Date: Fri, 24 Oct 2008 08:40:27 -0700 (PDT)
From: Fred Gingerman <gingerfred2005@yahoo.com>
Subject: Girl Nights -- transgender

Girl Nights
by Gingerfred Man


   Chapter One -- Marriage

   If you're married, or ever have been married, what I'm about to tell you
should be absolutely no surprise.

   Women are difficult people to be married to. I mean us guys leave our
underwear on the floor and all that, but you know where you stand with a
guy. Am I right? With a woman, you're never sure whether she's going to be
Saint Theresa or Godzilla.

   Our forefathers allegedly kept women "in their place." Women stayed
home, took care of the kids, and cooked their husbands huge, delicious
meals. Then, after an 18-hour day, the wife got naked and on her back so
her husband could satisfy all his disgusting needs before he rolled over
and snored at several decibels all night long.

   Sounds like heaven, eh, guys? Being the lord and master. Having a
live-in servant who "does it" with you whenever you want.

   Somehow, I don't think any of that was ever really true. Women are too
smart and too strong to let themselves be enslaved by their husbands, and
they probably always have been.

   Today, though, I think most guys will agree that women have gained a
certain measure of control that they never had. The balance has shifted
more in women's favor than ever.

   That's not fair, but what can we do, eh, guys?

   Now, take my wife. Please. [Henny Youngman lives!!!] Sheila, who just
turned 32, and I have been married nine years. My name is Craig and I'm
34. We have a five-year-old son named Jimmy. A good boy and the love of our
lives.

   But there hadn't been a lot of other love in our lives. A lot of that, I
think was just normal, married stuff. But I thought most of it stemmed from
the fact that Sheila wanted to boss me, and I refused to be bossed.

   We always did a lot of family stuff together -- trips to the park, ice
cream walks, pony rides, zoos -- and I'll admit readily that Sheila has
always been a good mother. When she's around. I think the fact that she's
the breadwinner and I'm the stay-at-home parent made her a little too big
for her britches.

   For example, , I calculated that Sheila and I once had sex as many times
a DAY as we had, when this story started, in a month. I told her that it
was unacceptable, but she would say, "I'm tired." Or "I don't feel like
it."

   Who cared if she felt like it? I needed it. Men need to empty their bags
on a regular basis. Plus there's that whole Lord and Master thing, right?

   Was it any wonder that faced with the situation I just described, I
decided to compensate.



   Chapter Two -- Best Friends

   Six months before this story started, we got a new neighbor. Mike was
recently divorced after an eight-year marriage with two kids. At 33, a year
younger than I, Mike worked out of his home and saw his kids every other
weekend.

   Mike's a real guy, who enjoys the same sports that I do, likes a brewski
now and then, and appreciates what fills a skirt. We became friends very
quickly.

   Sheila seemed happy that I spent a lot of my free time with Mike. I
figured it gave her more time to ignore me, more time with her girlfriends
and less time with me begging for sex.

   Guys almost never actually share any feelings with other guys unless a)
the other guy is a total stranger whom they'll never see again or b) the
other guy is as close to a blood brother as possible in modern,
non-native-American society.

   Amazingly, Mike and I reached that second level.

   And the consequences were enormous.

   One night around nine p.m., Sheila was out of town on a business trip
and Jimmy was sound asleep. Mike and I were watching a small screen filled
with color pictures of large guys running after some ball or other. Why
women don't understand the fascination men have for that is beyond me.

   We had had several beers, when Mike asked me a really personal
question. "How are things with you and Sheila, Craig?"

   If he had been other than my absolute best friend, my answer would have
been, "Fine. You want another beer?"

   But I ventured the truth. I told him everything -- even the stuff about
sex being rare and not so good.

   He was divorced. He would understand, the beers and I reasoned.

   His response was surprising. "Have you ever considered alternatives to
sex with your wife?"

   I thought about that. Did he mean masturbation? I was very familiar with
the concept. And its liberal application. Like nearly every other American
man with the cover price of $10.95, I had a copy of the latest "Panty Boy"
magazine hidden between the mattress and box spring. That little magazine
had given me hours of comfort over the last few years. Ahhhh, those little,
but aged at least 18 years, creampuffs aching for a real man's love. Still,
I didn't think that was what Mike meant.

   I asked. "Do you mean masturbation?"

   He smiled. "Not at all. I mean sex with someone else in a way that's not
really cheating on your wife."

   Huh?

   I asked. "Huh?"

   Mike said, "Craig Burdette would never cheat on his wife, right?"

   It was true.

   Mike continued. "But since every man has both an X and a Y chromosome,
every man has two sides. Two identities. A male and a female. All men are
Gingerfred men, both Ginger and Fred. Most men are afraid of their female
identity and never explore it. That's a shame. If you were in touch with
that identity, your feminine identity could breathe free, doing things that
would astound you."

   I began to count the beer cans. I knew I had had six. How many had Mike
had?

   "You're skeptical. I don't blame you," Mike said. "I know what I said is
true, because I explore that identity on a regular basis."

   Now that was hogwash. "Mike, you're one of the guyest guys I know. You
could never have one of those feminine identity things."

   Mike smiled again. "And you're one of the guyest guys I know. But that
doesn't mean anything. Let me show you something."

   Mike stood up and unbuckled his belt. Oh crap. This was like college
when I had beers with that fruity guy Jack Lesher and he came on to me. Was
my best friend gay?

   Before I could run, Mike's pants were down and off. And a very
interesting sight was revealed.

   Mike was wearing dark brown pantyhose. His cock, despite his alcohol
consumption, was stiff, large, drooling and clearly visible through the
pantyhose.

   As I said before, huh?

   I asked the obvious question. "Mike, why are you wearing pantyhose?" I
wanted to also ask, "Why is your cock stiff and dripping?" but one step at
a time.

   As an answer to both the asked and unasked questions, Mike began to rub
his cockhead through the filmy material. Vigorously rub it. He was grunting
a little and sort of gasping for air as he said, "I usually don't like
pantyhose. I wear stockings and a garter belt, but I thought this might be
a little less of a shock for you.

   Why were my ears hot as I watched my friend rub and tease himself over
his pantyhose? Had I ever watched a guy jerk off? I couldn't
remember. Those pretty little things in Panty Boy magazine didn't
count. They weren't "guys" like Mike was.

   Holy crap! Was Mike going to cum? Please no. How humiliating for both of
us! I would have gotten up to leave, but I was in sort of a predicament. My
cock was about to burst every stitch in my pants.

   I looked in fascination, then cringed when Mike gave a tiny squeal
(ICKKK!!!), then began to spurt his cream. As I sat there. Inside his
pantyhose. Soaking his entire crotch area with his hot goo.

   Omigosh.

   No amount of beer could have induced me to do that. I mean blow my load
as my male friend watched. And the squealing. The pantyhose. I felt the
tidal wave of humiliation for Mike that he should have felt for himself,
but apparently didn't.

   All he said was, "Whew! That was a good one. Do you have some wet paper
towels or something?"

   Oh my.

   I still couldn't stand, so I told him where they were in the
kitchen. Mike returned, then began to peel his pantyhose down and off.

   Oh no!! What should I do? What was he going to do? What did he expect of
me? Whatever it was, I wasn't doing it.

   The cum-drenched pantyhose were off and in a ball on the floor. Mike
held the head of his limp cock between the thumb and forefinger of his left
hand as he washed his cummy cock, balls, pubic hairs, stomach and thighs.

   I was VERY uncomfortable. And terrified that *a* Mike would want me to
"do" things or *b* My cock and balls would betray me, spurting their goo in
front of my temporarily insane best friend, thereby making *a* come true.

   Mike rescued me. "That's a lot for you to process. I'll go home and talk
to you more about it some other time." And he left.

   Could I ever face Mike again? Would he think about what he had just done
and avoid me?

   Either way, it wasn't good.

   Dejectedly I cleaned up the beer cans and shuffled off to my empty bed;
not that it was that much fuller when Sheila was around.

   I had been looking forward to the next few moments since Sheila had
left. A new "Panty Boy" magazine, still in its plain, brown wrapper, was
waiting for me upstairs. I wasn't so disturbed that I was about to ignore
those delicious little sweethearts whom I visited when every new issue came
out -- twice a month. The new edition was number 143. I had from 73 on
lovingly archived in the attic, visiting them often when Sheila was at work
and Jimmy at school.

   I stripped naked, then pulled the covers down. I had my jar of Vaseline
on the nightstand and a whole roll of Bounty paper towels to clean up the
expected, no eagerly awaited, spills. Like most guys, I blotted my troubles
out as I pulled the wrapper off.

   Oh, Glory. It was the annual "Panty Boy" swimsuit issue. That tripled my
excitement, as did the cover picture. A precious, perfect, 18-year-old
sissy in perfect make-up and a string bikini was smiling happily as a man
twice her size was drowning the kneeling, little, open-mouthed angel in
cum. Cum was drooling off her pretty chin, down her throat and onto the
nipples of her flat chest. Her bikini was pulled off her scrumptious
nipples and her little sissy wee was poking out of her skimpy bikini
bottom. It was spurting its own big load of sticky cream, an action the
camera had skillfully captured in mid-ejaculation. I was ready to cum a
bucket already and I had only looked at the cover.

   Like almost every man, I was ga-ga over those little pouffers. I never
really thought about who they were or where they came from. Or why boys
would want to dress up and look prettier than girls. And submit to men
sexually. All I wanted to do was dream about fucking them.

   I was pretty dumb all right.

   Dipping my fingers into the jar of Vaseline, I rubbed up my stiff cock
with slippery stuff. Then I opened my magazine.

   The first "pictorial" showed four delicious panty boys in "street
clothes." They were emerging from a department store laden with shopping
bags. In a flash of pastel dresses whose skirts were barely covering the
tops of silky, tan stockings, and tottering along in barely-there sandals
with five-inch-stiletto heels, the tasty quartet smiled at the camera.

