Chapter 3

I woke up the next morning in a really good mood. All that pussy, and more to come, and yet I'd been as faithful to my wife as any of the other BiGirls were to their husbands. And I felt... nice. Jane stirred beside me and then with her eyes still shut ran her hand caressing down my now-hairless chest to my prick, which immediately engorged. She smiled, her eyes still shut.

"How do you want it this morning, sweetie?" she asked.

"Any way you want it," I said.

"Switch?"

"Sure." We sometimes played role-switching games, me underneath being passive and Jane on top pounding on me. She'd suggested it a few years ago, and I liked it.

"Then spread your legs and lift your knees, girl, and I'll climb on top of you and fuck your brains out."

That kind of talk was new, but it was suitable. And that's what she did. She climbed between my legs, said "Wider, babe," then lifted herself up to drop down onto my pole so it extended all the way into her its full six inches. Then looking down on my face, her tits hanging down to brush against my chest and my mouth, leaning on her elbows, she began to pump. It was odd, feeling so completely helpless, with her weight on top of me and her arms imprisoning either side of my body. Steadily, then faster as her own orgasm approached, then like some machine-driven piston as my own groin began to clutch and tense up, then explode. Afterward, neither of us could breath at first. Then as I softened and began to slip out, she said, "You like getting fucked by a guy whose tits dangle in your face. I could tell. I'll bet it's interesting. Well, I have a busy schedule today. I'll catch breakfast at the office. Be home around six -- we'll go out to eat, OK?"

And she hopped off me and headed for the bathroom to take a shower. Then when I'd just showered and was toweling off, she stuck her head in and without warning took hold of my cock yet again. It remained flaccid, spent by our lovemaking, probably hours from recovery for re-use. "Just checking," she said. "I'm off now. That was fun, playing the man. You should play the girl more often." So, for fun I sprinkled a little of her cologne onto my hand and rubbed it on my chest, then went in to dress smelling flowery. But she was gone.

I called Dottie and she invited me across the street to get measured for my undies. I wasn't sure I should, but she pointed out patiently that I should know what my sizes are going in, in which case my bras and girdles and panties might fit, but maybe not, or else I could try them on there, in which case they'd certainly fit and I'd have the advantage of the saleslady's advice, and also the advice of any other woman who happened to be there. That persuaded me. She took me into her bedroom, amused by my nervous glances out the window at our own house, picked up a tape measure, and told me to strip. Again I balked, and again she had to explain the obvious -- underwear is not worn over outerwear. I stripped naked. She checked my chest below my nipples and above them and across them, and my waist, and hips, and what she called my rise, and so forth, and wrote them down carefully, then told me I could dress. But just like Jane she suddenly took hold of my cock, held it, and smiled at me while squeezing it slightly. Nothing, no change. She said, "Well, you two had a busy time last night, evidently. And smell that Cologne, too. Jane really is putting her brand on you I guess. That's fine. It's a pity though that I don't get to suck you off again now, as my reward for qualifying you today to join the Club."

"Dottie," I replied, trying to sound chivalrous, but also as if I was kidding, "I'll gladly give you a rain check on that." I was wondering if I'd be back in action by tomorrow and could drop by Dottie's for a private blow job. No, there was another Club meeting tomorrow. Then I might need Jane again. But it would be nice to start up something with Dottie. Convenient.

"I'm sure you're kidding," Dottie said. "I was. BiGirls only do with each other what girls can do with each other. We have husbands and boy friends for the other things. No blow jobs. But if you'd gotten hard just now, I'd have had to ask you to jerk yourself off. A woman's lingerie department is no place for a man whose prick is trying to prove it's a member in good standing."

We bought a few brassieres in A and B cups ("We can wait and 'C' if we need to" she said), and a few frothy panties, and two firm controlling panty girdles, and a cheap breast form (when I asked why not a good one, she quipped again "Maybe you'll prefer the home-grown variety!"). Then back to the house to check their fit. They felt fine. I dressed for the rest of the day in an A cup bra with no breast form, and a pair of panties, both rose colored. Both felt satiny smooth, I remarked.

"Get used to it," Dottie said. "That's how your skin will feel before long, too, if Beryl's juice does its thing. Oh yes, Alice told me one of the girls was offended when you went around bare-breasted bra-less after your session with Beryl yesterday. Remember to replace it. You're naked and indecent without a bra until you have breasts, from now on. Also, as extra insurance that you won't look like a man during the club meetings and accidentally horrify a member, Alice thought you should begin wearing a little make-up. Just in case. Just a little. Eye-liner, mascara, and lipstick is enough for now. Maybe some eye shadow, so you can be a woman of mystery. Here's some of each to keep in your purse. Oh yes, you'll carry this purse when you're walking to meetings at Alice's house. Out in the open -- don't be ashamed to be seen carrying a purse. And walk the way Alice told you women tend to walk. Get used to it. The make-up and the purse are gifts from me, to make up for my trapping your cock in my mouth the other day while Meg took pictures. Buy more make-up without me, at any drug store anywhere, when these are used up. And of course, you'll want to watch for lingerie sales at the stores on your own, to fill in on the little nothings you'll be needing from now on."

Dottie saw me to the door, and as I stepped out she checked the street. Then she stretched up, put her arms around me, and kissed me full on the mouth, just once. Then she turned casual again. "See you tomorrow, honey," she said.

"I'm glad you checked that no one saw us, Dottie," I commented, a little edgy. Jane often came and went during the day, or some neighbor might report to Jane that I'd strayed off limits.

