Sucker 6

Debbie drove. Other drivers and their passengers glanced at us from
time to time, but saw nothing wrong, and I began to relax -- this
was not a day for feeling humiliated after all.  We had to park a
block away from Vita's and walk among many other pedestrians.  I
glided, elbows at my sides, and it went fine.

"Don't make eye contact with men," Debbie advised, noticing that I
was checking out the passers-by to see if they noticed me.  "Lots
of them won't leave you alone once you look them in the eye.  But
with women, feel free.  We all understand each other."  It was
true.  I smiled at one, then another, and they both smiled back. 
That never happened to me when I was a man.  They'd have frowned,
most of them.  Maybe looked for a cop!

She introduced me to Vita, who handed me off to a young woman in a
purple smock named Allison and went off to chat with Debbie for a
while.  Then Vita returned.  "Debbie's gone shopping and arranging
other things," she said.  "But we know what you want.  Just relax
and enjoy being pampered!"  Then she disappeared.  

During the next several hours young girls came, did things to me,
and disappeared, but I never saw Vita again that day.  Allison
seemed to be in charge.  She seemed a little hostile.  I said so to
her.

"Mister," she said.  "I shouldn't say this, and Vita would kill me
if she ever found out.  But I don't know why you're doing this.  It
does seem to me an invasion of womynspace, and I resent it.  I
mean, why do you men have to colonize and appropriate even the way
we look and dress?

I told her that my wife wanted me to look and dress like a woman,
and I had agreed to do it.

"Really?  Why in the world would any woman want you to do that?"  

I decided a frontal attack was the only way to deal with this
feminist.  "So I'll look like a girl when I go down on a man she
knows, to suck on his cock.  Which I've agreed to do because that's
what she wants."

Allison was silent for a long time.  Then finally, "Wow!" she said. 
"That's some penance!  You must have done something really bad, you
and maybe that man too!  I mean, to get two birds with one stone! 
Humiliating both of you, making you do that.  I've got to admire a
woman like that!"

I decided not to straighten her out.  I wasn't sure I should
explain to her that it was all so my wife would agree to suck on my
cock.  She wouldn't approve, even given the price Debbie had
exacted from me.  

Allison cut and snipped and rolled and sprayed and poured onto my
hair carefully and thoughtfully, while a manicurist came and went,
then a "colorist," then someone who punctured my ear lobes and hung
a small hoop in each.  Then a make-up artist came, and spent a long
time doing my lips and eyes.  I said nothing.  I was determined not
to worry the short-term, long-term implications of dyed hair and
pierced ears.  I reconciled myself to whatever Debbie had decided
-- she was in charge for now.  I no longer wondered how I'd return
to my normal appearance afterward.  I'd manage.  Now was not the
time to feel concerned.  Later.

"There you are," Allison said finally, whipping a pale purple sheet
off me and turning me toward the mirror.  "I told everyone what
your wife is doing to you, and they were all impressed.  So they've
all done their best work on you!  It's a wonderful idea!  I've got
to find a way to get my boyfriend to do that to my ex!  He's been
two-timing me, and I was just about ready to throw him out!  But
this is much better!  Awesome!  First change him, then throw him
out!  Talk about a kissoff?  Well!  Aren't you the gorgeous girl
now?"

I looked into the mirror.  I was!  Allison had taken my moderate
length sandy colored hair and converted it into a cute mop of
streaky-blonde curls.  And the others had remade my face from the
bare skin on out, and added tips to my fingernails and then painted
them the color of my lipstick.  Even my beard shadow was gone,
buried under an invisible foundation and blush.  An attractive girl
looked at me from the mirror.

But after the first shock of recognition -- that's really me? --
I forgot my mirror image.  I was suddenly concerned by Allison's 
assumption that Debbie meant only to humiliate me and Bruce en 
route to a kissoff.  That she wanted to end our marriage!  Why?  
Was Debbie that duplicitous?!  

