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Message-ID: <36294asstr$1019970607@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} New TG Breasts by Vickie Tern 3/10 femdom F/m etc
Date: Sun, 28 Apr 2002 01:10:07 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

New TG Breasts by Vickie Tern 3/10 Femdom F/m f/f M/m



                            iii.

Hardly at all the next day.  When I awoke, Hayley was sleeping
beside me.  I sat up and looked at her.  Dr. Portland was right, I
thought, whatever prompted her to remind me that I have a beautiful
wife.  A little impetuous, utterly determined to have her way, but
still ... my heart melted.  She was wearing her soft beige
nightgown with a deep-plunging neckline, and one of her enhanced
breasts hung out of it like a soft, plump, white sculpture resting
gently on the fold of a pleat.  It's conical nipple beckoned, and
my lips pursed, and I bent down to place a wet, open-mouthed kiss
on it.  Then I began to suck on her, ever so lightly.

It excited her.  "Oh, darling," I heard her moan, though she was
still asleep.  "Why can't I ever get enough of you?  Come into me,
fill me up!  Fuck me!"  Her voice grew imperious, as she spread her
legs to accommodate some spectral dream-lover, and then she began
to writhe her pelvis.  

I considered mounting her, but that seemed pretty strenuous at the
moment, and anyhow my cock was still soft.  And it was only a
dream!  Was she remembering me from some earlier time?  She'd never
spoken to me that passionately!  Maybe she was talking to some
fantasy hero of one of the pot boiler romantic novels she loved to
read?  Probably.  We hadn't been intimate for a long time -- when
I finally surrendered to this thing of hers about breasts she'd
hustled me into surgery before I could rethink anything.     

So I sucked on her breast even more devotedly, and placed a hand on
her mound, then slipped my middle finger into her moist slit and
found her clit.  Her legs thrashed as if feeling for a waist to
wrap themselves around.  Then she was awake.  She placed her palm
against my cheek, so she could feel my cheek muscles working to
draw the first flow of her creamy fluids into my mouth.  I drank,
and stroked the moist fold of her clit with my fingertip, until she
went all tense, then relaxed.  Then I lifted my head from her
breast.

"Lovely," she said.  "Lovely, honey.  That was almost as good as my
dream.  You'll see!"

"As good as what?" I asked.  "What were you dreaming?"

"About making love," she said vaguely.  "I was talking in my sleep,
wasn't I?  Did I name anyone?"

"Someone called 'darling'," I said with a certain
self-satisfaction.  "That's me I guess."

"Yes, you're my darling," she said reassuringly.  She sat up. 
"Today we take off those bandages, Barry honey, so we can see what
we've got.  The swelling is down, and any discoloration will be
fading by now.  Can you stand up in front of the mirror?  Go slow,
baby!"

I stood carefully, then took small steps toward the full-length
mirror on the closet door.  I was all bare from my crotch on down,
I saw.  At some point Hayley had seen fit to strip off my flannel
sleep-shirt and dress me in one of her baby dolls.  Pink, with a
pink ribbon sewn just below the huge outcropping of bandages and
bra that was now my chest.  I looked at her inquiringly.

"The weather changed, honey!  The warm weather's here.  You were
perspiring, and I thought you'd be more comfortable wearing
something smooth and dry I could easily slip over your head!  Big
in front.  So I did.  You don't mind, do you?  I think you look
sweet!"  

I was about to comment that she might have been a little more
respectful of my masculinity when she dressed me in something so
frivolous girly, but with my boobs pushed and padded way forward,
I realized that such a remark would be as absurd as it was
ungracious.

"Thank you," I said to her sincerely, instead.  "That was
thoughtful.  You're a doll!"

"You are too, honeybuns," she said, checking out my exposed rear
end with an amused gleam in her eye.  "And that's what those buns
look like, too!  If you're that pleased with that nightie, it's
yours, wear it all the time.  And seduce me over and over while
wearing it -- you look so precious I can't possibly resist!  But
now it's time to take it off.  Take it all off!"

I found I could just barely raise my arms, so Hayley helped me
perform my striptease, lifting off the babydoll nightie and then
unhitching the heavy bra and unwinding the bandages wrapped around
my whole torso.  Round and round.  "Don't look just yet!" she said.
"Close your eyes!"  Then, "Now, hands on hips, twist your torso a
little, and push out your chest!"  Then "Now look!"

