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Subject: {ASSM} Scenes, by Vickie Tern, 8/17  TG Femdom F/m m/M F/M etc 
Date: Mon,  1 Oct 2001 15:10:03 -0400
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Scenes, by Vickie Tern, 8/17  TG Femdom F/m m/M F/M etc

This is a tale about a married couple who try to meet each 
other's needs, and also their own.  What they think are each 
other's needs, that is.  What they think are their own.

It includes explicit sex scenes.  Married sex, mostly, gentle, 
loving, and appreciative, mostly.  If by reason of age, 
temperament, or moral principle you shouldn't or don't want 
to read about such things, think hard what to do about it, 
and you'll figure it out I'm sure.








                  Scenes from a Marriage
                      by Vickie Tern
                 
                    (vickietern@aol.com)   




                                8.

As they stripped for their showers  -- the women's lockers at
'FormFit' had private shower stalls -- Callista managed to block
Bea's view of Carl at the crucial moment.  Then while Bea was still
under her shower and Carl was dressing she told him in a low voice
to ask the salon to shave or wax his body hair -- the
hair-everywhere Italian peasant look was passe.  He'd better make
himself smooth, hairless, or sooner or later one of the other women
would wonder why he wasn't.  Carl could only nod.  As Bea emerged,
Callista was telling Carl yet another reason why she wanted to take
Coral's picture.  It was worse that he'd feared.

"It'll be the 'Before' of a marvelous "Before" and "After" set.  So
we can all see for ourselves how you'll change over the next
few months.  You wouldn't believe how some of my girls develop while
they're here!  They never really believe it'll happen, but it does! 
I'll go make the arrangements at the salon now." 

Carl saw that Bea's breasts were monumental, swollen to bursting 
in her brassiere cups.  They waved in Carl's face like huge balloons
as she pulled on her skirt, talking the whole time.  She told
him how impressed she was by his sense of style, the way he carried
out his tomboy look by wearing a man's jogging suit just a little
too large for his figure.  "It does emphasize your femininity by
contrast," she marveled.  "But skin-tight would do it even better!" 
She said it again as they walked into the salon and were directed
into adjacent chairs while their beauticians loitered for
instructions.  

"One thing I must insist," she added.  "Even a street urchin look
like yours needs pierced ears -- clunky clip-ons aren't becoming on
thin girls.  And you have such small lobes, I'm sure you must lose
your ear rings all the time!  Well, not any more!  You get your
ears pierced this very day, it's time!   Marge, you'll do that 
for Coral, won't you?"

Marge nodded.

"You'll be so glad afterward, Coral, trust me, it's so much less
bother!  And you do need some curl too, a little softness.  A
permanent maybe, since obviously you don't like to fuss.  You'll
love that too!  No more need to set or blow-dry -- just fluff with
your fingers and away you go!  OK?  Don't worry, Marge understands,
she'll take care of it.  And have you ever thought about 
semi-permanent make-up too, Coral?  Say, at least a dye eye liner, 
that's ideal for a girl who doesn't really want to bother.  And 
tattoo a new lip line, something more generous, a little more 
pouty, not too red?"

"No!" Carl finally got in edgewise.  This woman was like an express
train!  He spoke firmly.  "I don't want that!  Any of it!"  He tried
to get out of his chair, but Marge had tipped it way back to begin
washing it, so he couldn't.  He merely wriggled. 

Bea held up her hand as if to fend off Carl's objections.  "All
right, nothing permanent!  I suppose your natural look has a
certain freshness!  And its fun to surprise yourself with other
looks too, sometimes.  So all right, just ordinary street make-up
this time, Marge.  But you must do me another favor, Coral.  As
soon as we leave here, there's a lovely new boutique in this very
mall, Yvette's, and you've got to stop with me there even if only
for a few minutes.  I won't hear of 'No!'  We'll try on just a few
things, both of us.  Really, a slim girl like you should show
herself off more boldly, the world deserves to enjoy the sight. 
And just because your bosom is a little ... lean doesn't mean you
can go braless ever!  There are bras nowadays that do wonders
for girls with your kind of figure!  I won't let you leave Yvette's
without one!"