   The captions identified the little darlings as Judy, a blonde with long,
straight hair; Amy, a brunette with a curly, boyish cut, but whose face
screamed "fuck me, Mister;" Sandy, a redhead with green eyes that pierced
men's souls; and Cheryl, a second, even prettier blonde with a short,
styled cut and legs that promised intense delights to every man who dared
to gaze at them.

   They were happy and giggling, glowing with a femininity that reflected
onto everyone in a ten-block radius. The panty boys piled their purchases
into the trunk of a red mustang convertible with the top down, then got
in. Cheryl drove. Amy was shotgun.

   The girls had just bought new swimsuits and were on their way to Sissy
Beach, where all the panty boys in the area gathered to frolic with "real
men."

   My cock remembered the frolics in last year's issue and twitched
appreciatively

   In the next picture, the panty boys got out of the car and entered the
bathhouse. A sign indicated "Panty Boys" to the right and "Real Men" to the
left.

   The girls entered their ultra-femmy, pink locker room and began to
undress. My cock stirred as I saw Judy stripped down to her stockings,
garters, bra and heels. Her panties were halfway down her thighs and her
little popsy was sticking up proudly. All three-and-a-half inches of
it. Like most panty boys, Judy had pretty pink balls. The little angel took
her bra off and exposed perfect erect nipples, framed by her bra-shaped tan
lines.

   Try as I might, I couldn't stop thinking about Mike's performance that
evening. He must have been really drunk, I imagined. Or kidding. Maybe that
was it. Back to the girls.

   Amy, Cheryl and Sandy were now down to their stockings and heels. Oh
my. Cheryl had the beginnings of some titties there. Unusual in Panty Boy
magazine. And Sandy's were almost A-cup! A new editorial policy? I liked
it. For variety, I meant. A flat-chested, puffy-nippled panty boy was still
my first choice.

   The girls had their suits out of the bags and were admiring them. The
suits were very brief. String bikinis that used a total of about two square
feet of material for all four suits. Very sexy.

   Red-haired Sandy wore an emerald-green number that put my cock into
major distress. Amy was so excited by Sandy that she knelt, moved Sandy's
bathing-suit bottoms aside, and took Sandi's stiff three inches into her
perfect, angel's mouth. Cheryl's electric-blue suit excited Judy so much
that she knelt behind Cheryl and ate her pretty pootie out, making Cheryl
pump her sweet juices out in big globs.

   That was just enough for me, thank you. All the craziness of the evening
and the visit to Sissy Beach squeezed my balls and made me cum very hard.

   Like most guys, I fell right to sleep after. With the lights on and cum
all over the place. What did I care? Sheila was out of town.

   I had weird dreams. Mike was in a skirt and heels and he had make-up
on. He was kind of pretty. He and I were alone and he was sitting next to
me on a couch. His lips were parted and he was sort of sitting back. Like a
girl invites you to kiss her, you know?

   In the dream, I accepted the invitation. I kissed Mike and then,
violently, woke up.

   I was sitting straight up, sweating. It was 2:20 a.m. The lights were
on. Oh, man. What a stupid dream. I shuffled off to the bathroom and
peed. It was very difficult with a flagpole erection, but I managed to get
at least half of the pee in the toilet. When I got back to bed, my erection
was still very much present.

   "Panty Boy" was still open to the page I had been reading. The one with
the cum spots.

   May as well relax myself, before going to sleep, I thought.

   In the pictures, the girls did a lot of things to each other, then got
into their suits and went out to face the real men.

   There were lots of real men on the beach. They were hairy and muscled,
tanned and handsome. They were playing volleyball, drinking beer or just
posing. They were all wearing very brief Speedo swimsuits and their large
equipment was evident. The men stopped all activities when the girls, in
their almost non-existent swimsuits and five-inch wedge heels (available,
of course, from Frederick's), sissied by them.

   The camera caught the progression in bulges among the real men, none of
whose Speedos hid the evidence of their arousal.

   Amy was flirting with a volleyball player, who picked her up and carried
her to a lounge chair. Amy and the huge, muscled hunk kissed and fondled
each other's cocks. His was twice as big as poor Amy's. Wow, she was
beautiful. She spurted her cream, of course and the camera caught the real
man using his fingers and her cum to lubricate her perfect bottom. The
penetration of a half-inch-diameter hole with a
two-and-a-half-inch-diameter cock was caught, as always by this fine
publication, with arousing detail. I looked at the two lovers rutting and
suddenly, I envisioned my friend Mike's head on Amy's body. He was the one
taking and loving a four-star fucking. His cocklet was the one spurting
sissy goo at the camera lens. Mine was the cock exploding violently and
confusedly all over my stomach.

   What a weird night!



   Chapter Three -- Confusion

   The next morning, I got Jimmy off to school and cleaned the house. Mike
and I often ate lunch together, but I was very wary that day. Who was he,
anyway?

   He's my friend, I decided. I called. "Hi, Mike. How are you?"

   "Great, Craig. Lunch today?"

   See? Everything was OK. "Sure," I said. "When're you coming over?"

   "Actually, I made some homemade soup and stuff," he said. "Why don't you
come here?"

   Hmmm. I guessed that was OK.

   I was a bit wary, but also comfortable with my resolve to avoid any
"funny business."

   I went over to Mike's house early -- around 11:45. I was still a bit
freaked about the previous night, but decided to face it all head on. I was
sure Mike would laugh it off as a joke or something.

   Sometimes I just walked into Mike's house, but that day I knocked. When
I heard Mike yell, "Come in!" I did so.

   "I'm in the kitchen," Mike said. So I went there. And got the second
shock in as many days.

   Mike was wearing women's clothes!!! He had on a black miniskirt with
black stockings and shiny stiletto pumps! His blue top seemed to be filled
with small titties! His hair was styled and teased in a cute, short,
feminine style. And he had expertly applied make-up.

   That was a huge surprise. The humongous surprise was that he looked
terrific! Almost beautiful. Oh, what the hell. He was completely beautiful!

   If I hadn't been terrified, my cock would have burst my pants.

   Especially when he gave me a 1,000-watt smile and kissed me lightly on
the lips.

   Holy cow!

   Mike saw my shocked face and he smiled. "Didn't I mention something
about this last night, Craig?" he teased.

   <Gulp> "Uh, Mike. I didn't...I mean...I'm not gay, Mike."

   That made him laugh. He had sort of a girl's laugh. Kind of cute.

   "I'm not either, Craig. Mike likes women and Katie likes men. A lot."

   Katie? "Who's Katie?"

   "You're looking at her, Craig."

   Oh.

   "Lunch is ready," Mike (or Katie) said matter-of-factly. "Take your seat
and I'll serve you."

   Mike had never done that before. I sat at a table beautifully set with
china, silver and fresh flowers. Usually we ate pizza or hot wings from the
box.

   "Katie" had made beautiful little omelets with some nice sauce or
something. Real cuisine. That part I liked. The bad part was watching my
friend and having something grow hard in my pants.

   "She" seemed to have to get up several times to attend to things. Giving
me ample opportunities to see her stunner, stockinged legs and perfect,
wiggling butt. Not fair. Not fair at all.

   Katie talked a lot about her feminine side -- things she liked --
especially men.

   I dared to ask. "Have you ever...done things...with men."

   She gave me a sultry look and said, "Oh, yes. Wonderful things."

   When I gulped, Katie got out of her chair, walked to my side of the
table, and plopped her feminine self onto my startled lap.

   She kissed me on the lips and said, "Things like that."

   It was a nice kiss. Better than anything I had gotten from Sheila in
years.

   Then she kissed me again, this time with tongue. She said, "And things
like that.

   Nice things, all right.

   We kept kissing. You're kissing a girl, I said to myself. You're not
gay.

   I held Katie in my arms and kissed her deeply, breathing in her
"Passion" perfume and pulling her closer to me with my embrace.

   What was I doing?

   Why was it so good?

   Katie was so feminine and submissive -- just the way I always wanted
Sheila to be, but she rarely was.

   Mike and I were already intimate emotionally, so it seemed natural that
Katie and I would be intimate sexually. Kissing at least.

   I was only a little ashamed that I had a major stiffie. If you could
call my five inches major. But all five were hard as diamonds when Katie
upped the ante by touching it through my pants. I lurched when she did that
and I knew that I was standing at the edge of something wide and deep. Turn
away or move forward?

   Onward and upward, I decided.

   Katie sensed my decision and pulled my zipper down with her pretty
fingers with red nails. She gave me an extra-tonguey kiss, then reached
into my pants and boxers to pull out my bare cock.

   Much to Katie's credit, she fussed over my Johnson. She even ooohhed a
little, telling me it was so hot and hard. And pretty. Wasn't sure I liked
it described that way.

   The next thing I knew, Katie was off my lap. I didn't like that. But
then she got on to her knees between my legs, smiled at me, and began to
lick the head of my drippy peener. I liked that a lot.

   Katie knew what she was doing and she seemed very excited by the
opportunity to make me happy. When was the last time a woman had been
excited to please me?

   Sheila had never acted that impulsively, even before we were
married. And she had never gone to her knees to give me a long, slow,
slurpy blowjob like Katie was performing on me.

   Katie was darned good with her tongue and her hand cuddled my balls just
the way I cuddled them when I was looking at the latest antics of the
world's sexiest panty boys in my magazine. Katie was a lot like those panty
boys. A little older, but cut from the same lacy cloth.

   Katie didn't take my cockhead into her mouth, she just licked all over
its tender flesh and tongued my peehole. So, even when I warned her that I
was about to spurt my goo, she had no protection from the spermstorm.

   The whole dirtiness of the scene, combined with my need for sex with a
feminine person, made my gut churn. The warning signals alone ripped my
guts and when I blew a quart of manly cream onto Katie's pretty face, I was
in orgasmic agony. The good kind of agony.

   Geez!! What just happened? My chest was heaving. My cock was limp and
dripping thick baby juice. Katie was looking up at me, smiling, her face
drenched with my cum.

