Chapter 8

What could I say? I called Denise, and she asked me over for supper and the evening -- Tinka was trying out a variety of mushroom souffles to see which should be served at the baby's christening, and they wanted me to settle an old dispute between them about onions versus garlic. They sounded like an old married couple, I thought to myself. But then, that's what they are.

So when I arrived, the first thing they did was take me into the nursery. There lay Mikki, the sweetest little creature in all the world, all dimples and puffy cheeks, sound asleep, working his teeny, delicate lips as if he was nursing, now and then jerking his little limbs as if dreaming, and as I watched, a miracle, a full-scale sneeze from someone much too tiny to accomplish anything so complicated. So very, very precious! I was absolutely smitten, and they had to lead me back to the living room, or I'd be there yet.

"Have a stiff drink, Andrea" Denise said. "At least you're not pregnant. Not at the moment, anyhow. I can tell you've been spinning in one of your wife's webs, and that's why you're here. She's a wonderful woman and we all love her, and you're lucky to have her and that she loves you to pieces, and that's the truth. But she does make her own plans and keep her own counsel."

So I just unburdened everything: Monica's affair with Ben, her sudden change of heart about my cross-dressing, her encouraging me, no, pushing me into a womanhood I now knew was irreversible, and didn't want to reverse, how my little liaison with Eric had prepared me to suck and be fucked by her lover Ben and even to enjoy a brief affair with a young man she hired for the purpose, even her too-swift assumption that I would be willing to care for the child of her adultery, her infidelity, my rival's baby, just because she knew I was sufficiently tender-hearted, and had also gotten laid by the father. I set it all out. I assured them that I loved Monica this side of distraction, and that life without her was inconceivable to me. But in all of these matters there were questions that had never been answered, and without answers, I just didn't know what to think. How to feel.

Denise asked Tinka to bring me another double, and waited until I had it. We were sitting in the living room, and our conversation continued through dinner -- a delicious dinner I want to cook for Monica real soon, maybe even also Ben, so I left with all the recipes -- and it didn't finish until I was standing on their front steps saying good night yet again, many hours later, thanking them profusely for all their help. Because finally, I understood.

Denise took charge. "Andrea, to begin with, Andrew is dead. I saw you with that baby. I've listened to you. Give up on him. Cut off his balls. Castrate him as punishment for distracting you >from your proper role in life. You're a woman. Maybe you never were a transvestite. Maybe you were always a woman, or most of you was, but you were too womanly, too hesitant, too scared to take the plunge. Anyhow, it doesn't matter now. Monica did you a favor, bringing your real femininity out into the open, and letting you learn to enjoy it."

"But she didn't do it for your sake alone. Like most women she was raised to think that effeminate men are contemptible, not admirable for wanting to be the same thing they are. It's a kind of self-hatred many women feel, maybe. Especially wives. Or maybe, like Monica at this very moment filled to the hilt by that thing of Ben's, they get hung up on a single concept of cock and cock alone being desirable, and then they just hang there. A man who doesn't act like a man isn't a man, they think. Well, duh! So he must be a woman. One or the other. But why? Different strokes."

"You must certainly have noticed that a lot of things happened at the same time around five months ago. Monica got bored with your gentle decency and fucked someone with balls, and got her cunt planted by one of the great cocksmen in this part of the country. Then she breached a hard-argued three year old agreement with her husband never to say anything about his compulsive cross-dressing, and instead she started to encourage it, in fact to push him over the edge. And she stopped fucking her husband, who was more and more becoming her wife, and turned exclusively lesbian with her -- only with her husband, not with the big prick she's still teamed with and is no doubt at this very moment twisting into her pussy. And she sends her former husband off to a willing endocrinologist for hormones, to get him physically converted as quickly as possible into a wife. Complete with breasts. Breasts are crucial in this equation. Real ones, implants need not apply. How they hangin'?

"I may need to shift to a C cup," I replied. "They're beautiful. I love them. So does Monica. She's always kissing and sucking on them."

"I'll bet. Puts you in the mood, doesn't it? Tinka, do you want to tell our sister here something that she ought to know?"

The baby had awakened and started crying, so Tinka said, "Just a moment. I want to get Mikki and change his diaper. Then I'll bring him back in here for his feeding."

She did. That sweet little thing was already nuzzling her breasts. She opened her blouse and unhooked a flap on one of her bra cups, and the darling dived right in. In a moment he was nursing and sucking and grunting on Tinka's breast, and Tinka had blissed out while she hugged him. But, I realized, it was Denise who had had the baby, not Tinka. How could this be?