"Yes, she certainly is!"  I heard Debbie's voice behind me.  "She
certainly is the gorgeous girl now!  You've outdone yourself,
Allison!  I never thought Samantha would finish that pretty! 
Samantha, you can't imagine how many marvelous things I've bought
for you!  I know you'll love them!  I can't wait till we get home
so you can try them on!  But now we need to go to lunch, and I've
made a 3:00pm appointment for you at the clinic.  Remember, you
wanted to look just a little more rounded, a little more
appropriate?  Well, you're about to get your wish!"

Allison's eyes opened even wider when she heard that, but she said
nothing.  Debbie offered Allison a large tip, and to her
astonishment Allison refused it.  "I can only admire what you're
doing," Allison told Debbie solemnly.  "And I wish you every
success!  You're an inspiration!"

As we walked to our restaurant, halfway back to the car, Debbie
asked me what that was all about, and I told her.  I then asked her
if she was doing this to punish me, and maybe Bruce too.  Whether
this was in fact what Allison assumed it was, a humiliating kissoff!
"Do I know everything you're really doing, Debbie?" I asked her, 
near tears?

I asked that last question in a low, intense, and worried voice
just as the Maitre D' showed two women to one of his more
centrally-located tables, one of them a natural beauty in slacks
and one of them elaborately coiffed and made up, wearing a designer
denim skirt, each a credit to the attractiveness of his
establishment.

Debbie waited until we had both ordered, two small salads and two
black coffees, and the waiter had left.  She then looked at me with
tears starting in her own eyes!  "Samantha," she said.  "I want to
be absolutely honest with you.  No, you don't know everything I'm
really doing.  No, I can't tell you until the proper time.  But
then I will certainly tell you everything!  Everything!  Soon, I
hope!  Until then you'll just have to trust me!"  

She smiled, but now the tears welled up.  They overflowed, and a
teeny streak of mascara coursed down her cheek.  She blotted it
with a kleenex and looked at the black stain it left.  

"Well, look at that," she said.  "I'm ruining my mascara.  But I
can't help it.  Samantha, everything I've told you is absolutely
true.  I can't possibly go down on you until you've done it first
to someone else.  That's the way I am and that's how it is!  And
you do need to be feminine if Bruce is to be your man, because
that's the way he is.  This is not some kind of cruel prank, a
'kiss off.'  I do love you.  I do want to spend the rest of my life
with you.  In fact I'm doing everything I can think of to make sure
that happens, despite the way I am in some ways.  Because if I
weren't doing this, it wouldn't happen!  You know that I haven't
been able to warm up to you sexually.  Our marriage was really
threatened!  But you accepted my challenge with Bruce, and I'm
glad, because now I think we can spend our whole lives together. 
It's much more likely.  I hope so!"

I was utterly mystified.  I suck Bruce's cock, and then she sucks
mine, and then we live happily ever after?

"I think it's absolutely essential that we be absolutely honest
with each other!  In a month you'll be a changed man.  I know it. 
An altogether changed man, because no longer a man at all, because
that's what you've promised me!  And that's when I'll be able to
explain everything, not to a husband but to a  girl I married for
life!  I mean to keep my word!  You suck off Bruce the way we've
agreed, and I guarantee you the best sex you've ever had for the
rest of your life.  You'll be happy, trust me, and that's what I'll
be too!  In only a month.  Do you believe me?"

"Yes," I said, simply.  And tears came into my own eyes.  She
looked so earnest, pleading with me to wait!  I had to believe her! 
I put a kleenex to my eyes too, and then we both started to sob.

"This is terrible!  We're making spectacles of ourselves!  Let's go
to the Ladies and get a grip and fix our faces!"  Debbie said,
rising.  I rose too, and remembered to glide as I followed her.   

Once there we fell into each others' arms and just cried and hugged
and sobbed.  There was nothing more either of us could say.  Then
gradually we recovered.  We believed each other.  There would be no
more talk about kissoffs.  

