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Message-ID: <29940asstr$987801004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} Tiny Tim by Vickie Tern 4/9 TG Femdom F/m M/M wife
Date: Fri, 20 Apr 2001 17:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

New TG: Tiny Tim by Vickie Tern, 4/9 femdom, F/m, M/M, wife



                                 iv.

I swallowed my pride and the gummy driblets of cum my tongue could
reach inside her, and sucked and licked and tongued her rim and the
crack of her buttocks a few more times, figuring that was answer
enough.  Soon I could taste only my own saliva.  A moment later
Becky's voice far above me said, "You can stop now, Teena!  That
tickles!"  And she lifted her crotch up off my head, and then
wriggled off me altogether.  

Now she sat on the side of the bed and looked silently at me.  I
looked back at her.  Both of our expressions were impassive.

"There's more of him in me.  Even though he'd cum twice in my mouth
already, he pumped himself into my guts like an open faucet.  I
felt him throb and throb, and suddenly I felt twice as slippery,
and yet he kept throbbing!  I can squeeze much more of him out of
me for you, you know," she said.  

"I know," I said.  I was trying hard not to feel anything, but I
was in deep dismay.  This was only the first day of our suspended
marriage.  Her suspended marriage -- mine was in full force.  I had
to remain faithful to her, not even flirt with my own hand.

"But now I know what I needed to know.  That my husband is now so
pussywhipped by me he's even willing to suck another man's cum out
of my asshole.  In effect he's willing to do anything I ask.  Even
... that!  That means, you meant what you said, that you really
will honor my desires this week.  Now I know.  That makes
everything else a lot easier."

I said nothing.  'Everything else'?  I didn't dare ask.

"You feel defiled?  Debased?  Feeling a little disgusted with
yourself?  Wondering if maybe I'm disgusted to find that I'm living
with a man who sucks other men's cum out of my asshole?  Don't know
what to expect from me any more?  Going crazy?  Still don't know
where I've been and who with?  Don't know who took my rear end
cherry away from you tonight and forever?  Maybe it was Kevin you
just drank out of my asshole, or maybe one of your other buddies? 
Maybe someone new, anyone at all, now that my life is my own?  Do
you still want to know?  You want to follow me and find out?"

What could I say?  I couldn't even shake my head Yes or No to all
those questions!

"I think you've gotten the point now," she continued.  "This is my
week.  I do what I want.  You do what I say."

"Yes," I said.

"Wash your face and let's go to bed.  But first, give me a kiss on
these pretty lips you made for me with those pretty lips you made
for you.  Yours are all smudged now!  What a shame!"

I kissed her on her mouth.  There was no doubt of it.  Mixed in
with the flavor of her lipstick was the flavor of some guy's cum. 
She'd blown someone all right, and she'd taken his thing up her
ass, and she was sharing his flavors at both ends with me along
with the assurance --now a conviction -- that she wasn't joking. 
It was going to be a hard week.

"You like that?" she asked.

I couldn't tell what she meant exactly, but how else could I answer
her?  I sort of nodded and closed my eyes and tried to kiss her
again.  She turned her face away, and my lips just barely touched
her hair.

"Time enough for that when I say so," she said.  "You taste of cum
too.  It's an acquired taste, isn't it.  More appropriate in my
mouth than yours, but we'll soon see about that!  Just wash up and
come to bed.  Tomorrow's another day."


When we woke up the next morning our bodies were wrapped in each
other's.  We were hugging, in fact.  In our sleep we'd reached for
each other, maybe?  I'd needed comfort after last night and she'd
obliged?  She'd wanted to cuddle with me the way we did when we
were first married, despite this strange animosity she was working
off?  She was pleased with me?  She was consoling me for my broken
spirit, if that's what it was?  There was now something about me
that made her feel comfortable, affectionate, something missing
earlier?  I couldn't tell.  I was satisfied that she didn't think
I was altogether contemptible for what I'd done.

"Your appointment's for nine o'clock this morning," she said when
I showed up for breakfast showered and shaved, dressed casually in
a pair of khaki pants and a T-shirt.  "You won't need your bra this
time, the way you're dressed is fine."  She smiled at her own joke. 
"It's on the other side of town where no one knows us, so we have
to leave in fifteen minutes.  This week we'll preserve the
neighborhood's peculiar belief that you're a man, maybe.  So you'll
feel too mortified to go onto the street looking like a woman.  So
you'll stay home and not follow me.  Or else what's the point of
all this?"

