by Joannebarbarella
We lay with our arms twined around each other and played tonsil hockey. Hugging and cuddling was not exactly what I had been dreaming about for a month or so but now that we were doing just that I didn’t want to stop. My imagination had been turned to more carnal pursuits. I had wanted to feel his cock inside me (and still did) but somehow things were not going that way. Yet.
A few weeks before, this man and I had met for the first time in six years. He had been my best friend at school for the whole of our secondary years, from age 11 to 17 and then we had gone different ways. The path I chose was a little more drastic than his. I was a girl now and he was still male and a very nice looking male too. I hadn’t really appreciated that before.
I had come back to my home town to try making peace with my parents and that had been a miserable failure. The silver lining in that visit was my reunion with Geoff, but even that had turned out to be totally different from what I had expected.
What I had wanted was a friend. The acceptance by my former best buddy of my new gender was my goal, and I got that in spades. Circumstances led to our becoming lovers on that very same day; something totally unplanned and unexpected. As far as I knew until it happened I just wasn’t into men, and then, all of a sudden, I couldn’t get enough of him.
I had gone back to London and just about drove Lucy, my lover and mentor, round the bend raving on about him. I had no secrets from her so I gave her all the juicy details and over the following weeks had talked to him almost daily on the phone like some love-sick teenager. When she answered before I could get there she took the mickey out of me unmercifully.
“Suzie, it’s your lover-boy,” she would yell as if I were at the other end of the flat, when actually I was right next to her trying to rip the phone out of her hands while she held it over her head. She couldn’t get it out of my reach because I was taller than her and always wore heels anyway.
Don’t get me wrong. Lucy is the light of my life and she knows it too. Even though I had this thing for Geoff I wasn’t going to leave her, but we talked it through, and we knew that I had to sort out where he fitted into our lives and now that I was suddenly interested in men...well, one man ... where that took us. We agreed as we kissed and cuddled and fondled each other in bed that I was going to have to spend some more time with him. That was the measure of our trust in each other; a love grown over the last six years and her utter support for me in becoming the girl I am now. She knew I would never betray her.
Even so, I would get wet down below when I was thinking about him and I would go off into space imagining him inside me and my fingers entwined in the hair on his chest. I would dance around the flat while I was doing my chores singing “I Feel Pretty” and other such nauseating tunes. We agreed there was only one cure and that was for me to go and spend some time with him. Not too much though.
That’s how come I was driving us to Brighton on a fine sunny summer Wednesday and bopping along to the Stones’ latest “I Can’t Get No Satisfaction” as we passed Reigate. It was making Lucy nervous as she reckoned I wasn’t putting enough concentration into driving. I was actually, but I humoured her and stopped jumping up and down. I still kept on singing along with Jagger, though I was having some problems with the lower notes. Lucy winced every now and then.
The plan was that we would go to her flat in Brighton, in The Lanes, Black Lion Street. And on Friday I would go to meet Geoff at the railway station as if I had come down by train and stay with him for the next week. We weren’t trying to be deceptive, but if things went pear-shaped I would have a bolt-hole. Lucy was going to return to London on the Friday so as not to be a wallflower or cramp my style.
We spent Thursday reopening the flat and getting everything prepared for a hypothetical emergency and later on readying ourselves for a week apart in the best possible way. On Friday we got me ready to meet Geoff as if I were a bride about to go to the church and I was probably as nervous as if that had been what was happening.
But all eventually went as planned and she dropped me off at Brighton Station at about 4.30 on Friday afternoon and we kissed each other good-bye. If everything went well I would spend the next week with Geoff in his flat in Hove (actually). I have to explain that. Brighton and Hove are twin towns. Only the locals can tell where one stops and the other starts, but Hove has the reputation of being the posh part, so when snobs were asked, “Do you come from Brighton?” the answer would be “No, Hove, actually.”
So there I was with two suitcases standing under the clock next to the departures board on the station concourse. I had put a lot of thought into how I should dress and decided that casual was the way to go. After all, this was the seaside in summer. I was wearing black matador pants and an oversized beige man’s sweater with a V-neck, sleeves pushed up to my elbows, 4 inch heels (because I knew that turned him on) and a large raffia bag matching the beige colour of the sweater and shoes. Simple but sexy, not sluttish. My hair this week was a la Britt Eklund, Peter Sellers’ latest squeeze, fringe cut straight across the eyebrows, long face-framing tresses and very blonde, courtesy of my own salon and our manager Angela’s whims. She always used me as her guinea-pig. This time I thought it had turned out all right. My make-up was light except for my eyes, where I had put in a lot of effort with liner, mascara and shadow to get that big doe-eyed melting innocent look.
In my heels I stood 6 feet 2 inches and I felt like a lighthouse standing there waiting for him. He wasn’t going to be able to miss me. I was the tallest girl in sight. The lighthouse image began to play erotic games with my mind and I was imagining the Eddystone with a huge pair of ruby lips descending from the sky to engulf it when I spotted him coming towards me across the station. I don’t know if I mentioned it but he’s only 5 feet 5 inches tall, perfectly proportioned and with black curly hair. He looks like Tony Curtis. He was very smart in a dark suit and tie, coming straight from work.
I watched him come and I wanted to throw him to the ground there and then, rip both our pants off and make love. Wouldn’t that cause a sensation? But then again maybe not. This was England after all and it could just as easily have resulted in all the bowler-hatted business types tipping their hats and saying “Excuse Me” or averting their eyes and ignoring us as we rutted in front of them on the station concourse.
Of course, when he reached me, what I actually did was bend my knees a little and give him a chaste kiss on the cheek. He took my hand and smiled up at me.
“Hi, you look smashing and I’m glad you’re here. I was a bit worried you wouldn’t come.”
“You’re not so bad yourself, and why wouldn’t I come? I said I would and here I am.” I could see he was nervous and wondered why. I brushed some imaginary fluff from the shoulders of his jacket, feeling again a surge of affection.
“Well, it is a bit of a weird situation, you and me.”
Ah, that was it. Was he having second thoughts? I certainly wasn’t. Then he cut the conversation short by picking up my bags.
“Will we go and get a cab and go home?” he asked. I just smiled and nodded. I wanted to take his arm but it was hard when he was carrying my bags, so I walked beside him towards the taxi rank and waited until he and the driver put the cases in the boot and he opened the door for me before climbing into the back seat. He walked round to the other side and got in himself.
“79, The Drive, Hove, please,” he told the cabbie and we were away.
It was only about a ten-minute journey from Brighton station but I wrapped an arm into his and held him tight all the way. He laid his head on my shoulder and relaxed. We didn’t say anything; I think both averse to an intimate conversation in front of the driver. We arrived, unloaded, and he paid the fare and carried the luggage to the front door. His flat was on the first floor and as soon as he had unlocked the door and carried my bags inside I shut it and grabbed him, forcing him to put down the cases. I took his face in both my hands and kissed him properly like I’d wanted to as soon as I saw him. This time he put his arms around me and held me to him while I made sure he knew I was glad to see him.
When we broke for breath I let my arms slide around his neck and we stood for a few seconds with our faces inches apart, just looking at each other. He gave me one of his trade-mark grins.
“Really weird,” he said.
“OK, explain yourself. I thought you were all right with me.”
“Oh, I am. If I wasn’t do you think I would have asked you to come down here?” He took one arm off me and stroked my hair. “It’s me I guess. Don’t forget, you’ve had six years to get used to yourself and I’ve only seen you once and had a month. I keep on getting flashbacks to when you were still a boy and I wonder how we’ve both changed. I mean, can you ever have imagined the two of us standing like this? We just kissed and we’re holding each other and I want to kiss you again.”
“So shut up and do it. Save the introspection till later.” And like a good boy he did what he was told.
Eventually we let go of each other and he carried my gear to the bedroom, obviously the main one, with a queen-size bed and built-in wardrobes, and a shower/toilet opening off it (what today would be called an en-suite). He sat on the bed while I unpacked my stuff and hung it or put it in drawers. I checked his clothing quietly as I did and it was clean and tidy but could have been better ironed. The bathroom was tolerably clean but I would make it sparkle tomorrow. Men! They might try but they’re not very good at looking after themselves.
“So I’m supposed to share your bed, am I?” I asked mischievously, “and is that where you and Carole used to cavort?”
His mouth twisted and I knew I had been insensitive. There were wounds there.
“There wasn’t much cavorting after we’d been married a few weeks,” he said, “and, yes, I want you to share my bed. That’s all right, isn’t it?” He was almost apologetic.
I stopped unpacking and went over to the bed and sat with him, putting my arms around him and pulling him close to me.
“I’ve wanted you to make love to me again ever since I was down here before, so of course I’ll sleep with you, although sleeping will come second I hope, and when you’re ready you can tell me about Carole, but I always knew she was a bitch,” I said cattily and feeling my previous dislike for her grow stronger. How dare she hurt my lovely Geoff?
He returned my embrace and snuggled his face into my cleavage, which I loved. I wanted him to suck my nipples there and then and I wanted......
I pulled away from him and pushed him back down on the bed; the rest of the unpacking could wait. I proceeded to undress him. He had already taken off his jacket, so I removed his shoes and socks, unbuckled his belt and undid the zip on his trousers, then pulled them down together with his underpants, letting them fall to the floor. I wasn’t going to bother with his shirt but decided I wanted him totally naked, so I got rid of his tie and unbuttoned him, pulling him semi-upright so I could strip off his singlet too. Voila! He was stark naked and a surge of pure lust ran through me. I fondled his cock and kissed the tip, then stopped.
It was soft. I looked at his face and he was totally miserable. I thought I knew how to fix that, so I kicked off my shoes, peeled off my sweater and shimmied my pants down to my ankles, sitting on the bed next to him before removing them altogether. I made a bit of a production of taking off my bra and sliding my panties down and kicking them away. Then I struck a pose with my arms behind my head to make my breasts stick out and one knee forward, like a porn magazine model.
He didn’t even laugh and his body didn’t react at all. He just lay on top of the bed and then I saw tears streaming down his face. I hadn’t noticed because he was lying on his back and they were going to the side beneath his ears. What was wrong with him? I moved forward and cupped his cheeks in both hands.
"What's wrong, love?"
“I’m sorry, Suzie. I’ve been like this for the last couple of years. I thought I was over it when I met you last month, but I’m not.”
“Is it her?” I asked, as I stroked his face, wiping the tears away. I was on the bed kneeling astride him now. My poor boy, who used to be so cocky. I laid myself down next to him and put my arms around his neck. “Tell me.”
“I don’t know how to explain it. She really became an out-and-out bitch after we were married and she seemed to manage to make every little thing my fault. Sleeping with her.....the bed was a war-zone. She found all the right buttons to press and made me feel inadequate. I was so relieved when she left, but then afterwards, every time I tried to get a girl it ended up like this; until you came along and I thought I was over it. Obviously I’m not.”
“But you were OK a month ago.”
“I think the situation was so unreal that I forgot about it, but now it’s all back again.”
As I cuddled him and stroked his hair I remembered how terrified I had been about not being able to perform as a man. How much worse it must be for him, who I always remembered as an effortless Don Juan. Of course, what we think we see and what really is are often different things, and we were teenagers then, with all our bravado and pretences. I tried to kiss his hurt away but I could tell it wasn’t working.
I got up and went and got dressing gowns for both of us.
“Come on. I’ll make us a cup of tea.” How British can you get?
I towed him to the kitchen and with him telling me where to find the makings I did just that and we sat at the table with our mugs and looked at each other. He began to talk.
“I still can’t understand how she seemed to change almost from the day we got married. They say wedding-cake is the most effective contraceptive in the world and in my case that was just about true.
“She really hated you, you know. She kept on going on about you being a queer and that I must be a queer too because I liked you. She used to say I must have been sticking my cock up your arse and I only pretended to like girls and she didn’t want my filthy shitty prick inside her. In fact, now I think back on it she went on about you so much I think she must have been jealous, although I don’t know why.