And I looked.  Stark naked, me.  Much leaner than I remembered me,
gaunt, my cheekbones prominent, with thin arms and legs.  But then,
I hadn't eaten for days, and I hadn't felt much like eating for
weeks while Hayley and I were still quarreling.  

I was leaner in another way too.  My sides, instead of coming
straight down from my armpits to my hips as usual, tapered
gradually inward from my underarms to my hips, then flared out at
my hips in a steep curve.  The impression created was of a narrow
chest, a teeny waist, and wide hip-bones atop which my hands rested
like a model's in a fashion magazine.  It was a girl's frontal
view!  I had a girl's figure!   

"Yes," Hayley said thoughtfully.  "I was right to ask Dr. Portland
to take out those lower ribs."  She looked more closely, and her
face brightened!  "Adam didn't have any lower ribs either after Eve
took away one and that bad girl Lilith took away the other.  You
won't miss them.  Sweetheart, the effect is marvelous!  And just
look at your new boobs, framed against your remodeled chest. 
Scrumptious!"

I couldn't help but look!  There they were!  Beauties, I'd call
them, if I saw them hanging from any girl's naked body!  Swelling
proudly out from my now-narrowed torso, voluptuous and full-bodied,
seemingly all the larger for the implied fragility of the chest
holding them up!  They looked huge!  Two stunning half-melons!  My
new breasts, draping generously from my collarbones, thrust out and
up as if suspended from their tips, but then rounded generously
underneath as they curved back to my chest!  Each massive orb
tipped with a large pink circle with the dot of a developing nipple
centered inside each, now poking out instead of lying flat!  To my
eyes, formidable!  Generous, to say the least!  And attractive too! 
I felt a stirring in my loins.  Finally coming back to life?  No,
I saw after glancing down.  But it felt like it!

I saw too that I was hairless!  My whole body!  I'd never had much
hair, but still ...!

"Don't be disappointed, babydoll!" said Hayley.  "Your nipples will
get bigger as your implants do their thing and tell them to get
bigger, you'll feel it happen in a few more days.  Dr. Portland
says they'll probably end up fatter than mine, and at least as
sensitive, maybe even more.  And that's the lovely, lovely
sensation I want to share with you when I drink you the way you
drink me!  Soon.  Don't be impatient!  Oh, and Dr. Portman took
care of your chest hair of course, breasts don't have hair.  So I
had the rest of you done here while you were asleep.  The effect is
much more in keeping, don't you think?"

I simply stared.  I'd expected to see a man standing there, me, a
man who happened to have breasts.  That was a sight I could deal
with, I'd decided.  But what I saw was something else.  There was
my head.  But below the neck, I saw a girl, a superbly endowed
girl, the kind I've always admired and desired, her white, gleaming
breasts swelling out from her thin, fragile-looking chest and
perked over a narrow waist.  Below the neck I looked unmistakably
female!  Insistently female, as if my breasts comprised a third of
my body weight!  I gulped.  How could anyone disguise or hide these
tits?  Above them, my face, way below them, dwarfed and half hiding
as if half-ashamed, quite out of place, my cock and balls.

"You said these are 'C' cups?" I asked in a high, small voice.  My
God, I was so intimidated by my own image that I was even sounding
feminine!

"Oooh, you sound as wonderful as you look!" Hayley said.  "You
should practice that voice!  They're 'C' cups in a 'B' cup world,
honey!  Your band size -- that's the chest measurement below those
beautiful balloons -- is only 34, so those things swollen out in
front of you look bigger than they are.  I know women who'd kill
for boobs like yours.  And men have killed to get their hands on
those kinds of boobs!  I was watching your expression just now, and
I agree with you, you are gorgeous!  I'm so very pleased!  Do you
mind if I cop a feel?"  She grinned and reached for me.

I tried to stand my ground, but despite myself I stiffened.  "Don't
worry, sweetheart," she said sympathetically, no longer trying to
tease me.  "I know they still hurt a little, and that they haven't
even begun to get ... erotic ... well, you know the feeling, maybe. 
That 'blow in her ear and she'll follow you anywhere' feeling? 
Those implants have only begun their work.  In another few days
you'll begin to feel something of what I feel when you touch me
there.  That's what I want you to feel.  And that's when I mean to
claim sole possession of those boobs, make them altogether mine for
whatever my purposes.  Though I hereby appoint you their
caretaker!"  

