two girls prowling the town. We did that even before we got married. No, the Glen Island's fine. Some other places can make me very uneasy, because some places you never know what kind of men you'll meet, or what they'll expect when they've danced with you a few times and bought you a few drinks. Some simply won't settle for a kiss or two, and then it can get ... difficult for both of us. You remember how it used to be?"

I remembered. The excitement when a strange man bought you a drink, or asked you to dance, and if he was nice you asked him to sit and chat, and later if you really liked him there was passionate smooching and wandering hands caressing your breasts, your nipple tips, your wetness down below. I remembered. Gwen still does that? While her husband's with her watching her make out with another man? Good heavens! And Bobbi makes out with other men while Gwen watches?

"Luckily, most of the men we meet are simply delightful. Family men away from home out on the town and looking for company. And how else can Bobbi learn proper behavior with men, how it feels to be a real woman in the real world, if he doesn't just let himself be one now and then?"

"Complete with what happens? Bobbi kisses men?" I was astonished. Was he secretly gay?

"We both do, if they've been solicitous, attentive to our wants and not too insistent on their own. Good Night kisses at the very least, but sometimes a little more." Her expression became inward, bemused. "Sometimes a lot more than a little more, April, if you know what I mean. It's harmless when Bobbi's nearby doing the same thing. It's the least we can do when someone's offered us pleasant companionship of an evening and bought us a few drinks. If we didn't, they'd wonder why not, and we can't have that, can we?"

"No, we can't have that," I said. But I was still absorbing this revelation of Gwen's. Just as I had a Jerri, she had a Bobbi, and just next door moreover! "Doesn't it make you uneasy? What if Bobbi was found out by one of his men? Or what if he felt attracted to one of them more than he feels attracted to you?"

"And what if I were to feel more attracted to one of the men we meet than I am to Bobbi? Yes, that could be a problem. Fortunately one we haven't had to confront, not yet. And now, maybe not at all."

I sensed that she had something in mind for the both of us. "Next Friday at six, then?" I reminded her.

"Without fail," she replied. "I'll call," she added. "I think maybe we need to talk first. Say, Monday lunch?" And she was gone.

No sound from Jerry. I looked at him still standing stock still in his cling sheath and fluffed hair, looking at me. Reproachfully? Desperately?

"It'll be fine," I reassured him. "Would you like to have your hair done now too now? Like Bobbi?"

He shook his head. "Can we go home now?" he asked in a weak voice. Jerry's voice. The poor dear had had it.

"We certainly can, honey. Just let me have the tags from that dress and I'll pay for it along with these other things. Then go collect your clothes, don't bother to change, just head out the door and through the mall and straight for the car. I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

To my amazement, that's exactly what he did! Snapped off the tags, disappeared into the changing room, gathered up his shirt, pants, and jacket into a shopping bag, reappeared a moment later still wearing that very dress, and carefully, gracefully, slowly, he proceeded down the aisles and out into the mall! Among all the other shoppers! Some distance away from me he turned left toward the entrance doors, every inch a lady. His first public appearance as a woman!

My heart went out to him, and I admired him immeasurably. I'll have to get him a purse now that he's out in the world, I was thinking. Wearing no make-up except for the mascara he'd forgotten to take off before we left the house, he still looked altogether passable. No one glanced at him strangely, though a few women gave his new dress the once over, as women will. I felt so very proud of him.

That night, we talked about this new turn of events as I rocked back and forth on his penis. As we brought each other to the heights and beyond, as he crept down to slurp his own cum back out of me afterward, I confessed how pleased I was, how much I admired him. He looked uncertain but grateful. He was a little proud of himself too! He'd been out being a woman among women, fulfilling an old dream!

Gwen and I met for lunch downtown two days later to discuss this new situation. It seems Bob too was a lifelong crossdresser, and she too was encouraging him to display himself more widely, to live a little. It was a deeply enjoyable thing that some men seem born to feel in their bones -- and in their boners, we both giggled at that. Bob was now seeing an endocrinologist to help him shape his body and feel more comfortable with it, yet not make him altogether impotent.

I commented that my Jerri was also on hormones and also shaping up, maybe a little softer but no way impotent -- I'd never allow that.

Gwen commented emphatically that her acceptance of Bobbi's crossdressing, her enjoyment of it, was a good thing for their marriage -- they'd never felt closer. Living as a woman whenever possible had developed in him a more empathetic understanding of her, indeed of all women -- he'd become much more gentle and affectionate and he no longer associated himself with the vigorous, abrupt, sometimes nasty kind of manliness he'd grown up with and sustained in the earlier years of their marriage. They'd been going out together as two women for months now, because Gwen felt -- and I agreed -- that a woman's sense of her own attractiveness has at its core her ability to attract men. It's something other women can sense -- it even gives you status among your own kind too.

"That's after all what it's all about, isn't it?" she asked me. "To feel fully feminine and attractive, and love feeling that way? That's how I knew beyond doubt that Bobbi needed to learn to flirt, to appreciate and enjoy the sense of power even a casual but successful flirtation can confer on a girl. Even if it does end in a sucked cock or two."

Bobbi is a cocksucker? I was a bit shocked, but I couldn't disagree with her main contention. Before my marriage I'd flirted shamelessly for the fun of it, sometimes for more than that -- in order to get an interesting man interested in me and then see where it went. Since then too, now and then. It amused Jerry to watch me gleam with seeming anticipation whenever I met a likely man, to sparkle in conversation with him while casting him sly glances, as if we already knew each other's secrets. Sometimes it worried him when I seemed overly warm and the man was evidently turned on, especially when I stopped tossing Jerry sideways glances and concentrated entirely on that man, gave him my undivided attention. That was fine by me -- it kept Jerry on his toes and appreciative of me. His lovemaking was always especially ardent after he'd seen me roping in another conquest.

On impulse I asked, "Was that an accident, Gwen, your running into us at Nordstrom's the way you did, then making yourself known to us the very moment Jerry was looking his most feminine?"