“If I stayed out for a drink, like Friday night after work, it was because I liked men more than her. So, after a few times, I hated going home and I would get pissed so I could let it go over my head. She would just wait until the morning and give it all to me again when I was hung-over. Then there was money. Honestly, I set up a joint account straight after the wedding and she could have as much as she wanted, but it was never enough. The third week of the month there was nothing left. It would get really embarrassing when I used a cheque to pay a bill and it bounced.
“I changed it and gave her her own account with half my earnings. That meant I didn’t trust her, which was true, of course, so I copped hell over that. I couldn’t believe she was spending that much so I hired a private detective. Can you imagine? I never thought I’d do anything like that. He found she was giving money to her no-good shit of a brother, who was spending it on booze and horses and her little sister, who was into clothes and drugs, so I was supporting half her family and their bad habits.
“What pissed me off the most was when she threw my gipsy blood in my face. You know, “we’re shiftless and we’re wastrels and we steal and we’re not to be trusted”. It shouldn’t have, I know, but it all got to me. So after she left every time I got near a girl I would wonder if she would be another Carole, and if I could cope with her, and I’m sorry, but it even happened with you just now. I don’t know what I can do about it.”
What could I say? Now, this shows how much I had changed, because I actually said, “All right, we’ll come back to all that later. What did you plan on doing for dinner tonight?”
“Uh, I was going to take you out.”
“Well, we’re obviously not going out now, so what have you got in the fridge? I’ll cook something for us.” The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, right? So we checked and basically all there was were eggs and cheese and some cold ham and a few other bits and pieces so I rustled us up an omelette. There was wine so we drank a bottle and a bit and afterwards I sent him off to have a cigarette while I cleared away and washed up and then we sat together in the lounge and had another glass and I joined him with a cigarette.
“Thanks for all that. You’re a much better cook than me,” he said.
I cuddled into him and gave him a kiss on the cheek.
“For you, anything,” and I meant it.
All this time I had been thinking about how I could make him better and now I had Plan A and Plan B and maybe even Plan C. I tell you, I hadn’t come down here for a week not to get laid.
A little later we showered together and I made sure I soaped him ALL over but nothing happened except we both got clean. Oh well, so much for Plan A. So we went to bed. I suppose the food and the wine had an effect and he went to sleep fairly quickly after we had an extended snog and lay with our arms around each other, but still no action in strategic regions. I couldn’t sleep because I was scheming and didn’t want to anyway. When he started to snore gently it was time for Plan B.
Making sure he was well asleep I pulled down the bedding and looked at him as he lay naked in all his glory. Just looking made me horny. My god, was I the same girl that didn’t like men only a month or so ago? Time for philosophy later, I was on a mission. I got to my knees and started to fondle his cock, running my fingernails very lightly along it. YESSS! Things began to harden up and soon he was standing like my mental lighthouse, but I never heard a lighthouse snore before.
Decision time. Would I take this lovely erection in my mouth? No. I decided it was meat-and —potatoes time. Embellishment and frivolities could come later. The first objective was to get him past the state of mind which that bitch Carole had left him in. I wondered why the cow had hated me so much. Well, I’d give her something to really hate me for in a minute.
I carefully straddled my beautiful sleeping boy, squatting over his rigid prick as he slept.I slowly ran my nails through the small tuft of hair and spread my legs wide. I parted both sets of lips, one in a smile, and slipped down slowly and gently as he slept, already lubricated, savouring the feeling as I engulfed him. Oh yes. This was what I wanted. I began to slowly move up and down, flexing my vaginal muscles as I did so. We didn’t have Toyotas in those days but “Oh, what a feeling!”. I don’t know exactly what my surgeon did, but whatever it was he surely did it right.
He seemed to get harder and I certainly got wetter. I moved a little quicker and lengthened my stroke. I was enjoying this and if he woke up I wanted him to enjoy it too, but I figured that he would remember it sub-consciously if he didn’t waken and it would alleviate that feeling of inadequacy she had bequeathed to him. He was definitely harder and I was close to climaxing. Normally I scream or yell when I come (as Lucy is fond of reminding me) but I was restraining myself. I felt that extra swelling inside me which signifies when a man is about to fire all his ammunition and I knew I was on the verge too, and suddenly we both lost it simultaneously. It was lovely. Juices surged in both directions and I shook like a dog that had got wet.
He still didn’t wake up! But there was a smile on his face that wasn’t there before. My pussy was absolutely drenched and leaking as I squatted over him, so I disengaged and quickly went to the bathroom where I grabbed a handful of tissues and wiped myself before going back and dealing with him. His cock had deflated now but I thought that I had achieved my aims. I finished cleaning us both up and rejoined him in bed, stroking his chest-hair and snuggling in. The last thing I remember before going to sleep was making a mental note to get up early in the morning.
I did indeed wake up first in the morning. That was good. Although Plan B had worked, at least subliminally, I wanted to put Plan C into action. While he still slept I went and showered. Then I dressed in the French maid’s uniform that I had brought with me for fun. I didn’t put on any undies, because if my plan worked they would just get in the way.
I went to the kitchen and began to prepare breakfast. I knew we had eggs and I found some bacon and tomatoes and bread which was still OK. There was coffee too, real stuff, not Camp or Nescafe, thank goodness. Actually he looked after himself quite well for a guy, which I thought a good sign.
I had turned on the radio and was singing along to Eric Burdon and the Animals in “House of the Rising Sun” when there was this roar of laughter behind me and I turned to see Geoff doubled over, dressed only in his dressing-gown.
“Good morning, you. What’s so funny?” I actually had a fair idea, which was part of my plan.
“My very own French maid. I never thought of that,” he gasped out.”And you still can’t sing.”
“Eh bien. Zen m’sieur is vair lerkee. Please to sit and eat ze petit dejeuner.” His timing was good and I placed a plate on the table and got cutlery for him and poured the coffee. I fussed around cleaning the cooking gear while he ate and generally filled in time until he finished his toast and marmalade. Then I straddled him, sitting on his lap and kissed him, tasting the orange sweetness on his lips.
I guess men will always get a laugh out of French maids, because we are the ultimate expression of submissiveness and sexual titillation apart from being chained up naked with our legs apart. I know wearing the uniform has always turned me on. I like being submissive. I want somebody strong to take care of me. I wanted him to take care of me, even if I had to teach him how to do it. And I like to serve and take care of them, to an extent. Anyway, back to the matter not quite in hand.
As I sat astride him I felt him become erect. I slid from his lap and knelt in front of him, parting his robe as I did.
“Ah, m’sieur. Ze next course. Saucisse Anglais,” and I bent forwards and took his prick in my mouth and this time there was no problem. I sucked and kissed and licked and stroked until he came quite satisfactorily. You know, long nails really work well as a stimulant in some circumstances. Then I stood before him and raised my skirt, revealing my naked clitty and advanced towards his face.
“Zair is a dessert, M’sieur. It is called Huitres Francaise. Do you wish to eat?” and I lowered myself onto his face, and he licked me and sucked me and I held his head against me until I screamed and came and collapsed back into his lap again.
“Wow! Much better than kippers. Can I have that for breakfast every morning?” he asked, licking his lips. Obviously Plan C had worked. I had banked on the fact that it’s hard to be impotent when you are faced with a symbol of submission.
I hugged him and cradled his face in my hands and we both grinned at each other.
“Could you handle it?” I asked.
“Probably not, but it’s a nice thought. I had a dream last night too, that you and I were OK and those bad feelings had gone away.”
I just smiled and kissed him again. I felt all proprietorial (is that a word? You know what I mean). He belonged to me now, not that bitch. I could have sat there all day on his lap, arms around his neck, except that something kept poking me between my legs. I felt really soppy and happy and I wanted him to fuck me until I couldn’t stand up, but we didn’t do that. We went back to bed and I took off my uniform and he fucked me and I sucked him until we were both exhausted. I could still stand up though...just enough to get to the toilet. And that only took us to lunchtime!
I loved him and now I knew he loved me. We must have told each other a hundred times (I know. I shouldn't exaggerate. It was probably only fifty) that morning and my heart sang with every repetition. Somehow I didn’t have any problem with the new relationship between us. I wasn’t a boy any more and had probably never really been one, but for the life of me I couldn’t recall having any sexual feelings for him before a month ago. A kind of fondness, yes, and if he had ever wanted or needed help I would have been there for him. Would you call that camaraderie? I don’t honestly know, but what I felt now was definitely love.
If someone wanted to harm him I would stand in the way. I would kill them if need be. I wanted his arms around me, his hands on my body. I wanted his lips on mine. I wanted to cuddle him and......you know... everything. If I could have had children I wanted them to be his. I wanted to spend my life with him. And I still wanted my Lucy. Was this going to work out?
On his part he was still having problems with “us”. He would suddenly shake his head and hold me tighter and I would say, “What’s wrong?” And he would say, for instance:
“I just thought about that time you cried in class over that poem. Everybody thought you were weird. A couple of the dickheads said they would beat the shit out of you and I told them they would have to go through me first and they backed off. They couldn’t understand why I would stand up for you, and I asked them how it hurt them and they couldn’t answer me. It’s funny. Even then you were actually teaching me to be a better person.”
“No,” I said. “You were nice already.”
His problem was not really with my sex change but trying to reconcile his relationship before with his feelings for me now. It made me love him more because he had basically been a very decent boy before any of this had happened and he had looked out for me without my even knowing about half of it. And as he had said, he had only had a month to get used to all of this and I had had six years.
Saturday morning we had sorted out the basics and hopefully got over the hang-ups left to him by Carole. Now we still had a long week-end in front of us and we couldn’t make love ALL the time, worse luck. So Saturday afternoon we went for a walk down to the sea-front and along the promenade. The weather was lovely, a cloudless day, temperature 79 degrees F, a light breeze. It took ten minutes down The Drive and Grand Avenue and then we walked towards Brighton past the beach-huts lining the promenade. I wore a strapless sundress, white with a pattern of big red roses, a big straw hat and oversize sunglasses. He insisted that I wore high heels, and I had on rope-soled wedgies, and so, of course I towered over him, but that’s what he wanted and I went along to please my man. He wore casual slacks, deck shoes and a Hawaiian shirt and looked delectable. I wanted to eat him, and later I would; one bit anyway.
In the evening we went out to eat and had a steak dinner at the Grand Hotel, still casually dressed. I admit I needed the protein after my earlier exertions. I wanted to cook for him but there wasn’t a lot in his fridge. Breakfast was the limit really or a sandwich. I would make up for it next week.
Back home and we may have set some kind of record stripping off but we had to pause and clean our teeth before leaping into bed giggling and tickling each other. He had ticklish feet and I never knew before. He couldn’t stand it and thrashed like mad trying to get away from me, until he had me pinned down and I stopped struggling. I remember his face coming down to mine and me waiting for the kiss and then we were locked together and I felt him getting hard between my legs and my hand steered him in to safe harbour.
When you’re in love it’s such a beautiful feeling to have that stone-hard pole moving inside you and feel your control disappearing, dissolving into a kind of mindless euphoria until your whole body spasms and bucks like some kind of trapped animal. Oh, Lucy, I just hope I made you feel like this when my cock was still working.
It struck me then that I was one of the luckiest people in the world. I had experienced making love as both a boy and a girl, and how many people could say that?
We only made love once that night. It seemed to go on and on and on and I lost count of my orgasms, not that I was counting anyway. It must have been because of our wild morning, but we fell asleep in each other’s arms with his tool still inside me.
I woke first again in the morning and disengaged carefully so as not to disturb him. I left him there while I did my ablutions and had a shower. I wore my maid’s uniform again, but with full underwear this time. I think I was too sore to play too much this morning anyway. I made myself properly presentable, make-up and hair nicely done, stocking seams straight and heels on, very professional, and went looking for breakfast. It was going to be baked beans on toast this morning, not a great deal of choice. The coffee was holding out though. I was going to have to get some orange juice later.