Gently, her fingers traced thin red lines in the crease just under
my breasts, and another set just above my waist where my lowest
ribs had once been.  "You heal fast, almost all better," she said
to them in her consoling, little girl voice.  She was serious,
though.  I could tell she'd been concerned about me.

"Hayley, they're enormous!" I said, carefully modulating my voice
a little lower.  I was pleased that she cared so deeply, but I was
still a little stunned.  I couldn't see how I could survive life as
a man from now on, given my spectacular woman's figure.  "I'm not
so sure that big shirts and oversized jackets will cover these ...
things and preserve my masculine appearance.  They poke way out
ahead of me.  And they're heavy!  I don't want to bind them tight
until they've healed completely."

"Don't you dare try binding them, ever," Hayley said, suddenly
frightened.  "You might stretch them out of shape!  They're
beautiful!  And anyhow, they may be on you, but they're mine!"  She
was quite serious now.

Well, all right.  They were hers.  They were my gift to her.  But
I still had a problem.  "I was worried about warm weather before,
remember?  How once the warm weather came I could ever wear
T-shirts or light clothes and not reveal to everyone that I have
these things, that I'm a weird pervert, a ridiculous spectacle? 
How can I hide them?"

"Hide anything so beautiful?  Why in the world would you want to do
that?"

"Hayley, I'm a man!  Men don't have breasts!"

"Well, then?"

I just stared at her!

"There's no problem here, sweetie!  Not at all!  Yes, if you did
just toss a thin T-shirt onto those headlights and step outside,
people would certainly go blind staring at you, I don't doubt it! 
They really are impressive!"  

Hayley grinned, and elaborated.  "You really do need to wear a bra! 
If you were to exhibit jugs like those without a bra, other women
would wonder where your decency had gone, and men would be dragging
their tongues all over the sidewalk.  Also, breasts feel much
heavier when they're self-supported, you need to distribute some of
the weight to your shoulders, the way women do when they wear bras. 
If you're worried about your appearance, that's where the answer
lies!"

"Where?"  I was seriously worried now.  Would I end up explaining
to everyone at the office, and every passerby, that I'd done this
for my wife, it wasn't really me?  They'd know better, because it
was really me!  Talk about confessing that you're pussy whipped!

"If you can't raise the bridge, honey," Hayley said, enjoying my
mystification, teasing me again, "then lower the river!"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I'll show you.  Let's go visiting!" 

"HAYLEY!  The way I am??!"  A pang of terror stabbed me in the
vitals!  I tried to control myself.  "How can I do that?  Visit
who?"

"Oh, baby, don't be a baby!  Only go visiting Meg!  Meg knows all
about you!  She's all sympathy, believe me.  And she knows how much
I care about you, she'd never laugh.  She cares about you too,
really, she likes you!  She appreciates what you're doing for me! 
Anyway, we'll stay there for only maybe five minutes, then we'll
come back here.  We need to take it slow the first day anyhow,
that's what the doctor ordered."

I was near tears!  "Hayley, go all the way across town to see Meg,
and stay only five minutes?"

"Not for the five minutes, honey.  For the coming and going.  You
need to learn something about having breasts as beautiful as those! 
You're too worried about what other people may think, and you're
too worried about your appearance.  Well, people will think they're
gorgeous!  You need to think so too.  So we'll make this little
trip, and you'll be a different person when you arrive back here,
I can promise you that!"

I had no argument against that kind of certainty, but the panic I
felt in my guts persisted.  "If we visit Meg, what about Mark?  I
can't let Mark see me with these things!  He'll think it's
ridiculous!  What kind of man lets his wife persuade him to get
breasts?  What would he think?  He'd tell the other guys!  I'd be
ruined!"  I suddenly closed my mouth.  Not smart!  I had just told
Hayley that I was ashamed of them, ashamed that I'd tried to please
her, done what my beloved spouse wanted me to do.  That in my heart
I thought I should have ignored her, that I should have been a man
and stood my ground.  Hayley had to regard me with contempt after
hearing such a confession!

In fact she did.  "First of all, dear," she said a bit bitingly,
"They aren't 'these things.'  They're 'my beautiful breasts' or 'my
pretty figure'!  Aren't you able to call them that?"  She waited. 
Then waited longer.

