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Message-ID: <43579asstr$1059257406@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} Last Summer by Vickie Tern 1/11 TG femdom wife
Date: Sat, 26 Jul 2003 18:10:06 -0400
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This is a long one, in which the characters think things through
more carefully than in most of mine, to decisions not much 
different from those in most.  Rightly or wrongly.  But each 
in his own way.  Or hers.

As usual, those who shouldn't be reading these kinds of fictions 
shouldn't read this kind of fiction.  You know who you are.  If 
in doubt, ask around.

I'm always curious what people like and dislike about anything
I write, and I always appreciate knowing.  Please let me know
(VickieTern@aol.com).



'                             Last Summer
                             by Vickie Tern

                         (c) 2003 by Vickie Tern

                                  

                              Prologue

                                (i.)

When I awoke it was no longer dark, not even dim, the sun was well
up.  In the warm yellow September morning light I could see the top
of my night stand and our bedroom walls and my closet door.  And my
bureau, and Scottie's chest of drawers.  And my dressing table
still covered with cosmetics, some still tumbled on their sides and
others with lids and caps still open.  God since yesterday morning?
-- I hoped they weren't drying out.  They were exactly as I'd left
them yesterday when I was running late to meet Craig and whatever
friend Craig had brought for Cheryl, for our last weekly lunch
meeting and then our last coupling, as we'd done all summer long,
Cheryl and her new man usually leaving first, eager to get to it,
then after a certain amount of verbal duelling and sparring me and
Craig, straight to the motel where we'd been falling into each
other's bodies every Saturday since the summer began.  Though
yesterday for the last time.  

Scottie might at least have noticed the mess I'd left and re-capped
a lipstick for me or something, but apparently but he hadn't. 
Maybe it had been a mistake for me to insist he get his own
cosmetics and stop using mine?  He kept his own dressing table neat
enough at all times, as if he hardly ever touched his make-up.  I
knew better of course -- one of the best times of day was when the
two of us were doing our faces together in the morning and talking
about all sorts of things, as girls will.  And now and then I'd see
he'd bought himself something new, maybe a new lipstick to go with
a new dress, or a shade of blush better suited to some transient
mood.  Just like any girl making herself pretty to satisfy herself. 
He scarcely ever noticed my things these days.  

Still, that had been the original attention, to get him so
preoccupied with his own appearance and his own activities that he
wouldn't get concerned how I was spending my Saturday afternoons
all summer long, sometimes well into the evenings.  Even when it
would have been obvious if he'd looked.  Maybe without mentioning
anything, we'd both agreed that if nothing was said then neither of
us had to endanger our marriage by asking questions. Neither of us
wanted that.

Anyhow, it was all over now.  Done.  Just as I'd expected all
along.  This whole mad summer with its sweltering humidity and
dripping bodies and heated graspings and couplings and its
yearnings and its glorious sex had finally cooled into this crisp,
sensible September day.  I'd finally used up my passion for that
wise ass hunk of man I'd been fucking every Saturday afternoon into
the evening, that great body and greater ego I'd taken vast
pleasure trying to dominate or undermine.  I no longer needed to
try.  I no longer cared.  Now Craig would return to his usual
weekend girlfriends, and Scott and I could return to our lives as
they were before the summer and this whole thing happened.  Which
had been fine, understand me, no complaints!  We'd return if we
could and move on if we couldn't.  Scottie'd expressed doubts, and
I had my own doubts, but there was no telling.

I turned.  Scottie was sleeping on his left side as he always did,
facing me, one shoulder blocking my line of vision.  But I could
see the walls of our bedroom on his side too, and his closet door,
and the sun's rays streaking toward us around the edges of our
drawn blinds, a few dust motes trapped in its rays.  Everything
still looked the same.  A Sunday just like all the other Sundays of
our married lives.  For the past few months, all summer long, our
Sundays had been different because the Saturdays preceding them had
been very different.  But now, one last session with Scott in our
own bed, his pretty mouth licking me pristine of the last of Craig,
participating in my affair with Craig without even knowing it.  One
last delicious orgasm and he'd be released from his promise to me,
free to live as he chose.  I'd probably bring down his clothes from
the attic where I'd stored them to make room for the new clothes
now filling his closet.  Maybe give away his new clothes, but keep
a few of the nicer items for myself.  