   It was so gay, but so wonderful. Would my life ever be the same again? I
certainly hoped not.

   Omigosh! Katie was straightening her posture and pouting her lips for a
kiss! But her face was covered with my cum. She deserved a kiss, but
ickkkk! Still, I couldn't disappoint my friend.

   I plunged my face against her cum-soaked features and thrust my tongue
between her glossed lips. That act alone -- that release from a lifetime of
hang-ups -- produced a really big boner for me and a sigh of pleasure from
Katie.

   Eventually, she broke the kiss and like a kitty cat, she began to lick
all the juices from my face. It was so different and weird, that I began to
giggle. I mean chuckle. Men don't giggle. She started giggling too.

   But then I sobered up.

   Now what? I thought. Katie was standing up, all pretty and smelling so
nicely. Her little popsy was tenting her skirt. What should I do? What kind
of a cad would I be if I just let her suffer?

   That was out of the question. But so was sucking her willie, of
course. I wasn't GAY and that would be a GAY thing to do. Very gay.

   But what if I just, you know, touched it. Gave her a little manual
relief as they used to say in the massage parlors. Yeah. Just touch it and
we're all square.

   Katie was watching my brain process and she was smirking a little. Was
she laughing at me or with me?

   Who gave a fuck?

   I was still seated. I grabbed the standing Katie by her hips and pulled
her toward me. I looked up into her eyes. They were blue and quite
pretty. She had done a great job with the old mascara, eyeliner and eye
shadow. There was something in them. Need. She needed an orgasm produced
with my assistance. And I was going to give it to her.

   She was watching me intently to see what I would do. Frankly, I had no
plan. I decided to approach the situation with caution. If you can call
lifting Katie's skirt, then hooking my thumbs into either hip of her pink,
delicate panties cautious. Oh my goodness. Those panties were suffering
from STS (severe tenting syndrome). Their safe removal was going to require
some skill. I would have to ease them over that stiff, throbbing
impediment. Carefully. Easy. There. Her naughty popsy was breathing free.

   It was a pretty little thing. I had seen it through the pantyhose the
previous night, though I was too stunned to pay it proper attention. It was
a nice size, maybe a little longer than my five inches. It had a cute, blue
vein in the left side and a lovely, velvet helmet. Her doodle had been
circumcised, but retained its beauty. I looked at it straight on and saw
its tiny peelips parting for a kiss from me. Sweet goo was oozing between
them as I contemplated breaking the tabooisest of all male taboos. I was
considering kissing, licking and sucking my best friend's cock until it
spurted in my mouth.

   Something in me said yes, but a large voting bloc said no.

   Katie saw my hesitation and knew what to do.

   She sat on my lap, began to kiss me, and put my right hand on her cock
shaft. That was good. I could just pretend I was whacking myself off. Not
as gay. What a relief. Of course some might interpret my kissing my best
friend Mike as I stroked his cock to be "gay," but only the
short-sighted. My new best friend Katie was groaning and wiggling with
pleasure.

   Her expressions of delight were very arousing to me. Goodness knows she
was a lot more enthusiastic than Sheila had been for some time. Katie
seemed to really want me and care about me. And she was sensitive enough to
know that I was very needy again. As we kissed and cuddled and I stroked
her sissypole, Katie began to stroke my willie (which I had neglected to
tuck away after the blowjob). She was very good at it. I was pretty good at
stroking her little spritzer. We were both good at kissing. She made the
cutest little grunts and gasps and then, zowie! Katie gave a half-scream
and began to spurt big globs of cum all over herself and me. Her pleasure
was intense and it triggered mine, making me cry out softly and splatter
the sweet girl with three thick ropes of my own manly juices.

   It was wonderful!! For about ten seconds. Then post-ball-draining
depression hit me.

   What had I done? Why did I do it? What did it all make me? What would I
do from then on?

   Shame. Guilt. Exacerbated by a lifetime of no-nos, all jettisoned on the
same day.

   Katie understood. She gave me the sweetest kiss, which, despite my
despair, I returned. Then she said, "That was wonderful. But I know how
you're feeling. Your feminine side doesn't emerge in one day. I can help
you. Why don't you go home and think things over. I'll see you tomorrow,
OK?"

   Feminine side? What was she saying? She was the feminine one, not
me. Right?

   I accepted her suggestion to go home. My head was reeling as I walked
home. I was a little miffed that she or he or whatever didn't want to see
me until the next day. Jimmy would be home from school in an hour and I
would spend about five hours with him, but then... Listen to me. I wasn't
acting like someone who was ashamed, was I? Sheila would be home in two
days. Then what?

   I got home and dragged myself to the bedroom. I lay on my back and
thought about how the world had flipped over in the past 24 hours.

   Not surprisingly, I sought comfort in the usual place.

   Pantyboy magazine.

   I got up and retrieved the swimsuit issue from between the mattress and
box spring, then lay on my back.

   The pages in the first half of the latest issue had stuck together, but
I hadn't even looked at the back part. I began with the centerfold.

   It was a kneeling Cheryl, the blonde dazzler with short hair, long legs
and the first signs of titties. She was wearing (if you could call it that)
a black, string bikini. The bra had been pulled up to reveal titties,
though mostly still just nipples, which a man would sell his 401(k) to
suck. Her bikini bottoms had been pulled aside to reveal a three-inch, pink
jewel with attendant pink peanuts in a pretty bag. The little tickler was
red and stiff and the camera had captured the moment when a delicious rope
of goo hurled itself toward the camera (and the reader). Cheryl's
magnificent, perfectly made-up face was covered by a million-watt smile
that, by itself, had me hard all over again. Cheryl's beautiful face was
also covered in hot, creamy cum, which had drooled off her chin and
cascaded all over her chest and nipples and was down to her bellybutton
when the shutter clicked. She was drenched in a bucket of cum and she was
deliriously happy. The
 perpetrator of the cummy assault was drooping and just touching Cheryl's
right cheek. A glob of manjuice was forming a long drip. It was a very
large man-thing, with a big, thick foreskin and a dark, huge ballbag.

   As I usually thought when reading my favorite piece of literature, "What
a lucky guy!" Although I could only see Cheryl's lover's Johnson, I envied
him and tried to imagine what it would be like to be him.

   Then it happened.

   I dropped my defenses for an instant and the barbarians got over the
fence. The idea I didn't want entered my head and would not leave. What
would it be like to be Cheryl? Not the men emptying their nuts on the
sissies' pretty faces. What would it be like to be Judy, Amy or Sandy, the
other pantyboys in that issue? Or in the other issues I had lovingly
preserved?

   Wow.

   Ick.

   Gay.

   Bad thought. Why was I thinking it?

   But it wouldn't go away.

   It was like allowing yourself to go to a place you never allowed
yourself to go. Once you were there, you wanted to look around a
little. Get some postcards. Buy the t-shirt.

   Mike visited there frequently. Had a passport and everything. Frequent
fucker miles.

   I decided to think a little about what it would be like. Just visit a
border town, sort of. Don't drink the water. Not go to the capital or
anything.

   I imagined what it would be like to be pretty and wear pretty
things. Ohhhhhhh. To have men look at you with lust in their hearts and
hard bulges in their pants. Aaaaaaaaah.

   I looked at the centerfold again and saw what Cheryl had let that man do
to her. Cumming all over her. Degrading her. Funny, she didn't seem
degraded. She looked happy. Could I make someone happy like that?

   Oh, no. I was ...cumming. Hard and hot. Thinking about being a girl and
doing "things" with men. Like Mike did.

   Did I want to be like Mike?



   Chapter Four -- The Other Side

   Jimmy got home at three and I was glad. Daddy time with my lad took my
mind off the messy situation I had gotten myself into.

   Really messy.

   I began thinking about what happened ten seconds after I finished
reading "Goodnight Moon" to Jimmy, kissed him and turned off his light. The
most obvious evidence that I was mentally reviewing the last 24 hours was
the obscene stiffness in my penile area.

   I was incredibly, but non-specifically aroused. Was I stiff because I
was thinking about the blowjob I had received from my
best-friend-turned-temptress? Was I throbbing and drippy because I wanted
to, as a man, explore Katie's attributes a bit more thoroughly? Or was I
really most aroused by those naughty thoughts of girlying up and playing
the pantyboy for a nice man or two.

   A tough call.

   Knowing that I needed some comfort, I turned to my one, true, reliable
friend -- my cum-stained copy of the new Pantyboy magazine.

   After all, I had never gotten to the second pictorial in the swimsuit
issue. And I had paid $10.95 for the whole issue. And something had to be
done about my condition, didn't it?

   I lay on my back, towel on my left, Vaseline jar on my right, and began
to peruse my periodical.

   The second pictorial was called "Beach Bunny" and it was the story of
Mary Patricia, a cute, barely-18 "intern" working in an office. She was a
gorgeous pantyboy, tall and willowy, with straight, blonde hair falling
halfway down her back. She was dressed for success at the office, wearing a
black dress cut to fit her delicious, feminine frame, and showing lots of
long, sexy, black-stockinged leg. Her four-inch stiletto sandals made her
stand about six-foot-three, which had all the men in the office even more
gaga than one might expect. But Mary Pat was all business. A career girl,
who nevertheless had a little tent in her skirt from working around all
those hunky men.

   Mary Pat wiggled around the office stopping pacemakers right and
left. Then her boss, Mr. Hunkley, said, "It's such a beautiful day, Mary
Pat. Why don't you take the afternoon off and go to the beach. You need to
work on that tan."

   Mary Pat apparently squealed with delight, then thanked, hugged and
kissed (with just a hint of tongue) her boss. She leaned to kiss him,
revealing her stocking tops and bare thighs. That stirred my willie and
made me do something I was certain I never would.

   I was going to see what it felt like to wear nylon on my legs.

   That was no big deal, right? I was just exploring a teeny bit.

   I wanted to try stockings, but Sheila didn't have any, so it was black
pantyhose (Ick, but better than nothing).