Carl felt swept away.  Bea was one of those take-charge types, the
kind always elected to chair whatever committees and boards they're
on, because they dominate the discussions and run things anyhow. 
They get things done.  Now she was getting Carl done.

Carl kept muttering that he had to get right home, he was already
running late, sorry, maybe some other ....  But Bea never heard
such nonsense, none of it, it wouldn't take that long, any of it! 
"Coral, do your husband a favor!  He'll be delighted, you'll see!
Married to a living doll!"  

Carl suddenly realized that his "makeover" would convert him
into a living doll.  Pierced ears?  A perm?  Suddenly terrified, he
began to thrash to climb out of his chair -- the hell with whatever
the consequences, the hell with whatever this woman might think!  
But just then three young women bore down on him.  There was no
nonsense to their movements, Callista had asked them to fit both
Bea and Coral into their busy schedules and they'd agreed, so they
had to work fast, no fussy indecision now, just sit back, Ma'am,
please!  Now!  Please!!

Carl had no choice -- too violent a protest would raise
embarrassing questions.  One hairdresser rolled his short hair up
on tight rods and sprayed fluids on it while a stylist put make-up
everywhere on his face, even plucking his brows, and a third girl
did his nails up as long red ovals.  In very little time his
appearance was transformed, swiftly and expertly, each by
specialists.  Their gender-specific enhancements overwhelmed him,
not a trace of masculinity survived.  He saw in the mirror that
he'd become one more impeccably groomed woman.  Bea meanwhile kept
him distracted by asking him, then advising him, then informing the
different stylists what he wanted, until he had no idea what each
woman was doing to him.  At one point they took him into a back
room and covered his legs and chest with hot wax and then strips of
cloth, then pulled them off!  "More next time, honey," was all they
said in apology for his pain.  They then soothed his skin with
unguents and oils, followed by sprays of Callista's signature
cologne.  He smelled like a flower shop!  He was not reassured when
they told him that this scent soaks into skin and survives all
sorts of scrubbing. 

When they were done, Carl did indeed look like a living doll. 
Callista grinned with great satisfaction as she took her snaps,
shot after shot, chanting "You're gorgeous, look as if you know
it!" and "Beautiful!" and "Just lovely, that turn of your head,
hold it!" and "Push out your chest a little more, honey, would
you?"  Carl looked so delicately feminine, and felt so little in
control of his life, that he then meekly followed Bea to several
different boutiques as if he were not a mere new-found friend but
Bea's dutiful daughter.   

Two hours later still Carl was altogether unrecognizable when he tried
to sneak into his house by the back door.  He hoped to rush up to
the bathroom and shower and shampoo and scrub himself, to try to
recover the man he'd been.  But just as he swung the door open
Carol came out carrying kitchen trash.  They suddenly confronted 
each other face to face, not two feet apart.  And stared!  

What Carol saw was a young woman wearing dramatically dark eye
make-up that gave her huge eyes a sly, come hither look, wicked
intentions belied by the innocent red flower of her lips.  Her
brows were arched high and thin, and thin gold hoops dangled
prettily from her ear lobes.  Her hair was a puffed out mass of
little curls  shaped somehow to hug her cheeks.  A doll, yet 
dressed in a short-skirted business suit, somehow looking 
efficient despite her pretty appearance.  

For a moment Carol wondered who this young woman was standing by
their back door with a furtive, shocked expression, half-crouched
as if to flee.  She looked decent enough.  Was she an inexperienced
saleswoman making her first ever door-to-door house call?  A
solicitor for some charity?  Some kind of chic Jehovah's Witness,
caught out in the act of witnessing?  Unlikely, she was wearing a 
light, flowery but sexy perfume.  Was she a tastefully dressed 
door-to-door hooker?

"Can I help you?" she inquired rather impatiently.

And out of the girl's pretty red mouth came her husband's voice,
sounding mournfully playful.  "I don't know, Carol.  I hope so!"  