"In a way," Gwen replied cautiously. "I've known what you two have been doing, of course. I've known for some time, as I said -- Jerry has never realized that he should pull down the shades or close his blinds when he's changing into his lingerie. Then there was that over-the-back-fence glimpse I had of the two of you on your terrace not long ago, Jerry in those darling wide-legged shorts I've seen you wear other times. And in a tank top that hid nothing of his bust or his bra. He really is coming right along, isn't he? Bobbi is a beautifully shaped C, finally, I'm pleased to say."

"Jerry's a B cup," I said. I tried to sound matter of fact, but it came out sounding proud. Because I was proud of him.

"I've noticed. Even without his bra, when he perspires on a hot day there's no mistaking it -- whatever the blouse or shirt your Jerry's wearing, it clings to those boobs and ... well, it gives the whole show away. Just last week when he was cutting the grass in your back yard and I stopped to chat with him, I could see he was wearing eyeliner as well as a bra. So when I happened to see him accompany you willingly into the women's section of the store -- most men hate shopping, my Bob included if it isn't for him -- I just had to follow to see how far along Jerry'd come. Or how far you'd brought him."

I wanted to return to the earlier topic. It was fascinating -- I wasn't yet sure why. "Has Bob been with a man, yet, Gwen? Has he in fact enjoyed all the pleasures of being an attractive woman, all the rewards?" I had to smile. "However messy those rewards can seem afterward, especially when you leak and you're douching, and trying to clean the odd secretions off your clothes."

"Only tentatively," Gwen replied. "Bob can be something of a power freak, a tease. A 'real cunt' is what some men call it. Now that he's discovered his female charms, he gets a charge out of arousing other men and coaxing them along. He'll sucking their cocks until they're helpless -- he loves that glazed look men get when they're near cumming. He's such a sweet guy himself it doesn't occur to him that other men can be terribly dangerous when they're aroused and sexually hell-bent. That they can get mean. Especially if they should reach down and discover that the sexy babe they're so friendly with is not a babe after all! So I've been very cautious with him. I don't want him hurt or discouraged -- I enjoy his femininity too much. We don't want that for either of our guys, I'm sure. So has a man been inside him yet? Once or twice. You know. When the right man comes along, everything suddenly seems easier."

True enough. I had to agree with Gwen. No girl passes through an adolescence and early maturity without at least one bad experience with one arrogant son of a bitch who cannot be trusted and refuses to hear the word 'No!'. I hadn't always said 'No' to guys I was dating, but at times. One time in particular I was nearly raped -- this guy was obnoxious and had refused to listen to me, and my weak punches only excited his determination all the more. I'd finally had to scratch and bite my way out of his car, and some of the bruises on my face and arms from that encounter took weeks to heal. I considered carrying a small can of Mace on my next date in case that kind of situation should recur. But then I met my sweet Jerry, and my whole world changed.

"No, we don't want our guys put at risk," I said. Recalling another hard case or two I'd had to deal with, I began to feel scared for Jerry. "Some men can be very mean. Imagine if one of those discovers that the woman he's with is really a man?"

"You bet!" Gwen nodded soberly. Then grinned. "It's different when girls date other girls of course. Girls know what to expect from each other. I had that in mind when I encouraged Bob to let Bobbi come out and get comfortable, then go out with me sometimes and live a little. There are many places girls can go together and have fun just as themselves. So many things to do without men as well as with them. You know?"

She looked at me meaningfully as she said this last, and I felt a delicious twist of apprehension and delight in my belly. I knew what she meant. I'd had my girl-on-girl experiences while in college. For a while I'd even wondered whether I was a lesbian, not merely bi-curious or experimental. I suppose that was part of my enhanced attraction to Jerry, my lovemaking with him when he was being a woman. My pleasure in having him lick out my snatch. There were possibilities here, and Gwen was hinting at them. For the moment all I did was nod. "You too?" I asked rather cryptically. Then Gwen nodded, her eyes never leaving mine. Yes, we both knew.

We talked a while more about ways to gratify our husbands' cross-gendered desires, to teach them to be sweet girls, compliant especially to our own wishes. Yet also how to safeguard them now that they were both out in the open in this wicked world, where women are not altogether safe and trannies are not safe at all. We agreed, we'd see how Friday went, how they behaved when they met each other. And we grinned broadly as we agreed on a strategy to ease their shock of recognition and help them develop the sort of friendliness as women I felt instantly toward Gwen.

I wasn't at all surprised that when we parted Gwen leaned forward to give and receive from me a brief kiss on the lips. It felt so comfortable, so natural. So very nice. Almost like kissing our own husbands when they were being women and their lips were also soft. My heart rose up and I leaned forward to extend the kiss ever so slightly. I well understood why men liked kissing us! I did too!

Yet I had to agree with Gwen that a woman's greatest satisfaction as a woman remains her attractiveness to men. If only because learning how to provoke and then satisfy a man makes him in turn eager to satisfy you. So dressing and behaving in ways that attract them, ways that may seduce them, yes, that can be as important as dressing fashionably to impress other women. We both wanted both kinds of satisfaction for our adopted girls.

So, picking up on one of Gwen's suggestions, on my way home that evening I stopped at a sex shoppe and bought a variable sized dildo for Jerri, its attached testicles a small air pump for inflating the penis. The saleswoman showed me how it could grow from a modest five inches long and an inch thick to a massive nine inches and over two inches thick, just by squeezing its balls repeatedly. "When you're ready for something this serious," she added. "You may find that you prefer it to men!" And she gave me a quick grin.

"Or that my husband does," I replied. "I hope so." She looked puzzled for a moment, then her grin widened. "You'll want this too, then," she said, handing me an elastic harness for fastening it to my crotch. "To keep everything in the family."

And that night I began training my darling to receive a cock gratefully and pleasurably. The smallest version of course first. He was lying there with his stiff cock in the air, waiting for me to mount him, when I hauled it out and showed it to him.

He was puzzled. He looked at my cock, then his cock, then my much smaller one -- smaller now, though I intended later to intimidate his masculinity by confronting him with it pumped to gigantic size. And raised an eyebrow in query.