   "How do you do this?" I thought. I was afraid of putting a run in the
nylon, especially since my legs were hairy. Would they look better if I
shaved my legs? Maybe I should... OK, it was official. I was losing my
brains.

   I got my right foot in the leg and eased it down...unnnhhhh. It felt
wonderful and it wasn't helping my rigid condition one bit. I slid the
cool, silky nylon about halfway up my calf, then did the same for my left
foot. When I got both feet in, I slowly pulled the silky things up my
legs. They were rolled when I got them to my crotch. I unrolled them slowly
up and over my erect phallus, wincing at the sensation of femininity
covering a male "area."

   If I moved the wrong way, I would cum. All over myself and Sheila's
pantyhose. That was sort of my plan, but I wanted to hold back just a
bit. I padded over to the mirror and looked at myself. My semi-hairy chest
was bare and my entire lower half was swathed in nylon. I had a guy's face,
so I didn't look at that. I looked at my legs, and I was pleased with what
I saw. They were long and shapely. I remember thinking that they would look
better if I had big heels like Katie wore. Then I ditched that thought. The
pantyhose were just a little pastime for when my wife was out of town. Like
one of those things that look like a flashlight that you see advertised on
the Internet. You fit it over your cock and jack it up and down until
something nice happens. It's supposed to feel like a pussy. Maybe it
does. And it doesn't tell you to take out the garbage after. Me wearing
pantyhose was like that. Pretend stuff. Not gay.

   I stopped looking and eased myself back in bed. I lay very still as I
thought about how those pantyboys in the magazine felt when men "used" them
for sex. Ohhh. Being sexy and beautiful and being used. I was "on the
verge" again. If Jimmy called me for a glass of water at that point, he
would have an interesting story to tell Mommy when she came home.

   Figuring I might as well enjoy the full experience, I picked up my
magazine again. Mary Pat had arrived at the beach and she was in a little,
private, changing shack. Her dress was on a hanger on a hook and she was
merrily removing her intensely delicious lingerie one fantasy-producing
piece at a time. She stood beautifully naked, holding her skimpy swimwear
for the reader to see, smiling at the reader as if she wanted him to join
her in the shack. To kiss her puffy lips. Suck her sizzling-hot popsy and
finger her tight, warm pussy. Ohhhh.

   Then came the "big surprise" of the pictorial. "Mr. Hunkley!!!" the
naked Mary Pat said, as her boss joined her in the no-longer-private
accommodation. "What are you doing here?"

   Hunkley leered and said, "You know I want you, Mary Pat. You're all I
ever think about."

   Mary Pat appeared powerless against such devotion from her boss and
surrendered to his every disgusting desire. The next 16 pictures showed the
heavenly doll and her ardent, older suitor kissing, sucking, licking,
eating out, and fucking in a variety of poses. In every picture, either
Mary Pat or Mr. Hunkley was spurting major amounts of cum. And it was the
real stuff. The word is that Panty Boy shoots their pictorials over several
days so there is cum and more cum available and every real man-pantyboy
shot is a cum shot. Of course it's the number one magazine in America. It
gives its readers what they want.

   I stopped and focused on one incredible photo. Mary Pat was on her back,
her arms flung back in complete submission to her man. He was on top of
her, pumping her bottom full of manmeat and she was cumming all over
herself. Her expression was one of intense pleasure and total
serenity. This was someone who knew where she fit into the world. I
thought. Could I do that? Could I surrender and be adored like that? Would
Katie show me how? Did I want to?

   I looked into Mary Pat's eyes, rubbed my cock through the pantyhose,
whimpered most unmanfully, and drenched Sheila's Sunday-best pantyhose with
a very sissyish load of cream.

   I had never been so excited about my possible future. Or so scared.



   Chapter Five -- New Horizons

   I came into Sheila's pantyhose twice more that evening, then fell
asleep. I couldn't help it, you know. The first mess occurred when I saw
pretty Judy take a beach volleyballer's thick rammer into her tiny bottom
as the man's teammate sucked her balls. The picture of her cries of release
as she frosted the man's face with her freshly squeezed juice set me
off. Later, so did the picture where Amy spurted her cream as two men
sucked her nipples and a third kissed her mouth.

   You can't have fun like that most days unless you're a sissy.

   Thank goodness I awoke at 5 a.m. or Jimmy would have gotten an education
quite a bit earlier than he should have.

   I was a bit worried about cleaning all the cum from Sheila's pantyhose,
since it had sort of caked on, but it was actually pretty easy. As I was
washing away the spermy evidence, I was picturing what it would have been
like to fall asleep with a faceful of cum. It would have dried and caked
and glued my eyelids shut. Ick. I was going to have to be much tidier in
the future.

   I got into my guy stuff and got my little guy ready and off to
school. Then I was faced with the question, what next?

   Should I share my weird ideas and feelings with Mike? Should I pretend
it didn't happen? Should I get the back issues of Pantyboy from the attic,
put the pantyhose back on and stroke myself until my vision was severely
impaired?

   All viable options.

   I decided to speak to Mike. He had gotten me into this mess and he would
probably know the way out. Or farther in.

   It was about ten a.m. when I called Mike and asked if I could come
over. The way things had been going, I could have walked into anything.

   But things were back to "normal" at Mike's house when I arrived. He was
dressed as himself -- khakis and a navy blue polo. He looked really good as
a guy. So good, I felt my cock stir in my pants. It was weird piled on
weird.

   Standing face-to-face with my best friend, I opened my mouth to speak
and nothing happened. There was so much to say that I had nothing to say.

   So Mike took charge. "That was really nice for me yesterday, Craig. Was
it for you?"

   Oh my. The oldest post-"date" line in the book. My answer? More
inability to articulate.

   Mike smiled. I saw Katie in his eyes. And that straightened my equipment
as well.

   I wanted to crank the calendar back two days and start over.

   Mike seemed comfortable with both the present and the future. "Craig, I
sense your discomfort. But we have to talk."

   Easy for him to say. His voicebox hadn't been recalled by the factory.

   He went on. "I know you enjoyed what you and Katie did yesterday. Your
spewing cock was ample evidence of that."

   I blushed, but he was right.

   "I also know that you felt ashamed and guilty about it."

   True again.

   "What I want to know is <dramatic pause> did you want to be like Katie,
just a little?"

   <Gulp> Did I? He had me there. I squeaked out a tiny "Yes." What a bad
time for my voice to return.

   Mike smiled. He looked at me carefully, started to speak, stopped, then
said, "Have you worn any women's things in the last 24 hours?"

   I turned fire-engine red.

   That was answer enough for Mike.

   "It's OK, Craig," he said. "It's perfectly normal to explore your
feminine side once you know you have one. What did you wear?"

   I was extremely uncomfortable, but my cock was ripping my
pants. "P-p-pantyhose."

   Mike was being very careful not to make fun of me. At first, he said
nothing. Then he went into the kitchen and came back with a cup of coffee
for each of us. We sat in silence for a few moments, then he said, "Did you
cum in the pantyhose?"

   I nodded.

   "Several times?"

   "Yes," I said. Shamed for life.

   Then Mike asked the killer question. "What were you thinking of before
you made the cums?"

   That one I didn't want to go near. But I needed to know what was
happening to me and Mike was the key. "I was reading 'Panty Boy'
magazine. I read it all the time and I spunk all over myself thinking about
making love to those scrumptious little creampuffs."

   Mike nodded. "That's perfectly normal."

   Of course. "But last night, for the first time, I thought about what it
would mean to BE one of those little pussy boys. Being loved and kissed and
sucked and handled and stroked and fucked by a man. I came so hard and so
often that I fainted."

   "Sure you did, Sweetie. Every man who lets himself think about it feels
the way you did. You're not strange or gay. You're just experiencing
something completely new."

   Sweetie? He called me "sweetie?" And he thinks my dream of being
buttfucked by another guy while I'm wearing frillies is normal? Maybe I
should just put the coffee cup down, back out of the door, and begin to
make the arrangements to move my family and me to another state. With
another name.

   But then Mike said, "Sheila won't be home until tomorrow afternoon. I'll
come over after Jimmy goes to bed and we'll have a 'girl night.'".

   What was a girl night? I didn't ask, but it sounded awfully, awfully
good. I quickly agreed and ran home to take care of an urgent matter in my
pants.

   Jimmy went to sleep around eight and there was a knock on the door 15
minutes later. It was "Katie," not Mike, and she looked very hot. She had
done something dramatic with her eyes and she had a curly, straight, long,
blonde wig that made her look ten years younger. She gave me a wet, tonguey
kiss, right on the lips, then took her raincoat off to give me a preview of
what she meant by a "girl night."

   Katie was wearing a miniscule, black, babydoll nightie that barely
touched the base of her rampant prick. Funny, I hadn't noticed before, but
she had shaved her chest, stomach and armpits and her legs, all the way up
to a tiny patch of pubic hair that looked delightfully girlish. I could see
her strong silky thighs above her black stocking tops and my poor boner was
as big and hard as it gets. Her spectacular legs were in silky nylon and
the sight of her five-inch, stiletto, sandaled mules was putting me into
orbit.

   I had no idea what was expected of me at that moment. I was all sexed up
and had no idea where anything was leading. Fortunately, Katie had a
plan. A very good plan.

   The first thing she did was lead me to my bedroom, then take my clothes
off. She had a bagful of stuff for me for the evening, but she knew an
emergency when she saw one. "Let me relax you a little before we start,
Honey," the beautiful babe said.

   Well, I figured I was getting another blowjob and that sounded awfully
nice. But I was wrong.

   Katie laid me on my back and asked me to lift my legs. Odd, but I did
it. Then she began to massage my needy prick. Very nice, but I was hoping
for... Whoa!!!!!!!!!

   Still stroking my cock, Katie put her tongue deeply into my
bottomhole. Well, that was a new element to our relationship. And a new
sensation in my life.