I realized that she expected me to say something.  "They're
certainly beautiful," I responded.  "But Mark may not think that
about the rest of me after he sees them."  Now I was feeling really
depressed.  I'd given Hayley what she wanted at some considerable
cost to my self-respect, and I was losing her respect anyway.

"Is that your problem?" she asked.  "Vanity?   You don't think Mark
will admire you as much as I do?  Well, let me assure you that Mark
will think no less of you.  He has no reason to think any the less
of you!  But there's this other thing I find shocking!  Do you
really care more what a man thinks about your masculinity, or your
supposed lack of masculinity, than what women think of it?  Does
any man's opinion matter more to you than your own wife's, or her
best friend's, Meg's?  Is that how it goes?  Is that how you men
keep yourselves in line?"

I was downcast.  "No, Hayley, that's not how it goes."  But it was. 
And that seemed all the more shameful.  I was confused, this was
more than I could handle.  I backed away from the mirror and sat
down on the bed again, depressed.  In another minute, I thought, I
really would start to cry, for the first time since my early teens. 
Men don't cry.  But I was a man who now had a woman's torso and who
knows what else working its way through my bloodstream.  Reason
enough!

Hayley sat down close beside me.  "Sweetheart, I know," she said in
the most gentle voice imaginable.  "I know.  Don't worry.  I was
only teasing you some more.  I love the way you look.  I wish you
could feel proud that you did this for your wife out of selfless
love, because you did.  But that'll take time, and it might never
happen.  Meanwhile, I know how to get you to Meg's house and back
without anyone giving you a second glance.  And that's what you
want, isn't it?"

"In the trunk of our car?" I asked.

She was happy to see that my sense of humor had returned.  My sense
of proportion.  "No, you'll see.  Just sit here.  Oh, and don't
worry about Mark at all.  He isn't home.  He's away for training,
not due back for another week or so.  It's just Meg there, no one
else.  She may even be feeling lonely without her hubby.  I know
she'll welcome our visit.  OK?"  She took my face in both hands,
and looked earnestly into my eyes.  "And I'm proud of you, I want
to show you off!"

What could I say?  "OK," I said.  "Sure.  But how can you get me to
Meg's house without causing all sorts of ruckus?  Or worse,
ridicule.  If some man, or woman, or child, points a finger at me
and laughs, I know I'll come apart!  I just know it!"

She looked stern and protective, all at once.  "It's easy, sweetie. 
We'll just hide you in plain sight, and then no one will know!  You
don't want to be seen as a man with breasts?  No problem!  We'll
fix you up to look like a woman with breasts.  Trust me!  All
right?"

I took several deep breaths.  That was my problem, I wasn't feeling
very manly any longer, and knew I didn't look it!  So I certainly
didn't want to look womanly.  Did she mean to put me in a dress? 
No way! 

"Hayley," I said.  "I've got to draw a line in the sand!  I'm a
man.  I won't wear drag, only men's clothes, and that's that!  I
need to hold onto the few shreds of masculine pride I've got left
right now.  I mean, I'm sorry honey, I know you wanted me to have
these breasts, and I've got them now, and I hope you're happy that
I have them.  But I'm still what I am.  A man who wears men's
clothes."  

She paused a moment, and then surprised me.  She agreed!  "Good!"
she said.  "All right.  If you feel that way.  No drag.  Only men's
clothes. But you really need to wear a bra for another day or two. 
For support -- you don't want those beautiful things to sag or
stretch before your chest muscles strengthen,  Would the fact of a
bra, or the fear of it, reduce your manhood to quivering jello?"

"Yes," I replied.  "I mean, I can't possibly wear anything so
altogether feminine as a brassiere, and yes even the thought of it
turns me to jello.  I need time, Hayley!  This is too much too
soon!"  For some reason, imagining myself caught dead while wearing
a bra terrified me more than death itself.  I said that.

"Well, I need to insist."  She looked concerned, now.  "You get to
choose.  This heavy prosthetic bra you've been wearing, or a light
underwire I can lend you, one you'll scarcely notice you've got on. 
And that's that!"  

She was determined, and she meant well.  I had to agree.  "The
underwire then," I said.  "But I don't want to look like a woman!"