"Well, I was actually checking that the kid I hired to snap photos of us was ready for that big moment. See him, over there by that tree? He ought to have taken some pictures through my bedroom window, too, from a branch of that same tree. I hope so. More insurance against blackmail, love. Like your underwear worn at all times now, and your makeup worn at least during our club meetings. In case you ever really do hire someone to snoop on us. You're devious, Craig, but so are we, and don't try to match your deviousness against women who are protecting their reputations. Not yet. Wait till we've leveled the playing field for you a little more."

I was glad to get away from Dottie and her cryptic cracks. That evening when Jane got home from I was still in my bra and panties, and had no chance to change. So I was still wearing them when we went out to eat. Even though I was also wearing a shirt, tie, and jacket, the bra I could feel underneath gave me a feeling that I was gussied up, dressed special. I kind of liked it. My badge of membership.

I had two scares. One was before we went out, when she told me we needed to put on our make-up before we left the house, and I got all flustered about what she could mean. She said, "Why, by 'we' I meant me, the way I always do. Oh, poor baby, did we think that by 'we' I meant you in this case? Give us a kiss!" I muttered something, and she said, "No, dear, you're not pretty enough for make-up. Not yet, anyhow. Are you?" I let it go. Then when we got back home I stripped off my jacket, and she put both her hands on my shoulders to emphasize a point, and I thought she could feel my bra straps through my shirt. She didn't let on if so, but when I winced and pulled back she told me I was behaving positively girlish.

I soon was. If such a thing is imaginable, attending Club meetings became the central event of my days. I would never miss a meeting, and I looked forward to them. Beryl would shoot my butt when I arrived, with whatever it was I needed to qualify for the Club, and I never asked what it was. Antibiotics, I supposed. Then we'd divide into pairs of women and pleasure each other, and then swap partners. Sometimes threesomes. Always, they urged me to think and feel feminine. We'd talk makeup, and they'd help me figure my best shades and how to apply them, and clothes. When they told me about a closet sale at Victoria's Secret I ran out and I'm afraid bought more things than I needed, and sexier too. Once I accidentally left some frilly black lace panties on my bureau, and came in to see Jane holding them up and looking them over. Thank goodness, after a glance at me she just shrugged and put them in her own drawer, as if they were a pair she'd forgotten she had.

By the third month my skin had grown as smooth as my panties, and I remembered Dottie's cryptic remark about that happening. I wondered if it was from all the cunt juice I was drinking, or from keeping myself hairless, but it seemed a small enough price to pay. Jane liked it, and never questioned it. Nor did she seem to notice when the girls tweezed and trimmed my eyebrows -- she commented only that I looked especially well-groomed these days, and that looking suave was probably good for business.

Another month or two later, one night in bed Jane commented, "You're plumping out here and there, honey, especially in the chest, but I don't really see any muscle development. What did you say you were doing at this activities club you've joined?" I said some vague things about special aerobics, and she let it pass. But it was true. I was now wearing my "B" cup bras, and there was no room in them for the breast forms. I thrust out, and didn't dare appear in public without a jacket any more. A few times, when Jane and I were out to dinner, or at the club, and we ran into another BiGirl, she'd stare at my chest and grin at me, and I'd smile wanly back. Again, I assumed it was from all the intimate fluids I was happily lapping up each week, but I wasn't going to give up being an honorary BiGirl just because my anatomy was accommodating to my diet. Oddly enough, without my even hinting blackmail or bribery, husbands began to call me in to review their insurance coverage, and then to write some very large policies.

Trying to act like a woman at all times got easier. I had grown up from little girl feelings, through big girl's, and I was now being advised to feel and behave always like a grown up young lady. In fact from the way I moved, and got into cars, and so on, I realized that I might look like a faggot to anyone who didn't know I wasn't. It didn't matter to me at all, no more than the inconvenience of having breasts, but I tried to remember not to mince around too much.

A Club rule was that a BiGirl who was unoccupied could never refuse another member's request, and I soon took to looking over my ladies of the afternoon like a Pasha, deciding what I wanted to do with each. Anything at all, as long as it was something a woman could do with another. A lot of what was wanted was simple cuddling, gentle consolation when a girl felt blue and just wanted to feel held and loved. I was sometimes one of the women who liked to slow dance together in a room just off the living room, swaying in each other's arms to dreamy music, and gazing into each other's eyes, until their romantic yearnings overwhelmed them and they sank to the floor, their mouths and hands caressing each other passionately, inseparable. Some just wanted to swap intimate gossip about husbands or boyfriends, to complain or boast, and their confidences could get pretty embarrassing. Some wanted a lot more. I found that as my breasts came in, more and more girls began to request my services. It seems that some had originally resented my advantage, that I had their breasts to play with but they didn't have mine, but now they could make up for lost time. Beryl told me some of my sisters had asked if my breasts could be grown even larger, and she asked if I'd agree to some supplementary shots to help. I saw nothing wrong with being the most popular girl on the block, and said so. So I took on even more of a feminine figure. My waist narrowed, my hips widened, and my face softened. Jane began to call me soignee as well as suave, whatever that meant, and we played switch more often than not, on those rare occasions when we found ourselves both in bed and in the mood.

It turned out that not even fucking was denied me. In an odd way, I got to hump the girls after all, and a few sometimes wanted my prick as well as my tongue. Sort of. It was the tall blonde, Eden, who worked out how. And that was odd in itself, because Eden was the group's only true Lesbian, who never asked me to pleasure her because, obviously, she still regarded me as a man. She was married, so technically she qualified as bi-sexual, but she was the one who most frequently used strap-on dildos on the other women. The other women used dildos now and then, but obviously most of them preferred being girls during their sexual play, and would rather have it done to them than do it. When I suggested I also use dildos on my fellow clubwomen, Alice said that sentiment was against it so far, because it might cause me to revert to masculinity, and as far as they could see I had now become a perfectly lovely young lady, a joy to take to bed.