When everything was nearly ready I went and kissed him awake and asked if M’sieur was going to get up. He grinned and asked if he was having the same as yesterday.
“Don’t be greedy. Only baked beans today. Dry bread and water tomorrow if we don’t go shopping. Besides, I’m too sore. You’ll have to wait.” That made him laugh as he rolled out of bed and put on a dressing-gown.
“Um, I do like having a French maid. I could get used to this very easily.”
“Well, buster, don’t get too used to it. I’m only here for a week.”
He grabbed me and I squealed, struggling (weakly) to free myself. “But you’ll come back, won’t you?”
“Don’t know, depends what I’m offered.” That’s all I got out before he kissed me. His beard really scratched, but I didn't care. I freed myself and pulled him to the kitchen to eat. I served up his baked beans on toast and coffee and sat opposite him and watched him eat. There was something really satisfying in feeding him even if it was very ordinary fare. I poured him a second cup of coffee and had one myself. At least the coffee was good.
He made it obvious after breakfast that he wanted a repeat of yesterday. So did I, but it was time for a little discipline, so I sent him off for a shower while I cleaned up the dishes and told him to get dressed because he was going shopping while I cleaned the place up. Shopping on a Sunday in those days wasn’t that easy. There were all these crazy laws dating from the Puritans in the sixteenth century or there-abouts which said you could buy things ready to eat but not things that needed cooking, so you could buy an apple, for instance, but not bacon, so you had to shop around and find places that were actually open and also prepared to turn a blind eye to the law.
He went off grumbling something about, “Put a bloody boy in a dress....”
When he came back I gave him a list; eggs, orange juice, milk, bacon, tea, etc.
“You could‘ve just told me. I’m not stupid.”
“No. You’re a man. Now be a good boy and go and get them.” I kissed him.
“Bloody women. All the same.” Don’t you just love ‘em?
As soon as he had gone out I phoned Lucy and gave her a very quick report that everything was OK, but boy did I have lots to tell her when I got back. I signed off with an “I love you, darling,” and a kissy sound into the mouthpiece.
Then I got into making the place decent; made the bed, cleaned the bathroom properly, found the dirty clothes and put them in the washing-machine, scrubbed the kitchen surfaces, dusted the worst bits, swept the floors. There was plenty left to do but it was a start. I could get into it properly when he went back to work on Tuesday. One thing he needed was a vacuum-cleaner. Had that lazy cow Carole ever really cleaned this place? It didn’t look like it to me.
He came back after a couple of hours with everything I had listed. I think he might have been scared that I’d give him a hard time if he didn’t. If that was the case he got it back-to-front. I wanted him to give ME a hard time and once we had everything put away I gave him his reward. I suppose it had been a waste of time making the bed, because I had to make it again afterwards, and change the sheets to boot, but I didn’t object to lying back there as a maid and letting him have his wicked way with me. I was going to have to get those clothes dry-cleaned too.
We went out again later in the afternoon. This time we decided to go for a swim. I was nervous because I hadn’t swum in public since I was a boy, but I wore a plum-coloured bikini beneath an identical coloured caftan to go to the beach, same big hat and outsized sunglasses, although this time I wore flat thong-type sandals. He wore shorts and sandals and a polo-shirt over a pair of boxer-type bathing-trunks. We took a couple of huge beach towels.
I still don’t know why anyone swims at the beach in Brighton or Hove(actually). You have these big pebbles all over the beach proper with a tiny bit of sand exposed at low tide, and the water is freezing. So when you’ve changed you hobble over the stones and immerse yourself in this ice-cold sea and try to pretend you’re enjoying it, while the goose-pimples pile up all over you. On top of that I was as white as a ghost, no tan at all. The upside was that nobody took any notice of me. Thank goodness, because I think my breasts shrank to the size of crab-apples and my nipples (which nobody could see) to the size of raisins. Bloody Geoff cavorted in the water and kept on splashing me, the bastard, and the more I screamed and cowered the more he seemed to enjoy it. I was glad to get out. The things we do for love.
Eventually we dried off, changed back to street gear and went home. There are a lot of things that I don’t miss about my home town, and that’s one, but I clung to my man, teeth chattering on that warm afternoon as we made our way up The Drive, and when we got home I went straight into the shower to get warm and wash the salt off. He came in too and I helped him freshen up. Bugger. Nothing happened, but I think it was the cold even though he was trying to be all nonchalant, but I could tell because he had shrunk dramatically down there.
We had to go out for dinner again that evening, no choice, no food (suitable that is) at home. I insisted that this time it was on me and, when he reluctantly agreed, I rang the Metropole and booked a table.
This meant dress-up and of course I did it deliberately. First I laid out a nice white shirt and paisley tie for him to go with a navy-blue suit. He was easy to dress with those dark good-looks of his. Naturally though, I was rather selfishly thinking of myself. I had brought down a lovely LBD cocktail frock which wasn’t going back to London without being worn. It had a halter neck with a very deep Vee neckline and a low back, the skirt was tight around my bum and thighs before flaring a little to my knees and splitting into triple layers of tulle as it did so, making it nice and swishy as I moved.
Being a girl isn’t all about dresses and glamour but there’s something about being able to put on a show that I think appeals to the female in all of us. To be able to look as nice as you can and not only pretty yourself up but to look good on the arm of your man and maybe turn a few heads. That evening I wore dark grey panty-hose so as not to spoil the line of the skirt with suspenders, and evening sandals in silver to match a 3 inch wide silver belt. I couldn’t wear a bra but the dress had built-in half-cups which pushed my breasts in to give great cleavage. I took special care with my make-up, again emphasising my eyes, but not forgetting to use a deep crimson lippy. My hair was easy, the Britt Eklund style fell into place with a little brushing and I finished off with some dangly ear-rings, a necklace pointing to my cleavage and a bangle, all in silver to go with my ash-blonde hair, the Nordic goddess look, completed with a silver clutch-purse and a black knitted shawl. I gave myself a couple of spritzes of Chanel No.5, always a safe bet, for good measure.
When I looked at myself in the mirror I knew I looked pretty good and when I went into the lounge-room he was waiting for me.
“Christ, I thought you were going to be all night,” and then he did a double-take when he really looked at me.
“Fuck me dead. You’re really gorgeous. Forget I said anything. If you wind up looking like that you can take as long as you like, anytime.”
“Is that a compliment? You phrase things so elegantly. You look quite nice too,” and I stepped close and straightened his tie a little, mainly so he would get a chance to ogle my cleavage. I was using all my charms to make sure his attention didn’t wander and remind him what would be waiting for him when we got home. “Well, have you called a cab?”
“Uh, no. I was waiting for you. I’ll do it now,” and he picked up the phone and dialled, all the time gawping at me. I loved the effect I was having on him.
The taxi company said there would be one with us in five minutes, so we walked outside and waited in the lovely evening air. Being summer it was still daylight and the cab came very quickly and ten minutes later we were at the Metropole, arguably Brighton’s premier hotel. The doorman opened the cab door for me while Geoff paid the fare and I stepped out and waited for him so that I could put my arm in his and let him escort me in. A lady must make a proper entrance, after all.
Another uniform held the hotel door open for us and I gave him a big thank you smile as we walked in and headed for the signature French restaurant, where the maitre d’ checked our reservation (made in my name) and ushered us to a table, where he made a point of seating me, and taking my wrap. Being a holiday the place was quite crowded, probably Londoners down for a dirty weekend. I felt like sticking my tongue out at them. I was here for a dirty week. I sensed a few eyes on me and was suitably gratified and hoped they envied Geoff. Occasionally it’s nice being a lamp-post. One does get noticed.
“Hey!” I said to my man mischievously, “How do you think I’d go as a French maid here?”
“You’d be a sensation if you served up those Huitres Francaises. We could sell tickets. All the men would want seconds and the women would be royally pissed. I think Saucisse Anglais would be very popular too. Of course, I’d have to kill you.”
We both laughed, but I mentally patted myself on the back for the little display of jealousy.
A waiter came and gave us menus and asked if we would like a drink to start. I ordered a Chardonnay and Geoff asked for a Manhattan, wow, very sophisticated. I was impressed. He also ordered a bottle of Chablis for our main meal.
When they brought our drinks I ordered grilled salmon and Geoff Dover Sole. The meals came and we ate but it was him I was devouring. Do you recall that scene in the movie “Tom Jones”? It was a bit like that but not so blatant. Although I loved the dress that I was wearing I wanted to get out of it and be naked close to him. Still, you can’t rush these things and they do say that half the pleasure is in the anticipation (bullshit!), so we ate our mains and then had some pudding, which for the life of me I can’t remember eating, and coffee. I paid, after a quiet argument. While he wasn’t poor I was relatively well off.
It was a lovely meal, good food and drink served promptly and unobtrusively and garnished with love. What more needs to be said? He pulled my chair out for me when we left, the maitre d’ produced my shawl and Geoff placed it over my shoulders. I took his arm and left that place feeling like a princess.
We got a cab and went home and it was all I could do to restrain myself from ravishing him. When I rested my hand on his lap I was reminded of that gorgeous Mae West line “Is that a pistol in your pocket....?” so it wasn’t clear who was going to be ravishing whom, although I was keen to be the “whom”.
I won’t keep going on about our love-making or you’ll either get bored or think I’m a dirty-minded bitch (OK? So?). Let’s just say it was great. The demons had been laid to rest and we revelled in each other. Over the next six days we both got a good sexual workout. For me it was like when Lucy showed me what it was all about but being on the receiving end. For Geoff?.....Well, he certainly seemed to enjoy himself. I didn’t hear any complaints.
So Sunday was a lovely day all round and Monday, the last of the holiday weekend, was just as good. We went swimming again and I started to get a tan-line, the first female one I ever had, with cup marks and a bikini line across my back. I still hated that water though. Next time I went swimming it was going to be somewhere like the French Riviera. In the evening we went to a nice little Italian restaurant and filled up on pasta, before going home and shagging each other silly.
Tuesday I again got up early to make his breakfast, but wore my matadors and a tee-top, much to his disappointment. We didn’t have time before he had to go to work and my maid’s outfit needed cleaning anyway. He was very uncomplimentary about my singing on “Eight Days A Week” which was playing when I got him up. Some people just don’t appreciate music.
So I sent him off to work like a good little (well, not so little) wife. Oh God, I just said the “W” word. I wanted to be his wife! I oh so wanted it! Would he? What was Lucy going to think? But I loved him and I loved Lucy. To put off thinking about it I began to clean the flat. It was a nice flat. I haven’t said too much about it because I’ve been wrapped up in our personal relations so far. It had two bedrooms, an en-suite bathroom and a second shower/toilet, a kitchen, a laundry, a living/dining room and an entry hallway. The rear faced on to a beautiful common garden, which all the flats had access to and was maintained by a gardener paid for jointly by the tenants. He obviously loved it; you could see the care and attention he put into it. Geoff later told me that they had a resident badger, but I didn't see it.
The building itself, like all in The Drive, was a solid late-Victorian or early-Edwardian mansion which had been sub-divided into flats without losing its charm and there were communal tennis courts immediately across the road. Altogether, a very nice piece of property and a very salubrious address in Hove (actually). I knew he had stretched himself to the financial limit in buying it and he had had to fend off attempts by Carole to have it sold so that she could get half the proceeds.
I waited until about ten before phoning Lucy, to give her time to get herself organised, having worked theatre hours. I told her that everything was going well and I was sure I would stay the rest of the week, and that he needed looking after.
“So do I”, she said and I could almost hear the pout in her voice.
“Oh, darling, I know you do and I’m coming back to you on Saturday, and then I’ll make it up to you. It’s only a few more days.” I didn’t mention the marriage bit. There are some things you shouldn’t do over the phone, but I felt guilty.
