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Message-ID: <50827asstr$1112004604@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: VickieTern@aol.com
Subject: {ASSM} Empathy by Vickie Tern 3/3 TG femdom 
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Date: Mon, 28 Mar 2005 05:10:04 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Empathy by Vickie Tern 3/3
 
 
 
Fourth Week -- Sunday
 

When I woke, April gave Nick yet another seductive hand job.   At
first I just watched, but as I really got into it I joined in with
her  and pulled gently on it too, that man's lovely cock, as it
aroused and went  rampant.  When it squirted, I delicately licked
all of the goo out of  the palm of my own hand.  Her hand.  Yum. 
Again I liked it.   Salty and creamy and slick.  Swallowing cum is
easy, no problem, what's  all the fuss about? I was thinking.  I'd
remember to include in my essay  how a whole mouthful of cum can
feel good going down in one swallow, like a  whole oyster.  I wanted
Darla to know I knew.
 
Darla spent much of that Sunday on the phone, talking from our
bedroom,  chatting with Becky and other women I didn't know about
the course and no  doubt also about their achievements with their
own husbands.  At least I  assumed so from the occasional squeals of
incredulous laughter that passed  through the closed door.  I
glanced at a Harlequin Romance Darla had  left on the sofa.  The
heroine hated putting her hair up each night and  had gotten it cut
short and cute.  She was now worried that her  boyfriend might not
like it.  My hair was still curled from Friday, but  I wondered that
same thing, and I didn't even have a boyfriend!  Not  until I began
writing.
 
I wrote a marvelous story about myself as a young girl, my at-first
shy,  then gradually skilled, finally bold adventures in the tube
trade.  It  was the story of my imagination's conversion to
womanhood.  It began as  standard male disgust -- supposedly the
girl's -- at the thought even of  touching those pimpled things men
hang down there.  But I found that  after a beautiful experience
sucking off her first young man, she as me had  grown curious and
then bold about the other kinds of pleasure other men might  find in
my mouth.  It ended with a full bodied celebration of the  devotion
one woman can feel toward one special beloved penis, but also  a
paeon of praise and love for all kinds as they slide in and out of
all  of a woman's openings and especially of her mouth.  My
openings.   My mouth.  In my mind I had became a devout lover, a
high priestess of  penises.  
 
When Darla finished reading it, she was deeply moved.  "Thank  you,
April, thank you, Nick."  She swallowed and then recovered herself.  
"That was just beautiful," she said to me. "I'm overwhelmed!" 
 
She waited, and gathered her thoughts, then spoke.  "It's  so
tender, yet so passionate.  When the boy treated her with  such
contempt after she'd done so much for him, swallowed him and  deep
throated him over and over, and yet he broke her heart, I felt  so
sorry and angry.  And then when she got her revenge, when she  was
engaged to the wealthiest man in town and her first lover was
reduced  to begging her, pleading with her to let him suck her
fiance's cock, just so  he could keep his job, and she finally
allowed him to suck their dog's, I had  to exult!  I'm so moved that
you've given cocksucking so much thought,  its politics as well as
its pleasures.  I'm so very proud of you!   You've come such a long
way."  
 
And she kissed me on the cheek.  "It's so marvelous that she  never
gives head twice the same way to the same man.  That she loves  so
many penises yet settles at last for only one.  That's so much  like
life.  If only we could all of us find that one, true penis,  the
one fate created us for."
 
And she kissed me again, her tongue intruding into my mouth this
time.  Burying itself there.  I was blissful.  "I'm going out
tonight,  baby," she whispered.  "I'm not sure for how long.  A
previous  engagement.  Don't worry about me, I'll come back, and I
know now that  you'll be here.  Keep April company and enjoy
yourselves."  And she  herself began to caress my breast.  On its
nipple.  I was in  raptures, and nearly swooned before she ended it
with a quiet "Yes!" spoken  to herself.  
 
She did go out that evening for her engagement, or appointment, or
date,  I didn't know which and had no way to find out.  Dressed very
well  indeed, heels and a flirty skirt and hair up, as if she meant
to go  dancing.  I felt so confused.  I was delighted by her praise,
but I  was uneasy about where she'd gone, and not at all sure what
she meant by the  last thing she'd said about looking for the one
true penis intended for each  of us.  Did she mean mine?  Was she
still searching for hers?
 
Suddenly I felt so alone.  Deserted by my wife and by my own  former
self.  I began to weep.  April came to console me and I  clung to
her, wishing with all my heart that I could be as strong as  she
was, and as beautiful.  That I could be her.
 
"Don't worry, baby," I whispered to myself as she reached to pull
yet  again on my penis, Nick's penis, and in my overwrought
imagination began to  suck on it even as I reached to caress her
distended nipples and ascend to  paradise.  "It'll happen.  It's
happening now."  And it was  true!  I pulled off Nick's prick and
finished him off while fondling the  nipples on my own breasts. 
Then again, and then left him alone and fondled  myself.  My breasts
felt fabulous!  Bliss, bliss!
 
When Darla got home around midnight I was still awake and in the
living  room, my body exhausted from repeated orgasms, all the cum
I could catch or  scoop into my palms swallowed down, my blouse open
and my bra unfastened and  my fingers working my small nipples. 
Though she looked tired and slightly  flushed, even so, she looked
me up and down speculatively, clearly wondering  whether or not to
lean back in her easy chair and open her legs to my face  yet again. 
"No, I'll leave you with your own taste in your mouth this  time,"
she said aloud to me.  "I'll just shower."   
 
She did.  Then in the morning when I brought in her early  breakfast
she was surprised and grateful, and threw back the bedcovers  and
invited me to graze on her as she ate, to suck up her juices  and
swallow them down and mingle them with my own.  I did.  She  tasted
only of the soap from her shower the night before and of her  own
sweet self.  I loved it.  My dear, my own pussy.  
 

Fifth Week -- Monday:
 

As I dressed for work this last week before taking my  month-long
vacation, my long nails proved troublesome, and since it was  still
early I returned to Darla's room to ask for help fastening my  bra
and buttoning my shirt.  
 
"You intend to wear a bra full time this week?" she asked me. 
"Even to  the office?"
 
I'd realized only then that I'd gotten so accustomed to wearing
bras  that I wasn't aware I was dressing for the office with one. It
seemed so  natural. And felt so nice.   Women wear bras for their
boobs.   I have little ones.  Why not?  Anyhow, now that she'd seen
it I  couldn't back away.
 
"You're wonderful!" was all she said, and she hooked it for me  and
buttoned my shirt over it..
 
When I came down to gather my briefcase and leave, Darla stared at
my  chest.  A shadow of lace was visible where my breasts poked out
against  the shirt fabric.  I looked down and saw, and regretted  my
oversight.  The previous week and especially the last three  days
had made wearing it feel so normal, so comfortable, that I'd slid
it  over my arms and begun to hook it to my chest, then asked for
her help, all  without thinking.  Yet I recalled my last night's
sessions with  April.  As April.  Having breasts with nipples poking
out had just  felt so good!  I told Darla this.
 
She paused and smiled.  "You enjoy your breasts that much?  I'm  so
pleased for you, honey," she said.  "More and more, I find  I'm
living with my lovely girlfriend April, not poor sweet  ineffectual
Nick.  For now, you can button your jacket and no one will  know. 
In your own office unbutton everything if you wish.  I  know
Michelle won't be the least surprised to see how well you're  coming
along."
 
Then on impulse, as if on impulse, she said, "Since you enjoy  your
nipples so very much, let me help you!"  She dipped quickly into  a
top drawer of her bureau and came up with a pill bottle.   "Here,"
she said.  "Emma gave me these to give you in case you asked  for
something.  They'll do very well for now.  Take two now and  two
this evening, and we'll see what else Emma can recommend as  things
develop."
 
"They'll do?" I asked, staring suspiciously at them.  "Do what?  
And who's Emma?"
 
"Help your nipples poke out just a little bit more, and give you a
lot  more erogenous sensitivity.  Help them feel better,  more
delightful.  Emma's our HMO's resident endocrinologist.  When  I
told her how happy you are with your new little breasts, she
recommended  these to help you feel even happier."  
 
"I don't know," I said, turning the bottle over in my hand, as if
the  pills inside would look different from the other side.
 
"Just ask yourself, 'What would April do?'  You're April, what  do
you want?  She loves those breasts, and she's ecstatic about  the
way she feels when they're caressed.  Baby, you're about to  spend
a while month as April!  And you've already had your first  period,
for goodness sake, you've gone through the unpleasant part already.  
How can you deny yourself the good part?"
 
I guessed I couldn't.  Darla brought me a glass of water  and
watched closely as I swallowed the first two pills.   "Mmmmmmmmmmm,"
she said.  "Now say goodbye to Nick."
 
"What?" I said, a little startled.
 
"I said, 'Goodbye, Nick!'" she called back to me.  And she  was
gone, one hand high and waving to me by rotating it at the wrist,
out  the door toward her car.
 
It was time I went too.  She was right about my suit jacket  --
buttoned, the bra and my small breasts couldn't be seen.  I  found
an old pair of driving gloves I could wear to the office to hide  my
pretty red fingernails, and then went off to work myself.  
 
People noticed the gloves but I can't say anyone cared.  In fact  I
found during a negotiation that by thrusting my hands into my
jacket  pockets I could look twice as stubborn and get twice as
large a settlement  for my client (a large part of it for my firm,
and a large bonus for me),  though my pockets did sag afterward. 
Michelle made some cryptic comment  about people who hide their
talents under a bushel, but her smile was so  friendly that I
decided not to pursue what she meant.  Instead, as Darla  had
suggested, I asked her to call Lisa's Beauty Salon for me to make
an  appointment for late this afternoon "to do my nails," and
another for my  total makeover on Friday.  That quieted her down
some.
 
I then began the arduous task of clearing and transferring my work
load  for the "personal time" I'd decided to take -- a full month. 
Everyone was  cooperative -- I'd been putting in long hours under
stress for months, they  didn't know why I hadn't cracked sooner,
and they hoped I'd come back a new  man.  That seemed uncertain.  I
didn't know myself where this was  going.  "I'll come back
different, anyhow," was all I could promise.  That much was clear. 
I hoped that by then at least my marriage would be  revalidated.
 
I needed to talk with someone about this whole  spouse
consciousness-raising venture.  A lunch with Jason was overdue  --
he certainly wouldn't be surprised by my manicure.  So I called  him
again, and told him about my nails right off, how I couldn't show
them  to anyone because they were manicured, not today, anyhow.  
 
He wasn't impressed.  "Only your hands?" he asked, this time in  a
little girl's voice with a faint lisp.  "And only just this  past
weekend?  Oh, Nickie, some day you must tell me all about how  you
got away with it, you really must!  Becky's been so much  more
demanding.  Right now I'm on leave from the office, and I'm  not
sure where I am, your call was forwarded to my home and then to  me
here.  I live here now, and its very nice.  I have a playroom,  and
Becky visits me almost every day."
 
"You aren't working any more?"
 
"I'm on paid sick leave.  It's funny.  A week ago I went to  the
office to clear my desk, dressed just like this, the way Becky
wants  me to look, and my partners practically pushed me onto the
freight elevator  and out of the building.  Maybe it was the hair
ribbon that freaked  them.  But I don't care, I think it's pretty!" 
 

He said he thought we could meet for coffee tomorrow afternoon  "if
you promise not to laugh."  But an hour later someone who  called
herself Jason's nanny called Michelle to say that Jason wasn't  able
to leave the house or have visitors, and all her appointments  had
been canceled for the foreseeable.  A shame, but she was on  medical
leave after all.  No, she could not be reached.  
 
Except maybe through Becky, I muttered to myself as Michelle
relayed the  message.  Obviously Jason's only advice to me would
have been "go along  with it, ride it out, hope for the best," as he
was doing.  Go the  distance and see where you end up was my policy
now too.  There are  compensations, and if you don't like it you can
always back out and away and  then quit.  Maybe.  A shame if you
must, I thought, for the moment  aware of the lovely way my bra was
hugging me and meanwhile snuggling each of  my little breasts in a
separate embrace.  My hands -- still April's  under the gloves --
crept up to tease my erect nipples.  Were they a  little more
extended since I'd taken those pills this morning?  No, that  wasn't
possible.  But they did feel good!
 