Having been discovered, Carl had decided abruptly that his best
option was to suppress his embarrassment and overcome his
humiliation by ignoring it, by adopting a relaxed, bemused manner. 
Taking it all in stride.  Making a game of it.  Life had played a
practical joke on him, but Bea and everyone else had been
well-meaning the whole time, so he should be a good sport and share
the fun.  "What do you think?" he added.  And he straightened up,
stood back, cocked one hip into a girlish pose, and tried to smile.

Carol stared.  Now she saw that this young woman was also wearing
neatly turned pumps with low heels.  At Bea's insistence Carl had
bought a pair of Nike Pumps for Ladies on the Go, because they
could be worn with socks for jazzercise workouts or slipped on with
hosiery for a dressier look.  It sank in that the prettily groomed
face in front of her had just spoken with her husband's voice. 
Carol's mind was momentarily paralyzed.  

As she stared, Carl's jewel-red fingertips fled to his lips in
embarrassment.  Nowhere to hide his hands either, so brazen it out. 
Explain it all to her as soon as possible.  But explain what? 

Carol just kept looking.  This was Carl?  Carl was somehow inside
this woman?  Her new push-up bra formed her small breasts into a
cleft that graced the front of her blouse's low-swooping neckline
and pushed her suit jacket fetchingly forward a quite respectable
distance.  Her chest as far down as Carol could see it was as
hairless, smooth, and glowing peachy pink as her face, and her legs
were long and lithe under her short skirt.  This was her husband?

She finally saw through the woman's subtly applied make-up and
recognized her husband's unmistakable facial conformations.  This
was Carl!  Carl who had gone off to "FormFit" a compliant man who
probably wanted to become a woman, or at least to look like one,
but didn't know it.  Who'd intended to use FormFit only to recover
his strength.  And now Carl had returned a woman, or the exact
image of one!  Her husband had gone the distance in only one
morning!  After none of the cautious testing of intentions she'd
discussed with Maddy.  Almost none.  How could they have misjudged
so utterly the strength of his desire to be feminine, his need to
yield to that desire?  Just touch it and his masculinity had
crumbled away!

Still shocked, she was about to ask "What in the world!?  Who did
this to you?  Why did you let them?"  when she realized that those
were the wrong questions, they'd undermine what was certainly an
unstable self-confidence.  And the answers were obvious,
anyhow.  FormFit, the Health Club for Women had done this to him. 
Because as she and Maddy had suspected, he really did want it to
happen!  If he hadn't wanted it to happen he wouldn't have allowed
it to happen.  But he did allow it!  My God, but he must have
wanted it so very badly!  Why hadn't she seen it before?  It should
have been obvious to her way back, when she first knew him as a shy
boy loitering on the edge of her sorority, looking wistfully at all
girls.  Wanting to be one of them!

Case closed.  But how to live with this new man?  This new woman.
He's a girl, Carol was thinking.  Every girl needs praise,
compliments.  This is who he is, and now he's willing to show it to
the world, and that's what I wanted.  He's probably terrified.  So
first of all, he needs praise, encouragement, reassurance!  And
protection against backsliding.

"Come in, honey!  You look scrumptious, have you any idea at all? 
I love your hair, I should have insisted that you get it permed and
curled years ago!  Did you have a good workout this morning?"  

Take it all for granted, she decided.  If her husband really did
want to be a woman or live like one she'd accept it, for now. 
That's what she'd told Maddy, and that's what she'd do.  She'd
decide later whether she could accept everything that went with it. 
Living with him as a woman could be fun, but could she sleep with
him as a woman?  Make love to him as a woman?  Maybe some of the
time.  But to only a woman?  For the rest of her life?  Never again
to be with a man?  That was a question!

But all that for later.  Here was her darling, so terribly unsure
of himself that he was pretending there was nothing different at
all, nothing wrong.  Total denial in reverse.  Her heart went out
to him.

"Carol, I...They...."  Carl drew a deep breath and decided to try
again.  He was still using the high, thin, stressed voice Adrienne
had recommended.  "Carol, this place Maddy recommended, FormFit? 
When I got there they told me it was only for women!"  He stopped. 
That was a beginning, but what to say next?