   I almost hit the roof. It was incredible. I forgot completely that Katie
was also Mike and surrendered to the raw pleasure of being anally eaten
out. And Katie knew how to do just that. In my condition, and with her
excellent handiwork proceeding concurrently on my cock, I soon spasmed and
moaned and let a glorious cum erupt from my tortured balls. The best cum of
my life and we had only begun our evening.

   I was in heaven. And simultaneously in the "other place." I could NEVER
do that to Katie. Would she expect me to? Or to suck her penis? NEVER!!!!

   I was thinking about all the things I wouldn't do when Katie climbed on
top of me and kissed me with the tongue that had just been up my butt. And
yet, I lived on.

   Katie broke the kiss, licked up my cummy mess, then became all business.

   "Let's see how the girlie you looks, Sweetie," she said.

   I was very curious and eager to see the end result. I watched the mirror
intently as Katie made up my face, explaining each procedure carefully to
me, telling me I would have to learn to do it all myself.

   Watching it happen step-by-step was a lot more interesting than just
"Bang!" seeing it all at once. It was as if a stranger who had been hiding
was being revealed. A cute stranger. Not beautiful, but cute. And
feminine. I was shocked at how feminine. My lips. My eyes.

   Katie saw that I was pleased and she was delighted. "Not bad, Honey. Not
bad," she said. "Want to go for the bonus round?"

   <Gulp> "OK"

   Katie took me to the bathroom and had me sit on the toilet. Over the
next 25 minutes, Katie shaved my legs, armpits, chest, and <Gasp> my
bottom, even between the cheeks.

   I was smooth as silk and feeling more feminine than I had in the rest of
my life up to that point, when Katie reached into her bag and pulled out a
black babydoll that matched her own. Submissively, I raised my arms and let
her slip the cool, wispy garment, my first femmy item except for those
pantyhose, over my head.

   Ohhhhhhhh.

   Then she showed me how to roll a delicious pair of black stockings over
my toes, around my heels and up my shaved, smooth legs.

   As the second stockings reached the midpoint of my thigh, I shuddered,
began to spasm and cum in thick globs.

   I liked "girl night" so far.

   Katie was having a very good time too, though she hadn't even cum once
yet.

   Katie had a garter belt and two-inch, starter pumps for me in her bag to
complete my ensemble. I hooked the belt, then the garters on and stepped
into the shoes. I felt so girlish, and couldn't wait to totter over to the
mirror to admire myself.

   Oh my.

   The mirror was my friend that night. The guy side of me was still inside
and was ogling the babe reflected back at him. My guy side was especially
turned on by the little pink pricklet poking under the mirror babe's
babydoll and her little bag of peanuts dangling daintily below.

   I turned this way and that, giving Narcissus a run for his reputation.

   Then I heard, "Oh, Sweetie. It's lonely in bed by myself."

   I had almost forgotten that Katie, whose ballbag was still full, pretty
Katie, was waiting for me in bed. I tore myself away from my orgy of
self-adoration and rejoined her. I must say, she looked scrumptious lying
there, on her back. Her pospy sticking up sweetly. Her lips, so full and
inviting.

   What should I do? What were my limits? A voice inside me said, "No
limits" and my conflicts drifted away.

   I kneeled on the bed between Katie's silk-clad legs, then bent over and
took her prick in my hand. I rubbed its tip between my thumb and two
fingers, enjoying her obvious pleasure. Then I leaned forward and for the
fist time in my life, took a cock into my mouth.

   It surprised Katie, who thought I wouldn't do that for some time. But,
heck. I knew I would give in to my girlie side eventually. I adored
everything we had done thus far. So I took the leap.

   Katie arched her back and moaned as I sucked the velvet tip, licking up
the sweet precum. She wiggled with pleasure. Every guy knows how a cock
should be sucked, so it was no surprise that I was really good at
cocksucking. I gave my new girlfriend a thorough ride, licking the hot
shaft up and down, kissing and sucking her little plums, then returning to
lavish oral attention on the peelips. I was a little concerned about how to
act when Katie got around to spurting her sissy cream, but I had seen her
guzzle mine down and figured I could so the same.

   I licked and kissed and adored her doodle until her pretty eyes got wide
and I felt a hot spurt in my face. I capped the tip with my mouth and
caught the last five globs as they evacuated her girlish bag. She was
wiggling and squealing and having an exceptionally good
time. Mmmmmm. Katie's girlish goo was hot and creamy and not at all
unpleasant.

   And it was hetero, right? I mean, I wasn't gay. Just "visiting" my girl
side.

   With my first belly full of cum, I licked Katie squeaky clean, then
moved side by side with her for some deep kissing. Katie thoughtfully
licked her cum off my face, then kissed me better and longer than Sheila
ever had.

   We were both hard and panting when we broke it off. Katie smiled at me
and said, "Wow. You have a strong girl side, my dear. And a pretty one."

   I blushed.

   "What's your girl name?" she asked.

   That was a surprise. "I don't have one. Do I need one?"

   Katie laughed. "There's no law, but you don't look like anyone named
Craig at the moment. Except for your stiff 'little gentleman' here." She
tickled my tickler.

   I didn't know what to say. Then a name I liked popped into my
head. Ember. Contemporary. Femmy. Smoldering. A little on the trashy
side. Perfect.

   "Call me Ember," I announced proudly.

   Katie hugged and kissed me. "I love you, Ember," she said. "We'll be
girlfriends forever."

   I felt warm and loved that first girl night. Katie and I kissed and
licked and sucked and cuddled until we fell asleep, exhausted in the best
possible way. I even overcame another obstacle by eating out Katie's sweet
pootie so well that she came hard and fainted.

   I guessed I was a pretty good girl so far.



   Chapter Six -- Girl Morning

   I had taken no chances that Jimmy, who was a very sound sleeper, but
woke up at six each day, would walk into my bedroom and expand his
education way too soon.

   With four alarm clocks set for five a.m. I felt pretty safe.

   Still, when I awoke, my first reaction was to panic. It was a very
pleasant awakening. Katie was kissing me and rubbing her delicious body
against mine. The little scamp wanted more and it was only four a.m.! Well,
I was delicious.

   I lay on my back and whimpered submissively as Katie exposed my right
nipple. What was she doing? She... unnnnnnhhh. She was kissing and licking
my nipple. I had never... oooohhhh. That was very nice. She kept doing
that. Nicely. I had never felt anything like that. I felt so girlish.

   Then she upped the ante.

   Katie had licked my bottomhole and <blush> I had done the same to
hers. But now she was putting her... aaaahhhh...fingers in there. That was
fantastic. She was rubbing them in and out as she kissed my left nipple.

   Then she found my prostate. And I found what a real cum feels like.

   Holy cow.

   My guts exploded. And she hadn't even touched my "clitty."

   Where had girl nights (and mornings) been all my life?

   I emptied every molecule of cum from my little bag. And screamed so loud
that I was afraid Jimmy would awake and call 9-1-1, just as we had taught
him.

   My chest was heaving as silky, sexy, girlish Katie kissed me.

   I wanted her. I wanted to make her happy. Then I did, in a way I would
not have imagined possible.

   Katie fucked me!

   I didn't know "girls" like us did that. I didn't know a cock would fit
in my bottom. I didn't know that I would adore a clitty in my bottom.

   Katie cured my ignorance.

   Katie's fingers in my bottom had been coated with a lubricant. She knelt
between my legs and squeezed an ample amount on her fingers, then applied
it liberally to her stiff sissy stick. The peehole was looking right into
my eyes. I knew what that one-eyed creature wanted and I was scared! And
very excited.

   "Don't worry, Baby," Katie said. "I won't hurt you. You're going to be
fucked like a real girl. You'll love it. Now put your calves up on my
shoulders and relax."

   I whimpered, but complied. A little eagerly, even. I was turning into a
submissive little tramp!

   Katie was telling me how pretty and sexy I was as she put her cockhead
at the lubed entrance to my bowels. Standing at the edge of yet another
precipice, My eyes filled with girlish tears -- fear mixed with joy. I was
a girl who was also a boy in love with a girl who was also a boy.

   Then she pushed it in me. Halfway in with the first thrust. I felt a
dull pang of pain. Katie leaned over and kissed my mouth, telling me how
brave I was. Then she gave me the second half of her salami. I was
completely filled with cock and began to gasp, as if it were in my throat,
not my butt.

   I felt totally emasculated and completely happy.

   When she began to move her cock back and forth, my entire body felt as
if it were on the verge of an orgasm. I know I was squeaking and desperate
for release, though my cock was soft as a rag doll.

   Katie was enjoying herself as well. "I've never been in a tighter,
hotter pussy," she said. She liked to compliment me and girlish me ate it
up.

   Katie's face scrunched up, just as mine does when I'm dropping a really
big load into Sheila (if my long-term memory served me correctly).

   She pushed, pushed, and PUSHED and then gave her own girlish squeal. My
bottom was flooded with her sissy sperm. I had made someone really
happy. By being pretty, cooperative and submissive. And the thought, made
me very happy. Following which, my body made me very happy by taking me
through a shuddering, full-body, knockdown, drag-out cum.

   My cock never got hard and all it produced was a long, watery
dribble. But every nerve ending in my body orgasmed for about 30
life-altering seconds.

   I began to sob. With joy and fear about the future. I was a man, not a
woman. But how could I live as a man, when being a woman made me so happy?

   Katie understood. She held me in her sweet arms and comforted me. "It's
OK, Ember. Everything will work out. I love you."

   And she kissed me. I kissed her back. "I love you too, Katie," I
said. And I meant it.

   I hustled her pretty little butt out of my house so I could butch up,
then get my little boy off to school.

   I wasn't totally butched, though. I wore nice pink panties.



   Chapter Seven -- The Return of Sheila

   Mike knew I had to spiff up the house for Sheila's return, so he didn't
come over and plow my pasture at lunchtime.

   Darn.

   I was dreading Sheila's return for a lot of reasons. First, I would have
loved another girl night with Katie. Several more. Second, I didn't like
Sheila very much anymore, now that I had seen how nice and feminine a tgirl
could be. And third, I didn't want to slip back into my "man" role right
then, especially with Sheila, who didn't appreciate it anyway.