As Debbie repaired her face in the mirror she looked at me standing
alongside and admiring her.  My Debbie!  Soon to be all mine, our
intimacy wonderful, the way it had been this past weekend, but for
our whole lives!  More than wonderful!  Now that I was no longer
anxious about our relationship, we were able to make ordinary
girl-talk.

"Now that's really lovely!" she said, studying me in the mirror. 
"What Allison did with your hair!  I wish my hair had that kind of
fullness and body.  And it curled so beautifully!  Now it'll look
pretty no matter how passionate you may need to get with Bruce, no
matter how he may grip or twist it when you send him off the deep
end!  And it'll be so easy to fix -- all you'll need to do when you
stand up again is run your fingers through it!"

I was studying it in the mirror.  My new crop.  My crown of curls. 
If I were a girl, I'd think it looked adorable, because it was! 
But on me?  So unmistakably a girl's hairdo?  How could I return to
those customers in a month or so for their re-orders?  How could I
let my boss see me?  I was no longer the Sam they knew.  I tried to
share my concern indirectly.  "Honey, it's just stunning.  I love
it.  But it's so feminine!  I've never seen a man with this kind of
streaky blonde hair, curled and styled like this.  This is what
girls wear!  What will people think?"

"Of course you've never seen a man wearing your hairdo!  It *is* a
girl's style.  It looks effeminate?  I hope so!  It's lovely!  Very
flattering, Samantha!  It'll get you lots of compliments.  Anyhow,
why do you care what people think?  It's what I think that matters,
doesn't it?  And we've agreed that'll depend on what Bruce thinks. 
Isn't that so?"

How did Bruce somehow get between me and her feelings about me?  "I
suppose you're right," I replied.  She simply wasn't going to
concern herself with what I'd have to face later on.  So I couldn't
either.  One day at a time.

As Debbie finished and returned all her make-up to her purse, her
face once again neat, it suddenly occurred to me that I hadn't
touched mine, yet it was as perfect as when I left Vita's.  But I'd
cried too!  I'd wiped my eyes.  We'd hugged each other tearfully.
But my mascara stayed on my lashes the whole time.

"Why didn't my face smear like yours?"  I asked Debbie as casually
as I could.  I had an awful feeling that my eye liner and lipstick
might have been tattooed on!  Would I need to wear this face for
the rest of my life?  "My eye liner seems to be indelible!" I added
in as amused a tone as I could muster, that being my deepest fear.

"It is, more or less," Debbie replied.  "I asked about tattoos, but
they don't like to do them on faces any more.  So I told them to
use permanent stains instead.  They aren't sub-dermal, like a
tattoo, unfortunately.  Eventually they wear off.  They call them
"permanent," though they're no more permanent than a permanent
wave!  Perfect for a few months, anyhow, but in six months it all
needs retouching!"

"A few months?!" I said, trying to sound pleased by this disastrous
announcement.   I now had one of those perfect, enameled female
faces movie stars seem to have, and it wasn't going to go away
soon!  "That'll be convenient!"  

"Oh yes!" Debbie said.  "I'm glad you agree.  It was the only way
to go.  There's no time in only a month, three weeks really, to
teach you how to apply daytime make-up and then the more
sophisticated kinds for evening wear.  That can take years.  And
this is the only make-up that withstands the stresses of serious
lovemaking.  You'll be rubbing your face in lots of men's crotches
soon.  Ordinary lipstick can't survive encounters like that, and
you'll want to look as pretty afterward as you did before, I'm
sure.  Especially if your men cum on your face and you'll need to
wipe it off without smearing.  And anyhow, men don't appreciate
seeing lipstick or eye make-up on their penises or their clothes
the next day.  And neither do their wives, if they have any. 
Permanent make-up was the perfect solution, it seemed to me.  Don't
you agree?

