Chapter 2

I guess Alice had a point. I couldn't crow to my buddies yet, and for the moment I wasn't going to pick up any new accounts from the husbands, but this was a pretty good deal. Nine women available for fucking in exchange for not talking now about how they... uh... otherwise do each other? What's to choose? The story would be all the riper when I finally got around to entertaining my friends with it. I thought about getting some kid to prowl around with a camera looking for places to peer through the drapes. Get some insurance for myself. But no. Not yet. First see how this goes. Monday night after Jane zonked out I took a shower with a razor and a can of shaving cream, then some Nair, and when I came back to bed I was smooth as a baby's ass. In the morning when I woke up, Jane was snuggled up against me, which doesn't much happen these days. But she never noticed how I was hairless. Tuesday promptly at one in the afternoon I was back at Alice's front door, ready to boogie.

"Craig! How nice! Right on time! We've been talking about you. Go right on upstairs and change, and we'll be waiting for you in the living room. You'll find your things in the first room on the right, top of the stairs."

Alice was wearing that same wrapper that covered her tits without hiding them. I'd spent some time over the weekend with a Victoria's Secret catalogue learning the names for these things. I figured I was going to be seeing a lot of them, and women always appreciate a compliment on what they're wearing. I'd also looked up "naked" in a book of quotations, figuring a little poetry does no harm, but there was nothing there I could use. Anyhow, I tried to pay my dues to Alice, so I said "That's a lovely peignoir you're wearing. Chiffon, isn't it?"

Alice replied, "First room on the right. See you in a few minutes."

Well, I checked out the first room on the right, and I got undressed as far as my underwear. But all there was on the bed was a big brassiere and someone's panty girdle. I looked in the closet. Nothing, this was a guest room. So I picked up the women's underwear and came back downstairs wearing my own.

There was Alice in the hallway. She seemed to be heading into the kitchen, but I was sure she was waiting for me. "You're not changed," she said. "Something wrong?"

"Alice," I told her, "All I found on the bed were these things. Nothing for me."

"Those are for you," said Alice, looking closely at me, as if I were a little cracked.

"These are women's things," I said.

"This is a women's Club," Alice said, still staring directly at me. "You're a member, put them on. I see you've gotten rid of all that hair. That's nice. You've probably noticed we have body hair only on our pussies. I suppose you left some on yours."

"Yes," I said, leaving aside for the moment that I don't have a pussy. "But Alice, I don't wear these things."

"While you're here, you do! The women who belong to this Club dress appropriately. Like women. If your body looked more feminine you could wear nothing. But at the moment it doesn't, does it?" She smiled.

"Oh, yes. Come down here with a bare bottom each time, and then you can put on the girdle. Beryl's a doctor, so your genitals won't shock her, and she'll have something for you to help you fit in better with us. Beryl?"

Out from the kitchen came the Peterson woman, Beryl, still naked as she was born. Close up, I could see that her breasts were firm and solidly planted as well as huge. They really thrust way out, and didn't hardly hang down at all! Like road repair pylons with nipples at the tips! She was carrying some kind of hypodermic needle.

"Don't worry," she said, waving it a bit. "Just something to qualify you to dawdle among us," she said. "Pull down those panties of yours and bend over. You like women's boobs? You don't seem able to look at anything else."

"They're great!" I said sincerely. I pulled down my shorts as directed. She jabbed me, I think. I could hardly feel anything.

"That's good," she said. "You can stand up now. Because starting now you'll have handfuls. Oh yes, hold out your arm."

In a couple of swipes she filled a small glass tube with my blood.

"What's that for?" I asked. I remembered her name, and tried to be respectful. So I added, "What's that for, Beryl?"

"Just to be sure you're healthy, and that you stay that way. We care about our members, and we swap a lot of our juices around."

Well, that seemed fair enough. So I turned back to Alice. "Why do I have to wear these things?" I asked. "Why can't I just go naked now."

