Chapter 5

Well, Jane came back from her long weekend with Desmond, and remained distant for a few days, thoughtful and a little wistful. Was she thinking about the lost love of her life? Her lost Desmond? She'd look at me when she thought I wasn't looking at her, deeply sad about something, then look away again. I registered nothing at all.

The third night it emerged, why she was so sad. She tried a few times to speak, then managed it.

"I went to a BiGirls meeting. The girls tell me you have a great tongue. Masterful, that its a rare gift. That you're a genius with it, and that I've missed out."

I didn't say anything.

"And that no man has ever been as considerate as you. As kind, or as generous, when making love. That you really aren't a man in their eyes at all any more."

I remained silent. I couldn't tell where this was going.

"Did the girls tell you about me?"

"Alice did."

"Everything?"

"I think so."

"Everything starting a few years ago?"

"Yes, I think so."

"And?"

And I went back to my insurance contracts, whatever I was working on just then. That night, she tried to cuddle. She stroked my bare, smooth chest, and both of my breasts, and snuggled in, but then she may have had a sense of the enormity she'd committed, that her husband now had breasts, because she pulled back. For a few more days she could stew in her juice, I figured. She'd had me stewing for a few years not even knowing, and then she'd set me up swallowing and shooting up the girl juice that would change me for life, not even knowing that, just so she could get royally laid over and over by some big prick of a client, and get his business, which she deserved anyhow.

Not that I minded the change in me. I loved it, now. But wives aren't supposed to use their husbands like this. If they have a problem, they are supposed to try to talk it out. Sure, she married an insurance-mongering asshole, a gladhander, a sexist schmuck. Maybe no one could talk to me about anything, then. But she was a grown-up. No matter how much of an asshole I was, she married that asshole with her eyes wide open. She looked at me and she told hundreds of people and a man of God, "I do." She didn't know what I was underneath, of course. Underneath I was...

I realized that what I was underneath was what I am now. That she had brought it out, not meaning to, but that's what had happened. That I liked what I had become, and I'd always had contempt for the person I'd been, same as everyone else, even the buddies I'd wanted to buy, way back, with a story about how one afternoon I'd suckered a blow job out of a den of lesbian pervert wives, then sold them all insurance to keep my mouth shut about them. I'd been a real shit. I started to look sorrowfully at Jane, and sometimes our unhappy glances would meet half-way. The next night, while she was sleeping, I reached to cradle her breast gently, and I snugged in against her. But she didn't wake up. And in the morning when I woke we were on opposite sides of the bed, facing away. I don't think she knew I'd forgiven her, and I still hoped she'd forgiven me.

That Friday I decided how to deal with it. I showed up for dinner in my red leather mini and black net stockings, and the black fuzzy sweater I wore for my big night out on the town, when I almost got laid and officially certified a BiGirl in fact. And my straight black wig, and all the cheap jewelry. The same outfit I'd worn to the Percherons, and then to that Night club where half the BiGirls had disappeared with men who were not their husbands, and I had barely escaped with my virtue.

"Let's go out!" I said. "Meet some people. I want to party!"

She looked at me peculiarly for a long while, and seemed to make up her mind about something. Then she sat down in a soft chair, solidly, and put her feet on a hassock. "Why go out?" she asked. "We can party right here."

And we did. She leaned back and spread her legs wide open to me, and said, "Now give me a real, wet, sloppy kiss, girlfriend!" So I did. I licked her the way a little girl would lick the cunt of an older girl, or her dearest friend's pussy, and I tongued her the way a proper young lady would tongue the most respected of high society cunts, and then the way a starved whore would do it. I sank my face into her as if I wanted it to disappear and never re-emerge, and as her loins relaxed and her thighs spread wide, I sucked and licked and lapped and loved her pussy as if it were the center of my existence, as indeed it was. Tears started down her face as she felt down below, with no doubt about it, how her husband loved and desired her, and how her husband wanted her to come back to him, and again, later, to come yet again, and then again.

Later that night we were snug in bed together, me in my babydolls and Jane still naked, and we were still kissing each others' faces over and over, still, but getting sleepy finally.

"Craig," she said. "When you said you wanted to go out and party. Did you really mean it? I mean, the two of us go to a bar, dance, pick up guys and everything? Down and dirty? Trips to the parking lot with them? Maybe bring one or two back here? The whole works? Like I did a few years back, when you were out of town or working late? Like I'd done lots of nights when you wanted to go down on me, but I wouldn't let you, because I was still filled with some other guy's cum? Like I've been doing even recently, nights when I wasn't already being stuffed full of Desmond?"

"Why not?" I asked her. "You never know." I figured we could both find out if I really meant it. Then if things worked out, maybe I would be eligible for full membership in the Club without it costing me my cock.