(Although "Prologue" was written open-ended, it was never my original intention to write a sequel for it. Within hours of publishing it, however, a way to move forward presented itself so the following should be considered Prologue's second chapter. Maybe I should call it "Baby Steps" because that's my approach. If successful, I hope to write a third chapter, If it doesn't work . . . well, sorry for wasting anyone's time.)
How is it that you can know someone for so long only to find you hardly knew them at all?
I'd been out of college for nearly a year when I first met my then-future husband. Although he was 10 years older, I was immediately attracted by his intelligence and found him to be an easy conversationalist on a wide range of subjects. He was also a very funny guy who just made me laugh and, probably best of all, he had no ex-wives or rug rats in his baggage train. Amazingly, at a time when kids who'd gone to high school with me were working on their third husbands, my guy was 33 but yet to be married.
So how was he in the sack, you ask? Well, maybe not the greatest, but then who really is, you know? Stirling Moss once said there were two things all men claim to do really well, and we know most of them aren't very good drivers, either. All I know is that on our third date, while my housemate was gone for the weekend, this guy spread me out on the sofa like a banquet and hoovered my red wagon to the point where I saw fancy colors for the rest of the weekend. A girl should keep in mind that there's always something better out there or what's a heaven for, but this keeper left me a satisfied consumer. We were engaged two months later.
In the 15 years since, my snatch has yet again to experience the level of perfection it enjoyed that first evening on the sofa, but that's not saying it's lived a life of bitter disappointment, either. Several times each season, my resourceful lover could be counted on to map out sexual campaigns in my Cavern of Wonder that bordered on the epic -- "real Indiana Jones shit," he'd laugh. Over the last several years, his vague, scattered references to feminization struck me as reminders of a well-honed sense of humor which tended to become especially quirky whenever sex was involved.
In a way, I may have even planted the seed. Had I been more attuned, I would have recognized it the night I playfully requested he raise his arms, then dropped over his head the old shapeless cotton nightie I'd just removed. In a vision of things to come, I pulled it down quickly past his hips and pushed him onto the bed. I then proceeded to worm my way beneath the nightdress and up along his thighs until my face buried in his crotch. Firmly grabbing his ass cheeks in both hands, I steered his cock into my mouth, rolled beneath him and delivered a blow job that still ranks as one of my most stellar efforts. My mistake that evening was to give too much credit to the virtuoso performance on his golden horn in explaining his sudden retreat that night into subspace.
It goes without saying, then, I was not exactly prepared when he finally stopped beating around the bush several years later and directly admitted that he wanted to be force feminized and then taken in the ass while dressed like a woman. What's more, he pleaded that I be the one who did him. His ass? Where the hell did that even come from? We hadn't exactly spent a lot of time back there. A little fingering, sure, but neither of us had ventured beyond the other's sphincter.
At the same time I was experiencing this complete confusion, just hearing him say it filled me with excitement. The sudden randomness of the whole idea made me feel I was once again back on the sofa, but how exactly did I go from there? I'd heard jokes in college about male vaginas and male clitties and knew part of it involved shoving a dildo into the poop chute, but otherwise I was tragically short on details. Forced to be as clever as I could under what was proving to be trying circumstances, my focus shifted initially to sorting out the physical aspects of his feminization in order that I might buy a little more time to figure out the rest.
It was well past two that night when my sweet "Roni" finally stepped into the leg openings of a previously unopened pair of black lace panties I had initially purchased for myself in what I always considered an extremely weak moment. His following transformation, however, was nothing short of miraculous as he stood there before me, his naked body now all pink and hairless. He was both shy and animated as a new puppy as I drew the panties slowly up his scrumptious, freshly-shaved legs and past his now-pre-puberty penis and scrotal sac to eventually settle them on his still-boyish hips. Gosh, I thought, who knew it could be this easy?
I smiled at the blue silk knee-length nightgown with its embroidered white lace collar and sleeves spread out on the bed, waiting for his body. Originally purchased for our honeymoon but never used, it skimmed in my hands across his still-damp hair and fluttered gracefully past those slender hips to finally fulfill its original destiny as a showcase for an object of intense sexual desire. Several dabs of Cacharel's Loulou behind the ears added to his unfolding aura of sexual ambiguity, and my dear sweet heart now looked (and smelled) good enough to eat. I led him to our bed which had been made up earlier with our frilliest (but least used) linens while he had soaked in the tub. I slid in behind him under the fresh crisp sheets and two of my fingers immediately began to softly circle his anal opening hidden behind the nightgown's cool silk. "Happy?" I asked.
"Thank you," he whispered, wiggling his ass back into my fingers in a way I found devastatingly charming! Sorry, I wanted to say, that's gotta be it for the night. But I didn't want to believe it. I spooned him tightly and almost immediately began wondering how my new little girl might appear with his still-damp hair freshly cut into a Louise Brooks bob? It was certainly something worth considering, I thought; I was finding myself increasingly open to suggestions from everywhere.
"Tomorrow is a big day," I said lamely, finally putting an end to any further speculation by either of us about where the rest of our evening was headed. "It's beyond late and we really need to get some rest." He gave up a small, satisfied sigh as I pressed my pudendum tightly against his ass.
Yeah, tomorrow was a big day, I thought, and I also needed to find more time to figure out just what the hell I was suppose to do next . . .