She was still way ahead of me, but I didn't want to signal it.  So
as I poured me some juice and coffee I just asked casually, "What
appointment?"

"With your hairdresser!  Among other things your hairdresser!"  She
gave an almost triumpant smile.

I must have looked confused.  I sat down suddenly, then tried to
drink my juice casually.  Don't ask questions!  I tried to tell
myself that yet again.

"You're getting the full treatment this morning, Teensy Teena.  At
'The Feminine Mystique'!  Its a beauty clinic!"  She looked
surprised that I was surprised.  "We need to fix you so you can't
change back to looking normal on a whim!  You don't think I mean to
risk you putting on lipstick when I'm around but then wiping it off
to follow me, and then making a scene when you see me with someone,
do you?  No way!  And if you're such a quick study with lipstick,
what must you be with eyeliner?  No, you need a hairdo that won't
quit!  I need to feel absolutely certain that you're respecting my
privacy."

She spoke quite firmly.

"And there's another reason, Teena.  How do I know that once I'm
out of the house you won't go off tom catting on your own, visiting
other houses like the one where I found you yesterday.  Or even
that one again?  How do I know you aren't longing to fuck the
nearest pussy and then maybe your boy-cum out of it, now that
you're getting a taste for it?  This morning we'll make you look
really pretty, since you seem to have a talent for it.  So if
you're thinking about getting into more extramarital sex, the only
kind you'll get will be from guys.  I want to give you a lovely
hairdo that won't comb out, and make a few other little changes in
your appearance.  I want you to feel so embarrassed about the way
you look this week that you'll keep all the blinds drawn tight shut
and duck down when you walk past any open window."  

She stood up.  "Also, today you'll learn how to apply make-up.  The
clinic has a lesson scheduled for girls studying for their State
Board cosmetology exams.  I was serious when I told you I expect
you to help prepare me for my dates.  The lesson only covers the
basics today, but they tell me they're quite thorough.  It's a
beginning.  If later on you want to become a beautician full time
you'll have a good foundation to build on.  You do seem to have a
talent that way, honey.  I mean for doing makeup, not just for
looking good when you wear it."  

I tried to look interested, even gratified that she was giving me
this opportunity.

"Now its only ten minutes before we leave, Teena.  When you've
finished your coffee come upstairs and we'll see if you still
remember how to put on my lipstick.  How to put it on me this time
I mean, not on you!  You won't need any.  Yours comes later!"  And
she disappeared up the stairs.  

On our way to the hairdresser's I tried to make conversation that
wouldn't irritate her or seem rebellious.  I was being perfectly
compliant, but even so I was curious about some things.

"What was that place where all those women wore all those doll
masks?" I asked her.  "Where Kevin and Marshall took me when I was
too drunk to walk?"  I wanted to emphasize that my fault, being
there, if it was a fault, was unintentional.  "Some kind of whore
house?"

She was silent for a moment.  Obviously she liked keeping me in the
dark, maintaining her advantage over me.  Then "Don't pretend you
don't know!" came at me suddenly.  

Of course.  Those bastards had told Becky I was a regular there. 
When would I learn not to ask questions?  "I've never been to that
place, Becky!" I said categorically.  I stressed the word 'that' to
imply that of course I was familiar with most other similar places
in town, what errant husband wasn't?  "That's the truth!  Believe
me!  Never!  But mainly, why the masks?  Don't women in that line
of work want men to see their faces?"

She glanced at me.  "You've never been there?  You actually don't
know?  Maybe I have been misinformed.  I'll look into it!"

"I hope so," I said fervently.  

"As for your question, Kevin explained it," she said.  "It's not
your ordinary, garden variety whore house.  The House of Masks it's
called.  It's respectable and discreet.  A place where couples can
come and go undetected if they wish, with lots of small hidden
parking areas and separate entrances and a bar and a coffee shop,
and attractive rooms always available by the hour or month.  The
women who work there are well trained and experienced, but only
part-time professionals.  They're respectable women quietly picking
up a little extra income and a few thrills.  Bored married women,
housewives, secretaries, college girls on a fling.  You know how it
is."  