I really must tweeze those brows of his back severely, I thought to myself. Or have it done by a beautician. Yes. But first, the issue at hand. "This is what girls want, sweetheart," I explained to him. "When you're being a girl you'll want to know more about how we feel about these things. It'll help you feel more authentic."

"I already know how you feel about mine," he said, staring at the thing warily. "I mean, you make love to it all the time."

"No you don't know, not really," I replied. "We lick and suck and kiss these things out of affection for our guys, because it makes them feel good and it flatters them and makes them feel wanted. But only when it's inside us do we feel really fulfilled! Because it feels so good inside us. Even thinking about one inside us puts a certain sway in our hips as we walk, a certain feeling inside us, as if we already had one tucked in there. You need to know that feeling yourself at first hand. I want you to know, and I want to know you know."

He was reluctant, but he nodded.

"This week we're two women, honey. We're lesbians. Women who make love to each other. Accept my cock as joyously as I accept yours."

"All right. If that's what you want."

So he sucked on it when I attached it to my crotch and asked him to grasp my buttocks and pull my groin toward him repeatedly, to fuck his own face with it, and then after some teasing foreplay he accepted my imitation penis into his rear. But as something that pleased me. The next night the same, though I detected more enjoyment on his part as I worked it in and out of his anus. The third day, when I made it a little larger, a little more challenging for him to accept, creating a little more pressure inside him swelling outward in every direction, fulfilling him in a true sense, he at last seemed to surrender his inhibitions and begin to feel the same devout affection for that expanded cock I'd felt for his during our honeymoon.

He began to groan, and when I momentarily paused he cried out "No, more!" as if he was afraid I was abandoning him. Each time I moved it in and out of his ass his own penis grew more tense, then leaked, and then at last exploded. But I kept going. The second time he was less frenzied, more -- if that's the right word -- placid. Pleased. Then, after working him up almost to a third orgasm, I deliberately denied him final satisfaction. I offered that cock instead to his mouth. He went genuinely berserk, licking and sucking and slobbering over it as if his mouth were one vast erogenous zone.

It was, now, in a way. The next evening we were sitting together after dinner watching the tube, "Desperate Housewives," so we could discuss its appeal to women afterward and he could understand better if not empathize with us. Jerry was wearing a simple flowered skirt and plain blouse, nothing extraordinary, when an idea occurred to me. I pointed to the floor beside me and he immediately sat at my knees. I then extended my forefinger to him and after a moment he began to lick it, then suck on it. Then two fingers. Finally, a third.

He then settled in and nursed on my hand devotedly for a half-hour before I sighed and released him. "Imagine you're a seductive girl and those fingers are a penis," I suggested to him as he ran his lips up and down their length. "Doesn't it feel marvelous?" He thought so. "Now sit next to me and keep sucking. On my cock." He did. I took hold of his and stroked and pulled it until he stiffened and said "Mmmmmm!" and spurted into my hand. Then I fed him his cum. As he lapped it I asked him, "Yummy?" "Mmmm!" he replied.

If Gwen was thinking what I thought she might be thinking, so was I. He was ready.  
 
IV.
 
 
"Gwen and Bob are coming over tonight, Jerry, remember? Can you deal with chicken breasts and thighs without thinking lewd thoughts, and marinate them for cooking this evening? I'll prepare everything else."

A haunted look appeared in his eyes, and I knew it wasn't from the challenge of cooking chicken -- he was a master chef and loved proving it. "You'll wear that sheath we bought at Nordstrom's last weekend. Remember? I fluffed up your hair a little and then Gwen showed up? She was impressed!"

I suddenly remembered my original intention. "You know something? I'm going to get you a beauty salon appointment for this afternoon, have Sally give you a cut and set. You'll be a knockout!

"Honey, Bob will be there. I can't .... It's one thing to walk down the mall where no one knows you. It's something else to ...."

"Jerry, Bob will also be wearing women's clothes. He loves doing that too, same as you. He's even a little further along -- he's already getting professional help with his hair, remember? And with his hormones too -- he takes a larger bra size than you do! Gwen wants him to see your new dress so he'll feel pleased to get one just like it. She loves the way it set off your figure. You remember!"

He nodded, though he was still worried. On that hint I leaped to the telephone in the next room and spoke for close to ten minutes, telling Sally exactly what I wanted. Then emerged smiling. "You have an appointment at Sally's for three this afternoon. It'll take two hours. Be there!

I admit it, I tricked him. When he got home that evening his hair was blonde, and done up in a darling cloche of curls. No way feminine! Monday when he went to his office he'd wear a wig -- from now on he'd be a woman who had to disguise herself as a man! His lipstick and nails were now a flaming red, and there were studs in his ear lobes. His eyes were huge pools of what seemed gleaming desire. In short, he looked like a budding porn movie starlet! Yet, he also looked apprehensive.

"You're gorgeous!" I told him, and he knew from my husky tone of voice that I meant it. "Isn't this what you've always wanted?"

"Yes," he said. "I've dreamed of it. To look like this. But actually to look like this? What will everyone think?"

"That's for later. This is for now. Gwen and Bobbi will be coming over looking like two women. I don't want us to seem anything less. I mean, after all, I am one, and you love looking like one, imagining that you're one. Isn't that true?

It was. He had no response.

"Your best feminine behavior, honey. Tonight you're Jerri through and through. Movement, voice, the lot. Remember. You'll serve dinner and be gracious. I'll pour the wine. No manly prerogatives. This is your coming out party. And so you feel especially pretty, here's this, with all my love."

I handed him a small box containing an exquisite pearl necklace and matching drop earrings. The dear struggled not to weep, though his eyes were wet nevertheless. He blotted them carefully so as not to smear his makeup and gasped. "Thank you!" I helped him put them on, and when he saw himself in the mirror he almost cried a second time.