"Oh, yes," I said.  I was ruined!  Even pierced ear holes could be
hidden or covered, but I'd need to use make-up on top of this
make-up in order to resume life as a man.  And even "natural"
make-up looks artificial, feminine, even at a glance -- that's how
they make it.  Then when any "natural" make-up wears off, there
I'll be with my deep red lips and black-outlined eyes all over
again, an effeminate man who thinks he looks like a pretty girl 
For the first time, I began considering that I might be in this for
the long haul, that my girlhood might not be over when Bruce was
satisfied and we went home from our weekend in the country with new
understandings of each other!  Looking like a girl certainly seemed
to be extending well past then.  I wondered if Bruce's was the last
cock Debbie expected me to suck.  I wondered if she had longer-range 
plans she hadn't yet revealed to me.

When we left the restaurant, Debbie suggested we walk to the
doctor's office a few streets away.  It was remarkable how well I
blended in.  Debbie had to remind me now and then to keep my toes
pointed forward when I walked, and to sway my hips by seeming to
walk on a line, but no one paid us the slightest attention, except
perhaps in passing.  We were two young women strolling and chatting
with each other.

Debbie talked almost non-stop, orienting me to my new gender.  "Men
offer solutions to problems instinctively" she told me. "That's
what they do instead of exchange recipes.  But women offer
sympathy, not solutions, and that's what other women really want. 
Men don't like to ask anyone for help -- it implies dependency,
weakness, impotence I suppose.  But women love to ask, because they
know men love to help them.  Oh yes, don't talk in falsetto,
Samantha honey -- just find a high natural tone with lots of range
and then stress your voice a little when you speak.  I love the way
Allison plucked your eyebrows into that high, high arch -- it looks
so delicate and refined."  All, I realized, to distract me from
asking more questions.  At 3:00 pm promptly we arrived at the
clinic.  The nurse took a blood sample from me and I waited while
Debbie went in and consulted.  Then I was ushered in.

The doctor was a woman of about Debbie's age.  In fact, Debbie
introduced me to her as her oldest friend Sandra -- they'd been
sorority sisters in college, trusted custodians of each other's
secrets.  "What we owe each other you wouldn't believe!" Debbie
said.

Doctor Sandra asked me to take off my blouse and bra, which was a
little embarrassing, though she didn't seem to notice.  She
inspected my chest.  Then she got to the point.  "You'd like your
adipose tissue redistributed the way Debbie described it to me?" 

"Here and there," I said.  "Nothing extreme."  That sounded like a
safe response.

She looked at my blood workup.  "You have very high hormone
readings.  It's already begun to increase tissue mass here and
there.  Have you begun to notice emotional swings?  Crying jags,
things like that?"

I realized that my little session with Debbie earlier today had
been the first since my early teens.  I nodded, wide-eyed.  How
could this be?  The exercise tapes?  The mere fact that I was
wearing a skirt?  

"Any cells I move are likely to multiply themselves as your
hormonal processes continue.  Then you'll really end up looking
like something else!  That's what you want?"

I said nothing.  "He's been on double strength milk shakes," Debbie
said.  "And also sneaking an extra one each day.  Plainly, that's
what he wants!"

"All right," the doctor replied.  "They're remarkable, aren't they,
those shakes?" she said to me with a grin.  "Brand new!  Intended
for morning-after contraception!  They overwhelm any leftover sperm
with so many male hormone blockers and so much estrogen that the
sperm isn't just sterile when it gets near an ovum, it's flouncing
around wearing bras and panties and trying to screw other sperm! 
Nothing male survives.  Women in the test cohort reported that
their bodies and feelings both became noticeably more feminine, and
that they felt inclined to use that femininity.  They felt
increases in sensitivity and libido, both.  That's exactly what's
wanted in your case, of course.  And I can see results already. 
Look here!"  

Reaching out, she gently pinched one of my nipples,
and I almost swooned!  A rich, delicious feeling of well-being
suffused me.  I was almost breathless.  "They're already enlarged,
too!" the doctor said to Debbie.  "See how the nipples have
thickened and begun to stick out?  Only three days, and already it's
cop a feel and he'll follow you anywhere!  They won't need
much collagen at all to look pointy.  They're absolutely delicious!"