"Easy," said Denise when I asked her. "I had the baby. Tinka had the breasts and the desire to nurture another human life. Our endo had the hormone women secrete at birth that causes breasts to make milk. Put them all together, and what you see is what you get."

Tinka smiled up at me. "That's right, Andrea honey. If you have real breasts, you can make real milk. You do have real breasts, courtesy of your pregnant wife. Does that suggest anything to you?"

"Did Monica know about this plan of yours, Denise to carry the baby, and Tinka to nurse it?" I was feeling resentful yet elated. Cheated yet victorious. I couldn't sort out my own feelings. What had Monica done to me? Did I mind?

"Not when we decided on it," Denise said. "Only when she first found she was pregnant. I'll bet just about when she discovered that having a sweet-tempered, cross-dressing, home loving husband has certain advantages. Especially if he likes filling his bras with real tits."

Tinka broke in. "Oh, Denise, you're too harsh on poor Monica. Let me put it a different way. She loves you, Andrea. Very dearly. This is for you, in a way. It's her gift to you. For the two of you. When you got your vasectomy, she didn't know how womanly you wanted to be. She had no idea. She did know that she didn't want to be a mother, that she didn't have the time, or patience, or certainly the desire. So when Ben knocked her up she was going to get rid of it. It was intrusive on her, and certainly on the two of you. But by then she'd seen what a wonderful little homemaker you are, and she got to thinking that she'd deprived you of one of the great joys of life, parenting, when she asked you to sterilize yourself and because you're sweet, and loving, and obliging, that's what you did. She realized you'd love to raise the baby, and that with you in charge she'd lose no more time from her work than it takes for a peasant woman to give birth and get back into the field. A few days, a week at most, with no infant to tire her out. She could have her cake and eat it. Motherhood and a career both, with no conflict between them.

Denise added, "Motherhood for her husband, anyhow, once she'd made him into her wife. Very clever. I'd do it myself, if I hadn't already thought of it and done it."

Tinka smiled at her and blew her a kiss. The baby seemed to be asleep at her breast, his little hand lying lightly on her soft curves, but his mouth was still working. She covered him with a light blanket and held him close.

"Andrea," Denise said. "Pardon me for being suspicious, but when someone mentions cheese, I smell a rat. What's this "liaison" with Eric you mentioned? What kind of liaison?"

I told her what Monica had told me, that when we last visited together, after talking babies and bottles and breasts upstairs with Tinka I came downstairs absolutely zonked, and Eric got me to cock sucking him before he corn holed me, and that I loved it. All of this supposedly being proof that I was a true woman, finally. Or maybe that I wasn't."

When I finished, Tinka was smiling, and Denise the same, even more broadly, "I don't believe that woman!" she said. "She should be Ambassador to the Universe! President of the World!"

Tinka explained. "Oh, we went upstairs for my recipes and started talking babies and nursing, all right, you and me. I could see you were over the hill and not likely to remember anything, so I told you our little secret, that I meant to breast-feed Denise's baby, our baby. You asked how, and I took you to my breast, and you were soon sound asleep. It was so very dear. Then you didn't wake up until Monica came to get you and take you home. Eric never did show up that night."

Again, I was astounded! "He didn't? But Monica... But there was cum all over my panties the next day!"

"Oh, these days Monica's got no shortage of cum to redistribute any way she pleases. She's wonderful, your wife," Denise said. "She'll say all kinds of things to get people to do what she wants, because she knows it's what they really want themselves, that it's the right thing for them in the long run. And she's always right. It's uncanny. Think about it. Anyhow, you should meet Eric some time -- he's all man, you'd never guess he's gay. Girls feel flattered by his attention because he's so good looking, but he's perfectly safe. He'd never hit on Denise or me. Nor on you either, I should think. You're not his type. He likes guys who look even more manly than he is. Tight buns, hard pecs, you know, weight lifter macho types. He'd go for Ben, but Ben would probably flatten him. Girls like us are safe enough."

Now I was really dumbfounded! "My own wife seduced me into blowing and getting fucked by her boyfriend, partly by telling me a fairy tale about my already having sex with Eric, so it didn't matter! Why!? And she has gotten herself pregnant by him, and gotten me physically rearranged to nurse and raise their baby. Why? She's not that cruel. Nor that vindictive. I never did anything like that to her! I've tried to be a devoted husband! Or wife, anyhow! Why?"

Denise began speaking to me much more gently, but very firmly. She could hear my pain, my fear that my wife was really another woman, a stranger, my bafflement. So she started right in.