When they came, I greeted them at the door while Jerri pretended to do something essential in the kitchen. And I must say, I was surprised. Amazed in fact. I hadn't seen Bob except in glimpses, not for months, but I remembered him as a thin, short man with a short thin moustache, rather feisty, always seeming to occupy more space than he did. But the Bobbi who sat down and smoothed her skirt in our living room was a dainty doll! Delicate, with a small chin and huge eyes.

"You're perfect!" was the compliment that came to my lips before I realized it. "Surely not just hormones ...!"

"Oh, no. I've been touched here and there by lasers. Also by a cosmetic surgeon," he said in a sweet, high voice, and he smiled reassuringly at me. "My rough edges always bothered me, so I eliminated them. Gwen kept reminding me that the least hint that I'm not what I seem when we're out on the town and there are men loitering nearby can get us both into trouble. And there are always men loitering nearby." He smiled understandingly at me, woman to woman.

"I'll bet," I said. "Do you carry a club to beat them off?"

"Why should I ever want to do that?" He looked smug, complacent. "Men can be such fun! Some ways, anyhow. If you don't let them go too far."

"Gwen doesn't mind?" I glanced at Gwen, signalling her not to answer for Bobbi. I wanted to know what he understood.

"When I'm a girl, Gwen wants me to have the kinds of experiences girls have." he said. "As long as it's only with men. I sort of enjoy them, though I might well enjoy women more. Men help me feel like a girl, and women help me feel accepted when I'm a girl. I've gotten to like some of the things guys want girls to do. A lot of them, in fact." He looked at me wide-eyed, as if an utter innocent. "Of course I don't dare let men go all the way with me unless they're gay and know all about me in advance. Otherwise things can get ... nasty."

I didn't want to know about anything nasty. "But you have gone all the way with some men?" I asked. Gwen had mentioned that. It could make things easier. "Was it good?"

He looked secretive. "I'm not gay, because that's when I'm most being a woman. But it can be very good," was all he replied. It seemed to me he was getting uneasy, what with all this talk about intimate matters.

Gwen broke in. "But where's Jerri?" she asked.

Jerry, or Jerri tonight, was taking an infernally long time in the kitchen, fussing with the food no doubt to avoid showing himself to ... well, he must still be thinking that this diminutive creature was Bob. "Jerri," I called out. "Come in here and meet Bobbi and take some drink orders, will you sweetheart?"

"I'll be right in!" I heard him call back from two rooms away, his voice muffled but even higher pitched than usual. "Don't go 'way now!" He was trying to hide his embarrassment behind at least a reasonably passable facsimile of a cute woman. There was a pause, no doubt as he took a quick glimpse at his face and dress before his grand appearance. And then there he was, perched on his high heels, a dressy lace apron covering his Nordstrom sheath, looking ... well, perfect. No way manly. I was so glad Sally had done all those extras with him, even the ear lobe piercing that now supported those earrings I'd gotten him. How he'd deal with his new look at the office on Monday, well, that would be Monday. For now, we really did seem to be four women together, though two of us were men and all four of us were married!

I watched as Jerri greeted Gwen as I'd instructed him, as women often do, hands lightly pressing on forearms, face bobbing forward as if to kiss each other lightly on the cheek but settling for air kisses that respect each other's make-up.

Then we both watched as he attempted the same with Bobbi and Bobbi revealed his longer experience at this game. As Jerri tried to press forward, Bobbi held him back almost at arm's length, smiled, and said "I love your hair, Jerri -- don't change a thing about it ever!" Then kissed him full on the lips!

Jerri was stunned. Confused. Bobbi looked like a cute, diminutive girl, and all, but he was nevertheless a man, and Jerri had never been kissed on his lips by a man. He looked at me quickly as if asking for help, and I beamed delight and approval back at him. At the same moment, I noticed, Bobbi glanced at Gwen as if to ask, "Is this what you wanted?" Then they both just stood there holding each other's shoulders, refocusing on each other.

Jerri recovered first. "Thank you," he beamed. "You're so sweet! I love it too. I'm so glad you two could make it over tonight. We have so much in common I hear."

"Yes, we do," Bobbi agreed. "I think we should be seeing more of each other. Is that the dress Gwen said you were trying on when she ran into you in Nordstrom's?"

"It is!" And to my delight Jerri stepped back a foot and did a pretty pirouette to show it off. "I hear you want one just like it. If you do get one, we'll have to be sure never to wear them to the same places at the same time!"

"Oh, I'm sure we can avoid that. We'll just call each other up first, and coordinate what we're wearing before we go out." Bobbi actually giggled. "Just as our wives did with their girlfriends! Sometimes still do."

He suddenly turned to Gwen. "Are we going to that Heart Fund Raiser cocktail party next Thursday?"

"No," Gwen replied. "I can't, I have a board meeting. But you can go if you wish. Take Jerri to go with you. It's a good cause. Then you two can have dinner out afterward and get better acquainted." This time she glanced at me to make sure I understood and approved. I did. "You go as a boy," she said. "And Jerri can go as a girl. That way there'll be no chance you'll duplicate anything you're wearing. But more important, you won't be attracting predatory men the way single girls do when they're out together on the town. I'd feel safer if you went as a mixed couple. Then on your next date you can reverse -- you be the girl and Jerry the boy. That way you'll both get opportunities to dress up and go places and do things and you won't either of you risk ... inappropriate attention." She checked with me again and saw me nodding wholeheartedly. What a brilliant solution for the problems we'd discussed! They'd be each other's girlfriends and boyfriends both!

"And now," she said to Jerri. "If you don't mind, I'd love to try one of your famous Bloody Mary's. I hear you make your own mix and that you don't spare the horseradish or the cayenne. It sounds as deliciously hot as you look!"

Jerri beamed, suddenly recalling what he was there to do as a host, or rather a hostess. Ever the gentleman even though a lady, he next turned to Bobbi. "A white wine, thank you," Bobbi replied almost demurely. He too was being determinedly ladylike this evening. "I mustn't get too tiddly."