On my way home that evening I stopped at Lisa's Salon to have  them
remove my long nails.  It was my first visit, and I felt  uneasy
walking into the place, all pink and mirrors with large  photo
murals on the walls of well-coiffed, confident women, and more  of
them on the pastel covers of magazines stacked here and there in
the  waiting room.  And of course all sorts of actual women lined up
there,  working and being worked over.  When I identified myself,
the  receptionist told me my wife had left detailed instructions. 
 
"You're to leave all of Friday afternoon free, April," she said to
me  without batting an eye.  "It'll take quite a few hours to do
everything  properly.  Your appointment's for one o'clock, and you
may not be  finished before six."  
 
Apparently Darla had referred to me by my girl name.  Here, I  was
April.  My face turned crimson, and it was still crimson  when
Bette, the manicurist, walked me through the roomful of women and
sat  me down at a table between two other women also being manicured
at their  tables.  
 
"Take off your jacket and those gloves, honey, and roll up  your
sleeves," Bette said cheerily.  Now there was nothing for it.   I
did.  I saw with the one glance I allowed myself that my bra  was
fully visible through the thin white shirt fabric.  The two  other
women glanced at it, then at my bright-red nails, then at me,  and
then averted their eyes, though high eyebrows and a slight  smile
persisted on one woman's face.  They tried politely not to  listen,
and failed.
 
"It's just as well you're losing these, honey,"  Bette said as  she
set my fingers soaking.  "Darla means well, but she's no expert.  
This Friday I'll give you a full set, inch-long and much stronger,
and  shaped properly.  Even I won't be able to get them off.   You'll
feel fabulous every time you look at them.  All my customers  love
them."
 
I tried to smile my agreement, but not much emerged.  I wished  I'd
come to this place completely done up to look like a woman,  hiding
myself in that disguise so I wouldn't so obviously look like  a
freak, like a strange male sissy.  Like what I was.  The two  women
alongside weren't missing a word.
 
Bette grinned slyly and kept going.  "What I give you'll be  much
more attractive than these, April.   Oooh, your wife has  such
wonderful plans for you  -- when we fix your lips to match, the  way
she wants them, every guy who sees you will cream in his jeans.  
'Gorgeous' won't begin to describe how you'll end up."
 
I turned an even brighter shade of red, and I barely heard her
saying  something about how lucky I was, because given the shape of
my face I have my  choice of a half-dozen hair styles, all easy care
and cute, really  attractive.  What was Darla telling people?  Did
she actually want  me to look attractive?  To men?  So I could
imagine myself that  kind of woman?  "I'd rather not attract men,"
I said in an almost  inaudible but acceptable feminine voice.
 
"Oh, don't be ashamed," Bette said reassuringly.  "Every  woman's
hairdresser is her confidante.  I have transsexual gay men  as
regular customers, or anyhow they used to be men, you could never
tell  now.  And some transsexual women.  The stories they tell  about
people hitting on them?  You'll soon be in on things even your  wife
doesn't know.  But you're my first full-time transvestite.   There!"
 
My hands were finally free of nail tips and lacquer and now looked
a  little bare.  It crossed my mind I should have jerked off one
more time  before beginning the week's enforced abstinence.  Too
late now.   Would Darla let me fondle my breasts, such as they were? 
Yes, my hands  weren't April's any more, but my breasts certainly
were, maybe more than  ever, and Nick loved to caress them.  And I
wanted him to.  
 
"Cheer up, honey," the woman to my left said.  "It takes a  while,
learning how to handle men.  But you've got the basics, good  bones,
good looks, and a good salon, and you'll find that in the end  it's
worth it!"
 
"Marcia!" the woman to my right replied to her. "Shame on you!  
Justifying your own immoral little adventures?  'In the end  it's
worth it'?"
 
"Well," Marcia replied, "The adventure is what makes it worth it. 
What  are you planning to tell Harry about where you and Brett are
going  tonight?"
 
When I got home Darla was in the living room going through a
hair-style  selection book.  "Darla," I said with no preliminaries,
"Everyone at  your salon seems to know about me."
 
She didn't seem to hear.
 
"Miss Darla, I mean."
 
She glanced up, then looked at me.  "Know what about you?"  
 
Her eyes were cool, steady.  
 
"About April, I mean," I was beginning to sound petulant, even  to
myself.  "About our sex life, I mean."
 
"There isn't anything to know, honey.  There isn't any sex  life."
 
"I mean about my...ahhh... about April... my hands were....  Do  you
think that's right?"
 
She seemed baffled.  "They're your hands, they needed  attention,
they do manicures, so there's nothing to be ashamed of.  I  also
told them what they'll need to know this Friday to make sure  you
finish as beautiful as I want you to be.  That's for our  mutual
benefit.  They're your salon now too, April.  Get used to  it."
 
Then she set her magazine down into her lap and turned to face  me
directly.
 
"Nick, I've been thinking today.  I want things to happen even  more
quickly.  I don't want to live with Nick's inadequacies any more.  
Beginning now and for the next month I want you to feel that you're
April  and nobody else, full time.  This week April is the only
person I want  to see when you're here in this house, except when
you're going out the door  to your office or returning from there. 
Not Nick.  Beginning now I  don't want to hear that condescending
growl of his ever again -- speak to me  in a higher voice, please,
a little less domineering, more plaintive and  ladylike, more
congenial.  More sweetly melodic.  I want to see and  hear only my
dear friend April."
 
I was a little troubled, though the prospect of becoming or
remaining  her 'dear friend' was attractive.  "You want me to be
like Jason?"   My voice was strained and high, and it came out
almost pleading.
 
Her eyes barely flickered.  "That's not bad," she said,  apparently
referring to my voice.  Then, "You've spoken to Jason?   No, I don't
think you'll need two months for your conversion, like Jason,  not
for what I want for you.  This one month should do it --  you're
mostly there now!  Becky thinks the operative procedures on  Jason's
weenie, as she calls it, needs two months because that's how  long
it'll take to heal.  He probably has no idea what she's planning.  
If they've begun I doubt he knows anything at all right now.   Last
year it took five months for Roger to get presentable enough to
come  work for us.  But he had much more extensive surgery than
Jason's.   You wouldn't know him now."
 
Time for things to heal?  On Jason?  What could that be  for?  Nose
jobs and breast enlargements I understood, transpeople do  those
things, but his weenie?  What were these women doing to him?  
 
"Jason doesn't know anything?  What do you mean?"
 
"He's pretty much out of it.  Hypno-therapy and drugs.  Becky  gave
up trying to make him act more girlish, he has no talent for it,
and  decided instead to take him all the way back to infancy so he
can begin again  as a girl, so he'll never know he wasn't.  There
are places that do  that."
 
I decided I didn't want to know any more about it.  Becky'd  always
had a peculiar streak, almost sadistic, though Jason had  somehow
never seemed to notice it.  He'd always seemed a bit odd  himself. 
Now he was certainly moreso.  And what about Roger?  Was  anything
left of that good old sonofabitch?  I didn't dare ask.   Plainly
though. it would not do to make Darla angry with me.
 
"Now, I'd appreciate it if you'd go into the kitchen and put
together  something for dinner.  You're in charge there from now on,
April, it's  your kitchen.  That's only appropriate.  I work.  Oh,
that's  after you change and make your face presentable as usual." 
She returned to  her magazine.  
 
I work too, this week, I thought but didn't dare say.  Darla was  in
charge.  I like cooking anyhow, so I had no problem fixing up  a
treat for both of us.  A glance at the fridge and pantry  revealed
plenty to work with, I'd shop in next week when there'd be  more
time.  When we went up to bed together I saw Darla to her door  as
always, and as she went in, I nodded and started to pass on.   She
suddenly turned and seized me around the neck, and pressed her  soft
lips against mine while her arms locked my face against hers.   I
could scarcely breathe.
 
"There!" she said, breaking off finally.  "I didn't want you to  go
to sleep with the wrong impression.  You're marvelous, a real  doll
for going along with me like this, Nick!  I love you for it,  though
that doesn't change anything.  Don't be so worried.  This  next
month will be the best vacation in the world for you!  You'll  have
nothing to do, and you'll let April attend to everything.   You'll
make yourself scarce, in fact invisible.  Just think April!
 
As I started down the hall toward my own room, she called after  me,
"Remember, April, your hands are not April's now -- they  aren't
manicured.  You do have breasts though, so if you're willing,  Nick
can explore them for your pleasure.  Not his.  April does not  have
a penis, and her hands can't be allowed to touch Nick's while  he's
not in residence.  So forget about letting Nick roam around  around
there.  April's other places are all allowed of course."  
 
This disembodiment was beginning to sound like something more for
a  philosopher than a lawyer.  But I got her point.  A woman is  a
woman.  I can't say I hadn't wanted to be one when I was in  the
Salon being something less than a man, or at least to hide  inside
one.  
 
"Oh yes," she called out to me.  "Remember to take your  breast
pills tonight and again when you wake up.  Tomorrow we'll start  you
on stronger ones Emma's providing.  She says they're fabulous,  that
in no time you'll grow udders that hang to the ground!   She's
joking, I think.  Nighty-night!
 
The rest of that week I unloaded my work at the office and did  the
cooking and serving at home, and I took Emma's new pills morning
and  evening, and I dressed and made up as a woman as soon as I got
home, no  problem, because I was already wearing my lingerie.  We
hadn't made love  now -- had sex, Darla would say -- for a month,
over a month.  But  otherwise life was pretty much the same.  Darla
chatted about procedural  problems at her office, and personnel
problems with her staff, and I advised  her about tactics and
restrictions and legalities, and the personnel problems  I left to
her -- where people were concerned she was way ahead of me.   But
all of my advice was offered much more tentatively, much  less
authoritatively than before.  A few times she had to ask me  to
remember to speak in a higher pitch, or to soften my voice, or to
ask  questions more and declare opinions less, as women tend to do. 
So I  did.  On Thursday she allowed me to lie in her bed and suck on
her pussy  and then her breasts, and she sucked on my breasts.  
 
"Fascinating, April!" she said.  "They're swelling up already."  
And her lips closed over a turgid nipple and I went  sweetly
ballistic.  "I know we're doing the right thing!"
 

Fifth Week -- Friday
 

Friday morning Darla reminded me to dress down casually in  sneakers
and jeans and a turtleneck.  "So you don't stand out," she  said. 
She meant at the salon, I think, not in my crotch, which was  partly
swollen again for lack of April's ministry or Darla's  sexual
favors.  She loaned me an oversized denim jeans jacket that  just
barely fit.  When I commented that it buttoned right over  left
instead of the other way, she told me she knew, and that she  wanted
anyone at my office who bothered to look to know too -- I  should
begin to get accustomed to appearing as April in public, and  this
was a teeny first step. "But no one ever notices," she said.
 
Almost no one.  No men, anyhow.  At lunch time I cleared away  some
last paperwork and said my farewells to the staff.  "I'll  miss
you," Michelle told me, giving me a hug and a light kiss on  the
cheek.  "But I'm sure we'll see each other.  I love your  jacket. 
Gloria Vanderbilt, isn't it?  Her gear is so distinctive, you  can
always tell." 
 
"I guess I can't," I replied, neither affirming nor denying it. 
Truth  is, I had no idea. 
 
"Any girl can," Michelle replied.  "Everyone here noticed.   You
will in time."
 
So Darla had exposed me to ... to what?  Not ridicule, that  hadn't
happened.  She'd wanted me to hint what was happening without  my
realizing it?  So I'd worn a woman's jeans jacket, and all  the
women in the office knew.  I then realized what I'd learned.   Some
admired it, and none cared.
 
Because it was a rare warm October day I decided to leave my car in
the  office's underground garage and walk the few blocks to Lisa's. 
The  receptionist recognized me at once. "Oh, yes, honey.  Here  you
are.  April, makeover, see wife's notations."  She took out  a
folder and called Bette over.  "You're first," she said.   "This
time the full treatment.  And Greta.  Then pass this folder  on to
Diana, then to Marcy, would you?  Room Six for the  whole
afternoon."  She looked over the pages of paper in my  folder,
Darla's instructions I assumed.  "She isn't kidding, is she?"  she
said.  I didn't know what she meant, but I nodded.  Darla  rarely
kidded. 
 