   I got a surprise. Sheila was sweet and loving. Several times she said
something about me being "different" and "nicer or something" since she
left home and returned.

   My big surprise was that she wanted a good fucking when we went to
bed. Then another. And yet another. Wow.

   Sheila said that I seemed so much more interesting somehow and more
sensitive in my lovemaking. She asked me why, but I pleaded ignorance. Then
I fucked her.

   It was fun. It was as if being a part-time woman made me a much better
man in my wife's eyes.

   Oh well. The guy side of me didn't turn down hot, juicy pussy.

   I was very worried that Sheila would ask the big questions, like, "Why
did you shave your legs, chest and armpits" I was going to mumble something
about just wanting to see how it felt, then starting an argument to draw
attention away from the subject. But she didn't seem to notice.

   After our workout, Sheila fell into an exhausted sleep and it was only
10:30, but I was troubled and awake.

   I wondered what Katie was doing at that moment. I slipped out of bed and
went to the window, then gazed at Katie's house for a few minutes, thinking
of our wonderful, forbidden love.

   Then my heart was split and stomped on

   At 10:40 p.m., a car pulled into Katie's driveway. Was Mike getting a
pizza?

   No.

   A handsome, blond man got out of the car and walked toward the door. My
girl side tingled. He was very hunky. He reminded me of an Aryan George
Peppard in "The Blue Max."

   Another surprise. My girl side was apparently attracted to men. Men like
the hunks who took the little creampuffs to heaven in "Panty Boy" magazine.

   I began to wonder if men would be attracted to Ember. Then it happened.

   Katie came out of the house (not Mike). She was wearing a very sexy pink
peignoir set. Not what one wears to pay for pizza. When she minced along on
stratospheric mules and fell into the man's arms, all was lost!

   Katie was cheating on me! With a man!

   As I sobbed with heartbreak, it never occurred to me that perhaps I had
cheated on Katie by fucking Sheila early and often.

   All I could think about was Katie, my Katie, under that
man. Surrendering her pussy to his disgusting desires. Oh no. I got a
drippy hardon, just thinking about it.

   Of course, I hardly slept that night. I watched the car in the driveway
to see if it were moved -- a fruitless, useless exercise, since it was
there all night.

   The car was finally gone when Sheila woke me from a brief nap at six and
asked for a little waker-upper, which I naturally gave her since my cock
had been hard all night thinking about what was going on next door.

   My ball bag was empty when Sheila left for work and Jimmy left for
school that day. I considered taking a much-needed nap, but I had two big
items on the agenda. First, some thorough pouting. Then, a confrontation
with Mike or Katie or whoever-the-heck lived next door about the previous
evening's activities.

   I pouted for about an hour, then, I strode over to Katie's house, still
dressed as Craig, but under my trousers, wearing black stockings, with a
matching garter belt, and pink panties pulled over the garters.

   Mike was all smiles when he opened the door. I was all ready to give him
a load of crap, but then he said, "Oh, Sweetie, I missed you. Let's get
girlied up and have a nice morning and afternoon together."

   That sounded a lot better than throwing a hissy fit. Another difference
between tgirls and women. Women would rather fight than fuck any day.

   We sissied upstairs, exposing our female sides as we exposed our stiff
little popsies. As we sat side by side, applying our makeup, we blew kisses
at each other.

   I was getting all hot and steamy thinking about our imminent pleasure,
but I had to ask. "What were you doing with that man last night, Katie?"

   She gave me that ironic little smile she does so well and said, "The
same thing you and your wife were doing, I imagine, Honey."

   Good point. But I pushed back a little. "But we're married. I had no
choice."

   Katie smiled. "There are always choices, Ember," she said. "Hans and I
are old friends. He loves my girl side and whenever he's in town, we spend
a wonderful night together."

   Hans?

   "He's German," Katie went on. "A great lover and a nice man. A generous
man."

   She held up a very expensive-looking bracelet as evidence.

   Wow. Men give tgirls stuff too. Pretty stuff. I hadn't thought of that.

   Katie said, "You're jealous. I like that. But you don't have to be. I
love you and I always will. But Katie needs men too. And so does Ember,
whether she knows it or not."

   I thought about that and suddenly, helplessly, I started ejaculating in
my panties, whimpering sissily as the cum spurted, then cascaded freely.

   Maybe I did need a man.

   Chapter Eight -- The Girlish Life

   Those next few weeks were the best time of my life. Every night and all
weekend long, Sheila wanted "it" from her suddenly attractive husband. She
kept telling me that I seemed different -- new and improved or
something. She never mentioned the fact that I regularly shaved my
body. She never noted the fact that a lot of our lovemaking happened with
her on top, pistoning up and down on my cock as I lay on my back. That was
OK with me.

   When Sheila was at work, I was living the girlish life with Katie. I
wore stockings, garter belt and panties under my male clothes all day,
changing just before Sheila came home. When I had errands or shopping to
do, I was always in a state of high excitement -- mortally scared that
someone would discover what a little sissy I had become. Of course I was
also thinking about what would happen if a man found out, but liked what he
saw.

   I would look at men when I was out. Was I imagining that they were
looking at me too? Were there men who could see that someone's girl side
was pushing to get out? What if I found one, at the grocery store, let's
say? And he said something like, "I know what you're wearing under your
trousers."

   I would shake with fear and be unable to speak. He would know how I felt
and say, "Don't be afraid, Little One. I think you're beautiful."

   Little One? Beautiful? Ohhhhhh.

   What if we left the full grocery carts and got into his car. Then went
to his apartment. We would close the door and he would take my awful boy
things off. I would tremble, but fix my face as he stripped nude. I would
be very girlish in my make-up, bra, panties, garter belt, and fully
fashioned, black stockings. He would take me into his arms and kiss me,
holding my pantied bottom in his strong hands. Then he would insinuate his
fingers under my panties and tickle my "pussy" as he kissed my neck,
smooching his way down to my nipples.

   I can't tell you what would happen next, because by the time I got to
that point in the fantasy, my balls always exploded and I messed up yet
another pair of panties.

   Katie and I would talk about that fantasy during our lovely lovemaking
sessions. Sometimes she would suck my popsy so sweetly as I narrated my
man-filled dreams. Sometimes I would suck hers as she told me true stories
about her experiences with some of her male lovers. My sweet angel had been
around! And was still touring.

   This sort of activity would always end up with me on my back, squealing
and cumming as Katie pushed her clitty in and out of my tight, hot,
submissive receptacle.

   I guess I was ready for a male lover. But still scared.

   It seemed that my libido was always on red alert during that time. Even
with Sheila.

   When the new issue of Panty Boy went on sale, I bought it, seeking
guidance.

   Although it was an unusual oracle, Panty Boy seemed to speak to me at
that time in my life.

   The day that I brought the newest issue home, I couldn't wait for its
counsel. It was 10 a.m. and Mike/Katie was seeing some client, so "Panty
Boy" and I were alone.

   I slipped off the plain brown wrapper and gasped at what I saw.

   It was the annual "Hard at Work" issue. I loved that issue.

   I knew it would be filled with delicious panty boys dressed for
business. With lots of hunky men giving the little dolls the business in
their pretty bottoms.

   The cover alone had me "on the verge." An angelic, 18-year-old creampuff
was wearing a tight, short-skirted, women's business suit. Her long, blonde
hair was pinned up in a professional bun. Her large glasses made her appear
a bit more "intellectual." Her raised skirt, lowered, pink panties, and
tiny, stiff, sticky-cream-spurting peeny made her look like the girl I
would love to be. Slutty and ready for whatever a man wanted from me.

   Oh the joys of "Panty Boy!" I strolled through it, rather than
raced. One enjoys the sights so much more that way.

   As always, there were two mammoth pictorials, sandwiching silly stuff
about the lifestyle of founder and publisher Nick Nickerson. He was always
having some big party or other at the Panty Boy mansion in Fromage,
Wisconsin. There were always tons of happy panty boys, perfectly coifed,
beautifully made up and resplendently attired, on Nick's arm or lap. I used
to drool thinking about being Nick Nickerson. Now I was thinking about
being one of his "girls." Actually, I was about 15 or 16 too years old for
such a position, since all of Nickerson's sweeties were 18 or 19. But who
was counting?

   Starting at the first pictorial, I lay in bed and lowered my panties to
let my clitty breathe free air. Oh my. It was an office scene and its title
was "Nora takes 'dick'-tation." Nickerson's humor was a bit trite, but his
beautiful creampuffs more than made up for it.

   Nora was a mega-doll, 18 or 19, deliciously beautiful, with long legs
and a world-class bottom. She was a secretary in an office where the only
other people appeared to be very hunky young men. In the early photos, the
men leered at Nora as she strode around the office in her five-inch
sandals. She was wearing a lovely, blue summer dress, VERY short (black
stocking tops were visible) and her long, brunette hair was pinned into a
tight bun. Nora's tented skirts showed that she was obviously "hard" at
work, but so were all the men sneaking peeks at her.

   Then Nora was summoned to Mr. Spunkley's office. She wiggled in,
carrying a steno pad and pen, then closed the door.

   Mr. Spunkley was a very nice looking, 50-something man. My cock stirred
when I saw the way he looked at Nora. Would a man ever look at me like
that? Oh. I felt an early cum warning, so I put the book down, closed my
eyes and thought about the calculation of compound interest rates until I
settled down.

   Nora and Mr. Spunkley knew the routine. She stripped down to her garter
belt, bra stockings, heels and very challenged panties. Mr. Spunkley to his
boxers. He was hairy and buff. Ohhhh.