"A Bloody Mary for me too," I told Jerri without waiting to be asked. He disappeared, and when he returned with our drinks I was amused to see that he'd poured a white wine for himself too, though his usual drink as Jerry was straight vodka. Our two girls were out to match each other!

There were a few moments during dinner when the two of them began trading anecdotes about their crossdressing, lapsing into deeper voices and speaking as the males they were. Yet each time I was about to turn the subject back to something women might discuss as women, they did it themselves. Bobbi had been to several national gender meetings, hotels where men dress as women full time for a few days or as long as a week, un-self-consciously, and also attend various talks on topics ranging from gender theory to make-up techniques. "That's where we can be completely ourselves," he said. "But there are trans-friendly places here in town too. I'll show you!"

"I'd be delighted," Jerri replied. "Maybe next Thursday, after this fundraiser you mentioned?"

"Next Thursday I'll be a man," he reminded Jerri. "How about Saturday afternoon? Both of us out as girls. We can do a little shopping and then I can introduce you to some of the other girls just like us."

And as easily as that, my Jerri agreed to appear in public all afternoon as a woman. No more fears of exposure. Gwen and I exchanged glances.

Conversation eventually turned -- as one might expect, given our self-consciousness about gender -- to how men make love and how women make love. "Women have altogether different attitudes," Gwen said. "Men are always so eager to get off. We have a much nicer relationship now that Bobbi's also a woman. He's so much sweeter, so much more gentle and considerate. We can make love for hours at a time. Bob was one of those 'Wham, bam' men."

I broke in. "Oh, but some men think of fucking as self-improvement. They have so much more ego involvement. They want to get off, true, but also -- maybe even more -- they want to win approval from their women. They want to be the biggest, the best, the most ardent. The most satisfying for a woman, so they can feel assured that the women will never look anywhere else. Because the threat of cuckoldry hangs over every man whenever any other man dares glance at his woman. Women feel less anxious to please and less threatened by the competition. We know who we are." I then added, feeling quite daring, "We can be much more loving. Especially when we make love to each other, girl to girl. Men can't dream of what we're like then."

"Oh?" Gwen picked up my cue. She saw just where I was leading the conversation. "You know?"

"I've had my little flings," I said, as if pleased to reminisce. "With women, a few," I added, in case Jerry should think I meant something else. "Before I married Jerry."

Jerry knew about my college proclivities, so there was no risk of shocking him. He even approved of them -- 'your women friends kept you safe from other men until I came along,' he'd said. I let him think that. He preferred not to think about my men friends from back then.

By this time we were wandering back into the living room. "Suppose we see for ourselves if that's true," Gwen said to me, settling onto our soft, overstuffed couch. "You come sit here with me," she said to me. "And you two girls" -- she gestured toward our two feminized husbands -- "Settle together over there on that divan and start feeling affectionate toward each other -- it looks soft enough for your delicate bodies. I think before we have dessert we should pair off and do something equally sweet. I mean, snuggle and cuddle each other as women. As women do naturally when they're feeling amorous toward each other and have been invited to enjoy each other's bodies. Whether they're budding women like you two or in full flower like us. Let's see how affectionate you can be. Watch us and take hints from whatever you see us do, if you wish. But gentle or aroused, remember to think, feel, and yearn for each other as women. No indulging in masculine eagerness to get off. No being men. Not even partly men. You don't look it so don't behave like it." She paused. "Maybe later we'll let you take turns, one of you can be the man making love to the other. That should be fun for both of you! You're a virgin, aren't you, Jerri -- well, no fear, Bobbi remembers his first time and I'm sure he'll be gentle with you. But its as women that you need the most practice."

And with that Gwen took me by the hand and pulled me toward her, onto her. I lay atop her with my breasts pressed against hers. She kissed me. This time softly, lingeringly, and I felt an old warmth arise in me as I kissed her back. One manicured hand came up onto one of my breasts, fingers settling onto my nipple, and I decided that before much longer I wanted to be naked in this woman's arms, being a pure woman with a pure woman. I recalled that Jerri and I hadn't yet made love woman to woman, though the idea did occur to me when he first came back from Sally's looking so beautiful. Well, we would, from now on. And often. The kinds of love we had been making together recently was the kind gay men make, I realized, me with my dildo and him with his prick rampant. Because he needed the preparation. That was what he and Bobbi would be doing, I suspected, before this night ended.

"I'd better take off my dress -- I don't want to crush it," Bobbi said a little breathlessly. He'd been in this kind of situation before, plainly. "You too, Jerri."

"Yes," Jerri replied. He too seemed peculiarly breathless, most likely from nervousness. Also from eager anticipation? Here was a pretty girl close to him, sort of, and with my complete consent, by my insistence in fact, he was expected to kiss and caress her. And be kissed and caressed in turn. This was so new! The two of them then lay back down, Bobbi in his chemise and garter belt, Jerry in his bra and panties. It was clear at a glance that Bobbi really had grown some substantial breasts. I felt a brief surge of pride that Jerri's were adequate, full and womanly, bulging from his B cups.

"Quick," Gwen whispered to me. "Have you two long silk scarves somewhere? We want them to feel really close for this first get-together, and we want them to feel they have no option but to explore each other and their own feelings. For now, head to head. Later we'll reverse them, head to crotch, and what they do then we can leave to them. The same things we'll be doing by then I imagine."

I smiled and nodded, and as I peeled myself off Gwen to go fetch the scarves I whispered, "Spend the night, Gwen."

"Love to," she said.

I returned almost at once. Gwen took them and deftly tied our two men close together with large bows at their necks and their waists as they lay alongside one another face to face. Not so much binding them as reminding them that they were bound to each other by our desires for them. They seemed to be nearly immobilized. There would be no air-kissing now, no preserving of their makeup!

"Sweethearts," Gwen said. "We'll leave you like this for a while. Enjoy each other's femininity for as long as you can. Enjoy the intimacy. When you feel you really and truly belong to each other, that you're a part of each other, closer than the closest of girlfriends, kiss each other. Love each other. Caress each other. You'll be possessing the gift we're giving you. Then we'll give you another."