She looked back up at me.  "You know, with all the  decisions
already made, this will get pretty boring for you, honey.  And  you
won't be able to browse the magazines a lot of the time  because
there'll be pads on your eyes to protect them from the lasers,  and
again when we're fixing the pigmentation on your eyelids.  A lot  of
our women like to doze through procedures like these.  So if  you'd
rather, take this with a sip of water, and it'll all go  much
faster.  No problem, it's made from all-natural ingredients."  
 
She handed me a teeny white pill.  I took it and washed it  down
with water from the paper cup she also handed me.  Bette  then
claimed me.  "How can pills not be natural?" I asked as she led  me
to Room Six.  "Unless they're supernatural, made by witches."   That
seemed to me funny.  A number of the women we passed grinned at  us
as I went by.  "Do they think that's funny?" I asked Bette.  I  was
getting giddy.  That was quite a pill!
 
"They didn't hear you, April honey," Bette said equably.   "But
Lisa's talked with lots of us about what's about to happen to  you,
and some are glad for you, and some are amused.  The fact is, we  do
lots of men here.  Drag Queens mostly.  But now and then  husbands
with wives who have their reasons."  
 
She glanced at me, then continued.  "You see that woman over  there,
for instance?  We did them both before their divorce, full  day
makeovers.  Poor Marge.  She thought that if her husband  looked
more like her, they'd agree with each other more often, have  more
in common and less tendency to quarrel.  They were trying to  save
their marriage the way you're trying to save yours.  It  didn't
work.  He left her."
 
I looked where she indicated, and saw a woman in her thirties
getting  her hair set in what Bette told me was a retro-mod style. 
I thought the rest  of her a little extreme too -- too much make-up
and way too short a skirt,  and I said so.  "Marge seems to be
trying too hard," I said.  "Did  she always?  Could that be why her
husband left her?"
 
"That's not Marge," Bette said. "Marge is in the Bahamas with her
new  boyfriend.  That's Harvey, her ex, he's getting prettied for a
date with  his new boyfriend.  That's what they have in common these
days."  
 
I confess it, after that pill I was feeling no pain.  Natural?   I
sat down in a huge padded barber chair of some kind, and Bette
cranked  it back, and I'm ashamed to say it but I mellowed out and
then conked out. 
 
I woke up dreaming I was a Frankenstein monster strapped to a table
with  electrodes in my head.  It was no dream.  A plump woman with
a  pleasant face was leaning over me, a huge needle thing in her
hands, poking  ratatat at my face with it, though I couldn't really
feel the pricking.   Someone else was pulling on my hair.
 
"Back with us?" the plump woman said.  "I'm Greta.  Laser  zapping
made easy -- you can doze through the rest of it too if you wish.  
Diana's almost done with your hair, and then Marcy'll do your
make-up,  and then you can go.  Next week I'll see you again, and
then there'll be  no more shaving, ever.  A face like a baby's
behind. Your wife won't  know if you're her boyfriend or her
girlfriend when you nuzzle her ass, not  from the feel of your face. 
A behind like a baby's behind too, we also waxed  your body while
you were out."  She ratatated some more here and there  and then
stood back.  
 
"How long...?" I began to say.
 
"Forever!" Greta said.  "That beard is gone!  Oh, you mean how  long
have you been out?  Three or four hours maybe.  We're nearly  done. 
I've been here the whole time doing your beard and body hair  with
Alyssa and Rachel and Max, so now there's very little left.   The
other big job was lightening and streaking and perming, and that's
now  done too, it'll be lovely, you wait and see.  And your nails
are  perfect.  You've been peaceful enough.  Want me to release  your
hands?"
 
I was still groggy.  "Yes, please!" I managed to say.  She  did
something with my wrists.
 
"There," she said.  "All done for now.  You'll find  Marcy's
foundation cream more soothing on your face than any medication,  if
irritation should develop.  But none will the way I work.  See  you
next week, April!"
 
And as she rolled some huge machine away behind me, a new voice
broke in  behind me.  "Hi, dear, I'm Marcy, last but not least.  I'm
so glad  you're finally awake, because you will want to know what
I'm doing, at least  to watch me, so you can be just as gorgeous
tomorrow morning when you have to  fix your face on your own!"
 
"What?!" I said.  "Wait a minute.  What's been happening  here?"
 
I held up my hands in a kind of "Stop the world!" gesture, and  was
stopped almost at once!  My eyes fixed on them!  It was as if  the
fingernails Darla had given me last weekend had struck it rich.   At
the end of each of my fingers were deep crescent ovals, inches  long
they seemed, gleaming and opalescent, as hard as claws and maybe  as
thick!  .  
 
Marcy saw I was staring, amazed.
 
"Yes, they are a little long, I'm afraid.  More for a lady with  a
lady's maid than for a working girl.  But Darla wanted  them
unforgettable, and that they are now, aren't they?  But  don't
worry. Your new hairdo will fall into place on its own once  it's
brushed out, so you won't need to learn how to pick up bobby  pins
with them -- I'm not sure anyone can when they're that long.  
Handling a lipstick and eyebrow pencil won't be a problem, you just
hold  them the way you've always held them.  And you can always use
a small  sponge if the ball of your fingers won't quite reach to
blend your eye  shadow."
 
"What...!"  I was starting to shout!  "What have you....?!"
 
A neatly dressed, middle aged, no-nonsense woman suddenly appeared
in  front of me and stood there.  "Please," she said with  iron
authority.  "You'll disturb the other women here!  Darla told  me
you have a passable voice now, soft and wistful.  I'd like to  hear
it, right now!"  
 
She'd said "Please!" all right, but obviously only as a formality. 
Her  tone conveyed some terrible threat too fearful to name.
 
"I didn't want ...," I began.
 
"That's better!" she then added.  "Soft and wistful it is, I  can
see now why Darla speaks so highly of you.  What you wanted  doesn't
matter, dear.  Darla wanted, so that's what you've got."   Then,
"I'm Lisa, the owner of this shop.  Now, how may I help  you?"
 
"What have you been doing to me?" I managed to ask.  
 
Lisa picked up that folder and consulted it.  "Pretty  much
everything!  Just as your wife ordered it up.  And it won't  be
undone in any hurry, either!  She knows quality, and she wanted  the
best, and the best lasts!  The base eye-makeup and the  lip-tinting
are practically permanent, and the hair color too, of  course."
 
What she said next seemed scarcely believable.  I didn't follow  it
at first.  "The best costs, too.  Darla moved heaven and earth  to
get Dr. Barnard here to do you this afternoon -- she's always
booked  months ahead.  Yes, the Dr. Barnard.  I wanted to velcro
breasts  onto you as good enough, but Darla insisted on the real
thing, 'April loves  having her breasts fondled,' she said.  'So I
won't allow anyone to  deprive her by covering them up.'  The result
is, what you have is,  well, they're not exactly implants.  It's
that new procedure, your own  lipids from your waist injected back
into your own natural breast  tissue.  Not at all traumatic, and
only just enough to fill out your bra  cups with no room to spare. 
They heal almost at once, but do be sure to wear  your bra for a few
days.
 
"I'VE GOT BOOBS?  "
 
"I should say, honey," Lisa said, staring at my  chest.
"Unmistakably.  You came in wearing a D bra, so you're leaving  with
D boobs in it.  'Fill 'er up' were what Darla said."  
 
I looked down.  There they were, two massive mounds filling  my
field of vision.  I looked up, appalled.
 
"They do look large, don't they?  When she ordered them I asked  if
she was sure.  You know what she replied?  'Yes, I'm sure,'  she
said.  'I don't anyone to mistake him for a man, the way I  did
once.'"  
 
"SHE SAID...?  DARLA?"
 
"April, if you can't lower your voice I'll have to ask you to  get
dressed and leave right now, curlers and all, just as you are!   Or
call a policeman and require you to leave.  You're a lawyer,  I
understand.  So you know what that would mean!"
 
I lowered my voice to the high, plaintive tone Darla had schooled
me in  all week.  "I'll sue!" I said.  It sounded petulant.   "You
know what that would mean."
 
"Yes, I do." Lisa said.  "That's why I insisted on seeing  your
wife's Power of Attorney to sign the consent forms before  carrying
out these procedures."  She held up a xerox of that document,  and
then a rather long list with Darla's large, official signature at
the  bottom. "My dear, just let Marcy finish your face while Diana
combs out your  hairdo, and then you can go home and discuss these
things with Darla to your  heart's content.  You aren't the first
man we've refashioned here.   You're one of the more successful
ones, I must say, quite nice looking  already. Really pretty, in a
way.  She'll be pleased.  So will you  be, in time.  But for now,
don't try to be the noisiest man we've  refashioned.  I won't
tolerate it!"  Lisa looked hard at me, saw  I'd been subdued, and
disappeared.
 
Marcy reappeared with a rolling cart, and for the next half hour
she  instructed me in the occult arts of facial make-up. 
Apparently, with what  had been done to me, nothing more was
essential.  She kept saying, "Of  course with what's there now, you
won't necessarily need ..." or "but if you  really prefer it
darker..." or "will make a lovely change from your permanent  earth
tone..." and she kept finishing every remark with, "gilding  the
lily, but if you add it like this, you'll look especially lovely."  
When she was satisfied, she stepped back, then handed me a large
leather  case.  "Here, these are all the cosmetics I've been using,
with a little  booklet to remind you what I've done.  Use them
well!"  
 
Then to my astonishment, she leaned forward and kissed me on  the
lips.  "You look soooooo kissable now, April!  And none of it  comes
off!  I'm sorry, sweetie, but right now you do remind me of  my
little sister.  The same dazed, pleased look!  Bye now.   Darla's
already taken care of my tip, don't give it another thought."  
 
And she was gone.
 
All the while Diana was behind me, taking tight-wound rollers out
of my  hair and brushing it back, and sideways, and fluffing it up. 
"No problem  here now, darling," I heard a man's voice say into my
ear as Marcy  disappeared, in that peculiar lilt favored by some gay
men.  "Brush it  out any which way from now on, and it'll look quite
flattering!  But  brushed back is best, to offset the sweep from our
brow.  Now just look  at us!  Aren't we the belle of the ball?"
 
I worried that he might be the next one to kiss me, but instead, a
hand  came round with a mirror on a handle.  "Diana?" I  asked,
bewildered.  "Mr. Diana," he replied as I took the mirror  and
looked into it.  "Just ask for me when you next need it reshaped.  
Though that won't be for some time."
 
There in the mirror was a rather pretty woman's face, large  but
unquestionably feminine, with a colorful mouth and deep-shaded  eyes
under high, arched brows, a curled fringe of light blonde  hair
hugging her head like a framing halo, softening my features  and
making them look more fragile, more somehow ... wistful.  A  gold
stud glistened on each ear lobe.  I saw myself nowhere.  "My  God!"
I exclaimed.  "I'm a woman!"
 
"My dear, I should hope so!" Mr. Diana said.
 
What had Darla done to me?  My nails were now the least of it.  
There was no way I could walk around with my whole head thrust into
my  pockets.  And where could I hide my chest?  There was no way  now
for me to begin to pretend I was a man!
 
And that, of course, was what Darla intended.  Those vague  evasions
last weekend, occasionally even this week, whenever I commented  on
my appearance or asked why I needed eye shadow in the evening  when
mascara was quite adequate.  Her references to going "all  out"
during my month's leave.  Her little bribe, requiring that I  use
only April's hand for sexual relief, become April in order to  get
off.  As she'd said, we'd now gone into high gear.  I was no  longer
expected to imagine myself a woman in various situations and  then
write about them.  For the remainder of this "course" she  was
taking, I was expected to *be* a woman.  
 
Well, I hadn't given my informed consent, and I was not happy.   I
felt like a freak.  I swung out of the beautician's chair and  stood
up, and took a step for the first time in hours, and My God!  those
huge breasts projected way forward under my turtleneck pullover!  
They were as large as Darla's!  Larger, given the fact that my
torso  was larger than hers!  Heavy, I could feel my bra tugging at
my  shoulders.  I lifted them, one in each hand, they felt plump  and
yielding and warm, and they jiggled.  Another step and despite  the
bra's firm support they jounced!
 
My God! was all I could think.  What am I?
 