She smiled to herself and said nothing.  She brought out the
underwire bra and slipped it over my arms, and clipped it behind
me.  Now my new breasts and their surrounding tissue and muscles
were gathered up and thrust far forward, two massive compact
globes.  Again I couldn't see my toes.  Then she went quickly to
our closet and visited various drawers.  "Here, Barry.  Your boxer
shorts won't do I'm afraid, they're too large for your waistline
now.  You need briefs, so slip these on, they'll do for now. 
Calvin's, mine, but they're cotton, and cut almost the way he cuts
men's briefs.  Perfect for your figure as it is now!  A little more
hi-leg than men like to wear, maybe, though why men shy away from
showing long legs I don't know.  Can your masculinity survive a
pair of my panties?"  

I said it could.  They almost looked male.  And they fit
comfortably enough.

"Now put this shirt on, and button it up, but leave the top three
buttons open so it'll fit despite your breasts, and roll the
sleeves up neatly until they're just below your elbow."

She handed me one of my ordinary dress shirts, plain white.  Most
of my shirts were tailored for a snug fit on a body I no longer
possessed -- now they'd be too baggy below the rib cage and too
tight across my bust.  They'd compress my boobs, a no-no for now. 
But this one was a stock size I'd bought at a department store
sale, large, with lots of room for my breasts to hang from their
bra straps while they finished healing.

I slipped it on.  With its top buttons open it covered my chest but
shaped itself to grasp my new boobs from underneath and lift them,
just a little.  They pressed gently against the front plackets and
opened my neckline even wider.  My nipples rubbed on the
broadcloth, and felt strange.  I saw the clear outline of a bra
through the material.  

"Your bra is visible under my shirt, Hayley," I told her.

"My bra is visible under my shirt," she corrected me.  "Say it!"

"My bra," I said after a moment's pause.

"Yes!  You're wearing it, it's yours.  Now if you were a woman,
this would be such a sexy look that men would go mad, what with the
way you protrude and the way your cleft peeks out where you're
unbuttoned, oh so inviting, and what with the mystery implied by
those dark places where your nipples show.  But you're a man, so it
isn't sexy at all, is it?"

I was silent.

"Well, men may go mad when they see you anyhow, but they'll wonder
about themselves!"  She grinned.

"This is a man's shirt," I said stubbornly.  "There's nothing sexy
about a man's shirt."

"Spoken like a man," Hayley replied.  "I'm glad you don't think
you're cross-dressing.  Let me break the news to you gently,
sweetie.  Women wear men's shirts all the time.  To women, men's
shirts are sexy.  They're 'man-tailored,' our favorite kind.  And
the way your shirt's shaped around you now is obviously the way you
are now, which is how women like to be seen.  The effect is
decidedly feminine, that of a woman taking over and surrounding
herself with a man's prerogatives, in this case a man-tailored
shirt that even buttons a man's way.  The contrast only emphasizes
the wearer's femininity, if the wearer has breasts.  Anyone can see
that you aren't wearing an undershirt but a bra, and that there are
impressive breasts inside that bra.  Your pretense to modesty is
preserved by the shirt, but it's obvious that you have a woman's
figure.  So live with it!" 

"Even so," I said, "I'm still a man!"  I had to insist on that!

"Oh?  Still stubborn?  Are you prepared to open that fourth button
and let it all hang out?"  She tossed her head and sniffed, and
then smiled slyly.  "I'd love to see you do that!  Baby, think a
moment.  We're talking about snap perceptions here, quick
judgments, what people see in passing.   Your body is now a
woman's wearing a man's shirt, and that's what people will see.  A
woman who dresses in casual attire, very feminine."

I could see that.  I tried slumping my shoulders forward, but all
that happened was, I looked like a girl with bad posture.  I was
struggling and losing.  "Well, anyhow, pants!" I said.  "No
skirts!"

"You think that's where respectability lies, honey?  All right,
pants.  Let's see what we'll follow up with next.  We could haul
out some chuffy oversized overalls, carpenters' or railroad men's,
but they've been a look for women for so long now that even
carpenters and railroad men who wear them look feminine.  Here, try
on these jeans you bought by mistake two years ago.  Remember them,
they were too tight in the waist, and you thought they were also
too snug in the thigh and the butt?  And you always meant to return
them, but the months and years have gone by?  Well, pull them on
now, Barry baby -- I bet they'll fit you just fine.  Nice and snug,
the way women's jeans are supposed to fit."

I did that.  I could barely bend over in them.  "I'm still wearing
men's clothes," I said, but in a wan voice.  I saw perfectly
clearly what Hayley was driving at, that my insistence on male
clothing was getting more and more whimsical.  Even silly.  I'd
have to bind my breasts and pad out my waistline to look male, and
I couldn't do that now.  But I refused to be ridiculed!  "I need to
look like what I am!" I said.