They lay there embracing. Jerri's eyes turned to catch mine, and I beamed approval and encouragement at him. He then closed them and turned back to his partner, realizing that one way or another, what he was about to learn as a woman was inevitable, inescapable, and by my lights desirable. He sighed, then kissed Bobbi full on the lips.

Bobbi seemed much more self-assured. He locked his lips onto my Jerri's and began to writhe and twist his head as if trying passionately to get even closer to Jerri, to stick his tongue even further down Jerri's throat. After a moment Jerri began reciprocating. This was his first man on man experience, and he knew that. Yet whenever he opened his eyes, whenever he came aware of Bobbi's soft bulges pressing against him, it was a man on woman experience. Or woman on woman. He realized that he was now sort of a lesbian, sort of, as his wife had been in college. As she was being this moment over there on that sofa.

He surrendered himself. His arms went around Bobbi's neck and shoulders and began to hug Bobbi fondly. He pulled back from Bobbi's deep kiss, looked into that pretty face, smiled, and kissed both of Bobbi's eyelids. Then they resumed kissing each other's mouths. Jerri's hand began to fondle Bobbi's tits, and Bobbi reciprocated. Jerri gave a delicious groan of gratified desire, and pressed his breasts into Bobbi's hand.

We saw we could safely leave the two of them alone for a while, so Gwen and I used our greater freedom and familiarity with girl on girl lovemaking to begin building each other's desires. We soon rose to feverish intensity, and then we began to bring each other off. God, I'd forgotten what heaven it could be to rub my entire body on a girl's satin-smooth skin. We stroked and caressed and kissed each other repeatedly. I was about to turn and bury my face in her crotch at last when she held me back.

"First, our girls," she said. "Then ourselves."

We both looked over at our girls. Their scarves had come loose, but it didn't matter -- they were bound tightly by desire. Jerri and Bobbi were now naked and clutching each other's heads devotedly, taking turns kissing each other's faces, necks, shoulders, breasts. They were suckling each other. There was a languorous ease about the way they were nibbling -- I looked forward to Jerri doing that to me soon, when he had learned more about this kind of lovemaking and felt comfortable doing it as a woman. I was shocked to see the clock on our mantle. Over an hour had passed!

"Darlings," Gwen said to them. "Swivel into a sixty-nine position so you can please each other as we're about to do." They looked at her almost as if at an intruder, but Bobbi did reverse himself, and that was all that was necessary. His head now lay on Jerri's thigh, and Jerri's on his. "Lovely," she approved. Gwen was then about to retie the scarves, but she seemed suddenly to change her mind. "Never mind these now. Just enjoy each other. For now, orally. But later, remember, if one of you accepts the other into his own body, the other one must do so too. Remember that. Reciprocity in everything! We both hope you will, so you'll both feel like complete women, each of you knowing how a man's penis transforms the way a girl can feel about him!"

I was pleased to see a gleam appear in Jerri's eye. He'd accepted my dildo gladly, eagerly. Now, to accept an actual penis, even from the young woman who was practically his alter ego by now, seemed an immeasurable bliss. I hoped that in his eagerness he wouldn't stint at providing Bobbi oral service. Not a minute later I saw my hope realized. Bobbi's cock was fully extended, its tip in his mouth, and then he slid his mouth down it. My lovely husband was now a cocksucker! Yet another feminine bridge crossed. He groaned, and I saw that Bobbi was also mouthing his cock, giving as good as he was getting.

"We're going to bed now," I said. "You might be more comfy later if you shift to the spare room. See you at breakfast." I was telling them we intended to spend the whole night with each other, but they didn't seem to pay any attention at all. They were now each sucking off the other ardently, with total concentration. They looked so sweet!

I rose, eager to move with Gwen into the bed I usually shared with my beloved boy-girl Jerri, now so contentedly sucking away on Bobbi's prick. Even as I watched, Bobbi's hips rose and then pumped and Jerri swallowed and swallowed and at the same time tried to smile, his eyes still shut tight so he could concentrate on the whole experience. Like any girl, he had now induced and then swallowed a man's cum. Could he do anything more authentic and satisfying than that?

Yes, he could. And he'd soon discover what, with Bobbi's help. "Let's just leave them," I proposed to Gwen. "They're fine." They were in good hands, embraced by good arms and legs. So together with Gwen I proceeded to the bed I knew I would be sharing with Jerry and Jerri until the end of my days, now that he was as naturally and blissfully a girl as he'd been a boy.

During the night Gwen and I did everything we could to bring each other joyous satisfaction. Our orgasms abounded. Then midway through our embracing and caressing and sucking and licking I brought out my inflatable dildo. Before sunrise we'd both clamped our pussies onto it and cum on it helplessly several times, impaled repeatedly. Finally we were unable to move, and we just slept.

In the morning we found our boys, now also our girls, still clamped in each other's arms in the spare bedroom, still sound asleep. Stuck to each other by crusty and sticky cum. All over both of them, running down their plump buttocks and into sheets that were -- I saw -- quite beyond recovery. They'd tried it all. I almost cried for joy.
 
 
V.
 
 
That was a few months ago. Other changes in our lives followed rapidly. That same week, rather than dye his hair back to its usual color or wear a wig, rather than abandon his new femininity, Jerry quit his job. So did Bob. They formed their own investment counselling partnership, carrying some of their old phone contacts and clients with them, cultivating a few wealthy widows who were suspicious of men, and by providing advice that was partly shrewd and partly lucky they quickly became even more prosperous than before. Jerry took to looking effeminate each day when he went in to their new office, and when I asked why, he replied simply, "I like looking pretty." His new secretary thought he actually was a woman, I found when I called his office and was told that "she" -- meaning "Ms. Jerri" was on another line speaking to a client and would have to call me back. This was a little troubling, but I had to grant that I'd encouraged him in it.