"Just gorgeous, honey!" Mr. Diana reached out to curve and fluff
the  hair over my right ear with his fingers.  "Stunning!  Do you
like  your hair?"
 
I turned to look at him.  A small man, scant fair-hair a  little
wild, several hoops in each ear, a purple satin blouse or  smock,
pale complexion, and a worried expression.  Obviously he'd  meant
well.  They all did.
 
"Yes," I said reflexively, not wanting to disappoint him.  "I do."  
And the fact is, I did, or would have if I were a woman.  Then  I
added, while vaguely fluffing the hair over my left ear with my
taloned  fingers, "It's lovely.  Thank you, you're an artist!"   Why
disappoint him?  He'd done well by me.  It was Nick who'd  failed
me, by not walking out on Darla weeks ago.  But he'd never  been
able to, and now he was nowhere visible.  April was who I  was.  I
didn't know what else to say.
 
Mr. Diana absorbed the compliment as if it were merely confirmation
of  what he already knew.  "I've been meaning to ask." he then said,
his  face animated by curiosity.  "Is all this for some artist's
ball, or for  a D/S slave competition?  Or is it the fulfillment of
your own lifelong  dream?"  
 
"None of those things," I replied, my animus that Darla had done
this  thing to me again rising.  I looked at him and considered
telling him  that it was to attract and entrap men he'd never ever
be able to attract  himself.  But that would be gratuitous cruelty. 
So I just said, "I'd  rather not say."
 
"I understand," he said meaningfully, looking earnestly into  my
eyes.  Even though I didn't myself understand -- was he on  to
something I wasn't?  "Whatever, enjoy yourself, dear!"  
 
As we spoke I started toward the front of the room, and came
suddenly  aware that I was now committed to pass through the salon
and onto the street  as a woman -- there was no pretending I was
anything else.  And to drive  home as a woman.  And to spend the
next month looking like a  woman.  Being one, that was what Darla
wanted.  How long?   Forever?  Unable ever again to fake being a
man?
 
An odd thought, it occurred to me.  Had I been faking it?
 
"Just a word of advice, though?" Mr. Diana added as he  accompanied
me.  "As you walk, take short steps, thighs close  together,
shoulders way back to show off those tits, and dangle your hands  at
your waist so everyone can see those scrumptious fingernails.   You
might want to hold your upper body perfectly still, don't roll it
like  a football player.  That's it!  Perfect.  Very lady-like."
 
"Thank you, Diana," I responded regally.  "I do appreciate all  your
help.  May I call you Diana, not Mr. Diana?"  I was feeling  vaguely
antagonistic toward his affectation even though he meant well,  and
I hoped he'd reject the familiarity. 
 
"Of course," he replied.  "That's my name.  Frank Diana."
 
My surreptitiously mocking gesture as one involuntary faggot to
another  faggot full-fledged and certified, disappeared into the
air.  Who was  trying to put him down for being a man with a woman's
name.  Another man  named April, that's who.  Who now had better
become the woman he seems  to be or else face incredible
humiliations.
 
I proceeded carefully through the crowded salon, glancing at women
in  all stages of processing.  Not one noticed me.  I realized now
why  Darla had me dress down in jeans and a high-neck sweater today
-- they were  unisex, male all day, now female, and anyone's doubts
about my gender would  be overwhelmed by my swollen, jouncing
breasts.  Whatever I thought I  had been, Darla was right.  I was no
longer a man.
 
"How do I get home?" I asked the receptionist in a small voice. 
"Did  Darla arrange anything to keep me off the streets?"
 
"Oh, hi, April!  My, don't you look lovely!  An angel!  No,  I
suppose Darla meant for you to get home the way you always do.   She
said nothing to me.  Do you have a car?"
 
I did, back in the garage in my law office building.  There  was
nothing for it, I felt like a freak, but I went out on the  sidewalk
and cautiously looked around.  I seemed to be invisible --  people
walked by me without a glance.  So I walked back to get my  car,
thighs together, hands at my waist, torso very still, careful not
to  jounce.  A couple of men glanced appreciatively at my chest in
passing,  but none at my face.  Thank God, I looked like a woman to
them!  I  took refuge in that.  And it felt strange, but the April
in me had to  restrain myself from sauntering into the building
feeling pleased with  herself because she'd accomplished something,
though I didn't quite know  what.
 
Then I got into my car and drove it back up to street level.   At
the exit booth, the kid who usually waves me through held up  his
hand.
 
"That's $5.00, lady!"
 
I decided not to try to fish for the money in the wallet in  my
jeans.  I do need a purse! I thought.  It seemed an odd thought.  
"Ahhh, this is Nick's car, young man," I said in as mellifluous a
voice  as I could.  "I'm sure you recognize it!  He told me to drive
it  home for him.  He told me 'Just say 'Hi' to Les when you see
him.'   Are you Les?" 
 
"That's right, ma'am.  You're his sister?  You two do look a  lot
alike.  Of course you're a lot prettier!"  He was staring  straight
at my tits.  Then he leaned back with a cock-of-the-walk  grin,
waiting for a reply.  He was actually spinning me a line!  
 
"Don't tell him you think so," I said.  "He's been waiting  weeks
for you to call!"  
 
As Les's grin faded, I gunned the engine and left him standing
there  without waiting for his permission to leave.  I had serious
things to  say to Darla. 
 
And as I pulled into the driveway, there she was coming out the
door,  leaving for her weekly training session.  All the way back
I'd rehearsed  various outraged comments.  That it was
insupportable, this affront to  my manhood, to my dignity, what
she'd told them to do to me!  That it  wasn't part of our agreement! 
And so forth.  
 
But Darla cut them all off unspoken.  She threw me a radiant smile.  
"Oh, April!  Oh, darling!  You are so gorgeous, honey, better  than
I'd ever dared hope!  I love it!  I really do!  I envy  you, you
must be feeling glorious!  Gotta run now!  We'll talk  later! 
Dinner's in the oven!  Bye!"  
 
And she got into her own car.
 
I had to stop her.  "Darla, this is serious!" I said.
 
She leaned out of her window, looking at me.  "Oh, one more  word,
sweetheart?  A girl with your figure really ought to wear  only
oversized sweaters.  Otherwise you'll attract all kinds  of
attention you may not welcome.  You probably have already!"   She
flashed me a sly grin.  "But don't change anything yet, please?  
Not a thing, especially not your face or hair -- I want to see all
of you  up close just as you are!  Oh, this is such fun!  I have  a
marvelous new girlfriend!"
 
"Darla!" I said again.  Never mind that 'Miss Darla'  servitude
she'd insisted on.  That was when I still hoped to recover my  role
as man of the house.  Now, what was left, to be the other woman  of
the house?  She'd said it herself.  I was her girlfriend.   "Darla,
we need to talk!"
 
"That's exactly right!"  Her voice was crisp, and she was  looking
straight at me, and I knew she'd noticed how I'd named her.  
"Honey, really, I don't have time right now.  But while I'm gone,
I  want you to go straight into the house and sit down in front of
a mirror and  keep asking yourself one question, 'Who am I?' 
Darla's husband?  No  way.  Darla's former husband?  Yes, but who
are you now?   That's what matters."
 
I said nothing.
 
Her eyes didn't waver.  "I'll tell you who you are at this moment.  
You've got some choices.  You can be Nick, once a patronizing  man
who repressed his insecurities with hollow bravado, but a sweet
man,  now a resentful male who looks like a woman and owes me a
month of trying to  act like one, now mourning a lost manhood he
hopes some day to recover.   He could.  Nothing much is irreversible
yet, except a beard you never  intended to grow and what those pills
have done to the size of your nipples,  their greater erotic
sensitivity.  And your breasts.  But I don't  think April would want
Nick to reverse those, would she, and April's who you  are also,
aren't you?  So that Nick will hang on for now and hope for  the
best, and make up his mind later, just as that Nick always does."
 
I waited for her to continue.  That was me.  She wasn't  wrong.
 
"Or you could be Nick the defiant male who feels outraged that I've
done  everything I told him I intended to do, because he hadn't
quite visualized it  despite his recently developed imagination.  He
discovered only a short  while ago that it's one thing to imagine
you're a woman and another to look  in the mirror and see her.  That
Nick won't be here when I get  back.  He'll end our relationship
right now and move to a one bedroom  apartment across town and then
try to backtrack, spend a month or two looking  like a sexually
confused man with tits and permed hair and permanent  make-up.  Then
try to make a life for himself again.  With tits --  if he loses
them, he loses the pleasure his nipples provide.  So he'll  try to
keep them so he can cop a feel now and then, that'll be the  only
sex life he can get.  That means, he lives as a bachelor or if  he
really lucks out, as a dyke."
 
She stared inexpressively at me, and turned off the engine and
stared at  me some more.  She had more to say.  Finally, "No, I
don't think  that's you.  That's not the man I loved and there's no
sign in that man  of the woman I still love."
 
I didn't grasp that, not at first.  'The woman I still  love?'

Her expression softened, but she continued.  "Third choice.   Be
April.  Be adventurous.  Live on the wild side for a month  of
wonderful exploring of what it can really mean to be a woman.   Just
a month.  And then, when it's a real choice, when the month's  up,
you can make up your own mind how you want to live the rest of  your
life, with me or without me, as a woman or as a man.  If it's as  a
man, it's without me.  Because the man you were was  quite
unacceptable.  Why?  The second Nick is a stubborn bastard  unfit to
live with anyone.  And the first Nick, the sweet,  soft,
well-meaning and compliant Nick is an impossible wimp, the man  who
let me do this to him.  Yes you've been just that, love.  Any  man
who wants to keep my respect has to be more of a man than that. 
And  now you aren't even that!  I don't see any man in you at all!"
 
I didn't want to hear it.  But that didn't stop her.
 
"But if you choose what you're so well fitted for, honey?  To be  a
woman?  My companion, my friend, my dearest love?  You've come  a
long way already, April honey.  You already have a  woman's
exterior, and a pretty one at that.  And you've been  exploring
women's interior lives for the past month, and your ability to  live
such a life, and your essays prove you can.  And you know it!  
Well, live the life you've been imagining!  I know that the woman
I  want to live with for the rest of my life is in you.  I know
she's  there.  Please give her a chance?  I'll be back in a  few
hours.  Promise me you'll be here.  Please?"
 
This was not the Darla I'd been subject to during the past month. 
That  one didn't ask for promises, she gave instructions.  That one
never said  'Please."  This Darla is genuinely afraid I'll leave
her.  Finally,  I have a chance to get even!  I should hurt her by
just going!
 
Well, I didn't.  I waited.
 
Darla arrived home later than usual.  I was still waiting up,  my
hair still salon perfect and my permanent makeup still intact, as
she'd  asked. No way it couldn't be.  I'd experimented and found
that under the  colors Marcy had painted on those other colors
wouldn't rub off.   Moreover, my face was as smooth as any woman's,
under a translucent layer of  foundation that masked a few minor
blemishes.  My eyes were huge,  shadowed and darkened, and my lips
the color of my nails.  I couldn't  tell that I wasn't a woman.  I
tried looking severe, manly, but all the  mirror reflected back was
a woman with protruding breasts making solemn  faces.  
 
I'd decided that if the man was a wimp she couldn't respect, the
woman  in me could confront her as her equal.  She told me not to
change a  thing?  Well, I'd change whatever I wanted!  I felt
defiant.   Experimentally I replaced some of the make-up I'd rubbed
off, and I saw what  Marcy meant -- my permanent face had femininity
and charm, but with the  little extras it became downright
seductive.  I felt some of the power a  beautiful woman feels,
looking at herself and knowing she's desireable.   And decided that
since I had the upper hand over Darla now, I'd go all  out.  Use
that power.  I took off my jeans and my Gloria Vanderbilt  jacket
and that bulging turtleneck shirt and slipped into Darla's  best
fitted dress, a Donna Karan cool blue shantung, with  thigh-hi
stockings and flats -- I wished I already had heels, so I  could
really knock her out with my look.  A heavy gold necklace to  match
my new ear studs, and I was ready for her!  I felt but  suppressed
a subversive hope that Darla would find this new me  especially
attractive.
 