Unless he wanted to keep wearing them.  They were his now, and the
life that went with them.

Maybe today he'd also feel free to speak his mind about my strange
demands on him all this past summer.  That was worrisome.  At least
at this moment we were still together, anyhow, and that was simply
lovely.  I lifted my head and leaned toward my sweet Scottie,
wondering whether I should wake him with a gentle kiss on his ear. 
Maybe nibble the baguette earring I'd bought as a gift, to
celebrate his homecoming with his ears pierced.  I was touched that
it was still his favorite.  

No matter, now if he wished he could remove them and let the holes
close over and heal.  As with our pierced marriage too.

He was still sleeping peacefully in his favorite nightie, the beige
satin lace he'd bought for himself when I'd insisted that he learn
to love his nice things, not just accept them as necessities.  I
sniffed.  Sure enough, Lilac Ecstasy.   Our perfume.  My signature
scent ever since some forgotten teenage beau spent a month's
allowance to buy me a teeny bottle, and brought it to me adorned
with an actual sprig of lilac, so many years ago.  Scottie's too
for the past three months, because I'd insisted we wear the same
scent.  That he wear my perfume to keep him reminded whose world he
had entered.  He'd agreed that for the whole summer it would be my
world, not his. 

I had to smile.  Of course I'd always doused myself in Lilac
Ecstasy whenever I left the house to meet Craig.  Every Saturday. 
I wanted to keep myself smelling fresh for Craig through all our
heavy-duty lovemaking, but also I needed to mask our mingled body
odors, the smell of fresh sex with another man, when I came back
home to Scottie.  I'd wanted Scottie to wear it for the same
reason, so he couldn't smell Craig on me.  

But also for more romantic reasons.  Wearing my aroma signified
that he was mine, living the way I wanted him.  I loved it, knowing
that he was walking around all day in a cloud of feminine scent,
being feminine, being a lovely girl.  It was so sweet to think
about.  Especially when I was in bed with another man, a powerful
man, and his cock was deep inside me.  It helped me feel less
guilty that I was betraying my husband, if I knew that at that
moment he wasn't much of a man anyhow.  

Then too wearing Lilac Ecstasy all the time would encourage him to
stay home doing his own things when I was out doing mine with
Craig.  That's what I'd first thought, anyhow.  A man wearing a
woman's scent isn't likely to go around asking people if they'd
seen his wife.  But that idea collapsed almost immediately, when he
began living full time as a woman.

Getting Scott to wear my perfume had been the first tactic I'd
stumbled onto and adopted when all this began.  It was an accident,
almost a whim.  All the rest came out of it, in a way.  If he
smelled feminine, why not look feminine too?  And so on.

But now it was September.  The three months' agreement we'd
negotiated had run out.  Yesterday I'd had my farewell session with
Craig, and today Scottie knew that he no longer had to keep the
promises he'd made last June.   

Come to think of it, I'd told him only yesterday that he could stop
using that fragrance, that he could wear his more manly after shave
if he wished.  Yet here he was, still scented with Lilac Ecstasy. 
 Had he splashed on the concentrated perfume instead of dabbing it,
or misting the cologne, as I'd shown him way back?  And now the
perfume had soaked into his skin?  Or maybe it was his scented
bubble baths?  Or the Lilac skin-softening creams he'd included in
his nightly beauty regimen for months now?  Or his oil treatments
at the beauty salon?  

In a way, that would be amusing.  In that case it would be weeks
before he stopped smelling of flowers and took on a more manly
scent.  I sighed.  When his Lilac Ecstasy wore off, and his
ear-piercings closed, his body would nevertheless always bear some
other irreversible reminders of this strange time.  

There were for example the new lovely smooth feel of his face, and
the new curves of his body.  I loved them, and I knew he did too! 
Maybe I should ask him to continue using a skin softener even when
he again became a man?  If he did choose to become a man again? 
It would be suitable, because he was now certainly permanently
hairless.  

