Chapter 1

She's having an affair. I couldn't ignore it any longer; the evidence was right there on my monitor that Wednesday afternoon. I had felt so... tawdry — a word I had thought I would never use — hiring the detective to follow her, follow up on my suspicions. It was as though I was betraying her, betraying the trust, the faith I had had in her during our eight-year relationship, the last three as husband and wife. As the DVD played out on my computer screen, played out the scenes I had dreaded, I knew my faith and trust had been misplaced.

Susan and I had been high school sweethearts; the convivial, popular cheerleader and her intense, intellectual, fiercely-competitive Cross-Country star. She had broken up with Jeff Spencer shortly before we became an 'item'. No one exactly accused the supernaturally-attractive emerald-eyed Redhead of 'trading down'. In a culture that demanded performance, the football team was mired somewhere in the middle of the conference standings. Jeff, a bona fide heartthrob, had been a talented-enough quarterback. Yet he, more than any other person, was the focal point of the team's lackluster performance. Rightly or wrongly, he carried the stigma of an also-ran. Meanwhile, my team's 'Long Green Line' held back-to-back-to-back State championships and I was the undisputed fastest in State history. Still, they clucked, she had given up a hunk of U.S. Prime for a runner...

"Screw that," she had cooed dismissively. "I love a winner. You are going places and I want to go there with you."

We had attended the same college, lived together our senior year, then raced to the altar after graduation. We each strove to attain the promise of 'going places' in our respective careers. She was a rising star in Marketing and Public Relations, while I was on my way to having my own seat on the Mercantile Exchange. I ran five miles every morning before work. Susan worked out regularly at her health club. We maintained our peak physical tone for ourselves and each other, just as we had when we first met. Throughout, our sex had been magic. I was the tender, caring lover she had always dreamed of, the one who pushed all her buttons the way she liked them pushed, the one she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

"And you are the prettiest boy I have ever seen," she had added. "That's a big plus."

I wasn't certain how much of a 'plus' that was, but I appreciated the compliment. We had the idyllic life — or so I thought.

Susan worked in the Publicity Department of the local professional football franchise. She had a plumb position as an assistant director for the team's promotions. Guess who was now the rising star in the team's quarterback corps? You got it! After high school, Jeff had landed a scholarship with a Division 1-A school that had a real program. He had been all-NCAA, a runner-up in the Heisman balloting, Most Valuable Player in two bowl games and a first-round draft pick. I had had qualms about Susan and Jeff being thrown together again, but dismissed them as silly male insecurity. After all, that had been high school...

The increasingly-frequent, increasingly-lengthy absences had alerted me something hade changed in our relationship. When asked, she put it off on the demands of her career. It was the eye contact, or lack of it, that fueled my suspicions. She was loving enough when we were together, but I sensed an air of distance that hadn't been there before. Something had insinuated itself into our lives, separating us, and I had determined to find out what.

That amorphous 'what' was now playing out before me. They were together again, captured on disk by the most remarkable bit of electronic surveillance I could possibly imagine. In high school, Jeff Spencer's masculine physique had made him the object of female desire and male envy. Now, he was even more impressive: about six-foot-four to my five-eight, and outweighing me by at least sixty pounds of rock-hard muscle.

Jeff was not making love to my wife. He was fucking her, banging her mercilessly like a piece of meat with his thick, ten-inch tool. I could almost smell the rut of their sex as I watched the video. There was little doubt Susan was loving every pummeling thrust. I could actually see her eyes roll up into her head as she came, see her body convulse, see her throat vibrate as she screamed.

Mind you, I was really, really good at making my wife cum. I could tease her, inflame her, infuriate her for hours with my tongue and fingertips alone, until she was begging me for release. When I finally pushed her over the edge, she gripped my hair tightly, thrust my face deeply into her pussy, and shuddered through her orgasm for a long, long time. Still, any man knew this was different. I felt intimidated, angry, betrayed. More than anything else, I felt a sense of loss.