"Two fair questions," Alice replied. "You have to hide your thingies in that panty girdle for now, because out of sight is out of mind. Also, no one else here has balls, so yours don't fit in. Also, the girdle is insurance you won't try to use what's inside in the heat of some moment or other. Women in this Club do only what women do. As for the brassiere, you're only an honorary woman, and we'll all need to be reminded you're that much, anyhow, until you look and behave more authentic. Try to move less abruptly, incidentally, more gracefully. For a few sessions at least, we've agreed you should think of yourself always as a dainty little girl. Feel the way a little girl feels, it'll help. Then gradually you can grow up. The brassiere is for you to get used to wearing what women wear, while you're growing up. And finally, since you ask, it's insurance against your getting someone to sneak around taking pictures of us, which would necessarily include pictures of you wearing a brassiere. A little embarrassing to explain to your friends. We'll take a few pictures ourselves of you all dolled up, of course, but then we know that no one will ever see them as long as you behave yourself. Any other questions?"

I shook my head, stymied.

"Then change and go on into the living room."

I did. Alice showed me how to hook the brassiere in front of me and then turn it around. "You're flat now. If you had to catch up your breasts in the cups you wouldn't be able to do it that way," she said. "You'd prefer to bend over forward and hook it in back. But for now this will do."

"Alice," I said. "I don't have breasts."

"You'll feel as if you do, dear, in time. Just wait. Even today you'll see how important they are when women make love to women."

Feeling as harnessed as a race horse, I went into the living room. I must say, the women all welcomed me. They hugged me, and asked my name, and I told them "Craig."

I guess it was Meg who said, "Still? How original!"

And I'm sure it was Dottie who asked, "Why not a femme name?"

And I replied, "Craig is now my femme name," because I couldn't think of anything else to say. I didn't know I was supposed to have a femme name. But they took that to mean something extraordinary, and crowded even closer and smiled their congratulations.

"Now more than ever, I suppose," said a tall blonde who introduced herself as 'Eden.' Did they think I now thought I was a woman? Were they teasing me?

Then a short blonde with a real blonde pussy, practically bleach blonde, took my hand and led me over to one of the couches. "Never mind them," she said. "Mind me!" She slouched down on the couch with her legs over the edge, and said, "Bring me off, Craig."

I didn't know what she meant at first. I bent over to try to kiss her on the mouth. She turned her head away. "That's for when you feel genuinely affectionate, " she said. "But you don't feel that way about me, yet. You will. We will be the most loving of girlfriends before too long, I can tell. Then kissing will be fine. Maybe we should begin now with some touchie-feelie. Would you like to feel my breasts? "

I reached for them with both hands, and she caught me by each wrist before I could get to them. "Just like a man," she said. "Try now to be a girl. Think like a girl. Feel like one. Feminine, delicate, pretty, and then reach with just your fingertips to touch my nipple tips. A little girl who hopes some day to have a pair of breasts of her very own, just like them. Just lightly caress them, and desire them. Gently. Ah, that's it. Much more like it. Ohh! That's my girl!"

I found it was easy to imagine myself some sweet young thing, stroking her gently, lovingly, lightly lifting each boob before going on to caress more of their smooth, mellow curves, feeling increasing awe and admiration as I fondled each one. I scarcely heard her murmuring. "Yes," she was saying. "'TLC.' Tender, loving care when you touch me. Also 'Tongue licking and caressing' when we're into heavier things. Would you like to use your tongue?"

Sounded good. I lightly licked each nipple, just once. She moaned. So I rolled my tongue on her nipples again, and she clutched my head, so I filled my mouth with her and sucked and stroked and probed. Her body began to writhe, and suddenly she lifted her head and looked at me almost ferociously. "Now! Down on me!" she said, and I felt her spreading her legs wide.

I fell to my knees and went down on her. With her legs lolling over the edge of the couch and spread wide apart, I could see her labia peering out from her bush. I held her knees with my hands and tucked my head into her crotch, face first into her slit as fast as I could. Then I looked at her and said, "TLC?"