"You mean, you need to look like a man with breasts?  That's not
the way, Barry!"  She shook her head.  "You have so much to learn! 
But I guess first you'll need to want to learn it."

She was right.  I had no choice.  I gave in.  "What can I do?" I
asked.  

"We do this my way?  Good.  First, undress again and go shower, and
while you're there run your hands over your nice, smooth, hairless
body.  Feel yourself up, enjoy your breasts!  Persuade yourself
that you're a man while you're doing that!  Meanwhile I'll gather
up the rest of the things we need, OK?  We'll disguise you so no
one will look twice at what you were.  Not drag, just a hint here
and a suggestion there, and you watch, you'll be a new person!"  

"All right, honey," I said.  "I'll try to be a man tomorrow.  Today
I need to hide."

"No!" she said.  "Not hide!  I don't want you to hide!  I want you
to be someone else, visibly!  I want you to feel proud that you're
someone else!  Because now, that's what you are!"  

When I came back and put my women's underwear and men's shirt and
pants back on, Hayley produced a wide belt.  "Shirt-tail out, and
cinch this tight around your waist, Barry.  It'll emphasize how
teeny your waistline is, and it'll create a blouson effect, and the
shirt-tail will flare out onto your hips, and seem to widen them. 
And that in turn will seem to slim your thighs, as if they needed
it!  See, it's all in the outfit!  You're the dearest man I know,
and now it's time for you to suggest that you're also the dearest
woman!"  

Soon afterward I was seated nervously in our car while Hayley drove
us toward Meg's house.  Under instruction my knees were together,
my ankles crossed, my hands were folded atop the purse in my lap,
and my strappy sandals were tippytoe.  My eyelashes felt heavily
curtained by the five or six coats of mascara Hayley had stroked on
them, and my lips were creamed with "Blushing Rose."  

"That's all it takes," Hayley had explained.  "Mascara and a dash
of lipstick.  No need for earrings or nail polish or skirts.  Not
even eye shadow.  You hair's naturally wavy and still abundant, so
when I brought it down over your forehead, voila, a hairdo!  And
when your brow's covered, it makes your sweet face into a doll face,
even smaller."  She'd kissed my doll face.  

I now sat still in the car, defeated, feeling a little bit
humiliated, too.  Hayley seemed not to notice. 

"Now, with your face as it is and those marvelous boobs, no matter
what else you're a woman, Barry.  To anyone.  Period.  All the
clues are there.  You could live your whole life as a woman dressed
like this, if you had to."

I felt grumpy.  I felt like I was still me!  This was me, after
all!  "I don't see any clues, Hayley.  I don't feel like a woman."
I couldn't tell whether Hayley was helping me or playing some
enormous practical joke on me.  "I feel like a man pretending to be
a woman!  Effeminate!  A sissy girl.  Just look at me!"  

She cast a sidelong glance at me, then returned her eyes to the
road.  "You look fine, baby," she said quietly.  Her voice had an
edge to it.  Was I protesting too much?  "Very attractive."

"But attractive as a man?  Would you want me in bed with you, could
you make love to me knowing I've dressed like this?"  Here was a
new concern!  Was she casting me off as a man?  I couldn't see how
I could still appeal to her.

"Not dressed like that, no, honeybuns.  Undressed is the way I want
you.  The way I like Patti and Dora too!  Would I throw you out of
my bed?  No, I want you as a permanent resident in my bed!  That's
what all this is about, sweetie!"

"But can you think of me as a man, dressed like this?"

Another more serious glance.  "That's up to you, Barry.  Underneath
the lipstick and behind those tits, would you say you're still a
man?"

Finally I broke.  "Hayley," I cried out in despair, "Would a man be
sitting here wearing breasts, his face lipsticked and mascara'd,
clutching a purse?  I'm not a man, I'm a pussy whipped wimp!  I'm so
ashamed!  Look at me!  Look what you've done to me!" 

Not smart, I thought, even as I said it.  Well, it was too late to
haul the words back now!

Hayley suddenly swerved the car into a large mall area, pulled up
close to an entrance, leaned across me, and opened my door.

"Get out, honey!" she said in a level voice.  "You need to learn
something important!" 


end 3/10
VickieTern@AOL.COM

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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