When she arrived home I was sitting in her easy chair waiting, the
one  she'd reserved to sit in with me at her feet.  The head of  the
household's.  She came over to me wordlessly, stood over me,  and
inspected me closely for some time.  "Yes," she said finally.  
Then, "You're here.  I'm glad."
 
"Yes," I replied.  I was less annoyed with her than I'd expected.  
She was so beautiful!
 
"It's been a long journey, darling, but now we've both come home.  
Please come to bed."
 
"I'm not that easy," I said, still a shade resentful.  But much  of
what she'd said when she left made sense.  I'd been thinking  about
it.  And I couldn't ignore what she'd just said, 'we've both  come
home.'
 
"Our bed?" she added.
 
That did it.  I broke.  I stood and accompanied her to her  bedroom,
and walked in as if it were mine too.  As it had been,  once.  And
now again?  She was already stripping off her  clothes.  "Take those
things off," she hissed at me.  I did, almost  at once.
 
We met kneeling naked in the middle of the bed, our arms wrapped
around  each other, our breasts squeezed together, my cock rampant. 
"Push it in,  push it into me!" she said.  "Oh, God, never mind
licking anything, push  it in, I've been wet ever since I drove away
and left you standing there  looking so gorgeous!  I've been
desperate you might not be here when I  came back."  
 
I pushed it into her.  For the first time in many weeks, how  many
weeks, my cock was enclosed snug inside her warm, wet body.   Her
hands played over my nipples and my whole torso turned  ecstatic,
rapturous, and then her warm, wet mouth enclosed one of  my
projecting teats and began to suck on it, and it was as if she  were
sucking on my cock from deep inside me, pulling it into my groin. 
I  began to move on her body, my hips writhing so my penis could
slide in and  out of her.  She began to move too, faster, and soon
she was as frenzied  as in the old days, twisting and clutching at
me, her throat making guttural  noises as I bucked and bounced on
her.  But this time her mouth was  filled with me and her cries were
muffled by my breast flesh and I shrieked  my joy as intense delight
radiated out from my breasts and my groin and  consumed me, as she
went rigid and I pumped my cum deep into her  snatch.  All of it. 
All of me.
 
As soon as I stopped spasming and with a deep sigh her tense  body
relaxed, she took both of my breasts in both her hands and began  to
mold them, to squeeze them gently.  "Was that good?" she asked.
 
"Heavenly!" I gasped as her thumbs grazed my erect nipples.  
 
"Oh, April," she said.  "I've waited so long for you!"
 
"I'm here," I replied.  Of course.  My breasts were  April's.  And
my cock was Darla's, still deep inside her and somehow  still hard,
stiffening further in fact.  None of me was Nick.  It  had been so
very long!
 
"Take my ass," she said suddenly.
 
"What?" I asked.
 
"Put that thing into my ass, lay claim to it, drive that stake into
it  and claim it, whatever else my ass is all yours now and any
other time you  want it and whenever you want it no one else's."
 
She threw her legs over my shoulders and after a moment to adjust
my  position I thrust my fully resurrected prick into her puckered
rear.  To  my surprise it slid in easily, as if the entryway were
already lubricated,  and I began to piston in and out effortlessly. 
Again she began to wriggle,  then spasm, clutching at my shoulders,
my hips, pulling apart the cheeks of  my ass, burying her mouth in
my breasts while that magical yearning rose up  again to sweeten my
groin.
 
"Yes!" she shouted.  "And your ass is mine!"
 
"Yes!
 
"Now mine!  To do whatever I wish!"
 
"Yes!"  I cried.  "Yes, yours, Darla!  Yours!  All of  it!  To do
whatever!"  At that moment my whole body was hers.  
 
She was bent double.  Her knees were tight against her  shoulders
and her legs high up and I lay on the backs of her thighs,  pumping
and plunging in and out of her rear end, my sweet delight  while
skidding and sliding rising in me more slowly now, but rising.   Her
calves draped themselves casually on both sides of my neck and  her
ankles crossed between my shoulder blades.  Then her legs  stiffened
and I was locked between them, my head held rigid between  her
knees, her face just below mine, her eyes squeezed tight shut and
her  mouth in a passionate grimace.  As I kept cramming in and out
of her  ass, she too was reaching for paradise. 
 
"Pump, sweet April!  Don't stop, April!" she shouted.   Then
inexplicably, "Now, Ashley, now!  Her ass is mine, and now  it's
yours!"
 
I thought I hadn't quite heard her, but it didn't matter, I was
again in  the throes, rising toward yet another climax, my whole
body reciprocating  into Darla's.  I felt a pressure on my back and
Darla pulled my ass  cheeks wide apart, far apart, as if to expose
my anus to the air, and then I  felt more soft pressure settle onto
those spread cheeks to hold them there  while a ... a something else
soft poked at my anus, and then as I pulled back  to lunge again at
Darla, that something soft pressed into it, entered  it!  Something
warm and rigid then pushed forward and buried itself in  my ass. 
Not a tampon, thicker than the thickest super size.  
 
Darla was twisting, nudging, ramming her bottom at me and shouting,
"Oh,  yes, pump, you sweet man, pump, sweet April, fuck me, fuck
her, fuck  him!  Fuck!  Fuck!  Fuck!"  With each cry she thrust  her
hips and ass higher up at me and I pushed back as much as  possible
into her and as I pulled back out again I realized there was  A
HEAVY TUBE I was myself forcing ALL THE WAY into my ass and then
out and  then THEN BACK IN AGAIN!
 
What was it?  A cock?  It was a cock!  I was being  fucked!  I was
locked in Darla's arms and legs, held there helpless and  getting
fucked in the ass!  As my own cock fucked Darla's ass mine got  as
good as I gave.  I was locked in tight between Darla and a  heavy
body on my back, the one that went with the cock, and his arms  came
down around both of us to brace on the bed as more of his weight
came  down onto my back and he humped my ass as I humped Darla's and
like one beast  with three backs we swayed up and down and into each
other and out.  I  was trapped between them, Darla's legs held me
firm and his weight pressed me  against her, and there was nothing
I could do but rock back and forth and  feel the strange sensation
spreading from my rear to join the sensations  rising from my cock. 
 
I was being fucked by a man and it felt wonderful!  It  felt
wonderful!  I twisted my rear back against his cock to drive  it
deeper into me, then again, and at that moment, I realized, I
wasn't  fucking Darla as much as that cock, I was trying to clamp it
deeper into me  instead of pushing my own cock deeper into Darla. 
I wriggled my buttocks  against that broad, heavy belly lying
heavily across me, and my ass felt ...  wonderful.  Then again and
again, scarcely aware that Darla had begun  groaning under me as
those very wriggles, my own cock deep in her own ass,  transported
her into another world.  She was now avaricious, as always  when she
went off the deep end, but I didn't care, that cock inside me  was
now the pole of my existence.  Hands -- his hands -- were  grasping
at both my teats, kneading them, touching my swollen,  unendurably
delicious nipples, and without my quite realizing it my  sensations
overflowed as we all three went tense at once and I felt my  sperm
course into Darla as enormous pressure pushed down on my  buttocks
and that thing inside me swelled up huge and its warmth pulsed  into
me.  And then begin to leak back out.  Fuck or be  fucked.  I'd been
fucked.  All the way.  Good and  fucked.  
 
There was a momentary silence as I recovered my breath, aware of
heavy  breathing in my ear.  Darla recovered hers first.
 
"Now you're not a girl any more, you're a woman, sweetheart!"  she
breathed at me. Her face, not a foot below mine, framed by her
knees  as I pressed my shoulders against the backs of them, was
glowing.  "Now  and forever after, whatever else you may think you
are, you're a woman.   You're tits and ass and heart and soul and
cunt and all a woman and all  mine!  Mine!"
 
"Who is ...?"  I still felt marvelous down below, as if the  man's
cum were a balm, a nectar spreading through me.  His cock  still
filled my ass.  I tried to feel angry, betrayed, but instead I  felt
... languishing.  Could there be more of this?   Somehow,
perversely, I felt loved!
 
His body moved, and the marvelous feeling slipped out of my ass. 
My ass  muscles closed tight as if to keep safely inside me the
fluids he'd left  there.  The bed creaked, and the weight vanished
that had been pressing  me into Darla.  Darla kept her knees locked
tight around my head, my  head still her rigid prisoner, I couldn't
move it.  I could see only her  face staring into mine, studying my
expression, a scarcely repressed smile  turning up the corners of
her mouth.  She just lay there under me, her  legs gripping me
tight, looking into my face.  I heard our bedroom door  open and
close.  He was gone.  My lover.  That marvelous  cock!
 
"You liked that, April?" she murmured.  "Why ask?  You loved it!  
I saw!  I knew you would."
 
"Who?  I ...."
 
"Does it matter who, honey?  A man, a very accommodating man.   Well
hung, too, you certainly know that!  Maybe you'll meet him again  --
if you insist I can always ask him to let you thank him personally
with  your own mouth.  I know you know how to do us both proud. 
That's right,  welcome to reality, honey.  No more imagining.  No
more virginal  dreaming about sex, not for me, not for you.  We're
the same.   We're two women who have just been loaded with creamy
sperm, and the same  pleasure put it there.  We're each other. 
We've been fucked together as  if one woman, one flesh.  We're
married again."
 
And she released her knees and legs and swung her thighs outward,
then  lowered them to the bed.  My head came free, and I
straightened up and  leaned back, then forward again, this time
lying flat against her body, snug  between her legs and pressed
against her breast to breast, all four breasts  squashed together,
pillowy soft, warm.  We were one flesh, we really  were -- I
couldn't tell where one of us ended and the other began.  As  I
adjusted my weight to ease it off her and to one side, I realized
that  my ass hurt.  I'd lost my virginity there and it hurt.
 
She knew.  She rustled something out of her bedside table.   "Here,
sweetheart," she said.  "A soothing suppository.  I remember  how my
cunt felt, my first time.  Let me slip this inside you to numb  the
ache.  By morning it'll feel fine, I promise you.  And just  think,
from now on it'll be easier to take a man into it, any man of  any
size, the same as when you were a girl and learned to insert
tampons  until your body could swallow them up without you even
noticing.  That's  how we women get in all our openings after a
while."  
 
"Your hole doesn't hurt?"
 
She smiled and said gently, "I've been a woman back there a lot
longer  than you have.  And a lot more often.  Ashley's been a good
friend,  and others.  Now he's our good friend.  That opening's
dedicated to  you, but others prepared it to receive you, and others
will keep it ready for  whenever you want it."
 
"You never told me."  A tinge of resentment was seeping back  into
me, even though my body was still bathing in the afterglow.
 
"Honey, when you still believed you were a man, you'd have  been
devastated by anything I could have told you about me before or
after  we were married.  I loved you, but you had little enough
self-esteem,  and it was propped up by your illusions.  You might
have guessed how I  really am from the way I get when I lose
control.  Once my orgasms get  under way I want more.  I crave more. 
Always more.  I must have  more.  You know that, you've seen it and
heard it!  And ignored it,  wished it away.  Well, I couldn't wish
it away.  I've supplemented  you with others, alone and together. 
There's nothing I haven't done with  others and done often.  I love
those others."
 
"Darla!"
 
"But I've always loved you most of all.  By far.  For  your
sweetness, your desire to please me, your helplessness.  So  I
couldn't ever let you feel threatened by my ... abundant appetites. 
I  always had to be an itsy teeny weeny baby with you, because my
real womanhood  would have blown you away, sent you whimpering into
a corner, far too  frightened by your own felt inadequacies.  You
couldn't have handled it.  You'd have disappeared, like Nick.  I had
to make provision, find  somewhere you could go instead, where you
wouldn't feel threatened by my  desires.  Where you might even share
them."
 
I was still pressed against Darla breast to breast and cock  to
pussy.  And my cock was beginning to grow yet again despite myself.  
She was confessing herself practically a whore and yet my
traitorous cock  was turned on by it!
 
"For six years I'd fuck other men and then come home and cook  you
delicious dinners to make up for it, and you'd appreciate them,  and
I'd wait for you to realize that as a man you were simply
inadequate,  unfit, so maybe I could lead you to an alternative.  To
someone like  April.  But you were always so pompous, so sure of
yourself.  So  self-deceived.  So weak -- look how quickly you
yielded yourself to  April as she grew inside you."  
 