He'd gone to a two-week all-in-one Electrolysis Institute in a
Gender Clinic in Texas a few weeks into our agreement, and he'd
returned changed.  His face and chest and legs were as smooth as a
baby's.  Not that I'd ever objected before to the hair on his face
and body -- there wasn't that much.  But I'd told him early on that
since he'd agreed to pretend to be a woman, he could save himself
the bother of shaving twice daily, and since he never intended to
grow a beard or moustache anyhow he had nothing to lose.  It was a
painless process -- they put their clients into a kind of twilight
sleep and then they did everything the client wanted then and
there, for twelve or eighteen hours a day, until it was done.  Then
the client woke up and went home.  I'd made the reservation for
him, and while I was at it I'd ordered the other procedures as
well.  To help him keep his promises, but also to further ease my
conscience that I was being ravished by another man and loved it. 
Off he'd gone.  And back he'd come, looking more feminine than even
I'd ever imagined.  So lovely!  Absolutely darling, and all mine! 
And on my part, no regrets.

I have to confess it though, my main reason for sending him out of
town then was simply to free up the two weeks so I could go
cruising with Craig on his sailboat, so I could have two weeks of
fucking that marvelous man night and day, day after day.  It had
been two weeks of orgasmic rapture, simply glorious, everything I'd
hoped, and it had set our affair on an especially exalted level for
the months to come.  I'd especially enjoyed it, when my cheeks
scratched against Craig's wiry beard, and my fingers knitted into
the thick mat of hair on Craig's chest, knowing that at that very
moment my husband Scott was being made forever smooth, bare, and
beautiful for me, completely girlish, that he'd never ever again
match Craig's masculine appeal.  That was perversely satisfying, I
suppose.  

But whenever I felt a guilty twinge that I'd done that to him, I
consoled myself that Scott had never been in Craig's league as a
man.  When my nose was buried in Craig's crotch hairs as I blew
him, it was satisfying that Scott would always be bald down there. 
Scott wasn't exactly effeminate, not until the summer began and I
demanded it of him, but he'd never been a hunk either.  I'd married
him for his quick mind and his sweet temperament, not for his
masculinity.  And because I loved him, and he loved me, I'd thought
I could live my life without being periodically flattened and
stuffed by some muscle bound real man.  I was wrong.  This past
summer proved it.

When we returned to port I was finally fully satisfied.  Not that
I felt sated -- Craig's virility still blew my mind, and we
continued to climb all over each other as lovers for two more
months.  But we both knew then that what we felt for each other's
bodies wasn't love.  I knew that what I felt for Scottie was love. 


And Scottie returned home looking quite pretty -- there was no
other word for him.  He was reshaped, and his face was as smooth
and lean as a gorgeous model's.  The body creams they'd given him
gave a silken feel and glow to his hairless skin.  I'd sent them a
sissy man and they returned me a gorgeous babe, a whole new hubby! 
I loved it!

My sweet Scottie!  Would he return to our marriage as it had been,
now that my little digression from it had ended?  Could I tell him
now what I've really been doing, why I wanted him emasculated for
the summer?  Was he now enough of a woman to understand and
sympathize, or would his injured male ego rule him?  Would I still
be living with him when he finally stopped smelling of lilac? 
Would some other woman?  Would some other man?  

I'd find out soon enough. 

My wonderful Scottie!  He'd granted me what I had to have, a three
month time out from our usual relationship, and it had been enough. 
The summer storm within me had moved on.  Yesterday's coupling with
Craig had been wistful, not really passionate, a kind of
appreciative farewell to the pleasure we'd given each other, tender
but without yearning.  Craig's cock had slid in and out of me
yesterday slowly, gratefully, as if it were aware it was for the
last time.  

Now I'd resume my marriage, if Scott was willing.  That was up to
him.  It would be his decision.  I'd done what I had to do, and
there was nothing more I could do now.  I'd made my bed and I was
lying in it with the man I'd married and made into a woman. Maybe
he'd want to change back, and maybe he wouldn't.  Maybe he'd leave
me.  Certainly he'd leave me if he knew why I'd made him into a
woman.  Whatever happened, I could only blame myself.


end 1/11
VickieTern@AOL.COM

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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