She glanced over at me, and saw that I really didn't know.  Her
eyebrows went even higher.  "I guess you don't!  Well, some women
are like that, you'd be surprised!" she added.  Then after a pause,
"Marshall doesn't know it, but his wife Ellen visits there
occasionally.  She told me.  Sometimes as one of the masked women
taking on clients that take her fancy -- she likes to dominate men,
and Marshall won't cooperate -- and sometimes to buy a masked
woman's services for a few hours.  Anyhow, that's why the women are
masked.  So even their own husbands wouldn't know them.  It was a
perfect place for me to surprise you!"  Another pause, and then in
a voice that sounded bitter, "And you really didn't know me, did
you?  As far as you were concerned, you were having a ball, fucking
a common whore, a total stranger, weren't you.  And that's what you
did, didn't you?"

I didn't dare move, much less say anything.  She recovered her
breath.

"Anyhow, your two friends told me about that place a month or so
ago at an office party, when I mentioned that I wanted to do
something special for you for your thirtieth birthday, something
you'd never forget.  They helped me set it up.  Last night Kevin
phoned while you were in that bar, and then came by, and I followed
him there in my car.  You were supposed to recognize who I was, and
feel thrilled by the idea of this new me.  But you didn't, did
you?"

"No," I said.  "I didn't.  I was drunk and just about asleep.  I
had no idea where I was or what was happening.  You could have been
a wet dream."  I had to get that in.

She seemed to relent a little, for the first time.  She glanced at
me almost pityingly.  Then, "Well, maybe so.  That Kevin is a
smooth talker.   But does it matter now really?  It's done, and
there's no going back.  You screwed a strange woman, and we both
know it.  And I know that I like sex with men who are a lot better
hung than you, and that knowledge won't go away either."  She
grinned.  "And I've also found out how much I like sitting on your
face, feeling you underneath me sucking up to me and kissing my
ass.  Do you think our marriage can ever be the same again, even if
it does survive this week?  Look what I know you are now!  A man
who's such a degenerate he'll fix his wife up and send her off on
dates with other men and then lick their cum out of her ass when
she returns.  That's not exactly a man I can look up to any more,
is it?  That does make a difference, doesn't it."

"You asked me to," I said, realizing even as I said it that I
sounded like a petulant little boy.

"You agreed to it.  You did it."  That was all she said.  She then
concentrated on the heavy downtown traffic.  

What should I have done, thrown her off me onto the floor and
stormed out of the house, when my nose first felt that slickness
between her cheeks and my tongue told me what it was?  I was trying
to save our marriage!  I was committed to whatever she wanted for
one week!  And anyhow, I'd already become her cleanup cumsucker.  

But she was right even so.  Already our relationship had changed
into something else irreversible.  I sat silent, contemplating a
new marriage stretching far into the future, one with me home each
night and Becky out on the town getting laid, me helping her look
pretty beforehand and then licking her dates' secretions out of her
holes afterward.  I knew I couldn't tolerate that for long, it was
too demeaning, too painful.  But what were our alternatives?

She read my mind in the gloom on my face!  "C'mon, Teena," she
said, trying to cheer me.  "Don't tell me you don't enjoy what
we're doing.  The oral sex you've always wanted, making me scream
at the ceiling using only your tongue and your nose!  Your prick
never could do that to me!  You aren't proud of it now?  And
remember, your face in my cunt is private, something just the two
of us share.  No one else has that privilege.  Maybe your friends
did you a favor!"

"Those sons of bitches are not my friends."

"Oh, Teensy Teena, think about it!  You've shared your wife with
them, and sucked and swallowed their cum, and they both know it! 
That sounds pretty friendly!  They were as helpful as anyone could
be when I went into their room and told them I needed a pussy full
of cum for you to drink down!  They couldn't have been more
cooperative!  What could be more friendly than that?  I think you
should thank them!  And I think I know how!"

Was she being sarcastic?  I couldn't tell.  I decided yet again to
say nothing.  