The finger that had pushed the suppository into me still idly
traced the  sore rim of my rear as if it were spreading emollients
and salves on the  irritated membranes.  Then it explored the
opening.  
 
"You love being April."
 
Its tip went further into me, then the rest.  I was impaled by  her
finger.
 
"Yes." I did!
 
"That's why I led you here, to this bed, this way.  So you  could
feel the ultimate of what I feel, what it's like to be a woman  with
a man, and get comfortable with it, be glad of it.  That's  why
little by little I led you to imagine and anticipate what it's  all
about, being a woman with a man, what I was with you, what April
was  with all those cocks you sucked on when you were a girl.  And
as April  anticipate the cocks you'll suck in the future.  As April
feel them  sliding inside your pussy, maybe even despite yourself. 
Even now."
 
That finger was now moving in and out of that very pussy.   My
asshole.  Lubricated by that anesthetic suppository and by  that
man's cum.  Ashley's cum, pumped deep into my guts and now  leaking
back out.  My sphincter clamped onto Darla's finger.  She  felt it
and shut her eyes and smiled.
 
"Feels good, doesn't it."
 
Reluctantly, I nodded.  She didn't see -- her eyes were shut.   But
she knew.
 
"This last act of commitment to a woman's world, penetrative sex
with a  man, prick to cunt.  I didn't want you to experience it
first in your  imagination.  The feelings are unimaginable, you know
that now.   And I didn't want you to anticipate it either, to give
that inadequate man in  you time to grow fearful and tangle up his
thoughts with worry whether he  wants it, or if he did, whether that
would mean he's gay, then worrying  whether he shouldn't have
enjoyed it as much as he did.  Should I have  asked you to write an
essay about taking a man into your asshole, your pussy,  and
bringing him to climax, pleasuring the man and yourself too?   
About desiring the unthinkable?  Asked you to take a dildo  into
yourself, a pretend cock, and pretend it's a man?  No.  No  way.  I
couldn't do that to you.  But now you know how it feels,  what it
means, why we women love getting fucked gloriously, directly, by  a
man who's fit for it.  A real man.  We both know.  Don't  we?"
 
Her delicate finger moved in and out of me like a miniature ghost
of  that big live cock sliding in and out of my asshole, stretching
it,  satisfying my whole lower body ... so fully.  As if it were a
vagina and  he'd impaled me and squirted sperm into me.  He had done
just  that!  How good it had felt, especially knowing that Darla was
feeling  in her cunt exactly what I was feeling in mine, at exactly
the same moment I  was feeling it.  This was not imagined, it was
real!  She was right  too that we'd had a perfect meeting of minds. 
And of bodies.  We'd both  been fucked in the ass and we'd both
loved it.  We were practically ...  sisters.
 
"Yes, sweetheart," I replied.  "I know.  It feels good."
 
And we both fell asleep, wrapped in each other.  This had been  the
longest single day of my life.  But on this day I was reborn.
 

Fifth Week -- Saturday
 

The next morning I woke first and untangled myself from her,  and
slipped into the bathroom.  There for the first time in  full
daylight I saw who I was.  A well-fucked woman rising from her  bed
the morning after.  A woman with wide, mysteriously shadowed  eyes
and high thin brows who stared boldly back as I looked over her
deep  pink lips and her creamy smooth face, and the curves of her
large breasts  with their enlarged erect nipples.  I pushed my hair
up and back with  both hands and then let go, and it all fell into
place all around my head and  then held, or very nearly, just as
Diana had said it would.  I was a  beautiful woman.  Nick would have
felt privileged to wake up every  morning in the same bed as this
woman.  I would actually do just that  from now on, morning after
morning.  Because she was me!  My prick  began to stiffen in salute
to her.
 
Darla had left a flowered nylon wrapper hanging on the back of  the
bathroom door.  I took it and went down to prepare breakfast  for
the two of us.  Then brought it to her.  She'd heard the  noises
below, and I found her awake, sitting up, waiting for me.
 
"Thank you, April," she said.  "You look quite lovely  this
morning."
 
"Thank you, Miss Darla," I said.  "I feel lovely."  And  to
emphasize our shared joke, my implied resumption of an unnecessary
and  unwanted  mistress-maid relationship, I actually curtseyed.  
 
She smiled graciously, and I suddenly wasn't altogether sure she
didn't  expect me to maintain the pretense that I actually was her
maid.  Well,  if she did now and then, it would be fun!  I handed
her a cup of coffee  prepared as I knew she liked it, and she took
it from me and sighed,  contented.
 
"This is how we'll have breakfast every morning from now on, in  bed
together, for the rest of our lives," she said.  "No matter  what
either of us has been doing or where we've been doing it the  night
before." 
 
"Yes," I said.  I felt such a warm feeling for her, in my belly,  in
my heart!  More than love, it was devotion.  She'd known all  along
what was best for us.
 
"We'll begin slowly with you, honey.  I know it still feels  funny,
the idea that you can feel affection for a man and let it lead  to
intimacy.  Though now that you know what it's like, you'll  come
around, I'm pretty sure.  You already miss it, don't you, just  a
little?  You feel an emptiness in your bottom, don't you?  It  would
be soothing to feel that empty place filled, wouldn't it?"
 
"Maybe," I said.  What I knew of the actual man who'd fucked me  was
only the weight of his body on my back and the feel of his  cock
sliding in and out of my rear cunt.  That wasn't much maleness  to
cope with.  Though the memory that came to mind was  acceptable
enough.  Darla was right.  My ass could more than accept  a man.  It
could crave one in good time.  "Yes," I corrected  myself.  "It
would."
 
"I'll give Karen a call.  I think now it's time you and Roger met.  
I think you could become good friends."
 
"We were once," I reminded her.
 
"As guys," she said.  "But girls are different.  Roger will  help
with your transition.  He's been a woman for ever so long now,  and
you have so much to learn, and I know I won't have time to  teach
you."  
 
She turned to speak to me directly.  "I haven't told you  yet,
because until now I didn't know if it mattered, whether we had  a
future together.  But my plan worked, we do!  I've been  appointed
CEO of my HMO's claims division, a huge job, it needs a  complete
reorganization.  Starting Monday.  And that's preliminary  to a
major buyout of another HMO, and I've been asked to head the  entire
organization if all goes well.  They made the offer two months  ago,
and I accepted it.  That's how I knew we couldn't continue as  we
were any longer -- I had to choose between a major career move  or
continue to play house with you, and I couldn't even discuss it
with  you -- you were utterly clueless.  If I'd left you, you'd have
fallen  apart utterly.  But just in time Karen told me about this
"Empathy"  course and I saw how to use it to resolve my problem. 
You had to agree and  cooperate and gradually reshape yourself.  And
you darling, you  did!"
 
Incredible news -- head of an expanded HMO?  I was so impressed  I
scarcely heard the rest of what she'd said!  I was awed!  My  Darla
-- she was mine again -- in a take-charge position, head of a  huge
corporation?  Well, I knew how effectively she could change  things
when she chose to.  I looked furtively at her lying there.   This
was the woman who had planned my journey.  Our journey together.  
And I felt good, warm, knowing she was at the helm.
 
"Honey, that's wonderful!  Congratulations!  What was the rest  of
it again?  I got so excited I stopped listening."
 
"Thank you, dear.  It comes to this.  I'll be terribly  busy.  I
need you to take care of yourself and our home, to keep  yourself
beautiful for me and to be waiting for me when I come  home
exhausted.  We'll use this month to get you used to things.   Then
next month when you go back to work, you'll have figured it all  out
and be able to handle both jobs."
 
My first reaction was excitement, gratitude.  Our home!   Ours!  But
then disappointment that Darla wouldn't be with me every  moment all
month.  Of course not.  That would have been too much to  expect. 
She loves me, but she has her own career to care for too.
 
"You will do that, won't you, honey?  My sweet April?  Make a  home
for both of us?" she asked in a small, worried voice.  I turned  my
head again and saw she was studying me anxiously.  I held her  eyes
with mine for a moment.  It sounded wonderful.  I  smiled.  She
smiled back, her face aglow, and threw both her arms around  me.
 
We hugged.  I trusted her.  She's made such marvelous provision  for
me so far.  For both of us.  "Oh, sweetheart, "I said to her.  
"Don't worry about it for a moment!"  I kissed her to reassure her.  
No concern that my lip color would come off on her.
 
"Now you're all April," she said contentedly.  "It'll soon  seem
natural enough.  Of course it'll take more time for Nick to  shrink
down and disappear altogether into your crotch, and live there  for
the rest of his life out of sight and mind, except maybe when  he's
wanted for fucking or for household repairs or something."  
 
Darla'd obviously thought of everything.  I felt so lucky!   "You're
so very sweet," I said without thinking.  "I never knew any of  this
was what you really wanted.  Or that I wanted it too."
 
"There's more," she said, setting her coffee cup on her night table
and  stretching herself even more luxuriously.  "We'll keep finding
new  things to want.  April honey, why don't you just snuggle down
under  these covers with me right now?"
 
"All right," I said quickly, and got back into bed.
 
"No, I mean further down."  She fingered one of my curls,  looking
at me lovingly but also suggestively.  "Much further."
 
"Yes," I said, and did that.  My face quickly found its  niche,
snuggled into her crotch.  This I knew would become in the  months
ahead its favorite dwelling place, its proper place in the  world,
day or night.  I gave her clit a tentative lick.  Then  another. 
Then lifted my head to share a discovery.
 
"Honey, you taste different when I've been in you all night."
 
Her hands pushed my head back down into her bushy, musky vagina,
its  home sweet home.  "Mmmmm," she said.  "Not only then.  Not  only
you.  But you'll be my beloved morning after pill.  We have  our
whole lives for you to get used them all."
 
I licked vigorously, by now delicately, expertly, and when she
came, her  whole body writhed in its usual orgiastic frenzy, and
everything inside her  gushed out.  It coated her crotch, her
buttocks, the bed sheets, and my  face.  She was slippery slithery
soaked.  I slid up to kiss her,  and she kissed my dripping face
back just as passionately.  Then as we  lay side by side, my cock
stiff, it simply slipped into her.  So I began  to move.
 
"Honey," she whispered.  "The big dildo in my bedside table.  
Please.  In my rear while you're in my pussy.  Fuck me from  both
sides.  Please!"
 
No KY needed, my cum was still lubricating her there too.   I
reached for that thing in the drawer, my former rival, and held it
for  the first time since she'd required that I lick it clean as an
act of  contrition.  Huge, heavy,  Then turned the purple head
toward her  anus, and slid it between her cheeks, and pushed.  Hard. 
The fat thing  wouldn't move until I found the exact spot with my
finger.  Then with  difficulty I pushed it in, and she pushed
herself back onto it, then forward.  burying my own prick deep
inside her.  When I pulled it part way out she  seemed to hook her
cunt back sinuously, sliding it back against the bottom of  my own
projecting cock and also onto the dildo.  "Ohhh!" I cried,  I
couldn't help it -- and I was pleased to hear that it came out as
a  maidenly squeal. Soon we developed a rhythm, and she humped me
while I humped  her in both holes, two way.  She went tense as she
always did, and  orgasmed.  
 
But instead of going frantic for more as always before, she plunged
a  finger into me, then withdrew it.  "The other cock," she  muttered
between clenched teeth.
 
I reached toward her open drawer and handed her the remaining
smaller  dildo, and she sank it into me.  Where my tampons had been,
where that  man's prick had been, where her finger had just been,
there was now a smooth,  fat rubber penis obtruding, intruding, and
... vibrating!  It felt ...  wonderful!  No strain, just ... comfy! 
Radiating good feeling!  I  clamped my ass onto it as Darla moved it
in and out of me, but it was too  slippery to be slowed.  
 
So, locked together, neither of us able to move at all without
moving  into or out of any of our four openings or all four at once,
we fucked in  perfect tandem.  It seemed for hours.  We became one
body, one  mind, one desire.  Darla's orgasms rose and fell to rise
yet higher, and  I marveled at how my groin, my asshole and my cock,
impaled and impaling,  became one shimmering pool of pure pleasure,
in and out and of a piece with  hers.  Until slowly, sweetly, I too
rose to an unbelievable height and  crossed the crest, and flew,
soared, then landed on my darling Darla and  pumped and pumped and
pumped myself into her. 
 