"I'm counting on that, Sandra," Debbie replied.

"Well, let's get started.  Follow me, please."

We went into a room lined with gadgets, and Debbie and her friend
Sandra went off again.  A nurse came in, had me strip and lie down
under a sheet, and put an IV in my arm.  ""The procedure is safe,"
she said.  "It's been done hundreds of thousands of times without
incident.  But it's more comfortable done under Versid, the
tranquilizer I'm administering just now through this IV.  You'll
seem to nod off without knowing it, and then wake up without
remembering anything.  OK?"

I nodded.

"Good, he's back," the nurse replied.  "How're you feeling?"

I then heard Debbie say, "You mean, she's back, don't you?  Hardly
'he,' now."

I looked over, and there was Debbie sitting beside me.  It was
over?  Already?  The nurse helped me sit up.  Somehow I was dressed
again, bra, girdle, skirt, blouse, and all.  The bra and girdle
still felt full, still padded.  Debbie had added even more foam?

"There you are," the nurse said.  She handed me a small glass of
orange juice.  "You can leave any time you like -- the doctor's
seeing another patient.  Everything went as expected.  I'm afraid
you'll need to leave that bra and girdle on all night tonight and
all through tomorrow and tomorrow night, just to be sure everything
stays in place.  But the next morning you can wear your usual
underthings again."         

After a moment I stood up.  My waist felt a little sore, and my
skirt felt very loose in the yoke but tight around the hips.  The
bra cups pinched where they passed under each arm.  My lips felt
puffed, as if in a steady pucker.  I looked at Debbie, who was
watching me with a faint smile.

"That's right, honey.  Collagen to reshape your lips a little, to
give you that "soft suck" look porn stars all seem to have.  And
now you have the improvement in your figure you'd asked for.  A
little less in the waist, and a little more in the hips and rear
and bust.  Your bra and girdle are still holding the shape you'd
wanted.  But instead of padding it's all you."

It was strange.  The skirt had been tight on my waist and loose on
my hips.  Now it was just the reverse.  I felt my rear end.  Padded
there too?  Me?  And boobs?  Boobs!?

"It's all you, baby!  You'll love it!  But you don't get to see it
until the day after tomorrow, when you're firmed up.  Sandra does
liposuction -- fat cells taken from your waist are now where
they'll do your figure the most good as your hormones multiply
them.  It's all still you.  But redistributed, the way we'd
discussed."

My God!  The shape of my body, changed?  "How long does it last?" 
I asked timorously.

"Until you change it to something else.  Which in a few months,
when the hormones have done their thing, will be a major
undertaking, Sandra tells me.  From now on its like with every
woman, everything you eat goes to your hips and butt and breasts. 
So you'll want to eat lightly, and depend on the shakes for your
chief nourishment.  In three weeks I don't doubt you'll have
exactly the kind of figure Bruce likes.  Whether he hugs or
caresses you, I think you'll be quite satisfactory in that
department." 

I could only stare at Debbie.  What had she done?  What had I
agreed to do?  I looked down and felt my smooth crotch, a woman's
crotch, a shape that the tight girdle enforced.

"Oh, it's there, lover.  Same place as always.  We both have uses
for it.   But this way you get the figure you want without any need
to remove it."

"You've been giving me hormones for my figure in those milk
shakes?" I asked her.  I was still feeling for something to resent. 

"For your figure and your disposition.  You're already nicer,
honey, and a lot prettier.  Your face is softer.  You feel more
mellow.  Even more refined.  And we've both been giving them to
you, remember," she corrected me.  "Half of what's kicked you into
this incipient femininity is what you prescribed for yourself
without even telling me.  I told you it was potent stuff.  Maybe
you didn't hear me?"

"I was hungry," I replied.  It sounded childish.  But what else
could I say?  The thought crossed my mind that since she knew all
along, she could have stopped me or warned me.  But I wasn't
supposed to complain.