Becky pulled into an immense shopping mall, and then drove
alongside the massed stores for some distance.  Finally we found
"The Feminine Mystique Beauty Clinic" way off at one end,
surrounded by a cluster of upscale boutiques for women -- sporty
and formal dress shops, a footwear bazaar called "The Well-turned
ankle,"  "Belts'n Buckles'n Gifts," a "Go Figure" aerobics center,
and a bouquet of lingerie shops.  It was an enclave strictly for
women.  One shop called "Guilty Secrets" sold the most intimate
items imaginable -- the letters of its sign were made up of stiff
or bent dildos decorated with dots and stripes, with what might be
a splash of cloudy sperm dotting the "i".  And hundreds of
well-dressed women were window-shopping or walking about.  I
thought I must be maybe a half-mile from the nearest male.  And
"The Feminine Mystique Beauty Clinic" was at the center of
everything, in this City of Women a holiest of holy places. 

I felt like a trespasser, and decided to walk into the "Beauty
Clinic" as if I were a shampoo or skin cream salesman making a call
in the normal course of business, to act as if I was doing a man's
work in this women's world.  But Becky would have none of it.  She
walked in briskly with me trailing behind like a reluctant teenage
daughter, never looking back to see if I was still there.

"Teena here has an appointment for a complete makeover and some
other things this morning," she told the receptionist, an enamelled
young woman with perfect black hair and a perfect painted face
looking up at us with a poised, inquiring expression.  She was
"Dorrie" according to her name tag.  "I've discussed what we want
with Angela, and she told me everything would be ready when we
arrived."

"Ah yes," Dorrie said. She pulled a file from a drawer in her desk. 
"I see he's listed as 'Tim' on these waivers amd permissions. 
That's necessary until he changes his name legally.  But should he
be carried as 'Teena' on our mailing lists from now on?  And would
he prefer to be called 'she'? 

"'Teena' whenever," Becky said firmly. "And of course 'she.'  I
certainly hope that 'he' will be altogether inappropriate after
this morning, Dorrie.  That's what we're here for, isn't it?"

"Yes, of course," Dorrie said, making a note.  "I see she's booked
well into the afternoon.  The procedures you've asked for are
rather thorough.  She'll need some recovery time, and
re-orientation, and then the 'make-up' session in our 'Charm
School' series begins almost immediately afterward, and that's
several more hours.  The State Board requires that we allow ample
time for our girls to practice on each other.  I'm afraid Teena
won't be free until late this afternoon."

I was shocked!  What could Becky have arranged?  A whole day of
being "made over" and then learning how to do it myself?  Practice
on me so I can do it expertly for her when she goes out to meet her
studs?  Once they make me up, how long will it take for me to make
me back down into myself again?  What's this "from now on" talk? 
Worse, even apart from my new identity in Becky's eyes as a
cum-sucking ass-kisser, how would Becky ever again be able to
imagine I'm still a man after a week of me mincing around looking
like a woman.  A man who's not even allowed to jerk off while she's
being pumped and filled?  It was worse than being a eunuch!

"Becky," I began, hoping I wouldn't seem to be protesting, just
inquiring.  After all, I had to remind her, the whole point of this
exercise was only for me to be ashamed to be seen in public.  To
forestall my following her whenever she leaves the house.  No more
than that!  A "makeover" and "some other things" -- including a
long professional make-up lesson -- that seemed way excessive. 
"Becky, listen!"

"I called the mother of those two teenage girls who live just up
the street," Becky informed me casually, as if it had just occurred
to her, while the receptionist waited politely for her to finish. 
"She says they'll be delighted to babysit on no notice at all,
whenever we want them.  I told her it would involve changing
diapers, things like that.  She said no problem, both girls are
well experienced, and she could always come over to help out if the
girls got into trouble.  Except when she's attending neigborhood
Women's League meetings, she'll be available.  The Women's League
is where the women gossip about all sorts of local scandals,
everyone tells everyone everything, Teena -- you might think about
joining."
  
I nodded, silenced.  We both looked again at Dorrie.  "Sign here
and here as 'Tim'," Dorrie said.  "And here.  And here as 'Teena'. 
There!  Now it's official!"  

What was official?  I was afraid to ask.

Becky signed something, and then Dorrie stamped and signed each
paper and slipped them into a folder.  Then stood up. "Well, Teena,
let me introduce you to Angela so we can get started.  You're going
to feel so much better about yourself, really!  You'll love it." 
She turned toward Becky.  "You can come by for Teena about five I
should think, Mrs ..." -- and she glanced down at her appointment
sheet to remind herself.

"Miss, not Mrs.," Becky interrupted her.  "I'm between husbands at
the moment, very much at liberty."   