We had nothing to say when we were both finished.  There  was
nothing to say.  We lay there, pressed together side by  side,
breathing heavily.  Then normally.  Then at last we removed  our
everlastingly erect dildoes from each other's assholes, and lay
there  some more.
 
"These don't quit," she said.  "That's good to remember if you  want
to keep taking pills to grow your nipples and breasts even  bigger,
and your cock gradually loses its hunger for me.  That's up  to
you."
 
"My breasts are everything any woman could desire right now, or  any
man," I said.  "My figure's quite satisfactory.  Well, maybe  my
nipples could do with a little more tweaking.  A teeny bit  bigger
and -- well, you know how a woman's whole body gets when  someone's
sucking on them -- a teeny bit more responsive.  Another week  of
those pills and then I'll stop.  But when the time comes, I do  want
to take whatever Emma can give me so both of us can nurse  our
baby."
 
"Oh honey," she said.  And she threw her arms around me  and
showered kisses on my face.  As she subsided, she said in a  small
squeal very much like the old Darla's, "That is the sweetest  thing
any woman will ever hear any man ever say to her!"  Then looking  at
me happily, "Or any woman say to her!  That is so beautiful!"   She
kissed me some more, and I kissed her back, then began nuzzling  her
neck, and finally I settled onto her nipples.  They seemed to  leap
into my mouth.  "Ahh," she said contentedly, "I thought you'd  never
get around to that.  Afterward, I'll do you."
 
"Yes," I said.  And at the thought my own nipples and my  much-used
penis each stiffened, ever so little but ever so much.
 
"We can have quadruplets and nurse them all together at once,"
Darla  said contemplatively.
 
"Triplets.  One of your boobs is for me," I said.
 
"Yes, my dearest, yes!  Twins then, and we'll all four of us  nurse
together." 
 
"Yes," I said, thinking, what a lovely idea!  As if we  weren't
jesting with each other.  Were we?
 
Eventually we pulled ourselves apart and showered, and  dressed
ourselves.  I looked at my face and decided not to add any  makeup
at all.  My complexion was clear, and the pale eyeliner and  eyelid
shadowing, and my lips, were just a few shades darker than  their
natural color -- all just right for daytime.  And as Diana  had
assured me, my hair did fall into place with a few strokes of  a
brush.
 
"A one-piece shift would be the right thing today, April -- you'll
be  slipping your dress on and off a dozen times for different
fittings.  We  need to go shopping.  Now.  You need everything, and
you'll need to  try on everything three times over before you find
the right  everything."  
 
She handed me one of her shifts, a pale yellow sleeveless and
beltless  dress that matched my hair, simple, perfectly
straightforward, hinting at my  breasts and hips and figure,
concealing yet suggestive. 
 
"I love it!" I said spontaneously.
 
"It's yours then, honey.  Wear it with this necklace and  whatever
bangle you like from over there in my jewelry drawer.  Whenever  you
want it.  But the same will have to apply to any of your things  I
may like."
 
"Deal," I said. 
 
"Today first off we're buying you some cocktail and short  evening
dresses, and then some fuck-me pumps to go with them.  With  heels
like towers.  Then I'll feel we can relax and look around  for
everything else."
 
"Why those things first?" I asked.
 
"You don't own any fun clothes at all.  Earlier this week I set  up
some tentative dates for us.  For tonight."  Darla was now  watching
me closely in the mirror as she applied her own make-up.  "In  case
things worked out with us as I'd hoped.  As they have, much  better
than I'd hoped."
 
"Dates?" I asked.  "With men?"  A certain anxiety entered the  pit
of my stomach.  But, I marveled to notice, also a  certain
anticipation.  And no trace at all of revulsion.  My ass  muscle
spasmed slightly, eagerly.  Had one fuck made me a convert?
 
She turned and looked directly at me.  "I should hope so.  Two  of
them.  Strike while the iron is hot.  And don't tell me you're  not
hot, girl, I can see that with my own eyes!"
 
She needed to be told how I felt.  "All right," I said.  "I'm  glad.
Very.  Mind you, I don't date strange men, and I never accept  blind
dates, so consider this is a very big favor to you.  I get  first
pick.  I want the taller one.  I hear that taller is longer,  and
longer is better. And better we know is slower.  Taller takes  its
time.  If they're short, all they ever have time for is to eat  and
run."
 
Darla grinned and cocked her head to one side as if examining me
afresh,  loving what she saw.  "I do love you," she said.  "I know
I was  right to do this."  
 
Hearing her, I felt warm all over, and my face flushed  with
pleasure.  Maybe I should have used a cover foundation after all?  
I kissed her with my eyes.
 
"Right now you need a special kind of man, April, because you're  a
special kind of woman.  So you don't get to choose.  Your date  is
special.  His name is Ryan, incidentally."
 
"All right," I said.  I felt relieved.  I hadn't known how to  deal
with that part of it.  Men can get angry when they find their  woman
isn't appropriately equipped.
 
"But Ryan, it happens, is very tall, and very long."
 
"You're an angel!" was all I could say.  Now a  delicious
apprehension filled me.  Here it was.  My very first  man.  After
Ashley, I mean.  That part I felt sure of now, the sex  part, thanks
to Darla's sandbagging and sandwiching me.  But the earlier  part,
the romantic dinner part, and small talk, the ... snuggling, and  so
on?  The being a proper yet enticing lady-on-a-date part?   That
made me uneasy.  I'd never been that, not ever dreamed of  being
that.
 
But I knew I did want to look simply smashing for him --   Ryan
would be my first date ever really and actually, not just in  my
teenage imagination written out for Darla's approval.  I wanted  him
off balance from the beginning, so I could control events and  do
things with him in my own good time.  Overwhelm him with  my
feminine appeal!  "Are we ready to go?  I have things to  buy.  Do
I have a purse?"
 
"You will.  Here, use this for now.  I'll drive until you can  get
a new license with a new picture ID.  You do know how to file  the
court papers for a change of name and sex for yourself, I suppose."
 
"Oh yes," I said casually.  And only afterward did I realize  she'd
been watching closely to see if I would balk at that idea too.  
Changing my legal identity to a woman's was serious.  Sort  of
permanent.  But curiously, it hadn't occurred to me that  it
shouldn't be permanent.
 
This was my first outing in a dress, and Darla had to show me how
to sit  down on the car seat and then swing my legs in together,
ladylike, not climb  in like a man.  "Roger will show you lots of
little tricks girls need to  know," she said.  "I won't have time." 
It was true.  While I  was being a lady of leisure for a month, I
realized, she'd be hard at  work.  With her promotion and the
takeover, impossibly busy.
 
I commented on the fact. 
 
She swung into heavy traffic at the end of our street, and headed
now  for the massive shopping mall just south of town. "You're
right, I'll be  terribly busy.  But things are arranged.  While
you're using your  accrued leave from your former job, you'll take
care of our house for both of  us.  Everything I used to do while
holding down my own job you'll do as  your full time job for the
whole month.  Cook, clean, shop,  everything!"  She grinned.  "And
greet me each evening with a kiss  and a lovely dinner, the way I
did you for so very long.  I'm so looking  forward to that.  Maybe
wearing sexy lingerie?  Will you do that  for me?"
 
"Love to!" I said, and I meant it passionately.  The warm  feeling
in my belly grew warmer.  Then I realized that she'd said  something
odd.  "My former job?" I asked.
 
"When the month's up, I want you to work for me at the HMO.  As  my
legal secretary.  There are all sorts of rules and issues  and
adjudications I can't be bothered with, and I'll want you to attend
to  them so I can concentrate on larger matters.  The hours will be
flexible  -- you can do a lot of it from home when you have a roast
in the oven or  something."  She glanced over at me, then returned
her eyes to the  road.  "Then again, keeping yourself pretty for me
all the time is also  a full time job.  You'll be my trophy wife,
after all." 
 
This was news.  Come work for Darla?  Frankly, I felt relieved.  
This avoided altogether the awkward moment I'd already foreseen in
the  salon, when I would have to swish into my office in heels and
a dress to face  Michelle's knowing grin and everyone else's
astonishment.  How to  explain such a change to my clients so they'd
respect me?  Males, every  male knows, have an obligation to guard,
support, and care for their women  and children at any cost. 
Females are the protected class, not the  protectors.  Men think
that men who become women are traitors to their  manly
responsibilities, copouts who deserve no respect or mercy.   'My
wife prefers me this way, and now I do too'? is no excuse.  
 
But this way I'd begin work as a woman in a new place, with  no
accumulated male past.  The other women there would accept me  as
one of their own.  It actually sounded exciting.  And I loved  the
idea of working under Darla.  I wondered if that was how Roger  felt
when he reconciled himself to his life and began working for Karen.  
Cared for.  I nodded my assent.  "Good," I added.  "I accept  all
three jobs, legal assistant, homemaker, and trophy."
 
"Lovely.  Now here's more news.  You'll work directly  under
Michelle and report to her.  She's agreed to be my  executive
assistant, my shadow, and she'll be with me whenever issues of  any
sort arise.  So she'll know what needs to be investigated,  what
legal advice we'll need, and she'll brief you.  You'll be fine  as
long as you do whatever she asks."  
 
"Oh?"  I was beginning to feel overwhelmed.  "Michelle will be  my
boss now?"
 
She glanced at me again, this time with a wry grin.  "What  goes
around comes around, doesn't it?  We've discussed this  new
arrangement for weeks, Michelle and I.  She knows everything  about
you, honey.  All of it, intimately.  When I didn't know how  to deal
with you, how to end your overbearing patronizing of sweet  little
brainless me, it was Michelle who pointed out that you were  quite
insecure underneath, that your own self-assurance was hollow, and
it  would be cruel to demolish it without giving you something
better.  She  could always sense something submissive in you,
something compliant,  something eager for approval.  She isn't at
all surprised that you've  been persuaded so easily to abandon your
manhood and take up our ways.   But she does admire and respect you
for it.  And she's always liked  you.  You were always a good boss,
even if a little  underassertive.  She never took advantage of it,
and she won't now as  your boss."  
 
Her voice lowered confidentially.  "Honey, you'll love this  new
arrangement, you know you will.  Two capable, loving women  telling
you what to do while you bend to perform their least bidding,  proud
when they ask your advice and prouder still when they take  it,
always concerned to please them, fully rewarded whenever they smile
at  you?  Looking forward to their smiles?  What better work could
a  girl like you ever hope for?"
 
I felt much moved by the prospect of work like that.  Each  day
adrift in a sweet haze of anticipated approval.  She was  right.  I
did love it.
 
"Now, you've asked about Roger.  He's been transitioning for  nearly
a year now, and he's been a complete woman for over half that time.  
Roger'll teach you practical day-to-day things.  How to turn down
or  accept offers from men graciously, the best ways to mix and
match outfits,  when which stores schedule their best seasonal
sales.  How to douche  before a date so you're pristine, so you can
abandon yourself to whatever  loving you have in mind without
worrying about accidents.  You  know.  I think you'll love getting
to know him again."
 
"'Him'?" I asked.  "Even though he's 'a complete woman'?"
 
"Yes, he's a 'him,' Karen wants him always to be reminded of his
humble  beginnings, that he was once a man.  So he'll always live
feeling a  twinge of humiliation that now he's so unmanly.  That's
the price he's  paying for his former arrogance."
 
That was Karen.  Worse than Becky.  I was glad now I'd never  been
arrogant with Darla.  Officious yes, but never stubborn  or
demanding.
 
"You'll be together a lot, and not just socially either.   I'm
appointing him your private secretary and paralegal and general  all
around everything you need.  It's a big promotion for him, and  he's
already terribly grateful.  He says he'll do anything you want  him
to do.  Anything at all."  
 
"Oh?"
 
"Let me explain.  Karen went through this course last year,  you
remember, but Roger wasn't at all as cooperative as you were.   She
tells me he was a lot more aggressive, really quite authoritarian
and  dogmatic whenever she asked for even the smallest concession. 
He cooperated  minimally, did his essays perfunctorily and hated all
of it, it all seemed  pointless, and he called Karen a twit for
imposing it on him.  So she  got quite angry.  He brought it on
himself, but ... well, one day she  put him in heavy makeup and a
big-haired wig and a short skirt, supposedly so  he could walk a few
blocks attracting wolf calls, so he could see for himself  why women
resent rude male behavior.  You'd never need a lesson like  that,
sweetheart, but he did.  He thought it was a lark and went  along
with her, but when they got to that part of town, he refused to  get
out of the car and onto the sidewalk.  Just refused!"
 