Carol decided to ease his predicament.  "So I see, sweetheart!  So
you decided that since you were there you might as well be a woman,
use makeup and get your ears pierced and come home wearing that
darling suit, and everything else?  Is that it?"  Too sarcastic,
she said to herself, ease back.  "I mean, you felt odd there and
wanted to fit in?  And now you do fit in?  And now you want to stay
this way for a while?"  

"I think I have to," Carl said simply, a little mournfully. 
"There're reasons."

So Carol replied, with infinite gentleness.  "You have to be a
woman?  Is that it, baby?  Are you a woman now?  Is that what you
want?"  Then she added hastily, "There's nothing wrong with that! 
Some of my best friends feel that way!  I feel that way!  It's
marvelous, really!"

Carl felt vaguely alarmed.  The last thing he wanted was for Carol
to accept him as what he looked like, no more nor less.  It was all
a mistake!  Begin again!  "Ah no, honey, not exactly.  Well, I do,
I fit in I mean, because everyone there thinks I am.  That I'm
female, I mean.  All the other women think so.  Not the staff, they
know better, but the women I exercise with, I mean, they think so."

He's found a voice finally, Carol noted to herself.  She waited.  

"I made friends with one woman, her name is Bea, she's very ...
aggressive you could say.  Well, Bea thought I was dressed sort of
plain for my shape and my looks, for a girl I mean, and she wanted
to see what I was like all dolled up, so she took me around and ...
she dolled me up.  She was doing me a favor, she thought.  It's
hard to stop someone like Bea once she gets going."

Carol was about to ask more about this Bea, but decided to go slow. 
Stay with the game plan.  Keep signalling that she saw nothing
wrong or extraordinary.  He must certainly be feeling strange at
this moment!

But just look at him!  So feminine!  In only one morning!  "Dolled
you up indeed!  You do look like a living doll, really, honey.  You
must feel so pleased!   But that's not what matters.  What matters
is, did you enjoy your morning?  Will you be going back tomorrow? 
And the next day?  You think you'll keep doing this?  I guess you 
mean to.  Because look at you!"

Carl did feel ambivalent about going back.  He felt used,
discomposed, pressured, vulnerable.  This getting gussied up to
look female was embarrassing.  He had no choice but to live it
down, so that's what he was doing, but his manliness felt
diminished.  How do I get back to being a man from where I am now?
he asked himself.  Not by going back to FormFit, that was certain! 
But do I have a choice?

He recalled all those moist, perspiring women's bodies, all wide
open to his gaze in all sorts of postures, some so provocative his
cock had several times nearly burst out from between his legs.  As
scantily-dressed as many of the Sports Illustrated models, and all
in motion, stretching and writhing, and they were all real,
un-self-conscious, none of them posing artificially!  He recalled
all those wet crotches soaked with perspiration and who knows what
else by the end of the session.  He loved that musky fragrance. 
Carol hadn't let him near her for how long now?  Quit all that?

Another thing too.  All his life he'd been an outsider among the
girls who'd befriended him, one of them and privy to their secrets,
but not one of them, unable to share their inmost feelings. 
Separated from them by his gender and by his utter inexperience
with the things that most concerned them, feminine appearances,
things like that.  There was a kind of satisfaction, he realized,
in being an insider.  Being one of them.  Fitting in.  Being taken
in as a full-fledged member of the sorority.  Carl felt ashamed yet
pleased as that realization washed over him.   For once, he
belonged!

But as he knew, as he'd realized when Bea had left him and whirled
away to her own other schemes for the day and he could begin
looking for a way out, there was no way out.  Not for the present. 
He had no choice.  If he didn't return, Callista would post his
picture and his address, and all sorts of neighboring women would
stop by the house in sympathy to ask why "Coral" wasn't there, was
she ill?  Only to discover that Coral was Carl, a deceptive snake,
a male peeper who had invaded their territory by pretending to be
female.  Carol wouldn't escape their anger, she'd encouraged the
fraud, after all.  He realized that any time he missed a session,
he'd have to spend the rest of that day dressed and made up, ready
to receive well-meaning visitors, if only for Carol's sake.  And
every time he went he'd have to be dressed and made up too, or
Callista and Bea would both wonder why!  