The detective had been exceedingly thorough; worth every penny. Once he had identified the offending third party, the surveillance had extended beyond the affair with my wife, tracking Jeff's habits as well. That investigation had paid off spectacularly. I shook my head in utter disbelief as I observed Jeff's extracurricular activities when he wasn't shagging my wanton wife. To put it mildly, he was no more faithful to her than she was to me.

The thought of violence came to mind and just as quickly departed. I didn't hold any illusions about being able to pull off the 'perfect crime'. Any temporary satisfaction such extreme measures might render would be nullified by a lifetime spent in prison. Jeff's philandering had revealed a vulnerability that could conceivably be exploited to my advantage. It would take time to formulate an appropriate plan. For now, the two cheaters deserved each other.

The lurid scenes of that follow-up surveillance sparked something else in me; a fascination for a world I had only heard about in vague, titillating references. It had existed around me since we moved to the city, yet I had never given it a second thought. Now, faced with it on the screen before me, I felt compelled to seek this world out. If I was going to have my vengeance on the pair, I reasoned, this was the place to start. Besides, what did I have left to lose?

My first visit to Ringers was a real head trip. It was Friday night, two days after my idyllic world had collapsed in ruin. I had had zero experience with female impersonators in my life. Now, within the tastefully-decorated confines of the city's most famous — notorious — F.I. "show lounge", I was surrounded by them. The first thing I learned was, these 'girls' are good at what they do. Granted, most of the performers lip-sync to Pop divas' recordings rather than sing. Still, the visual presentations are stunning. As far as the 'impersonation' aspect goes, many genetic females would be green with envy over these faux-femme fatales.

I spotted the girl right away, remembering her from the surveillance disk. It was as though Raquel Welsh had cloned herself. Now, that delectable doppelganger was perched on a high-backed stool at the bar, one stocking-clad leg crossed alluringly over the other, gazing out over the crowd with casual insouciance. I had difficulty picturing her with 'something extra' nestled between those alluring thighs. We struck up a casual conversation. Her name was Dianna. Absent the heels, I judged her to be about my own height. I was more than a little nervous. The gorgeous brunette smiled seductively and agreed to share a drink with me; the first of several. She was surprisingly approachable. Over the course of the evening, I found out why.

Through my new acquaintance, I learned two more things about the scene. First, the term 'female impersonator' is woefully out of date. Most of these girls have long since crossed the line between impersonation and transformation and have no intention of crossing back. Dianna was a stunning example of that. Second, I confirmed that many of these girls made at least a marginal living via the oldest profession — mostly because no legitimate employer will hire them to do anything more meaningful.

After several more drinks, we adjourned to 'someplace more private' to continue our conversation. Yes, money changed hands; she was good to give me her time and I wanted to make it worth her while. When she saw the amount I offered, she smiled bemusedly and declared she was mine for the evening. All I wanted was conversation. It wasn't going to be about sex. I was just gathering information.

She viewed with disdain the picture I had produced from my pocket.

"Oh, him," she sniffed. "Yeah, I know that freak. He has dated me a few times — among other girls at the club. At least he's got the goods — and knows how to use it."

"Freak?" I inquired tentatively.

I instinctively feared for Susan's well-being, in spite of my anger at what she had done.

"Baby, they're all freaks," Dianna maintained. "Fine, upstanding, solid citizens, pillars of the community — until nobody is watching. They love to get down 'n dirty like everyone else, more than most. They're really into girls like me, too, but don't want anyone in their 'straight' world to know. As far as I know, he hasn't taken it up his punk ass yet, but he loves to do mine — and take it down the pipe."

That was more information than I wanted. It wasn't that much of a stretch to envision my beautiful companion in the arms of an admitted stud like Jeff Spencer. It was a stretch to picture the "man's man" sucking cock. 'Freak' seemed to be an apt description. Perhaps it was the liquid courage that was clouding my judgment. I found myself more and more attracted to this sensual siren with each passing moment. Still, her candor was... unsettling. For all her obvious allure, I was hung up on the secret lurking beneath. I desired and feared her at the same time. What did that say about me? Whatever I might have felt about what she was, I began to have misgivings about myself.