I tried to imagine myself resisting and resenting the things I'd
been  asked to do.  I could never have done it.  It wouldn't  have
occurred to me to try.  I loved Darla.  I always wanted  her
happiness.  I wanted her to feel pleased with me.
 
"So she faked a flat tire in front of an all night bar, and when he
got  out to see what was wrong she pointed to the bar and told him
to earn his  taxi fare back home there and drove off.  He did get
back by  daybreak.  It took two $10 blow jobs it turned out, that's
the price in  that neighborhood, and something else he had to do
with the taxi driver he  still won't discuss with anyone."
 
I was silent.  I could feel sorry for Roger, a little.
 
"But it taught him nothing.  The next weeks of the course,  getting
his help was like pulling teeth.  He refused the  blow-job
assignment flat, so Karen decided to make him a blow  job
specialist.  Took him to an out of town clinic for a checkup  and
had them remove all his teeth, then give him a removable set.   She
had his jaw made smaller at the same time, and he had other  facial
surgery, so he looks kind of cute now.  Then when he was healed  she
put him back out on the street.  Told him he wouldn't get his  teeth
back or be allowed to return home until he'd lived solely on  cum,
nothing else, for a week.  So he did."
 
"That's cruel!"
 
"Yes, that's Karen.  But he's quite a doll now, you'll see.   Then
there was yet another problem.  Unlike you, he had no imagination.  
No empathy.  No ability to move toward an awareness of  Karen's
feelings as a woman and eventually his own.  Karen decided  finally
that the only way he was ever really going to understand how  women
feel about anything was all at once.  Total immersion.   She
arranged for them to live together as two women, like us, but  he
wouldn't take it seriously -- he kept wanting to put his penis into
her  whether she wanted it or not, and he refused his share of  the
housework.  That was his "male prerogative" he'd say.  She  got
tired of his obstructionism.  So one morning he woke up in  a
hospital with breasts and a vagina and no male prerogative at all."
 
Darla looked over at me affectionately and saw my expression.   "Oh,
no fear, honey," she said.  "I love yours, I'll never ever want  to
part with it.  That's how I'm being cruel.  Because I know that  as
you get to know men better you'll wish you had a pussy of your very
own  to welcome them with.  Every woman does.  But I won't let you. 
You  can't have both mine and your own.  Your consolation is that
you'll  always have mine.  We'll share it."  
 
I felt relieved.  A little.
 
"Anyhow, she sent him away for further training and now Roger is
exactly  the way Karen wants him, gelded and queer, these days much
more interested in  what men can do for him than anything Karen can
do.  He took it hard at  first when he woke up with no cock and no
balls and his vagina packed with  gauze and brand new breasts
hanging from his chest.  Very hard.   But after some months he
decided to be thankful he was still alive, given how  Karen felt. 
So he's been very dutiful and helpful to her ever since.   He agrees
with her about everything.  Really, Roger becoming a woman was  what
saved their marriage.  And he really, really wants to work for you.  
To make you happy too as only a woman can."  
 
She paused, then went on.  "Karen and I do hope you two girls  will
become close friends.  So every Monday morning you'll  enjoy
chattering with each other about your weekends, who you dated,
where  you went, what the guys were like, and so on, and gossip
about everyone  else's weekends too.  Just as you and I will
whenever we're together at  home.  So you won't be tempted to
remember the past overmuch, or inquire  too closely into more
important matters at work that don't concern you.   We don't either
of us want your pretty little heads troubled by serious  matters."
 
She smiled at me. I wasn't sure whether I liked being treated like
a  bimbo, but I was glad not to have to worry about it.
 
"More still. Roger will want to tell you this himself in his own
way,  but he's looking forward to sucking your cock every morning
first thing when  you come in to the office, while you're reading
your mail.  Every  morning.  That's if I ever leave anything in you
for him to suck  out.  He's seen your essays and he's impressed, but
he's sure he can  teach you a few things about hand jobs and blow
jobs you don't know.  I  don't doubt some will be things you can
pass on to me to improve our sex life  together and mine
separately."
 
She looked at me.  I didn't flinch.  How could I?  
 
And then she turned into the mall.  A huge line of colorful  stores
loomed in front of us, most of them designed to appeal to  and
satisfy women.  "First we need to take care of tonight.   That's
dinner and dancing, then a nightcap.  Two different  outfits.  Then
we can fill in with some of the other things you'll need  -- though
you'll have a whole month to outfit yourself for life the  way
you'll now want to live it, lots of time to enjoy the pleasures  of
making yourself attractive.  For tonight, a very smart dress  I
think, revealing but chic, well-designed, something that tells Ryan
you  value yourself, you are class goods and will give nothing away
free, so he'll  be as eager to please you as you are to please me. 
His reward will be seeing  you in another outfit, a nightgown and
peignoir, when you get him  home."
 
"That's how it works?"  I could feel the answer in myself.   The
pleasures of feeling accepted, of submitting to the desires of  a
beloved woman, yet also the pleasures of being in charge and
graciously  appreciating a man's servitude.  I'd be having it both
ways from now  on.  Life was good.
 

Epilogue
 

I came away that day with a stunning beaded cocktail dress molded
to  my figure along with a matching purse and shoes and all the
accessories, and  also for any unforeseen emergencies a demure
Little Black Dress I loved at  first sight.  Plus two pairs of heels
a whore might blush to wear -- I  tottered home in one pair, I was
so eager to see how my legs looked with the  severe concave arches
they imposed on my instep.  And a gorgeous tulle  and lace nightgown
for when I took Ryan home and wanted to change into  something more
comfortable.  Darla agreed she'd steer her own date  elsewhere, to
his place or else a motel, so I could be affectionate with Ryan  the
first time on my own, without the embarrassment of my wife  looking
on.  
 
As it turned out, Darla and her man left together even before Ryan
and I  had finished our third dance, and when Ryan left our house at
dawn the next  day there was no doubt I was a woman.  Darla came
home to sleep an hour  or so later, and we both tumbled into bed and
into each others' arms  exhausted.  And slept ten hours, then talked
and giggled and laughed  together about the two guys for hours and
hours more.  And made love,  not just had sex.  Then slept again.
 
That same shopping trip we bought many other things I've worn
since,  with many more yet to be acquired.  My current steady
admirer is an  extremely rich man whose own wife doesn't know he's
gay, who keeps trying to  buy me whatever I may happen to glance at
in passing.  I allow him to do  so now and then, it's good to
encourage generosity in other people -- I'm  that way, I can't help
it.  I was finally fully outfitted by the time we  went on an early
winter holiday, and several men I met on shipboard -- we  cruised
the Bahamas -- were the beneficiaries.  Darla and I giggled  for
weeks after our return about how persistent some men can be -- it
was  as if they'd been denied access to a cunt or an ass for months
and couldn't  believe we came equipped with both and at their
service.  Both of  Darla's got well-used, and mine moreso because it
had to do the work of both  of hers.
 
Work turned out to be much easier than my law practice at my old
office  -- very few complicated cases, mostly it's a matter of
making sure the  organization performs by the book and of
negotiating our way out of trouble  when it doesn't.  Roger turned
out to be a love, a very pretty little  thing, all gauze and perfume
and feminine flutters, and a delightfully naive  bimbo expression
they gave him during his facial surgery.  He's loyal  and devoted to
our work and to my cock too, though maybe a little too  insistent
each morning on proving it.  His smooth gums sliding up and  down my
tube -- really still Nick's tube, but that's all that's left of  him
-- yield sensations so unique for both of us that he gives me  no
trouble at all for the rest of the day, even when the glorious sex
I've  had the night before with Darla or some man has left me
nothing to reward him  with. 
 
I always manage to leave the office early, to shop in for things we
need  at home or to attend my cooking class, where I learn new ways
to have  something delicious yet slimming, smelling wonderful, ready
to serve my  darling Darla whenever she finally arrives home from a
difficult day at her  office.  That's my special pleasure -- we've
both slimmed down and are  quite shapely, and want to stay that way
so when we go out we can have our  pick of whatever's available.  I
make myself beautiful and then wait for  her in our living room in
one of my prettier dresses, or my tightest  jeans.  If I'm feeling
naughty and we both have early dinner dates with  very little time
to change, I'll shower and perfume and put on some of the  fabulous
lingerie we both share that makes me feel so... so very sexy,  and
then one drop of fragrance, and nothing else.  I'll curl up  with
one of her old romance novels and just wait for her.  
 
When she gets home I'll put up my face to be kissed, but usually
I'll be  so eager to see her that I won't be able to help myself,
I'll throw myself  into her arms and hug her close, and in that
little nursery school voice she  loves to hear I'll tell her how
grateful I am that she's the woman of the  house and takes such good
care of me, how much I love her.  She needs  the encouragement. 
She's often tired from carrying heavy burdens at the  office, but my
love and my devotion and my cooking never fail to relax her  and
cheer her up.  Sometimes she tells me never mind dinner, turn  down
the burners on the stove, dinner can wait.  And then she leads  me
up into our bedroom.  
 
I never know what will happen next.  Sometimes we make  love,
sometimes tenderly, sometimes ferociously.  Sometimes she  only
wants to feel her pussy expertly licked, and once when she came
home  tired and mussed she wanted it sucked out.  It was terribly
sloppy and  tasted odd, as happens now and then, but we have a
'don't ask, don't tell'  policy designed to keep her business
affairs confidential, so I never asked  her why or even told her
about it.  Sometimes she'll ask me to help her  dress in a tight,
slinky gown for an important business meeting with a head  of a
hospital or pharmaceutical company at some hotel, or some  equipment
supplier will want to wine and dine her.  Sometimes she asks  me to
accompany her as if I were her assistant -- my job then is to  chat
with their wives or to distract their associates while the two  of
them settle their affairs together elsewhere in private.  
 
Now and then she'll invite an out-of-towner home for dinner,
telling him  about the marvelous dishes I cook up, and she'll give
me notice enough to buy  the necessaries and prepare them before
they arrive.  Then she'll come  home and change to a stunning
hostess gown, while I change to a simple maid's  dress -- long
skirt, apron, white collar, rather dumpy, my hair covered by  a
frilly cap -- because Darla doesn't want another lovely  woman
distracting her guest.  It's more gracious, entertaining  one-on-one
with a servant attending to both of us, she says.  After  I've
served 'Miss Darla' and her guest their after-dinner cordials  and
cognacs she'll praise and then dismiss me, and I'll retire to  "my"
room, the "maid's room" as we call the guest room for her  guest's
benefit, so as not to inhibit whatever may follow.  I sleep  there
those nights instead of in the bedroom we otherwise share.
 
Most evenings, though, we dine together on the gourmet delicacies
I've  prepared, just the two of us, and she'll praise them
extravagantly and I'll  glow with pride.  She doesn't at all mind
when the table is decorated  with a bouquet of flowers or a plant
sent me by one or another affectionate  admirer.
 
We may be the happiest couple I know.
 
There's a new "Assertion and Empathy Training" course scheduled to
begin  at the Women's Center next week, and Darla's asked me if this
time I might  want to try it.  But what for?  She already
understands me and my  desires, and by now I understand hers well
enough.  And by following her  example I have no problem getting men
to understand mine, so I'm content to  leave well enough alone.  
 
And that's my whole story, and this is my last formal essay for  the
"Assertion and Empathy" course we both started a few months ago --
has  it been only a few months?  The assignment this time was to
'review  everything that happened since the course began, any major
changes in your  life, how they came about, how you felt about them,
how you feel about them  now, and as far as you can tell, how your
wife feels about them.'  This  provides Darla with written evidence
that I now know pretty much everything I  need to know about what
she wants and needs and how she feels, and also how I  feel about
being a woman.  It should do.  It's taken endless time  to write
this, but I'm fairly sure that when Darla gets home from the  office
tonight and has a chance to look it over, she'll be pleased.   I
really do hope so.
 
End
 
(c) 2005 by Vickie Tern
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