Instead I said, “We’ll have so much to talk about. I have to tell you about this cow he was married to, as well as everything else we’ve been doing. What about you? Anything interesting happened?”
“No. All quiet this end. I just want you home. I miss you. Do you realise we’ve hardly been apart in six years? It never struck me how noisy you are. I even miss your singing,” and she laughed.
My singing’s not THAT bad. I can't understand why everybody goes on about it.
When we finished I went back to cleaning and did the second bedroom and toilet, leaving myself the ironing and dusting to do on Wednesday. Then I got ready to go out. I had to do more shopping and take my uniform to be dry-cleaned. Tonight I wanted to cook him a decent dinner. I changed my clothes, putting on a pair of jeans that I had to jump up and down in to get into, making myself giggle as my boobs bounced. I had to wear a black front-fastening bra to go with a black boat-necked top with short sleeves, a waist-hugger that I then tucked into my jeans, so my shape stood out, hips, waist and bust; flat black slippers and just a pink lippy and some mascara to let me bat my eyelashes at anyone interested; a quick brush of my hair and I was away down to George Street to do some basic purchases.
It was a pleasant quarter hour to get there, bringing back memories of the streets I hadn’t seen for years. The stone horse-trough still stood outside the church near the top of George Street, opposite Woolworths. I dropped off my maid’s dress at the dry cleaner’s next door to Woollies and paid for express service so I could get it back the next day. The lady behind the counter raised an eyebrow when she unfolded it but just smiled so I smiled back.
“Will one o’clock be all right, dear?” she asked me.
“Excellent. Thank you.”
I walked all the way to the bottom of the street, remembering the shops. There was the little lingerie shop half-way down over the road from the music store. It had always fascinated me but I had been too timid to look in the window except at night when nobody was around, so now I stopped and had a good look at the pretty stuff on offer.
I walked on past my old primary school, St. Andrews Anglican, where I had tried to pee over the toilet wall into the street. Other boys could do it but I couldn’t. I could hear the little kids inside. It must have been playtime. The ice-cream shop, Di Marco’s, was still there and the toy-shop. Ah, memories! Not all bad, down there. I still hadn’t been aware of my gender discrepancy in those days, at least not until later. I turned around and went back to the butcher’s, where I bought some sausages; pork chops with the kidney still in them, a couple of pieces of nice rump steak and a small leg of lamb for tonight.
Then I crossed the road to Sainsbury’s, where I filled up on veggies, potatoes, carrots, peas, cabbage and bits and pieces like mint sauce and tea. After that I went to my favourite shop of all. Still there; I had never forgotten the glorious aroma of roasting coffee that seemed to waft halfway down the street when I was a kid, but I’d never been in there. My parents used Camp and Nescafe! It wasn’t till I met Lucy that I knew what REAL coffee was. Even the stuff in the coffee-bars wasn’t that good. I went in and savoured the smell and bought half a pound of ground espresso from Kenya, a luxury.
Shopping done, I headed back towards The Drive. I saw a pudgy woman about my age and Geoff’s height coming towards me. As soon as I saw her I knew. It was Carole. Well, well! What a coincidence. I looked at her. She definitely wasn’t taking care of herself, a roll of fat hung over the top of her skirt, and her bra showed through a white blouse. Her make-up was overdone for this time of day. She looked like a tart. I smiled to myself and wondered how to handle this situation.
Actually it was obvious. She didn’t know the new me so the best revenge was to ignore her and get on with our lives. She was yesterday’s woman, but I couldn’t help smiling as I walked towards her and I saw her looking at me in puzzlement. Did I see a flash of recognition as I swept past? I didn’t look back, but I saw her reflection in an angled shop window in front of me turn and look back. I already had my victory.
One more thing I needed before going home was a pinafore and I stopped in Woollies and bought myself a cheap and cheerful floral pinnie to wear while cooking and then headed back feeling very happy and self-satisfied.
I got back and unpacked and stowed everything in its proper place except what I was going to need for tonight’s dinner. I’m sure you all know how to cook a leg of lamb so I won’t bore you. While everything was cooking I changed out of my shopping clothes, had a shower to make myself smell better and put on a fresh summer skirt, bright orange in cotton, all swirly round my legs, a white linen peasant blouse and white heeled sandals.
By 5.30 both the meal and I were all ready and I had some wine uncorked and in the fridge cooling. He came home at about 5.45 and I gave him a good wife’s greeting at the door, letting him know I was glad to see him. I took his jacket and hung it, sat him down and asked him if he wanted a drink. He was obviously not used to this kind of attention after work so I took off his tie too and got him a glass of Shiraz. I told him to relax while I served dinner.
I probably made him more nervous because he wasn’t used to being waited on. If I had my way he was going to be waited on for the rest of his life. Anyway, I served up the leg of lamb and had the veggies in bowls ready to go and asked him did he want to carve or would I do it. I think another day he would have opted to carve but he was still taken aback so he let me do it and so I soon had us both at the table with lamb, peas and carrots, roast potatoes, gravy and mint sauce at the ready. I poured him another glass of wine and one for myself and clinked glasses with him.
“Suzie, how long is this going to last?” he asked. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m not complaining. This is great, but are you going to do this all the time?”
Now was a kind of crunch time. I had had these wifely thoughts, but did he share those feelings, particularly after his experiences with that cow from before.
“Do you want me to do it for the rest of your life? I will if you want me to, as long as Lucy goes along with it. Eat up before it gets cold.”
He ate and made nice noises and thought while he ate.
“Can we talk about things in bed tonight? That’ll give me time to think and we’ll be more relaxed.”
“Will that be before or after we make love?”
He grinned evilly. “Both.”
“OK. Sounds good to me. Lamb to the slaughter, already.”
“Who? You or me?”
“To paraphrase Hamlet, that is the question.”
“Bloody overeducated bird.”
“You had the same opportunities as me. It’s hardly MY fault if you didn’t use them.” But we were laughing. It was like stepping back in time when we used to take the piss out of each other at school.
We finished eating. I wrapped the remains of the lamb in foil and put it in the fridge for sandwiches, then cleared up the table and washed up. He had gone into the garden for a smoke and I joined him on the bench seat in a lovely summer evening. He put his arm around my shoulder and we just sat, not talking. One of those little interludes you wish would last forever, quiet, domestic and.....perfect. I leaned into him to kiss him at the exact same moment that he leaned towards me. My lips parted as we closed together. I felt so female, feminine, wanted, cherished, and weak in the knees, in love.
By unspoken agreement we both got up and went back inside. As if in a romantic dream we undressed each other and entered the shower, leaving our clothes in a heap on the floor. We soaped each other all over and there was no doubt that he was not feeling inadequate. My nipples were like hard rubber, swelling as he kissed them and my vagina was wet with more than water as I slowly made sure his cock was ultra-clean.
We got out and dried each other, not rushing, just deliberately. We had all night. The bed was waiting for us and we made love......really made love. I wasn’t me any more. I was half of US, a creature with two backs, joined at the hips, the hands, the breast and the lips, my legs clamped around his back to pull him deeper inside me and the new muscles that my surgeon had magically given me clamping on him to make him forever mine.
I don’t know how long it lasted, but eventually we parted and lay side-by-side looking at each other.
“Nice,” he said.
“Yes, you are.” I stroked the hair on his chest, “but you lied to me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You said we would talk before we made love.”
He grinned his shit-eating grin. “I said we would talk before and after we made love. So now it’s after the first time and before the next time. You apologise now or I’ll tickle you.”
“I’d say ‘yes please’ but I don’t think you’re up to doing it again just yet. So OK, I’m sorry. It’s talking time.”
“You have to tell me more about you and Lucy. To tell you the truth I’m jealous of her and I need to know how your relationship with her is going to affect you and me. I don’t want to lose you.”
“OK. First, don’t be jealous of her. Look at it this way. We both owe me to her. We wouldn’t be lying here like this if she hadn’t helped me to become what I am today. She’s a wonderful woman and I’m dying to take you home to meet her. I’m sure you’ll like each other. After all you both have me in common!”
He grimaced a little. “A sort of meet the parents bit, eh?”
“Look, it won’t be like that. She’s not a dragon...well, not ALL the time.” I laughed as I thought of Lucy breathing fire if he upset her. “Really, I’m sure you’ll get on like a house on fire. Gee, that’s a stupid saying, isn’t it?
“Seriously, I love you, but you have to understand that I love her too. I want you both to get on and I don’t want to have to choose between you. Darling Geoff, Lucy was there first and by rights I should be married to her, and don’t forget, she agreed to me coming here to stay with you.”
He lay propped on one elbow and with his free hand played with my left nipple as he pondered what I had said. He sighed.
“I guess I have to wait and see. I hope I don’t have to fight her for you, ‘cos I’m scared she might win.”
“I promise you there’ll be no fighting. She’ll love you.” I hoped that would be true.
My nipple grew hard as he played with it, and one thing led to another and soon we made love again. We probably could have kept going but he had to go to work in the morning and I was determined that he would go off properly fed and dressed, so we went to sleep instead.
That night defined what happened on Wednesday and Thursday, except that I went and retrieved my maid’s uniform on Wednesday and wore it the following two mornings to remind us both of our new relationship. Besides, like I said, I wanted to be submissive...to an extent. So I cleaned the place up properly, did the shopping, washed and ironed our clothes, cooked his dinner and afterwards we would sit quietly for a while before going to bed and making love; and we would talk.
We talked about us; about school days. “The first time we ever met, why did you like me? I never could figure it out.”
“I don’t know. You were such a long skinny, bony kid, a skeleton with skin, and I was the opposite. Something about you just appealed to me. I didn’t know any other kids there and I thought we could be friends.”
“Oh, so it was a physical attraction. You actually fancied me.” I teased him.
“God no! It was your mouth that fascinated me. You were such a smartarse.” And we wrestled. Of course he won, because I let him.
Sometimes the strangest things would emerge, and we exorcised memories of him and Carole.
On Wednesday he said, “You know, now I think about it, and how she used to go on about you, I think she may have actually married me to spite you. But there was no reason unless she knew you were going to become a girl, and how could she have known that?”
“I hate to say this, but maybe woman’s intuition?” and we both laughed, but I wondered. Was it possible?
We talked a lot about Lucy. He wanted to know exactly how she had figured in my change. He started with an unspoken suspicion that somehow she had made me do it and I had to tell him that she was my fairy godmother, a facilitator not an evil dominatrix. Wanting to be a girl was in me long before I ever met her, and when it had come out and I had admitted it to her she had wanted my happiness above her own, and she had helped and comforted me when I was terrified that she would reject me.
“What would you have done if I had confessed to you that I wanted to be a girl?” I asked him.
“At 17 I probably would have freaked out. I don’t think I would have been violent with you but I think I would have wanted to put some distance between us. Maybe when I had time to think about it and let it sink in it would have explained things about you that I’d wondered about, but I honestly can’t guarantee I would have been all right with it, not then.”
“That’s probably fair enough and thank you for an honest answer. The experiences we each had in the next six years made us both better people, I think.” I was running my fingernails along his cock and he was massaging my fanny with one hand. A wordless interlude soon followed.
We talked about Ashford, where he had gone after leaving school, and we talked about London. He was fascinated by London. Although he had been there as a visitor and occasionally for work he knew little about it as a place to live. The news stories about the city were sex, drugs and rock’n’roll. It was a cesspit, a den of iniquity, Sodom and Gomorrah, a magnet to young innocents. I really disappointed him telling him it was not like that, well, not hardly. Sure, you could find all that, but you really had to go looking for it. Satan was not actually hiding on every street corner.