"We'll have a small lamb chop each tonight to celebrate your new
shape," Debbie said.  "And a huge salad, all you want.  Though it's
best if tonight you eat it standing up.  You now have the cutest,
bubble-shaped rear end now, lover!  And the sweetest haunches!  We
don't want to flatten them.  In another day they'll be the way
they'll be, and then grow even more so.  When we exercise in the
buff again, now you'll surely look and feel like one of the girls."

I heard her in silence.  An image of those girls on the exercise
tapes flashed on my inner eye.  Then it occurred to me.  "What
about these?" I asked her, lifting my breasts in their bra.  My God
they felt heavy! 

"What about them?  They're breasts.  All girls have them."  She
just looked at me.

I tried one last time.  "I'm not a girl, Debbie!"

"You're wrong.  You told me you were.  You agreed that you'd have
to be so Bruce could persuade himself that you were.  So you could
persuade yourself.  Do I need to ask you again?  Are you a girl?" 
She looked at me keenly, unwavering, waiting.

"Yes," I replied.  "I'm a girl."

"Every day more and more, and better and better.  Let's go home,
lover.  The car's loaded with your new clothes, and I want to see
how they fit.  All classic styles today, basic wardrobe.  Tomorrow
we'll shop together for specialty items, dreamy things, flouncy
things, slut wear, whatever you like.  You can decide for yourself
what kind of a girl you are and dress accordingly."  

I didn't dare ask her why I needed more clothes.  I knew she
wouldn't tell me.  Did Debbie and Bruce plan to find me
unsatisfactory for months?  Years?  I renewed my determination to
do this thoroughly and right, so the designated few weeks would be
all it took, and my birthday present from Debbie would be the
return blow job she'd promised, and that would be that.  Then undo
whatever needed to be undone, whatever it took.  For now I was a
girl.  With these boobs, apparently, a sexy girl!

The next day no exercise tapes.  I was too woozy from something the
doctor gave Debbie to give me so I'd make no sudden moves and risk
injury to my new figure.  I remember we shopped, and I got some
minis and swim wear.  And an evening gown, off the shoulder, very
soignee Debbie called it, perfect for Saturday night at the resort! 
She held up each item, and I nodded or else shook my head, then
tried on whatever I'd nodded to.  So they were all mine by choice. 
Wearing dresses was all by my choice.  These were clothes I wanted
for my very own to enjoy wearing always, dresses and panties and
the like that expressed my own taste, my own femininity.  Debbie
reminded me repeatedly that I was choosing to be the kind of girl
I was, that I was responsible for me.  Then we went to a movie,
something about a girl and her relationship with her mother and two
guys, how she preferred the guy who was sweet to her but did enjoy
now and then a wild night with the other one.  I'm not sure, I fell
asleep.  We got home, and I could barely drink my second milkshake
before tumbling into bed still in my bra and girdle.  Doctor's
orders.

I woke up the next morning half-persuaded I really was what
Debbie'd been calling me, a stylish young woman.  I ran my fingers
through my hair a few times to free up curls that were tangled and
flattened.  Then with relief I finally stripped off my girdle and
bra and stepped over to the mirror.  Yes, there were my cock and
balls, small, centered in a generous expanse of gracefully curving
hip. Curving up to my new wasp-waist, and back to form my bubble
butt as Debbie described it.  And hanging suspended above were two
new protuberances tipped with nipples that indeed looked larger
than only a few days ago.  I touched them, and again I was seized
with a strong, delicious, helpless desire for ... what?  I touched
them again and again, until I realized I was breathing heavily. 
They felt so delicious, my new breasts!  I adored having them!  The
thought shocked me!

There was no question this time.  I was a girl.  I went in to see
Debbie still naked, just as I was, and sat by our bed.  She was
still asleep, but she sensed something and opened her eyes, and saw
me sitting there looking at her, my hair a pretty corona, my face
beautifully made up, my breasts pendulous over a narrow waist, my
hips substantial on the narrow chair.  And she smiled.  Why not? 
I smiled back.