Finally he had to say something, so he did, still in the stressed
woman's voice he'd used all morning.  "Yes, I enjoyed it.  It's
good exercise, I guess.  I'll keep going a little longer.  I think
I have to go there now!"  

Apparently so, Carol thought.  Poor dear!

Carl took the bull by the horns.  "Carol, honey, I know I look a
little odd.  It's very strange.  They told me in the FormFit office
that I'd need to wear 'gender-specific-enhancements' they call
them, things like these that only women wear, so no one will think
I'm not a woman.  Not all at once of course, like now.  But Bea
kept urging me to try one thing and then another, and I couldn't
say 'No' or she'd have wondered why, and if I were a real woman my
excuses would have sounded pretty feeble, and there we were in the
salon, and, and then there we were shopping, and one thing led to
another.  I couldn't help it."

Carol nodded, as if what he'd just said made perfect sense.  "You
couldn't help it," she repeated.  "I know what that's like."  She'd
have to meet this "Bea."  This rival for her husband.  No, that
wasn't it, this girlfriend of her new girlfriend.  Did she owe her
thanks, or something else?

He was still making excuses though, she took note.  Despite his
appearance, despite his willingness, he was still denying his true
nature to himself.  Still resisting his own self-acceptance.  It
was happening altogether too fast for him.  

"I better change back before anyone else sees me.  Change back as
far as I can, I mean.  How do I get these nails off?  If I wash my
hair, will my curls come out?"  

Settle him down, be truthful, Carol told herself.  "No honey,
that's the beauty of it," she said, a little sadly.  The poor dear
has no idea what's in store!  "When you wash a perm, the curls
soften a little, but they're always there, even when your hair's
dripping wet.  Now you really are my curly girly, aren't you? 
That's what you'll be till your hair grows out."  She smiled and
waited.  He'll need to get used to the idea, realize for himself why
women get perms, realize that's why that's what they're called. 
"Really, honey, I love it!  It's very becoming!"

Carl was not as disturbed as he might have expected.  It had 
occurred to him anyhow that if he undid his face and his
hairdo, if it were possible to undo them, he'd only have to re-do
something like them again each morning.  Or else answer all sorts 
of questions.  He had to return to FormFit every morning 
with those photos threatening exposure if he didn't, and he
had to look curled and coiffed, the way Bea had left him, or else
somehow explain why to both Bea and Callista.  He did
want to return to FormFit he'd decided, if only for that all-girl
floor show.  Almost incidentally, it occurred to him that he'd been
warned that his piercings had to heal with his ear rings in them. 
If he removed them, would the holes infect?

Carol saw those thoughts cross his face and smiled to herself.  He
doesn't want to change back even though he says he does, she
thought.  

"Oh, pooh, don't change a thing now," Carol said.  She'd heard his
essential confession, that he'd enjoyed it, he liked being a
woman among women.  Obviously he wanted to look like the rest of
his kind.  That was enough for now.  I'd better just let it ride,
she thought.  Let him enjoy his transformation.

"I've got lunch ready, Carl.  Just sit down and we'll talk some
more about this new ... interest of yours.  That suit really is
lovely, incidentally, I hope it gives you many years of pleasure. 
The blouse you're wearing with it is just perfect!  You're really
very pretty now, honey!  Take pride in that!  I think with your
pierced ears, and your new face, and with ... other things, I think
from now on people are going to assume at a glance that you're a
woman whatever you decide to wear.  What do they call you at
FormFit, honey?  Not 'Carl,' surely."

"Coral," he replied.  "It sounds like my name, only it's two
syllables I think, and it spells more like your name."

"'Coral!' My curly Coral!  Well, if you're a woman at FormFit,
that's what you'll have to be, I guess.  Why not here too?  It'll
probably be a lot easier, and you don't seem to mind.  Do you?"

Carl stared at her.  He did but he didn't.  What could he say?

"You've come such a long way in just one morning.  Come in now,
baby.  Settle in, we'll have lunch in just a minute.  But I need to
make a phone call first."


end 8/17

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