I think he was sort of hoping I would show him the underbelly of the place. Yes, I could regale him with stories of showbiz personalities but most of them did not live up to their reputations, not even The Rolling Stones. Because of our theatrical contacts we knew some of the seedier places but had never used them. I dangled all this as bait to get him to come and spend some time at Finborough Road. I wanted him there for himself (myself) and to get to know Lucy. He was nervous about her, and, in truth, so was I. I mean, I was sure she would like him but what if she didn’t?
By Friday we had arranged for him to take a week’s holiday in late September and come and stay with us at Finborough Road. I had talked to Lucy and she was relaxed about it. She wanted to meet him as well, mainly so she didn’t have to put up with my blathering on about him, with her having no basis of comparison. Plain old curiosity too, on both sides. I was really looking forward to it, having both my loves to take care of, but I was a bit nervous as well. Suppose they didn’t get on. What would I do then? Oh, well! Sufficient unto the day and all that.
Geoff asked me to join him at the pub with his workmates on Friday evening after work and then we would go and eat out somewhere. He promised he hadn’t told them anything about me except that he had met me more or less by accident a month or so ago. I should bloody well think not!
Anyway, I was this mysterious bird from London and they were all as curious as hell about me. They knew his marriage had gone west. Before agreeing I checked that there were no old schoolmates or friends from coffee-bar days. So I met him after work at Brighton Station and we went down to this hole-in-the-wall pub underneath the station which they used as a local. It was actually quite nice in a grotty kind of way, your typical unpretentious English pub. His crowd were all friendly and a couple of wives and girlfriends came in a little later, so it soon turned into one of those affairs where the girls were at one end and the men at the other. The girls grilled me, as women do.
They wanted to know my life story and was I serious about Geoff? How had I met him? What did I do? Where was I from? I kept up the London origin bit and I had an interest in a salon and I had been visiting a friend in the theatre here and then had a cup of coffee and got talking to this nice man. Yes, he was a nice man. Pity about his wife. He needed somebody new in his life. He seemed so FORLORN sometimes. I like him very much but it’s a bit early to tell. I do like your dress dear. You’re so tall and elegant. I wish I could wear clothes like you. Thank you dear. That's a nice frock you're wearing, too. Are you staying with him? Of course, or why would I come here? That caused a general giggle.
You get the drift of things. They would have a good old chinwag about me later. Don’t get the idea the men ignored me either. I heard the odd comment. “Where you been hiding her, then?” “Bloody looker you crafty bastard.” I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how men with a bit of lubricant in them talk about girls. My man didn’t ignore me either. He would come and put his arm around me every now and again and ask me if my drink was OK. I was being careful with Mateus Rose (actually, it may have been the only wine you could get there).
Then, after a couple of hours, he said, “Do you want to go and get some food?” and I said, “Yes.”
So we said goodbye to the crowd and went out into the twilight evening.
“I think they liked you.”
“I’m glad I came. They seem like decent people, and they were relaxing rather than just drinking. I won’t mind you coming here on Fridays.” Oh, shit. I just said a wifely thing, but if he noticed he didn’t say anything.
“Where would you like to eat then?”
I smelt an old familiar smell. “Would you mind a lot if I said fish and chips and we could take them home?”
He gave me a squeeze. “A girl after my own heart. Sounds good to me.”
So that’s what we did. Four pieces of cod and two bob’s worth of chips, a bit of salt and vinegar and all washed down with nice Chablis at home.
Our lovemaking that night was slow and gentle. Partly the alcohol made it last, but the next day was Saturday so he didn’t have to go to work and I was planning on catching a fast train at 4 p.m. to get me to Victoria at 5, and being the weekend I would get home at around 5.30. I would be able to get up about 9 a.m. and in no particular order, make his breakfast and make him rise to the occasion, before cleaning up and packing my clothes.
As it happened, we made love first and this time it was urgent, almost desperate. I tried to pull every last drop of juice out of him, both with my fanny and my mouth and he seemed to be trying to push his way right through me. I swear we both nibbled and sucked and licked every erogenous zone on each other’s body and kissed and cuddled like this would be the last time we saw each other.
“I wish you weren’t going.”
“I wish I wasn’t going, either, but I am and it’s time I got you some breakfast. I’m going to shower and don’t you dare come in or we’ll never eat.”
I showered and dressed casually in jeans and a kind of leopard print fitting top and flat sandals and went to make him breakfast. Today was kippers and I didn’t know if he liked them or not. It turned out he did, although I think he’d have eaten anything that morning.
I must have worn him out, just like he had worn me out, because he came into the kitchen fully dressed in jeans and a polo shirt with deck shoes and no socks. It would seem that by mutual agreement we decided that we were satisfied for the day. So we both ate our kippers and toast with Marmite and drank the Kenyan coffee and looked at each other.
“It’ll be six weeks until I see you again,” he said.
“It doesn’t have to be. You can always come and see me at a weekend. Just because we’ve arranged for you to stay later on doesn’t stop you from coming up on the train on a Saturday or Sunday and taking me out somewhere nice.”
He brightened, as if he hadn’t thought of that. “Won’t Lucy mind? Maybe she’ll think I’m monopolising you.”
I crossed mental fingers. “No. She’ll be OK with it.”
“What about you coming here?”
“Hmm, maybe we’ll see. I’ll tell you what. I’ll leave some of my clothes here in case. How about my maid’s uniform?”
I got the shit-eating grin. “Great, but no underwear. I want those breakfast dishes again.”
I laughed. “Hey, I only said maybe.”
“You have to promise you won’t stop when we’re married.” Then he realised what he’d said, turned bright red and gulped a couple of times, speechless.
“Did you just propose to me? So romantic. “Don’t stop giving me blowjobs and let me lick your pussy”. Only you would think you could get away with that as a line to your fiancée.”
I couldn’t contain myself. I burst out laughing but I was cheering inside, and then he was doubled over and next thing we were hugging and kissing. When we regained control he said, “Well?”
I took his face in my hands. “I really want to, but I told you already. Lucy has to be in there too. I love you both and I don’t know how I’m going to do it but it’s going to be a three-way union.”
He looked at me in a strange way. “You know, you’re a funny girl. You come on with all this submissive bit, cook and look after me, French maid and all, but you’re actually much tougher than when you were a boy. I think I could be scared of you, and I think you WILL handle Lucy. I wonder what I’ve gone and done.”
“You’ve just made the best move of your life. I’ll look after you really, really well, but I may just wear you out!”
“I think that’s what I’m worried about.”
“Do you want to start practising now?”
“Why not? I’m doomed anyway.” And so to bed, in the words of Samuel Pepys.
I managed to catch the 4 o’clock train. It was a wonder either of us could stand. It was going to be a tough challenge to wear him out before he did for me.
I was glad to see my Lucy less than two hours later. She looked a little frazzled and the flat needed some work. She was about as good as Geoff at looking after herself, but she was still my beautiful darling and I knew I had to make it all work between the three of us, and I had a bit to do.
I took the decision not to see Geoff until he came to stay with us. It was hard but I thought I would send the wrong message to Lucy, and abstinence makes the heart grow fonder, isn’t it? Not that Lucy and I abstained. I made absolutely sure that she knew I still loved her. I really pampered her for the next five weeks and told her everything that had happened between me and Geoff, although I went a little light on the marriage stakes.
Of course she wanted to know all about it. I told her about the way he had been the day I got there, incapable of any sexual activity, and what I had done to “cure” him, including my performance in the maid’s uniform at breakfast.
She both peed herself laughing and almost cried at his plight.
“If I had known what you would become I don’t know if I would have helped you, but you rescued the poor boy. I have mixed feelings about that, but that awful girl! How could she have left him like that?” This took place in bed, of course. “God, you’re a bad girl, but you’re a good girl too. Can I have some of those Huitres Francaises?”
“You’ve been having them for years, old lady. Don’t you remember? If not, you can remind yourself right now. Sheesh! Am I in love with a decrepit old cow?” That was the end of that sensible conversation, as we both remembered.
“You know, Suzie, I’m jealous,” she said later. “I must admit to missing those Saucisses Anglais since your dick stopped working. You used to love it and so did I.” She giggled. “How did you think of the name?”
“It was the French maid thing and I also had it planned. It was my last effort to get him out of the funk she left him in. I figured he wouldn’t be able to resist me without undies and dressed like that.”
“Well, it certainly worked.”
“Yes, it did, didn’t it?”
I had a sort of subdued panic attack, wondering where all this would lead.
To Be Continued
Will grovel for comments and votes!
After I came back from Brighton I slipped back into my routine with my darling Lucy. Every morning I dressed in one of my maid’s uniforms and prepared her breakfast, which I served to her in bed. Breakfast may be a bit of a grand description; what I actually did was take in a tray with orange juice and coffee.
When she had got up and showered she sat at the kitchen table and ate cereal, toast and marmalade with more coffee. She was human after that.
I had a dozen uniforms now. One I had left in Brighton, showing my intention to return. You probably think I have some kind of fetish, and I suppose I do. I just love those satin dresses with flared skirts down to my knees and two or three layered swishy petticoats underneath. All my necklines are square-cut with lace trimming around the neckline and the tops have puff-sleeves, also lace-trimmed. My aprons are always white and I tie a lovely big bow at the back of my waist and make sure the tails hang down just so, so that when I wiggle a little they swing from side to side as I walk.
I wear seamed black stockings or sometimes fishnets held up by a lacy suspender belt and little knickers with bows on the ruffles (except when I’m being naughty) and, of course 4 or 5 inch black patent heels. I have the dresses in black, royal blue and pink and I always finish off with a big white bow pulling my hair into a high ponytail, unless Angela has given me a style where it doesn’t work, like this week I have a China Doll and my hair is as black as black and only chin length. Dressing like this makes me feel so submissive, obedient and sweet and sexy and I always curtsey to my mistress when I serve her. It’s important to do things correctly, isn't it? I ask you, what could be nicer?
When she finished eating and had cleaned her teeth I would help her dress. We would choose her outfit for the day and I would make sure it looked right when she had it on, zipping her up and straightening her to our mutual satisfaction. She did her own make-up of course and I did her hair. That is unless we wound up kissing and cuddling and going back to bed. Then we both had to start all over when we finished making love. That was one reason I needed a dozen uniforms. They would often get so crumpled.
Anyway, I wanted her to feel loved, particularly now when my boyfriend and other lover Geoff was coming to stay with us in a few weeks. I was so torn. I dearly loved both of them and I didn’t want either of them to be jealous of the other. I wanted them to like each other, to be friends and naturally I wanted them to both keep on loving me. I just didn’t know how or if it was going to work.
So I made a big fuss of Lucy during the weeks before he came and, more days than not, didn’t wear my knickers in the morning. She saw right through me of course, but allowed how she didn’t mind at all.
I told her all about my trip; how Carole had just about emasculated him before she left and my restoring the balance; how I had accidentally run into Carole in George Street and by ignoring her but smiling as I passed her, won a sort of victory, at least in my own mind.
I told her of our trips to the beach and meals at various restaurants, and of course what I had worn, of my cooking for him, cleaning the flat properly, washing and ironing his clothes, and sitting in the lovely garden at his flat, of making love, of the visit to the pub on the Friday night; but I kind of didn’t tell her I would love to marry him. You know what I mean. I was economical with the truth. I didn’t EXACTLY lie. God, I felt guilty.
What is it about us that makes it so hard to tell the truth sometimes? I told myself it was because I didn’t want to hurt her. Maybe I was scared about hurting me. I really wondered if I was being a greedy foolish girl. Could I love two people? If I could how were we going to make it work? He would want me to go and live with him in Hove (actually) and Lucy would want me here in Finborough Road.
My heart said Finborough Road was my home. My body was saying that wherever Geoff was was where I wanted to be. My soul said that Lucy was my mate forever. My mind said that I had to have that man. I wanted to scream. In the mornings I would look at my reflection in the mirror and ask her for an answer but she could never give me one. As the day of Geoff’s arrival got closer I got more and more nervous.