   Nora wiggled over to Mr. Spunkley and, still clutching her spiral steno
book and pen, sat on the boss' lap. Spunkley shuddered with delight as the
lovely doll rubbed her pantied bottom against his naked thigh. They kissed
deeply, swapping tongues. In the next picture, I got my first
surprise. Spunkley had freed Nora's sissy pole and it was a big one. Most
of Nickerson's sissies had little wees -- under four inches. But he brought
in a big girl like Nora now and then to spice up the action. She was seven
inches at least, with a big, but pretty and femmy pink bag of sissy
nuts. Oh, she was beautiful. I envied her so.

   Then I got my second surprise. Spunkley lifted Nora's bra and she had
almost B-cup titties! That was the second issue in a row where a girl had
some titmeat and I liked it.

   Now I REALLY wanted to be Nora.

   Spunkley was tormenting her titties so nicely with his lips and tongue
as he skinned her foreskin up and down. What could the ecstatic girl do,
except cum? In big, creamy globs.

   What could I do except join her in a nice, hot, sticky cum?

   It was all so exciting. I knew then that I wanted to have a man on top
of me, filling me first with his big cock, then his hot seed. Somehow I
knew Katie could give me an opportunity to make that all happen.



   Chapter Nine -- Ember's First Date

   A few days later, when Sheila got the news that she had to go away
again, she was really bummed out. And to tell the truth, so was I. At least
the Craig side of me was. Sheila and I had been getting along really well,
and not just in the sack, since I started exploring my girl side. Sheila
knew I was different and she liked the new me. Even if she didn't seem to
understand it.

   I knew that sooner or later, I would "have some 'splainin' to do" to
Sheila, but who worries about that when he's emptying his ball bag several
times a day?

   Not me.

   The Ember side of me was wildly excited, since Katie had been promising
me all along that Sheila's next business trip would coincide with Ember's
first "date."

   My "lesbian" lover was so mean! She would hint at what I could expect
from a "date" she would set up for me, but she would just giggle and tease
whenever I asked her for details.

   Since Sheila was going away two whole days, I guessed I would find out
if Katie could "deliver" a nice man to introduce me to some new adventures.

   I was practically hyperventilating when I kissed Sheila goodbye and sent
Jimmy off to school. Jimmy was having a sleepover at a friend's that night,
so the field was wide open for my slutty, girlish intentions.

   I cleaned the breakfast dishes, made the beds, straightened Jimmy's
room, got the laundry going, then showered. I did a full girlie up --
make-up, wig, stockings, heels, skirt, top.

   So, in total, I was able to resist calling Katie, and begging her to
reveal the evening's agenda, for 98 whole minutes.

   When I did call, she giggled and said I sounded as if I were calling the
9-1-1 operator.

   "Relax, Honey," my lover said. "Or maybe I need to relax you a
little. Come on over."

   I took deep breaths, then resolved that I was going to go over to
Katie's, but she was getting NO pussy until I got some answers.

   Well, of course that didn't work. Katie greeted me with a hug and kiss
and before I knew it, I was stripped to my frillies and stockings, and on
my back, with an assful of her clitty.

   Then I really insisted and Katie, who was enjoying the teasing very
much, surrendered.

   "We're double-dating. I'll be with a very hunky guy named Rick and
you'll be with his equally hunky friend Steve."

   I trembled at the thought. Then I asked, "Do they know about us? What
kind of girls we are?"

   "Of course, Silly. We would never surprise a man about that. It could be
hazardous to our health."

   I thought a moment, then said, "What if I like Rick better?"

   She laughed out loud at that one. "Then he's yours. They're both nice
men. I've dated them both before. But they're just men. Take your pick."

   "How did you meet them?"

   "Rick is a client. Steve is his friend."

   I bit my lip. Still nervous and worried. But excited. "Do they know I'm,
you know, a 'virgin' as a girl?"

   Katie hugged me, then gave me a big kiss. "They know and they'll be
sweet and gentle. They're nice guys. Now let's get dressed and go have
lunch, then go get you a nice dress for tonight."

   My mouth hung open. Katie wanted me to go "out?" I had never been
outside of our two homes as a girl. I was terrified.

   But my submissive tendencies took over and once again I followed Katie's
lead.

   I went out through the back door and scooted into the passenger seat of
Katie's car. I hunched down a little, terrified that the neighbors would
see Craig dressed as a woman, rather than Ember.

   Katie was partly sympathetic and partly amused. We pulled out of her
garage, then backed into the street.

   Darn! Mr. Sullivan the retired cop across the street, who was a big
busybody, was looking at us. Instead of avoiding his gaze, Katie stopped,
rolled down her window and spoke to him.

   "Hi, Frank," she said. "Long time no see."

   Mr. Sullivan smiled broadly, then said, "Hi, Katie. That's my loss,
Honey. How about dinner some night next week?"

   In her best, sultry voice, Katie said, "Tuesday night. I'll cook. Bring
your toothbrush and pajamas."

   Sullivan smiled, then leaned over and kissed her.

   As we drove off, I was convinced that I was the most oblivious guy in
the neighborhood. There were things going on that had clearly passed me
by. It was time to start catching up.

   The day was one of terror and delight.

   As I expected, I got stares, all right. But they were lusty stares from
men and boys as Katie and I sissied through the mall in our big heels,
fully-fashioned stockings and short skirts.

   It was very exciting. And affirming. And it made me really hard and
needy.

   Katie was so sweet. She took me into the ladies room twice for manual
and oral "relief." The ladies room! The final frontier! And I was in a
stall with my "girlfriend," cumming down her pretty throat.

   Yes it was a good day. I got three new pairs of shoes. I loved when the
naughty shoe salesman held my stockinged feet longer than he should
have. And when he tried to look up my skirt. I thought about showing him my
panties, but was just a little too shy.

   I also bought three pretty dresses, including a lovely little black
number that I hoped would get Steve and/or Rick's motor running that
evening.

   That day did wonders for my confidence. Wasn't Katie smart to
"acclimate" me like that? I really did love her.

   We got back to Katie's house at 4:20 and spent the next three hours and
ten minutes girlying up. The results were spectacular, if I do say so.

   I was all in black, including my lingerie, shoes, stockings and eye
shadow. A long, straight, blonde wig crowned me and, had my Ember side met
my Craig side, Craig would have been smitten.

   Katie, who looked spectacular herself, gazed at me as a proud parent
would. In all the important ways, she was Ember's "mother.'

   Katie told me to "just relax and be yourself," the same pleasant fiction
that mothers have been pushing at daughters since Wilma Flintstone said it
to Pebbles the night of her first date with Bam Bam Rubble.

   It was even less relevant for me. At that moment in my life, I had no
idea who "myself" was.

   Butterflies had overrun my stomach as I stood in front of Katie's
full-length mirror and considered Ember at her best. Cindy Crawford needn't
look over her shoulder to see if I was gaining on her, but all in all, I
looked very nice.

   I even had a stiffie <giggle> but it melted in fear when the doorbell
rang to announce the arrival of Steve and Rick.

   <Gulp>

   I stood back and gasped for air as Katie answered the bell. She opened
the door and there they were.

   Two men.

   With two heads, four arms, 20 fingers and an equal number of toes.

   I saw men every day of my life. These were two more.

   Like heck. These guys wanted to take us out on the town, feed us, get us
liquored up, then bring us home and fuck us.

   <Shudder>

   "Steve, Rick, I would like you to meet Ember," Katie said.

   They smiled, nodded and did not shake my hand. As if I were a lady.

   Well that was nice.

   Then Rick, allegedly my date, said, "It's very nice to meet you,
Ember. I've been looking forward to tonight since Katie told me about you."

   My paranoia attacked me. I thought, what did Katie tell you? But I
pushed the paranoia back, smiled, nodded and said, "Thank you."

   Katie took over as hostess, getting the ladies' coats out, handing them
to the men and saying, "Our reservations won't wait, gentlemen."

   Rick helped me on with my coat and I got a major femininity rush. Then
he compounded it by holding the doors for me as we left the house and got
in the back seat of Steve's car.

   He seemed very nice, and so was Steve. Katie said she only dated nice
guys. They were both fit and good-looking, but no Robert Redfords. I liked
that.

   Rick was very sweet and solicitous, engaging me in a conversation about
my son and his activities. Rick was divorced and had two little girls. Like
me, he was a Chicago Cubs fan, so he knew suffering.

   I liked him and relaxed a lot. I relaxed so much that I started looking
at him as a sex object. Would he have the guts to let him "take liberties"
with me?

   We arrived at the restaurant and again Rick treated me like a
princess. He couldn't just be buttering me up to get in my panties, could
he? We girls have to be on the alert for such things.

   The four of us had a lovely dinner with lively conversation. In some
ways, I was fearful when it ended. I would have to decide whether I wanted
to pay my man back for my dinner.

   Maybe Rick wouldn't want me. Could I handle the rejection?

   The look in his eye told me that was not an option.

   I was a lot less animated on the ride home. It was becoming "put out or
shut up" time.

   I looked at Rick. He smiled at me.

   It was a nice smile.

   I made up my mind.

   It was going to be Rick's lucky night. And mine.

   My tummy was fluttering when we got back to Katie's house, but I was
confident in my decision to visit "the other side" fully.

   Katie was so naughty about it. When we got our coats off and got
settled, she took Steve's hand and said, "Steve and I are going to go
upstairs and make some music together. We'll leave you two lovebirds here
on the couch or you can use the guest bedroom. If you want to. And I'm
pretty sure you do."

   We did.

   And then we were alone. On the couch. A little like high school, but I
was the girl.

   Rick appeared to be nervous too, but he was able to function slightly
better than I was. "May I kiss you?" he asked.

   I girlishly bit my bottom lip, looked down shyly, and nodded my
acceptance.

   Rick took his time. I liked that. He held my chin gently and looked into
my eyes. And then he kissed me.

   Wow. It was sensual and thrilling.

   It was as if I had been reborn to a new and better life.

   Rick rested his hand on my right thigh. My dress had been covering it,
but now my thigh was exposed -- smooth, pink, bare flesh above a black
stocking top -- a black garter strap snapped to a dark, silky treasure. My
clitty was stiff and sore with need. For the first time I felt a man's heat
and his raw need.