A spontaneous smile lit up Dorrie's face.  "How nice!  I've done
that twice now myself!  Though I've found that it isn't really
necessary to get a divorce in order to feel free.  A girl who wants
to can always do what she wants to!"  She glanced at me.  "After
first neutralizing her husband, of course.  If that's the proper
word for what we do to them."

"So I find," Becky said, smiling back at Dorrie.  "We should talk
about this some time.  Well, I have errands.  Take good care of
her.  You know what I want to see when I return."

"Yes, no fear.  We've recently improved several of our procedures. 
She'll be one of the prettiest girls in the clinic by the end of
the day.  Or she'll feel that she is, and feel proud of it, and
that's what matters!"  

Becky turned to me and gave me a quick peck on the cheek.  "I'd
better be saying goodbye to you now, Tim," she said.  "We won't be
seeing each other again, I hope.  It's been lovely, but we're
turning a corner.  Now it's you who'll be lovely!"  And she went
directly out the door without looking back.

I was suddenly on my own.  I looked around.  Everything in The
Feminine Mystique Beauty Clinic was designed to be reassuring.  The
colors were subdued but cheerful, blushing orange, lavender, sunny
yellow -- the walls, the chairs, the couches, the high-tech
hair-dryers, the operators' smocks, and the dresses and gowns worn
by women who had come to be beautified.  Dorrie led me back past
women busy in various stations to a long corridor of closed doors. 
"Angela, your nine o'clock's here!" she called out.  Then sensing
my tension, she commented, "Rest easy, honey.  You're one of us
now!" 

Angela came around a corner with a coffee mug in one hand, and
accepted my folder from Dorrie.  She immediately began to stare at
me with a keen concentration I couldn't account for until I
realized she was registering and resolving various problems she saw
in me one after another.  She was a woman no older than I was,
thin, with beautiful features finely drawn on a face she left
altogether natural, without a trace of make-up.  Odd, for a
beautician, I thought.  Without looking away she said, "Thank you,
Dorrie.  We have the signatures?"

"Hers and her wife's both," Dorrie answered.  "I've witnessed and
notarized them."

Just what did I sign? I wondered.

"Then I'll take over," Angela said.  And she studied me some more.

Then suddenly with a bright smile she stepped forward, her hand
extended.  "How do you do, Teena!  I'm the woman with the magic
wand who'll soon have you feeling glad you're you.  And proud of
it!  And with reason, you'll see.  You'd better strip now and put
this gown on.  It'll give us much better access to you, and this
morning we're re-doing practically every exposed inch.  When we're
done you'll be an altogether new woman!"
      
"Angela," I said, trying to assert myself, worried about what might
be in the folder Angela was now examining, "Whatever you've been
told, whatever my wife wants done to me, I'm a man, not a woman."

Not even bothering to look up, she replied, "Of course, dear. 
Today the man you are gets remade into the woman you can become. 
A new woman.  Not altogether, of course -- we don't do major
surgery here, only esthetic and cosmetic.  But you'll be pleased
I'm sure.  In fact I'm sure that next year you'll want to renew
some of the little changes we'll make today, those that aren't
actually permanent.  Please, this gown, Teena?  You can hang your
clothes over there.  If you're feeling modest, just step behind
that screen."

As I stripped I felt increasingly uneasy about what she'd just
said.  "You mentioned surgery?" I asked.  "What will you be doing
that will be permanent, Angela?" I slipped on the gown.  It was a
smock, almost a button-down dress, but very much like a hospital
gown, loose, tied or open here and there.  Not a hospital gown at
all, though, with its pale purple color and its satin smoothness,
and the touch of lacy embroidery on its neckline and hem.  I
stepped out from behind the screen feeling a little embarrassed. 
"This is only supposed to be for a week."

"Oh, don't give it a thought, you'll be fully recovered long before
the week is out," Angela said.  "In fact, mostly by the end of
today.  But here, let's begin with these.  One of several mild
hypnotropic tranquillizers we use instead of a general anesthetic,
to help you relax and to cope with any discomfort you may feel
while we do our things."  She handed me two small white pills and
a paper cup of water.  

"Anesthetic?" I asked, looking doubtfully at the pills still in her
hand.  "What're you planning?"  I was becoming a little frightened.