She looked down and said, "If you can say it, you're not doing it."

I started running my tongue up and down on those engorged lower lips. They were dry at first, but soon grew slick, at first from my saliva and then from her own juices. She began to taste sweet and creamy, with a hint of sea food. A delicious woman taste. Soon my lips found her clit, enlarged into a teeny hard knob, and I started nibbling on it. She let out a kind of soft sigh and sank deep into the couch cushions. I could feel her whole pelvis relax as I went in at her a little more determinedly, and then she began to thrust rhythmically at me, then to rock her whole pelvis up to meet my mouth. Long strokes with my tongue, beginning way back by her asshole and finishing by her piss hole, stroke after stroke, my tongue as stiff as possible while passing by the deep part, where my prick would be if it weren't snugged into my girdle. I felt like some cocker spaniel lapping at its mistress, but so dainty. A little girl cocker spaniel, I guess. It felt good.

Faster and tighter, with the same long stroke, back to front, and I could feel her thigh muscles begin to tighten. Soon she was like a stretched rubber band. She croaked out, "caress... breasts," so I reached up around her thighs toward her breasts. Like a sweet young thing, I imagined myself. Fingertips only, so very delicately. Her slit was leaking juice now, as I slurped. An odd idea occurred to me, what if her pussy juice was loaded with hormones, and if I could suck enough of it I'd become a girl myself, complete with a pussy of my own? Ridiculous, I thought, half the men in the country would be women by now if so. But it was as if I were under orders, and I kept slurping. My neck stretched out as I began each sleek stroke, and I ended each with a little girlish wiggle, thrusting my tongue deep into her. "Oh!" she said each time, so I kept it up.

She unbent her legs, and then lifted them high up from the hips, stretching her toes straight to the ceiling. Now I could lean deep down into her slit, really get my nose in it. Also, I could now easily reach her nipples from between her legs, so I stroked them. She moaned louder. Her pussy now fully exposed, I nuzzled even my chin into it. She moaned again, and then again. She started calling out "More, Craig, oh, yes, more, you precious little thing!" and her pussy cream turned stronger, more richly flavored as I licked it up.

A few more long licks finished her off. "Ohhh, doggie, Ohhh, doggie, Ohhh, doggie!" she kept saying as if in a daydream, pushing her whole wide cunt into my face and then clamping my head between her outstretched thighs as she pulsed and pressed and pitched. I couldn't breath at all, but I kept probing and lapping as deep as I could. Then she eased off. "Well!" she said. I waited until she could find her voice again.

"That was just fine, Craig honey," she said, sounding throaty. "That's how girls do it. You'll make a marvelous lesbian, if you ever want to take it cuntlapping as a career. Femme hands and a butch tongue, what a wonderful combination. Oh, darling! Come up here and let me kiss you."

So I did, and she kissed me sweetly, gratefully, full on the mouth, not noticing that my face was soaked. "See, now I feel like it," she said. She held me around the neck, looking into my eyes with mild affection. Hers were deep blue, nearly round, rimmed with black lashes, and I saw she was wearing blue eye shadow. She saw I was admiring her face, and she kissed me again. "Do you and Jane do this often?"

I've learned that when women ask me about my wife, they are usually telling me it's time to back off. I delayed a moment.

"You mean, kiss? Oh, sure!" I said.

But her arms remained around my neck, her eyes looking straight into mine, mild but unwavering. "No, I don't mean kiss."

I thought I should be honest. In no time they were all going to know everything about my sexual practices anyhow. So I told her, "Not for some time. Not for a few years. At first, yes, our mouths were everywhere on each other. But a few years ago, I guess Jane just decided she didn't much like it. She'll use her mouth on me now and then, when she doesn't want me between her legs for some reason. No problem there. But whenever I try returning the favor she'll stop me. Once she said, "It wouldn't be right," and another time, "You'd notice." And she wouldn't explain what she meant. So I quit trying."