Chapter 3

Our dinner was uneventful, and even pleasant. No, it was better than that. It turned out to be delightful, because despite all of my fears about the way I looked, nothing happened. The "first time" experiences accumulated so fast I didn't even notice many of them after a while, and Monica had to remind me about them.

Monica drove to a modest-priced Italian restaurant, and when I saw it was crowded I protested. "No, that's what we want, dear, for you to be out among lots of people who are paying no attention to you, so you can begin to get used to it. Just remember we're ordinary girls out for dinner and a movie, or something, and don't give it another thought. Of course if you're still nervous about the way you look, you're in pants, so you can believe you still look like a man. But no one else will. Joellen did a fine job with you. Wait and see."

As she got out of the car she looked at me again. "Small steps, dear, and for the present, one foot in front of the other, so you sway your hips just a bit. I think heels might help. No more flats or sneakers for the time being. And you'll need to carry a purse from now on when we're out together. For now no one will notice."

The Maitre D' came over. "A party of two, or are you expecting others to join you?" Others?! The thought flashed across my mind that this whole dinner might be another setup. A terrified pang pierced my vitals! "Monica!" I whispered, not trusting my voice, pleading.

"No, just the two of us tonight," she told the Maitre D'." Then to me, seeing my face, she said. "Don't worry, dear. I have other plans altogether."

"It will be perhaps ten minutes before I can seat you, ladies. Would you like to wait in the bar?"

I followed her in and sat down on an adjoining bar stool. "Oh, my, Andrea, you need to practice everything," she said. "A lady does not climb on a bar stool one haunch at a time. She steps up on the rail, braces with both hands on the edge of the bar, and then settles down onto the stool with her legs together. Like a lady." The bartender came over. "I'll have a vodka on rocks," she said. Then she looked at me and waited. I was on my own.

"A doub..." My voice was much too high. I lowered it a little, and decided to try gentle and breathy too. "A double vodka on the rocks, please." The bartender turned away.

"Not bad, dear," my wife said, amused. "A little like Jackie Kennedy, but not at all bad. There are worse models. Now, see how many firsts already? You've been called a lady, you're out and passing with over fifty people paying no attention to you, you've learned to sit down at a bar, which can be an essential skill in the months ahead, and you've used a woman's voice to get what you want. Do you think you'll be all right using the ladies' room by yourself later, or will you want me to come with you? Try the men's room now, and you'd cause a riot. Maybe even get raped. Wouldn't that be a first? From now on, dear, you have to think about such things." The bartender set down our glasses, and she went on. "Look at that! My but they're generous here. And yours is a double? Well, I suppose those tranquilizers I gave you back at the house have worn off by now, so I suppose it's all right."

"You gave me tranquilizers? Is that why I haven't been scared to death of everything you've been doing to me?" I remembered only at the last second to tone down my voice.

"Of course, dear. Do you mind, now that it's done? I'd never have gotten you out of the house and into a beautician's chair without them. You know that. And now look at us. Two girls out together. Your dream come true. Isn't it?"

"Yes," I had to confess. My voice was a little husky. "Thank you, dear. But you've never answered my question, why are you being so nice to me now, after years of hating..." I hesitated, and finished lamely, "of not wanting to know about... everything like this."

The Maitre d' called out "Jackson, party of two," and Monica said, "That's us. Or strictly speaking, that's you, Andrea. Andrea Jackson, isn't that sweet? Easy to remember, too. I'll keep my married name of course, and Andrew will too whenever he needs a name, but Andrea needed a new name. Do you like it? It's her maiden name. She's not married." She was teasing me again, and I didn't know what to reply.

As we were shown to the table and the Maitre held out my chair for me, I slipped in as daintily as I could, and smiled at him, and sat down. "But why," I asked again. "Why now?"

"Quite simply, because I realized not long ago that a husband who wants to feel like a woman is what I want. It's what I need. I want you to be look and feel the way you are right now all the time. Even more so. Much more so. Like I said, I have plans. For both of us."

Her voice had lost all of its teasing banter. She was quite serious, and as she turned to look directly at me and continued she sounded even more serious.

"Andrea, do you love me?" she asked soberly.

"You know I do."

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes, of course."

"Not 'of course.' I mean really."

I hesitated, and decided to jump off the cliff.

"Yes," I said. "I trust you." I meant it. Unequivocally.

"Good," she said, and she smiled so happily it nearly broke my heart to see it, she looked so beautiful. "Then trust me. You won't regret it. I promise. And we may yet grow old and feebleminded together."

"Monica, is this something serious?"

"Not any more, sweetheart. Shall we order, and then visit the ladies' together?"

"I'd like that," I said.

The final "first time" of the night was, when we got home, Monica asked me to fix my makeup, slip into a short, frilly nightie, and make love to her like a woman. Previously she'd shown no desire in oral sex, and after a while I'd quit trying to interest her. Our sex lives together were fine, I thought. We usually fucked gently and devotedly, one atop the other according to mood, or alongside, and she kissed my mouth, and I kissed her mouth and suckled on her nipples, and we both came, beautifully, usually together. And that was it. It was wonderful. I loved it, and thought she did too. We had no need for contraceptives or worries about pregnancy, because Monica had no patience with children and wanted none, I had no special feelings either way at the time, and we had both agreed as a condition of our marrying that I should get a vasectomy. As I did. Our sex was always pleasant, generous, and without anxiety.

But this time as I kissed the tips of her tits she wrapped her arms around my head and cried out, "Oh!" so passionately, and then "Oh!" again and again, that I almost came on her belly. I'm sure she orgasmed as I nursed her, and she clasped my head tightly to her soft, swelling breasts, first one, then the other, then the first again. "They're so very sensitive!" she said. Then she said, "Let me!" and began to suckle on my teats, small as they were. Gradually a strange and exotic feeling seemed to emanate >from her mouth into my breasts, and she reached down to pull gently on my penis while she nursed on me. The feeling grew stronger, and became my whole body's, and as she sucked and pulled and licked I finally came too, in one single grand unclenching, as if all of me was a single throbbing organ.