"Nothing extensive, but some of it will be uncomfortable.  Waxing
off all that body hair can be painful, for example, and this first
time it'll be extensive.  With these drugs in your bloodstream
you'll become suggestible.  Then if the girl doing the depillation
reminds you that it's all for beauty, and that beauty knows no
pain, you'll feel no pain.  It's that simple.  You'll love what
we're doing until tomorrow morning or so, when the effects wear
off.  Then you'll remember everything, and you can decide for
yourself then how you feel about it.  But by then I'm sure it'll
all be a pleasant memory, because there'll be nothing unpleasant
for you to remember.  Our women all love it."   

I swallowed the pills and the water.  "It'll all be like waxing off
my body hair?  What you're doing won't be permanent?"

"No," she replied.  "Not really.  Not most of it.  Your new hair
color and streaking, your crinkle-perm, the cute styling we'll give
you, they'll all grow out in about six months, and'll they'll need
re-doing then.  A year tops.  The same for your ceramic
fingernails, though they'll need filling a little sooner.  We'll do
all of your waxing and lasering and electrolysis here, whatever
hair we find anywhere below your eyebrows, and we'll soften your
skin and shape your eyebrows.  That's permanent, of course.  Then
then when we're rid of your hair follicles we can smooth out any
flaws in your face with dermabrasion, that's permanent too.  When
you leave here today your face will be smooth, lovely, and just
about flawless.  Except for a few zits when your hormone levels go
ballistic, you'll never need more than a light foundation."

"Wait," I said.  I suddenly reached for the chair and sat down.  I
felt weak.  I forgot what I meant to say.  

Angela continued.  "We have a new procedure for shaping your lips
with collagen, giving them that puffed out pout men find so sexy,
and we'll enlarge your nipples the same way for the same reason,
you'll love the effect.  You'll absolutely adore their enhanced
sensation whenever anyone touches them!  But collagen is absorbed
by the body after a while -- within six months usually -- and needs
periodic replacement.  So that won't be permananent.  Your most
distinctly feminine attributes won't really become permanent until
the fat cells we liposuction from your waistline and redistribute
to your breasts begin to multiply on their own.  And that won't
happen until your hormone implants take complete charge of your
testicles and shut them down altogether.  Today we'll give you
breasts only just large enough to grow on.  But they'll be
feminine, no doubting it, and on your slender frame they'll be
immediately noticeable, don't doubt that either.  You'll find
almost immediately that your erogenous feelings there have become
vastly stronger."  

"This beauty salon does these things?"  I was so very groggy.  But
I knew that my question was important.  I concentrated on it and
finally got it asked.  "Medical things ... hormones?  You do that
here?"
  
"Oh, heavens, yes, of course," said Angela.  "We're proud of the
"Feminine Mystique" concept!  "We aren't just a salon, we're a
clinic.  A one-stop locale where women can be remade altogether if
they wish, as easily as if they were in a beauty salon.  Because we
are a beauty salon, partly.  But mainly we're a plastic surgery
clinic that behaves like a beauty salon, so women can feel
comfortable, in familiar surroundings, whatever the procedures they
may require.  We're a salon that does face-lifts and breast
augmentation and tummy tucks and hormone replacement, and we're a
medical clinic that does fingernails and hair styling.  A little of
whatever women need in order to feel confident about their
appearance.  For you to feel confident in yours.  So you'll know
you've finally become you."  

"Breasts?"  The idea addled me but I couldn't get a handle on why. 
"You not just ... beautician?"

"Of course I am!  But also a board-certified plastic surgeon and
endocrinologist.  Others on our staff have other specialties. 
You'll have every medical advantage." 

"Sleepy," I informed her.  

"It's just as well," Angela said gently.  "The pills affect some
women that way.  It may be for the best that you'll think you're
asleep while our staff does its work.  You'll respond more
completely that way.  Come with me now.  First off we want to set
you soaking in a warm estrogen oil bath.  Absorbing softness for
your skin and a new life through your very pores.  You'll find it's
soothing, even rejuvenating.  Women tell us they feel like high
school girls again when they emerge.  Stand up so I can take you
there now.  I'm sure that's how you'll feel when you're immersed. 
Just delicious!"

"Yes," I said.  I was sure I would.  I started to stand up, and
fell asleep.


end 4/9
VickieTern@AOL.COM

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