They both preferred being women. For a while they took turns being the man when they dated, and went out often as if a couple, but gradually they phased out the masculinity in their lives. And they dated each other often. Even though they saw each other all day long at the office, Bob and Jerri, or Bobbi and Jerry, more and more often Bobbi and Jerri would go out together a few times each week, always spending the night together at one of our houses. Gwen and I didn't mind -- we'd consult, then get together ourselves at the other house, leaving them free to explore themselves, their new selves. Sometimes we'd just talk, Gwen and I, but most of the time we'd also spend the hours in each other's arms, doing what we knew our husbands were doing, only more skilled at it.

Jerry spent much of his spare time planning and shopping for these dates. At least once a week he'd schedule a salon appointment to get his hair and face done, and then when he took Bob to our house he'd do up the spare room in the most romantic manner imaginable -- hang peach-toned curtains to enhance his complexion, place little candles here and there to reflect the glow in their eyes and hearts, things like that. The next morning when they kissed and parted, both were blissful.

"I truly think Jerry loves your husband," I told Gwen one evening when they were out together and we were together in bed. "He does everything he can think of to please him. Or her. Whichever."

Gwen thought that Bob seemed to feel the same way. "Love?" she replied, marveling. "They are besotted with each other! I must say, I hope their honeymoon ends soon and they'll settle down into some kind of middle-of-the-affair serenity so we can reclaim them as spouses. Bob hardly pays any attention at all to me these days. He seems to consider me a pal, the co-conspirator who first set him up with his girlfriend Jerri. He's grateful and all, but just when I begin to sense a certain sexual desire for me growing in him again, certain lecherous feelings, he gets on the phone to your Jerry, however he spells his name, and they're off again that night. Until well into the next morning. It turns out those desires I'd sensed weren't for me at all."

"I've noticed that same thing," I said. "It's weeks since I've felt a really hard penis in me. This dildo we're using is marvelous, especially when it's inflated way past anything Jerry can get to. And I've noticed that you scream as loud as I do when it's at peak and it's gotten you going." I smirked with satisfaction at the memory, and she did too. And then spontaneously, we kissed each other with real affection.

Gwen then turned serious. "Honey, we have to talk again, I'm afraid. Shall we schedule a lunch, the way we did once before?"

"We don't need lunch," I replied. "We lunch on each other! What's on your mind, Gwen?"

She hesitated. "Has Jerry made love to you at all lately?" she asked.

A surprising question. I just looked at her.

"I can't say Bob has either."

"No," I replied, finally pulling myself together. "You're right. He has not. Not at all. When he's being the girl and entertaining Bob in that boudoir he made out of our guest bedroom, and I get home from visiting with you and find they're still there, they're usually both a mess, covered with each other's cum, whatever cum they haven't managed to retain in their rear ends or swallow or lick off each other. I suppose what they do with each other uses up their passion for us for the next few days. Then when they've recovered they call each other and make another date and they're off again. I must say, we've created a pair of lovebirds that feel more for each other than they do for us right now, I'm afraid."

"A pair of lady lovebirds, I'm afraid," Gwen said. "Let me tell you what Bob told me last night. It's important."

I untangled my legs from hers to signify that I was altogether attentive, though my hand still rested idly on her breast as hers did on mine, expressing our continuing affection for each other.

"Neither of them can get it up any more. Not for weeks. Bob asked me if they could borrow that dildo we use, and I pointed out obviously not -- that we pair off on the same evenings, so it's always in use when he and Jerri are being ... intimate. So he asked me where you bought it -- they want one too. I asked why, and he explained that they no longer get erections that are capable of penetrating each other. Neither of them."

I wasn't surprised, somehow. "You mean their hormones have done them in? Wasn't that being monitored?"

"I asked Bob how come. He told me that soon after the night they spent together under our auspices, they decided to double up on their hormones in order to make themselves more attractive to each other. Not only to round out their tits but their asses too. Because their asses are what they were each fucking, and they each wanted them rounder and plumper and more desirable for the other. That's what love can do to a girl I guess."

I was annoyed in the extreme. "They doubled up on their hormones? That's disturbing, Gwen!"

Gwen was still quite calm. In fact she smiled. "I agree, it would be disturbing if in fact our men had made themselves impotent. But they haven't. I've checked with Bob's endo about both of them. They're well below the hormone levels needed for self-sterilization or total impotence. They can't get rock hard these days, true, but that's the price they're paying for their beautiful complexions and faces and figures. Age would have done that to them anyhow in a few more years, she says -- they aren't either of them teenagers any more, not even young men in their twenties."

"Then why aren't they getting erections?"

"Honey, think! They think it's the hormones, that they're becoming more and more feminine. And believe it or not, they love the idea! But the fact is, they're just overdoing it. They see each other for multiple bouts of sex twice a week, sometimes more often. They get each other off several times each time. And who knows what they do when conferring in their new office. So of course they can't get stiff any more. They don't give themselves time to recover! Bob says that even when they're too flaccid to do anything more than dribble they still don't quit -- they suck each other off just for the dribble, and they push fingers into each other's rears to milk each other of any leftovers. Over and over. Even a satyr couldn't maintain that kind of schedule and maintain erections."

"This doesn't bother them?"

"If anything, they prefer it. I asked Bob. 'I like girls,' he said. 'And Jerri's a real dish! My special girlfriend. We're really eager to please each other the way girls do. Thank you for introducing us!' So I asked him if Jerri feels the same way about him, and he blushed and nodded yes. They buy each other little gifts, flowers, jewelry, lingerie, did you know that? And perfume? They've taken to calling each other's cocks 'clits' and their assholes 'pussies.' Even if one of them tries to play a boy he does it without conviction these days -- he finds it's more fun being a girl pretending that he's a boy. Then they giggle a lot about how unconvincing they are as boys. You may not have noticed, but that's what they're doing now, being girls. Even when they look like boys, they're girls. Full time. Like us. When they're in bed with each other they're exactly like us, not even pretending to be boys. They make gentle love to each other and lick each other's 'pussies' the way we do. That's why they want a dildo like ours. 'I'd love to feel a big, masterful, stiff cock inside me again,' those are Bob's exact words. Bobbi's, I mean."