I didn’t let on to Lucy though. Instead I acted happy and as I did my chores I sang along with the Dave Clark Five on “Catch Us If You Can” and the other pops of the day. I thought I did a pretty good job of hiding the confusion that was overtaking me. Shows how wrong you can be.
One night in bed Lucy said to me, “When are you going to tell me what’s wrong with you?”
This was about a week before the fateful day.
“What do you mean? There’s nothing wrong.”
“Oh, honey, we’ve been together too long for you to pretend there’s nothing bothering you. You can tell me, you know. I won’t get mad or anything. It’s him, isn’t it?”
“No! No! It’s nothing to do with him.”
She held me and stroked my hair, and looked into my fear-stricken eyes, “Suzie, you have to tell me. Do you want to leave me?”
“NO! “ I screamed. “I never want to leave you. I will never leave you. NEVER! NEVER!” and naturally I burst into tears. How did she know it had crossed my mind? I had dismissed it but I HAD thought about it. She held me tight and I held her back and sobbed my heart out, all the fear and guilt and confusion that I had been hiding. She let me cry until I calmed a little.
“You have to tell me, darling. If you keep it all bottled up inside you we won’t be able to find an answer. Think about the times we’ve had a problem between us. It’s always been because one of us wasn’t communicating with the other. I learned my lesson when I gave you the hormones without telling you. Now we’re both older and supposed to be smarter. Do you think I can’t tell you’re hiding something?”
“Oh, Lucy,” I wailed, and it all came out. “I love you. I love him. I don’t know what to do. He says he wants to marry me and I want to marry him too, but I ought to be married to you. In my mind I AM married to you. And I can’t marry him anyway because I’m still really a boy. I love you. I wouldn’t be here without you and I owe everything to you. Oh, tell me what to do. I don’t know....I just don’t know.”
I started sobbing again and clung on to her like a life-raft in a shipwreck. I didn’t want her to abandon me, faithless bitch that I was, guilty of betraying her when I had sworn that I never would.
“Suzie, sweetie, I won’t tell you what to do. I never have, except once, and I regretted that and you forgave me. Let’s go to sleep now and you remember that I love you too and we’ll talk about it in the morning.”
I snuffled and sort of nodded and snuggled right into her and trailed more tears into her nightie, but I quietened down a bit. She was so much wiser than me and I felt a little better before I drifted off into a restless sleep, where my mother and father jeered at me and Geoff pushed me away and called me a queer and Lucy threw me out on the street because I liked dressing as a girl, and Carole sneered and said only a real woman could ever win. But somewhere in the night I reached a quiet place.
She woke me up in the morning with a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee and all my pills on a tray.
“Madame,” she said. “Your petit dejeuner est arrive.” Her French was about as good as mine.
She was wearing one of my black maid’s uniforms! And the stockings and heels!
I goggled at her in disbelief and then doubled over laughing as she put the tray down on the side-table.
She grinned at me and said, “See the lengths I have to go to to cheer you up.”
“Have you got knickers on?” I asked.
She lifted her skirt and petticoats so that I could see the answer. Then I grabbed her and pulled her on to the bed.
“Huitres Francaise?”
“Ooh lah lah, yes please!” and that finished the conversation for the next ten minutes, except for the gasps and whimpers. Then it was my turn, and then we 69ed. After that I begged her to get the double-ended dildo and she did.
The old saw says laughter is the best medicine but love-making must be close to it, and when they are together, well, I dare you not to cheer up and feel better.
Sweaty and sated we lay in each other’s arms and kissed, still joined by the dildo.
“Well, that’s one dress that’s going to need a good cleaning,” I said.
“Your coffee is cold, Madame,”
“I don’t care. I have this wonderful maid who will make me another one when I want it.” I looked into her eyes. “Thank you so much.”
“What for?”
“For loving me. I don’t deserve it.”
“Yes, you do. Now drink your juice and take your pills and we’ll go and have a shower. Then I’ll make you another coffee and we’ll talk. OK?”
“Yes, Ma’am.” We pulled apart and the dildo released us with a sort of wet plopping sound, making us both giggle. We were absolutely dripping.
So we had a shower, her leaving my clothes on the bathroom floor. I’d never wear those stockings again. They had more ladders than a fire station, and I reckoned I would raise a good blush when I took the dress to the cleaners.
Afterwards we put on dressing-gowns and went to the kitchen. She DID make me another cup of coffee and we settled down to talk. I remembered another morning long ago when she was the one needing forgiveness after giving me hormones without telling me. I felt a surge of hope. Maybe this time she would find it within herself to forgive me.
We sat and looked at each other and she reached across and took my hands.
“Tell me then. No, on second thoughts, let me start. You went to Brighton to try and square things with your parents. That was a total failure. They didn’t want to know their beautiful daughter; they were only interested in their dear departed son. Then along came Geoff and rescued you from the depths of despair and you fell head-over-heels in love. Did it ever occur to you that it might have been on the rebound?”
“Yes, it did. That’s why I wanted to go and spend some time with him, to find out.”
“You’re kidding yourself, love. You’ve still only spent a week with him and you want to get married! You have to put a bit more thought into this.”
“I loved YOU from the first moment I saw you, and I wasn’t wrong then, so why should I be wrong now?”
She chewed her bottom lip. “I will have to give you that point, but this is more complicated. You have baggage here. He was your best friend for six years as a boy, so you were predisposed to connect with him, particularly in the circumstances and, don’t forget, he was on the rebound too.
“Oh, sweetheart, don’t get me wrong. I want you to be happy, and he is obviously good for you because he has brought out a new dimension in your being. You have found out that you can at least like some men, and you’ve rescued him from the wreckage of his marriage. It’s no wonder you feel all protective about him. Just think about how I feel about you. I want to make sure you don’t get hurt and that you don’t hurt him too. You’re getting so wound up over the whole situation. I want you to sit back a little and think things through.”
“What do you mean *wound up*?”
“Suzie, for the last ten days you’ve cleaned this flat until the glare was so bright that I thought I would have to wear sunglasses inside. Everything is shining and then you go and clean it again. I’m scared to sit down in case I make something dirty and you leap out with a cloth. I’m afraid you’ll clean ME if I stand still too long. And if you’re not wound up what was last night about?”
“Was I really doing that? The cleaning thing? I didn’t know.”
“Darling, if I didn’t know it was caused by something wrong it would have almost been funny. You were like some kind of demented robot.”
“Umm. I see, I think. OK, deep breath time. Look, Lucy, maybe you’re right and maybe I should take more time, but I KNOW I love him, just like I love you. I’m sure he loves me too. If you could have seen his face when he sort of proposed. Damn! I didn’t tell you that bit. It was when I said that I’d leave my maid’s dress behind and it just slipped out. He said I would have to promise not to stop the Saucisse Anglais and the Huitres Francaises after we were married, and then he realised what he said. He got all embarrassed and it was so funny.
“But now it started to rip me apart, because I told him you were always going to be there, so we had to find a way. I love you both and I want you both to love me, but what if you don’t like each other? How are we going to make it all work? I simply can’t choose one of you and I promise I’ll never leave YOU. Please forgive me for being such a silly cow.”
She squeezed my hands. “Suzie my love, there’s nothing to forgive. Why don’t we start by waiting until he gets here and then we can see if we like each other? I already like the sound of him. From what you’ve told me he’s a lovely man, even if you’ve exaggerated a teensy-weensy bit. Also there would be complications in a marriage so just promise me we’ll all slow down a little and give the matter some serious thought. Is that a plan?”
I released my death-grip on her hands and reached over and hugged her. “You’re always so much smarter than me. Yes, it sounds like a plan.”
So I guess we put the main worry on the back-burner and for the next several days I concentrated on being ready for his visit. Lucy stopped me from making his room too spick-and-span. “We want the poor boy to be comfortable, don’t we? Besides, you’ll mess it all up the first time you leap into bed with him.”
That made me blush like a traffic light, and she laughed. “I will be disappointed if you don’t, but let’s try to keep your sound-effects down. I don’t want any complaints from the neighbours.” I don’t think I’d ever really met the neighbours, just smiled at them occasionally.
So I went grocery shopping and bought twice as much of everything as we would need for the week, especially when you considered we might eat out most evenings. Lucy pulled me back on that before I got totally out of control.
So what was left? I went SHOPPING for me. I got half a dozen new outfits, cocktail frocks and smart-casual dresses, new gay geometric-patterned tops and some of the mini-skirts just coming in, three to four inches above the knee, and, of course, shoes; chisel-toes and almond toes were in and stilettos still were the thing, although fashionable heel-heights were coming down, with kitten-heels being very popular; a couple of pairs of boots since it was winter clothing in the shops now. It almost took my mind off of him.
And I cried all over Angela. What hairstyle was she going to give me? It just HAD to be the loveliest style she had ever done for me. The romantic in her came to the fore. What style did I have the last time I met him? It was the Britt Eklund. Did he like it? Well, you know what men are like. He probably never looked that high, but I thought he did (like it that is). One night he said I looked gorgeous. OK, then we’ll do it again. Men hate to be surprised. And this time I’m definitely looking for that wedding invitation. Maybe not quite so blonde. Let’s see now.....
Then DER TAG arrived. On the last Friday in September Lucy and I went to Victoria Station to meet the train arriving at 6 p.m. As it was a weekend and we were both nervous (yes, Lucy too. She took the week off from The Lyric) we decided we had better not terrify him by dressing up too much, so we both wore jeans and loose floaty scoop-neck tops in those fabulous Mary Quant patterns, you know, the ones with the big bold blocks of primary colours and black-and-white swirls and, naturally, heels.
He came through the ticket barrier and waved his British Rail pass, dressed straight from work in a suit and tie, carrying a case. As soon as I saw him I called his name and waved madly, clip-clopping forwards to greet him with a kiss and grabbed his free hand to tow him towards Lucy.
Grinning like a fool I said, “Geoff, this is Lucy and Lucy, this is Geoff.”
They looked a little uncertainly at each other for a second or two. Geoff put down the case and stuck his hand out tentatively and then Lucy stepped forward and gave him a hug and kissed him on the cheek.
“I’ve been waiting to meet you. This one here,” nodding towards me, “gave you a big advance billing. You’ve won her and that means you’ve won me too. Come on. Let’s go home.”
She grabbed his spare arm as he picked up the bag and headed for the taxi stand, leaving me galloping to keep up, but a great load fell from my mind. It was OK!!
We got a cab after a short wait. Lucy talked to him non-stop, embarrassing me no end by telling him how skittish I had been in the last week or so and how obsessive I had been with cleaning the flat, but he shouldn’t worry, it WAS all right to sit down and relax; guests were exempt from housework, and soon he was laughing, but he reached over and squeezed my hand. I didn’t mind being got at a little. I was just so pleased that Lucy seemed to like him and was going out of her way to put him at ease.
We arrived at Finborough Road and Lucy immediately gave Geoff a Cook’s Tour. I could tell he was impressed, and so he should have been. It was a lovely flat and it definitely looked its best after my efforts. Nobody was going to call me a sloven like that rotten Carole, but, you know, now that he was here, that compulsive urge to clean was gone.
We took him to his room so he could unpack. I wanted to stay and help him but she wouldn’t let me.
“Give him a couple of minutes on his own, just to wind down. He’s pretty nervous too, you know. You didn’t do him justice, darling, even though you were raving on about him all the time.”
“What do you mean?”
“God, he’s sooo good-looking. I can see how he used to attract the girls. He should be in films or on the stage. I’m jealous of you already. Don’t worry, I’m only joking. He seems as nice as you said too, although I haven’t given him much of a chance to talk. When he comes downstairs we’ll have a drink and a chat,” and she gave me a hug and a big full-frontal smooch. “That’s for being you. Now, how about getting us a nice big glass of white wine. I need to relax too and so do you.”
Off I trotted and got the two glasses of wine and we sat down in the lounge room, smiling at each other. I felt truly relaxed for the first time in weeks.