   It would be imprudent of me to tell you any more of what went on between
us. Some things are private.

   Don't ask.

   I'm not telling.

   Just settle down.

   Calm yourself.

   Deep breaths.

   Not telling.

   Close the curtain.

   Oh, what the heck.

   Prudence is overrated.

   He fucked me. I loved it.

   But I'm getting ahead of the story a bit.

   As Rick kissed me and caressed my silky thigh, I was more aroused than I
knew possible. I was such a little tramp. I gave him my tongue and he gave
me his.

   Still kissing me, Rick brushed the backs of the fingers of his right
hand across the big lump in my panties. Just a little rub.

   My eyes filled with tears. I squealed like the world's biggest
sissy. And I began to ejaculate. Helplessly and copiously. Jets of sticky
juices drenched my panties as I whimpered in an agony of pleasure.

   Rick seemed very pleased to have brought me such pleasure. I was even
more pleased to have received it.

   I kissed Rick hungrily, thanking him for taking me to heaven in a
stretch limo. Then, with trembling, girlish fingers, I pulled down his
zipper and extracted his cock.

   Another big line crossed. I had never held a man's cock before. Well,
Katie's, but she's Katie. Not a man. She never let me touch her "that way"
when she was dressed as Mike.

   I examined Rick's cock as if it were the Rosetta Stone to another
life. I felt its warmth. The blood rushing through it. Its nooks and
crannies. It was so hot and hard. Not huge. Six inches. But nice and stiff
and drippy, with a long, thick foreskin.

   I pulled the foreskin all the way back, exposing all the pink bits. Rick
gasped, and a big drop of pregoo oozed out. I giggled.

   It was great being in total control. And having a nice cock to play
with. Attached to a nice man. I kissed Rick deeply, then stood up. I
stripped to my bra, garter belt, stockings and heels, slowly easing down my
cummy panties to give my man a good show of all the good stuff.

   Rick was in quite a froth when I knelt between his legs and slowly,
sensuously licked up all the sweet pregoo that had covered his velvety
helmet. He moaned so needily at that one. I had the power to get up and
walk out at that point, leaving him to his "condition." But I was a
benevolent monarch. I cuddled Rick's balls lovingly as I applied all my
considerable cocksucking skills to his most sensitive parts. He loved all
the licking and sucking, but he told me after that the enthusiasm I showed
was what made it a fantastic blowjob. Remember that, ladies. Enthusiasm.

   I was enjoying myself tremendously. Skydiving is scary, but once you've
jumped, and your chute opens, you can enjoy the trip. I was a cocksucker
from that point on, so I was able to just enjoy it.

   I fell into a rhythm, manually skinning his thick hood up and down as my
wet tongue explored his peehole or bathed his knob. No live man can resist
that for long, and Rick was very much alive. So eventually, with only a
desperate grunt for a warning, Rick's reservoir of man juice spurted out of
his peelips, past my mouth lips and down my throat. I swallowed and gulped
mightily and can proudly say that I didn't spill a drop.

   Mmmmmmm.

   I smiled with pride at Rick, who drew me to his bosom, kissing me and
thanking me for giving him "the second sweetest treat in the world."

   I believed I knew what was the first. And he would get that soon enough.

   "Let's go upstairs and get into bed," I said huskily.

   The rascal stood, picked me up, and carried me upstairs the way Rhett
carried Scarlett.

   The prospect of really good pussy must make a man strong.

   Rick undressed to the buff and he looked awfully good to me. Not Arnold
or Charles Atlas. But good.

   I stayed in my stockings, heels, garters and bra. A girl needs her
accessories.

   We got on the bed together and he held me in his arms. His love pole was
still limp and dripping from its recent "exercise," but I was stiff and
throbbing again. We kissed and cuddled and the naughty boy stroked my
clitty and tickled my tee tees mercilessly.

   I gave myself to Rick completely, surrendering to his manly needs. What
a wonderful feeling that was. I surrendered not only my body, but also my
responsibility for our love tussle's outcome. Rick was now the conductor
and I, the enthusiastic passenger.

   Rick had made love to girls like me before (Katie for sure) and he knew
our feelings and our needs. He had brought along a nice tube of lubricant,
which he applied to three of his fingers. Then he penetrated me with the
slick digits, one at a time, running them in and out of my girlish pussy
until I was gasping and panting with lust.

   Rick paid special homage to my prostate, rubbing it slowly and
maddeningly until, being only human, my eyes widened, nipples hardened,
back arched and I came bloody murder. All over myself. In thick
globs. Squealing out Rick's name.

   I think Rick enjoyed all that every bit as much as I did. I liked that
about him too. Katie certainly knew some sweet, nice men. Well, I resolved
to give her a little competition for that one,

   When I returned to the living, I realized that my moment was at hand. I
was on my back and when I was able to focus my eyes, I saw Rick's stiff
monster pointed in my direction. Rick was giving me a needy, lusty look,
sort of asking for permission to fuck me.

   Entirely superfluous, though his unspoken request for fucking permission
was, it was sweet. But I wanted the show on the road. I looked him in the
eyes, nodded and whimpered out a "Please. Now!"

   He got the message. Slipping my calves onto his shoulders, Rick put the
eye of his tiger at my pussy gate. Kneeling between my spread legs, he
leaned over, kissed me, then straightened up. He pushed forward and was in
me.

   Oh, Baby. I had been such a little tramp for Katie, allowing her to fuck
me several dozen times. So in a way, I was no virgin. But in the way it
counted, I was virginal.

   It doesn't count until a man puts his thing in you, girls.

   I was filled with pure man. Heaving, grunting, pushing man. Primal in
his need to deposit his load of seed. Aroused to sexual torment by my
femininity and submissiveness.

   Filled to my eyelids on his forward stroke, then gasping and needy when
he pulled back and almost withdrew. If it had inadvertently fallen out, I
would have sobbed until he re-inserted it.

   Girl nights just kept getting better and better.

   My tummy was filled with puddles from my recent cum. I felt as if I were
about to drench it with another hot load. But my cliity was limp and
bouncing freely as my man enjoyed me. I couldn't cum when I was soft, could
I? Those warnings, though were so ...insistent. I glanced at my sissypole,
expecting it to stiffen. It didn't. But I shuddered and gasped like the
moments before an orgasm and then WHAM! My stomach went into meltdown. My
toes exploded. And several watery drops of sissy cream oozed from my
flaccid popsy.

   It was Vesuvius, Mount Saint Helen's and Krakatoa all in one
debilitating package. And I was lucky enough to receive its full effect.

   Getting fucked was fun.

   Apparently, Rick was enjoying himself too. I was unable to form words
yet, but I witnessed Rick's own aspirant to the Orgasm Hall of Fame. He
shuddered and grunted and soaked my bowels with his own premium-grade,
man's cream.

   A few minutes and several tender kisses later, Rick rolled off me,
caught his breath, then kissed me sweetly for a long time. We were so wiped
out by that first fuck that we were only able to do it twice more before
Rick was ready to leave for work at ten the next morning. "If a man is
going to be late for work," he said, "you're the best reason I can think
of."

   I blushed, kissed him with lots of tongue, then made sure he didn't make
it into work until lunchtime.

   Apparently, I thought, men liked Ember.



   Chapter Ten -- And they all lived...

   As usual, I had mixed feelings about Sheila's homecoming that evening. I
would have enjoyed another girl night in Rick's arms or even <blush>
Steve's. But Sheila was my wife and I loved her too. Plus, she and I were
having several-times-daily sex ever since she came home from her first
trip.

   I didn't want to mess that up.

   As it turned out, my fears were groundless.

   Jimmy got home from school that day filled with stories about his
sleepover at his friend's house. Jimmy was the best reason not to seek an
arrangement that didn't include Sheila.

   When Sheila came home she was sweet and complimentary and motherly and
loving. The Sheila I married, it appeared, was fully back.

   After a nice dinner and some excellent family time, Sheila grabbed my
hand and led me to the bedroom. I was hard and ready for my wife.

   Then things changed.

   Contrary to popular opinion, all change is not bad.

   I figured Sheila would rapidly undress, then pull me on top of her for
some slap and tickle. Instead, she went to her closet and pulled out three
big shopping bags.

   "I got you some presents when I was away, Ember," she said.

   Wow! Great! I love presents. I... Unhhhh. Did she say, Ember?

   My heart sank and I began to tremble. Busted!

   What would Sheila do?

   But Sheila was smiling and pulling out all sorts of lingerie and girlie
stuff. For me.

   Denial appeared useless. So I just listened.

   Sheila smiled and said, "Why don't you try that set on, Sweetheart, then
we can work on your make-up."

   It was silky black stockings, with matching garter belt, bra, panties
and four-inch fuck-me pumps.

   I was trembling so badly, I couldn't walk over to get the set, even
though it looked lovely.

   Sheila took pity on me and began to set my mind at ease. "Honestly,
Ember. Did you really think you could hide something that basic from your
wife? Women notice things, not like oblivious men. Long before you started
girlying up with Mike, I saw the men Katie would have in for 'sleepovers.'
I knew our marriage was getting stagnant and that men never take any action
to make big changes, so I did."

   Catatonia would describe my state perfectly at that moment.

   Sheila continued. "I went over one day to speak to Mike and he was quite
open about everything and very willing to help you. He said he sensed a
strong female side to you and he was very willing to help you develop
it. Completely. Including dates with men. I told Mike that if it made you
happier and improved our marriage, I was all for it. It appears that's what
happened. Don't you think, Honey?"

   Mike was in on this with Sheila? Sheila wanted me to be a girly man?

   Excellent.

   Weird. Shocking. But excellent.

   Sheila said, "Now get into that lingerie, Baby. I want us to have the
first of many girl nights together. And don't worry. If Ember wants to date
men now and then, I'm fine with that. As long as you extend me the same
courtesy."

   And that was what we did and how we lived. Lots of girl nights. Happily
ever after.

Please tell me what you think at gingerfred2005@yahoo.com.

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