"I'm here," I pointed out. "Does that make me a freak, too?"

My beautiful companion cocked one eyebrow and smiled with amusement.

"Like you said," she replied, "you're here - aren't you?"

With that, she repositioned herself in my lap and wrapped her arms around my neck. If I could have seen the pores in her flawless complexion, I could have counted them. I could smell her cinnamon-tinged breath and the heady aroma of her perfume. Her prominent cleavage looked done rather than fake. I wanted to hide my erection, keep her from finding out how much she was turning me on. She knew better, and smiled triumphantly.

"You tell me, Sugar," she purred. "Aren't you feeling just a little bit freaky? Before you try to deny it, your friend is telling me yes."

She ground her bottom into my lap to confirm her point.

The girl's body was lushly proportioned, to be sure, but she wasn't all that heavy. Why was I out of breath? Why was my heart pounding? She took my confused silence as a tacit admission.

"That's what I thought," she continued. "Why don't we get more... comfortable? I mean, you've already paid for the time."

The intoxicating vixen removed her hands from my neck and began unbuttoning my shirt. I willed my hands to seize hers, stop her from doing what she was doing, what she was going to do. My hands refused to move. I was caught in the gaze of her big chocolate- brown eyes like a deer in headlights.

I don't remember undressing her, nor moving with her to the bed. I remember lying on my back with her astride me, feeding me a mouthful of tit. I had always thought Susan's C-cups were the best of the best. Dianna's were bigger, fuller, firmer — and demanded my attention.

That wasn't all that demanded my attention. I could feel her down there, feel something big where it had no business being. It snaked its way around my crotch, rubbing up against my own rock-hard dick. I tried to put it out of my mind, concentrate on her magnificent titties, but couldn't.

"You like that, don't you, Baby?" she trilled, "me rubbing against you like that, all up in your business. Your white-bread wife can't give you that; no GG can. I've got what you need, what you really want."

I didn't want this! I just wanted to know what a man like Jeff Spencer saw in her, why he would even cheat on a prize like Susan for someone like this. Instead, I was in bed with this, this... ho', trapped beneath her, sucking her tits like there was no tomorrow, feeling her fuckpole rubbing up against my abdomen. The really insane thing was, my cock was bigger and harder than it had ever been before in my life! What on earth was it thinking?

Then, she started in on me with her hand. The sensation of her long fingernails gently scraping the flesh of my inner thigh was exquisite torture. Before long, those fingers were finding their way higher, gently caressing my rigid fuckstick. Ohmygod, what a sensation! Dianna softly encircled my joypole and began to stroke it. I was going out of my mind with frenzied desire.

The talented T-girl had two hands. While her right hand worked my cock, her left hand found my right and slowly, firmly moved it into position on her rock-hard rod. No! No, no, no, no, absolutely NOT! I am not Gay! I do not want a man! I don't... I don't... don't... Jeezus, this is so hot!

It was almost a relief when she slid down my body and slipped my bone into her mouth. It was just 'normal' sex again, unburdened by thoughts of my partner's meaty surprise. Now I knew what it was like to be ministered to by truly talented lips and tongue! My hands went to her head unbidden. I just held them there, not attempting to force her face down on me. It seemed like... the right thing to do, one more connection between us. Connection? What was I saying?

That 'connection' was not long in coming. My fellatrix abruptly pivoted on my pole, straddling my head with her firm thighs. Suddenly, her more-than-formidable sex was inches from my face. By that time, I was on sensory overload. I just stared in awe as her meat dangled in my vision. Then, she lowered herself to me. I vowed I wasn't going to do it; I wasn't that way. I tried to resist, to keep my mouth shut. The attention she was giving my dong had my heart pounding and my lungs heaving. Her firm thighs gripped my head, smothering my nose. I held out as long as I could, but finally had to open my mouth to breathe...