“Do you really like him?” I asked her.
“So far, so good. I do feel really good about him. I’ll have to let him do some talking and get a feel for him over the next week, but you can relax. I won’t bite his head off.”
“So what happened to my favourite black widow spider?”
“We only do that AFTER we’ve made love to them, darling.”
We were still laughing when he came down the stairs and into the living-room. He had changed into a pair of jeans, a black skivvy-type polo-neck sweater a la Beatles and grey suede loafers. I could have eaten him there and then, but I definitely wanted to make love to him first.
He smiled. “You must have been talking about me, something good I hope?”
“Come and sit down, Geoff,” said Lucy.
“A beer or a glass of wine,” I asked.
“Thanks, Lucy. Beer please, love, a lager’ll be fine,” and he lowered himself into an armchair.
I went and fetched a bottle of Carling’s and a glass plus a couple of beer mats, which I put on the little table beside him. I filled the glass, leaving a nice head, proving I still remembered my days at The Lyric, and handed it to him, leaving the bottle there for the refill.
“Thanks, darling.” He smiled at me before taking a swig. He continued talking to Lucy, a conversation they had started when I was in the kitchen.
“All a quantity surveyor actually does is measure building parts, so that the builder gets paid for what he actually does, like the number of doors he puts in, because they may be of different sizes and quality, or maybe the architect decides he wants to put in teak doors instead of pine. They cost different amounts so we have to catch the changes and calculate the new price. Things like that.”
“It sounds terribly responsible,” said Lucy.
“Not really. You just have to make sure you don’t miss anything. We group the bits into categories and trades, like Concretor, Carpenter and Plumber and we have checklists so we can make sure we’ve got everything there before a job starts and then it’s easy to pick when the builder tells you he had to do something different.”
I knew what she was doing. If you want to put someone at ease you get them talking about something they know. She had the knack and people always seemed to eat out of her hand. Me, I don’t think I am much good at it. We all sipped our drinks and I could almost see and feel residual nerves draining away all around. The time was a little before eight.
“What will we do for dinner? If we’re going to go out we’d better make our minds up soon. Do you want pub-grub or something posher? We can go up West if you like,” looking questioningly at Geoff.
“I’m quite happy with a pub if you are. We’re already dressed casual.”
“Well, there’s The Ifield across the road, The Brompton Arms five minutes away or The Kings Arms in Earls Court. They’re the best round here. What do you think, Suzie?”
“Any of those is OK. They all have reasonable food. The Kings Arms might get a bit crowded on a Friday with all the Aussies.”
“You’re right. How about The Ifield then?”
“Suits me,” said Geoff. “I’ll bow to your local knowledge. I’m just a hick from the sticks.”
“And we’re sophisticated London birds, so don’t you forget it. Pull that straw out of your hair before we go out, will yer. We don’t want to be embarrassed,” I got in, faux-haughty.
“We just need a couple of minutes to freshen up. Would you like another beer while you wait?”
“No thanks, I’ve still got a bit left in the bottle. I’ll just sit.”
Lucy and I went upstairs to the bathroom in her bedroom. You must go to the loo before you go out. Lots of them in bars and restaurants, even classy ones, are really gross. Wiping the seat before you sit down doesn’t seem to make them feel any better. Ugh! Icky! When we’d been and washed our hands we fixed our make-up and brushed our hair and then inspected each other to make sure we were presentable before going back downstairs. I’m sure we didn’t take more than about fifteen minutes.
We didn’t do all this in silence, of course. Lucy was squeezing my arm all the way up the stairs and hardly waited until we closed the bedroom door.
“He IS lovely,” she said. “I think you did a great job setting him right.”
“Thanks for putting him at ease, Lucy. It relaxed me too.” I hugged her. “You really are nice to me.”
“Heh, heh! Don’t bank on it, child. I’m thinking about seducing him and taking him to bed. You will be allowed to bring us breakfast in bed in the mornings,”
“OK. If you want to be like that I won’t wear any knickers and then we’ll see who gets the last lick of the cherry.”
“You shameless hussy. I might just throw you out on the street.”
I stuck my tongue out. “I dare you, witch. You can’t look after yourself without me.”
Suddenly we were kissing passionately. It was just as well we hadn’t done our make-up yet.
“What are we going to do about him?”
“Would you really like to go to bed with him? Honestly?”
“Hey there! Steady on! It’s me that’s been telling you to slow down. I only just met him. I don’t drop my drawers for any passing stranger.”
“Answer the question.”
“Darling, he’s your man, not mine.”
“Answer the question.”
“Oh, all right. I wouldn’t mind. He’s very attractive. That’s only theoretical of course. I’m allowed to have a dirty mind too.”
“Mmm. It would be quite kinky, me being your maid and bringing my master and mistress breakfast in bed and being ravished by both of them. Yes. I’ll definitely think about that.”
“Oh, shut up, you. You’ll make me wet and we’re supposed to be getting ready to go out.”
So we carried on with the business at hand. A little light bulb, or maybe just a candle, started flickering in my head. ” I wonder?” but I don’t think I’m much good at manipulating people.
The rest of the conversation was focussed on making sure that we were fit to go out.
Geoff was sitting patiently waiting when we went back downstairs.
“Sorry we took so long,” said Lucy.
“Oh, that’s OK. After a week with Suzie in Hove (actually) I think you set some kind of a record. Maybe two women together can get ready faster than one on her own. I wonder if that works exponentially? You know, like one of those trick exam questions, “If it takes two women fifteen minutes to get ready, how long does it take fifteen women?” and the answer is “one minute”. Nah, I can’t believe that.”
He cowered in mock fear as we both hit him. Actually he was partly right. Girls do help each other out in the loo and check that they are all right. Can you imagine a guy zipping up another one’s fly?
We grabbed our coats and jackets and walked across the road to the pub, but not before Lucy gave Geoff a set of keys to the flat so he could come and go anytime. I would have done it but I thought it was another nice gesture coming from her.
We entered the Saloon Bar and it was about half full, the atmosphere getting a bit smoky already. The barman greeted Lucy and me by name. We were irregular regulars in there. Lucy beat me to introducing Geoff to Stan the barman. They shook hands and Stan said;
“I know what the ladies want. What can I get you, Geoff?”
“Pint of Red Barrel, please, Stan.”
“Coming right up. Are you eating tonight? The steak and kidney pie is going fast.”
We all looked at each other and nodded.
“OK, Stan. Sold. Three steak’n’kidney.”
“Right. That’s nine bob for the drinks and I’ll take for the grub when it comes.”
Geoff beat us to the punch for the drinks. Girls always fumble in their purses for money. It’s one of those little tricks we have. We carried our drinks to a table and sat. One of the reasons Lucy and I liked The Ifield was that you could get a nice Chablis by the glass. Many pubs in those days didn’t even know wine existed.
When we were seated we all raised our glasses and clinked, “Cheers.”
“Here’s to a lovely week,” I said, and the other two mmmed agreement. Geoff grinned at me.
I KNEW WHAT I WAS GOING TO DO TONIGHT.
To be continued
Thanks Kristina, as usual.
Grovelling doesn’t work so comment or vote as you like, and if you don’t like.........use your imagination.
A week is a long time in love We were spending the evening in the Ifield Arms in Finborough Road, South Kensington. Our steak and kidney pies arrived after about fifteen minutes and Stan the barman served us at our table, took our order for more drinks and charged us one pound two and six for the lot. The pies were very good and sometimes eating out beats the hell out of cooking for yourself and then having to do the dishes afterwards. We savoured our meals, had another drink each except for Lucy. She slowly sipped her second, and eventually we all headed home about ten, Geoff in the middle as we crossed the road, with Lucy and me hanging on to an arm apiece, as if to stop him getting away. It didn't seem like he was trying to, actually. The couple of hours in the pub had passed easily, with the conversation ranging from the latest TV shows to the war between India and Pakistan, to the visit us girls had made to Singapore last year (leaving aside the gory details of my operations). Geoff had only been to France and was fascinated by our descriptions of the Far East, even to wanting to see us wearing the cheong-saams that we had bought while we were there. We said we would model them for him during the week. We got home and I made coffee for all of us and we sat in the living-room while we drank them and talked a little more. We didn't bother to turn on the TV. Then Lucy said she would go to bed and got up and went over and kissed Geoff goodnight. As she came over to do the same for me I thought I could detect something akin to pain or maybe envy or wistfulness in her eyes, and, throwing a smile and a glance at Geoff, I grabbed her arm and went upstairs with her to her bedroom. We went in and I gave her a hug. She looked like she needed one. She took my face in her hands and said, “You enjoy yourself tonight with that gorgeous guy,” but I definitely heard a little catch in her voice. “Are you all right with this, darling?” I asked her, holding her close. “Of course I am. You can’t have him here without giving him a good time. Goodnight now. Go, go, go.” We kissed again and I went back downstairs feeling awfully guilty and wondering what to do. I knew I wasn’t being fair to this woman I loved and who had done so much for me. I felt a sudden reluctance at leaving her to sleep alone in her bed. But then I saw Geoff. Lust took over and when he got up and kissed me and whispered in my ear that he wanted to take me to bed all other thoughts were submerged. We wrapped around each other for a few moments and then I took him by the hand and we went up to his bedroom, with me stopping off in my room to grab a dressing-gown. We stripped off together, helping to remove each others garments, and put our clothes over a couple of chairs in his room, not bothering with the wardrobe. We walked naked to the second bathroom, where we showered together, each cleaning the other and then brushing our teeth. I snickered as his rigid member waved back and forth as he plied his toothbrush and then he showed me how difficult it is to concentrate on your teeth when your boobs are being gently massaged from behind, and a throbbing penis is poking at you between your legs, almost making me swallow a mouthful of toothpaste before I managed to rinse. I turned to face him, wiping my mouth with a facecloth and then I knelt before him. I had a small blob of toothpaste on one finger and I rubbed it into his dick, which made him gasp and shudder. I ran my fingernails along his cock and took it in my minty mouth. Mint to mint; so yummy, and I began the back and forth movement which I knew would soon make him climax. But I didn’t want him to, not until he was inside me, so I stopped after thirty seconds or so and kissed the tip. I smiled to myself as I thought I was getting quite good at this. He was in stunned-mullet mode so I took both his hands and steered him back to the bedroom. He wasn’t the only one who was aroused. I pushed him down on the bed and straddled him, lowering myself onto his shaft, no further lubrication needed. I swear I could taste that mint in my vagina as I engulfed him! I could certainly feel a cool sort of sensation. And then we were at it like a couple of randy rabbits, all restraint gone. Six weeks of waiting meant that the surge of ecstasy was only a couple of minutes coming, but that didn't make it any less satisfying. I had to make a real effort to stop myself from screaming when I came. I loved it so! That wonderful filling expansion of his member and the simultaneous squeezing of my vagina and that hot wet rush of our combined juices reduced me to nearly mindless joy. And then a vision of Lucy’s face when I used to be able to make love to her as a boy flashed in front of my eyes. I knew then that I was being incredibly selfish. This was not about me, me, and me. She had given up that ecstasy in her face for my happiness. I suddenly felt so guilty that I could have cringed. What had I been thinking? There she was sleeping alone just along the corridor while I wallowed in the aftermath of love. Now I recalled how she looked when we made love; that half-opened mouth, the unfocussed eyes. She always looked so lovely, not that she wasn’t lovely anyway, but she kind of shone when we came together, like an angel or the sun coming out from behind a cloud. Did I now look the same with Geoff inside me? Since meeting Geoff again I hadn’t thought about her feelings except to wish that she and Geoff would like each other and both would love me. Selfish cow that I was, I had taken her for granted. She was going to lose at least part of me and I reckoned that was all right. The more I thought the worse I felt. Lucy had helped me become what I was and who I was and had never put her own happiness in front of mine. I knew she loved being made love to by a male (I couldn’t call myself a man, even before my transformation) and she had foregone that for three years now and maybe forever. I was ashamed. As I lay there in Geoff’s arms I made a decision. I couldn’t just