I began to feel annoyed. In a subtle way, betrayed. "So our boys now think they're girls full time? In their minds and hearts they're sleeping with other girls? With each other?"

Gwen looked at me, a little amused. "They're very persuasive as girls. Passing them in the street in the kind of clothes they like to wear these days, you'd never know they weren't. I'm sure you've noticed that Jerry's now very well endowed up top as well as down below. He's maybe even bigger than Bob. And those well-fucked asses of theirs -- formerly well-fucked I guess -- those would look great on either of us."

"Gwen," I said with a certain asperity. "I have an arrangement with Jerry. We are faithful to each other. He doesn't fuck any women apart from me, and I don't fuck any men apart from him."

"Well, honey, he's keeping to that bargain. These days it's questionable whether either of our guys is fucking anyone -- they're keeping each other too well drained. At the moment he's only having sex with ....

"Bobbi. Who wants to think she's a woman. And looks like a woman. Same as Jerry, who knows better but also wants to think she's a woman. As he is."

"Honey." Gwen cautioned. "We did tell them, 'watch us and take hints from whatever you see us do.' That's what they're doing. Having the same kind of sex we're having."

"But they're men! They shouldn't be ...."

Gwen's voice grew more severe. "They were men. Now, think, April! If it walks like a girl, and it looks like a girl, and it thinks its a girl, what is it?"

I felt chastened. After a long pause, I said, "We have to break this obsession they have with each other. They're no use at all to us as women or men the way things are."

Gwen cautiously offered a suggestion. "We both like girls. Shall I invite Jerri to my house some night and you invite Bobbi to yours? Or shall we just lay down the law and reclaim our husbands just as they are for our own girly uses? That doesn't seem to me to be fair, if we're to continue doing each other as we do. As I want to do."

I considered the matter, then said forthrightly, "Gwen, not as they are. I haven't been laid in over a month! Except for my times with you, and they have all been lovely, I haven't had sex at all since Jerry discovered that fucking Bobbi and getting fucked by Bob fulfills all of his fantasies about himself as a woman. I can't believe it now, but I actually wanted him to do it. So he'd feel complete as a woman! So he'd be happy!"

Gwen suddenly grasped my whole body and pressed it to her. Our breasts crushed against each other. We embraced beautifully. I responded to her impulse by hugging her as close, but I was puzzled.

"I have a solution," she said.

I couldn't imagine what she meant. "What?" I asked.

"If all four of us are women in our minds and hearts -- you said so yourself, and those two need to be broken out of their obsession with each other into more normal desires, and we two love what we have with each other but want sex with men as well, what's the answer?"

It dawned on me all at once. "Jerry doesn't fuck any other women, and I don't fuck any other men," I repeated weakly.

"I think that understanding has been dissolved. He's been fucking another woman for months, as far as he knows or cares to know. He has sinned against you in his heart, as the good book would put it."

That stopped me. "I see," I said. "'In his heart.' You're right."

"April, all four of us need to get laid by real men. The real kind with real cocks. Then we can each of us decide which we prefer, or whether we want both, and our bodies as well as our minds will each have an informed vote. That may straighten things out for us!"

I was still thinking this through, and as I considered the matter I felt an interesting urge, a delicious stirring down below and deep inside me. It'd been so long since I'd felt hot thrusting meat in there that I was starting to imagine what it was like so vividly that my body was responding. I was actually wet!

Gwen then added, "Shouldn't our girls know what it feels like to really be women? To know what we know about taking really attractive men into ourselves and giving them as good as we get?"

"Yes," I said, a little breathlessly. They now believe they're women, though they'd been taking each other into themselves as if they were men, at least until recently. But as real men? As dildos? My urge down below was growing stronger. It was the generous thing to do for our beloved husbands. Our girls, I mean! They needed to get fucked by real men!

"Can we deny them that?" I asked. I didn't think so. I didn't want to deny even myself that. Not any longer. "No," I said. "They need to get themselves laid as badly as we do," I said finally!

Gwen nodded. That was the answer she was hoping to hear. "It happens that there are four young guys in our office who play squash with each other every morning before work," she continued. "Vigorous young men with exceptional stamina -- it's an exhausting game, and they all four try to exhaust each other in the shortest possible time, it seems. All four are unattached and sexually they're highly desirable -- I can see that much for myself, and some of the women in our office testify to it, and every Monday morning I overhear them tell each other about their Saturday night triumphs, all sorts of stories that don't bear repeating. Two of the guys are bisexual it seems, and they taunt they the other two for being afraid to take on men as well as women. And it happens that all four of them hit on me now and then, just to see what'll happen. I suspect it's time for me to hit back. Shall I invite them to dinner this Saturday?"

I couldn't say 'No' so I said 'Yes." For Jerri's sake. Or Jerry's. For the sake of our marriage, maybe. Whatever. "Yes," I said. "We're two couples now, and that's making for problems. Four couples may solve those problems." I smiled to myself. "Even if not, think of the permutations!"

Gwen agreed. "I have," she said. "And consider this, too. We may end up sleeping with our own husbands again. At least now and then."

And that, we both agreed, would be very nice indeed. We loved our men dearly, as men or as women, no matter how they spelled their names or how eagerly they licked up whatever the sperm in our pussies or their own. As from now on they would be doing, it seemed clear, whether their own or someone else's. Maybe their own. Maybe now and then someone else's. We'd encouraged them on their journeys, and like children finally come of age they'd completed the trip in their own ways. We could both feel proud of them.

I embraced Gwen even more closely, and reached to move a finger into her slit. It was wet. As was mine. We'd completed our own journeys too.

As we moved toward our bedroom, kissing, our fingers already plunged deep into each other, I wondered whether Jerri was ready for the kinds of surgical enhancements to his femininity Bobbi'd already undergone. A touch here and a snip there and he'd look really cute! Then, a few snips more and he really could be one of us!

The odd thought came to me, 'If Jerri really did become a woman, I wonder what she'd be like in bed.'

 

 
 
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