have our relationship be between him and me. It had to include Lucy in the most complete fashion. I owed her my happiness and that meant that I had to try to make her happy too. That meant some hard questions and answers, and maybe a little sacrifice, things I should have put more thought into before. We kissed and cuddled. He really was nice. He had accepted me as I was so he was no prude or bigot and now I was going to test his limits. I stroked his hair and ran my fingernails through it. First, though, I had to have a little more of him for myself. It was no hardship to stroke him back to verticality and manoeuvre myself underneath him so that I could pull him into me with my legs wrapped around his hips. I locked him in like a spigot to a socket and proceeded to move to make that docking into a single unit, working myself along his pole so that we moved deeper and deeper into each other. This time it took longer but you wouldn't have heard me complaining and all too soon we shuddered together again. I let us rest for a while before I tackled him. “After all this are we still friends, darling?” He looked at me quizzically. “You know we are. You don’t have to ask.” “Friends can ask for favours, right? Can I ask you for a favour?” “Of course you can, and if I’m able to I’ll do it.” “Do you like Lucy, my love?” He blinked. It was clearly not a question which he had been expecting, at least at this point in the night. “Er, yes I do, since you ask, but as a friend, OK?” “Do you think she’s beautiful?” “What sort of question is that?” “Please, humour me, and answer the question honestly. I really need to know.” “OK, yes, I do think she’s beautiful, probably one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met, and that’s not putting you down, but where’s this going, love?” “Just be patient. Right, you like her and you think she’s beautiful. If you met her and I wasn’t around would you go for her?” “Well, she’s not my normal type. She’s much too smart.” He gave me a wide and cheeky smile, so I hit him. His normal conquests had been a bit thick as a rule. “Present company excepted, of course. Anyway, I can hardly call you normal.” He kissed me and I responded, stopping conversation for a minute. “Be serious for a moment. I really have to know. If I wasn’t here could you go for her?” “Well, for the sake of the argument; sure I could. What man couldn’t? She’s a stunner and she’s clever and she’s charming and she’s got......I dunno.......Presence? Poise? Something so that when she’s in the room you can’t ignore her. You’ve got it too.” “Thanks, Geoffrey. I must have learned it from her.” “Tell me, Suzie, where’s this going?” OK, here’s the favour. Would you make love to her?” “You have to be joking! Here I am lying in bed with you and we’ve just made love and you ask me if I would fuck Lucy! What are you saying?” “Quiet! And listen to me.” I knelt over him, astride his waist.” I’m serious. I’m asking you if you would make love to her, like we've just done, not just fuck her. Could you care enough for her to make it lovely for her, not just a sex act?” “Christ, you really are serious, aren’t you? I knew you’d get me into deep shit. You always did, even when you were a boy.” “It would mean a lot to me. It would really make me happy. Honest.” “All right. Explain, and tell me what’s going on in that devious mind of yours.” “Let’s go back to when I met you again. I think you’ll agree, we both got somewhat overtaken by events. Neither of us planned it. It just happened, and I don’t regret anything, but I didn’t think about Lucy, at least not right through. I told you, I wouldn’t be here, not like I am, if it wasn’t for her. She gave up so much for me. I told you, but I probably didn’t dwell on it, that she taught me how to make love as a boy, and even though I was busy becoming a girl, we used to love making love while my cock still worked. “It hit me tonight that she hasn’t had a man for nearly three years, if you could call me a man before my male parts gave out, or even before. Oh, you probably don’t even know what I’m talking about. Anyway, I want to make it up to her, and I can’t do it, so it’s up to you, if you will, but I don’t want it to be mechanical, just a mercy fuck. So that’s what I mean. Can you feel love for her? I need for her to be part of us; do you know what I mean?” “Now it’s on the table. Jesus! All right, I’m feeling my way here and thinking out loud, so don’t get mad at me if I say something wrong. Look, I only met her today, so I’ve hardly had time to really get to know her. You’ve known her for six years and you tell me you fell in love with her at first sight. Christ! I’m an ordinary English bloke. We don’t even talk about these things; we get all tongue-tied. It’s embarrassing. You must remember that. You were like me once, or at least I thought you were. “You’ve really messed with my head. I feel like a character in a porn story. Here’s my lover asking me to make love to her other lover, who happens to be a woman too. Can I do it? I don't know. The only way I could possibly do it is if you help me. I can’t just leap into bed with her, cold, so to speak. You’re actually asking me to take on two girls instead of one. What you’re saying is that she is part of the price I have to pay for you. Well, I guess you did warn me in a way. I just didn’t expect it to be like this. “I’m raving, aren’t I? OK, I can do it, as long as she goes along with it and you’re there to help. Bloody Hell! I think I just talked myself into a threesome. Never a dull moment with you, is there? Yet another new experience; I’m not sure how many of these I can take. All right. “Lead on McDuff”, not that you look much like a McDuff. When do you want to do it?” “No time like the present. It’s Saturday morning, early I know, so we have lots of time, don't have to get up to go to work. First a shower. We have to go to her clean. Come on. Let’s go.” And I grabbed him by his dick, which was absolutely rigid, and towed him to the shower. The idea had taken hold of his body whether in his mind he was sure or not. We washed each other, not too quickly, with me making sure he stayed hard, dried ourselves and padded naked to Lucy’s room. I opened the door quietly, signing him to silence and directing him to sit on the bed while I gently kissed my sleeping beauty awake. “Wha.... what’s up, darling?” as she woke. “Shhh! Relax and trust me.” I whispered as I began to strip off her nightgown, lifting her to a sitting position and then pushing her back down and removing her panties. She certainly hadn’t expected any action tonight. There was a small nightlight in the room so you could find your way to her bathroom without falling over the furniture, and I saw her eyes go wide as she spotted Geoff. “Lucy, I need help.” I whispered in her ear. “He’s still got some hang-ups left from Carole and has to be reassured that women still like him. Can you give me some back-up?” She looked at me and just nodded. I grabbed Geoff and pulled him across the bed so that I had both of them in my arms. He was in a kneeling position as I let go of Lucy and steered both of her hands to grasp his rigid tool before placing his arms around her neck. The two of them were like puppets and then her hands started to stroke him and his face moved forwards until he touched her lips. Next thing they were really kissing and I helped things along by kneading her breasts softly from behind. The two of us pushed him down onto his back and Lucy relinquished her hold on his cock and replaced it with her lips. After that all I had to do was watch as they got into the spirit of things. I had never been a voyeur before and it was incredibly sexy to see them writhe and twist and join together, lips again locked as he entered her and they began to move in that timeless rhythm. I couldn’t stop my fingers from pleasuring myself until I came almost as if I were in his embrace too. I felt the strangest mixture of emotions as my sneaky plan climaxed, so to speak. I was so pleased because they both were obviously totally immersed in the act, and I was ecstatic for both of them and myself as I vicariously participated, and yet I was sad. I had put something in train and now I could no longer control it. Once upon a time it had been me who brought that joy and elation to her face and I would never again be the one to do that. For an instant I was almost insanely jealous of Geoff. Tears ran down my face and I really did not know if they were tears of joy or tears of loss. I don't think they even noticed me as I quietly left the room and went and had yet another shower and went back to my empty bed and cried until I went to sleep. Oh, yes, I had gained my heart’s desire by becoming a girl but I had lost something on the way. I had thought that I did not care about the sacrifice of my male equipment and now I found that I did. I had to remind myself that you can’t have it both ways. I woke at about nine o’clock. Nobody else was stirring, so I went and did my usual morning things and dressed in one of my pink maid’s outfits so I could feel particularly feminine and girly, being careful with my make-up and hair, ensuring that no trace of my tears remained. I debated whether or not to put on underwear but decided that they would not be hungry for sex and so I dressed fully. This morning I had to make breakfast for three, and take coffee and juice for two into Lucy’s bedroom. I checked my appearance carefully to make sure I was the perfect French maid before picking up the tray and heading up the stairs to her room, enjoying the swish and rustle of my petticoats against my nylons. This time I knocked at the door because I didn’t want to disturb them in the middle of anything. I waited for a few seconds. “Come in,” called Lucy. I went in and they were sitting propped up in bed. I started to smile at them, but Lucy looked at me coldly. “Just put the tray down and leave us, girl.” In a state of confusion I did as she said and turned to go. “Wait,” she said. “In future you will remember to curtsey when you enter or leave my presence. Is that understood?” Dumbstruck, I just nodded my head and curtsied. To be continued I almost forgot. Thankyou Kristina.
Choices
I stood rooted to the floor, not knowing what to do next in the face of Lucy’s icy stare. My lower lip started to tremble. I looked at Geoff but there was no sympathy visible. His face was totally impassive. Then it dawned on me that they were having me on.
“Slut! Before you leave us, are you wearing underwear?”
“Yes,” I managed to mumble, without laughing.
“That’s *Yes Mistress* to you.”
“Yes, Mistress.” This was over the top. I knew she didn't mean it.
“Take them off, here and now. You are no longer permitted to wear panties in this house and you will hold yourself ready to pleasure Master Geoffrey or myself at any time of the night or day. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Mistress.” I pulled down my panties and stepped out of them. I can act too, and being available any time of night or day was what I was anyway. If she really thought that would frighten me she was way off beam.
“You’re not fit to wear that uniform either. Take it off now. I will tell you when you have earned the right to be a proper maid.”
I unzipped my dress and allowed it to slip down to the floor, petticoats too, before stepping out of it. I stood there in my heels and stockings, suspender belt and bra, waiting for the next shock. She fixed that basilisk stare on me. I have to say she did it pretty well.
“Come closer. Stand here.” She pointed imperiously to the side of the bed.
I moved over to stand next to the bed wondering what would happen next, when suddenly they both whooped and grabbed me, pulling me down onto the bed with them. They were screaming with laughter, and started to tickle me unmercifully, making me thrash around uncontrollably.
“If you could have seen your face,” gasped Lucy between giggles. “Absolutely priceless!”
“That’s a gotcha,” chortled Geoff.
“Stop it! Stop it!” I squawked as I tried to escape their tickling hands, unsuccessfully, but, in truth, I was so relieved that I had been right that they weren’t really angry at me I would have happily let them tickle me to death. I kicked off my shoes so I wouldn’t accidentally stab anybody, trying to make it look as though I was just thrashing around.
As suddenly as they started, they stopped, and began to shower me with kisses on both sides, encircling me so that it was hard for me to move. Next thing, my bra was gone and they were kissing my boobs as well. I was overwhelmed with the change from my earlier reception and what was happening now. Before I could react there was a hand between my legs and fingers in my vagina. Lips sucked at my nipples and I was being kissed passionately. While my mind was still in a whirl my body was starting to react to the sexual attention.
“Why did you try to frighten me like that?” I managed to splutter, stopping myself from succumbing completely to the foreplay. It felt so good after the horrible reception Lucy had given me a few minutes ago, even if I had seen through it.
“Because you deserved it, you devious little vixen. You set us both up. Did you think we wouldn’t talk to each other? You made Geoff believe I was some lonely old spinster dying for a man and you told me he was still suffering from Carole syndrome, so we decided you needed to be taught a lesson. You’re not the only one who can play tricks.”
“But it wasn’t like that. I didn’t mean any harm. I just wanted to make sure you liked each other.”
“Oh, we know that, you silly cow,” interjected Geoff, “and it worked. We both had a ton of fun, didn’t we Lucy?”
She snorted. “Yes, we sure did.” She stroked Geoff’s chest fondly. “It’s a really quick way to get to know one another. And as for you,” she turned to me and mashed her lips up against mine.
“You done good, but you’re so naughty; we are going to punish you. Which half do you want, Geoff?”
“Your choice, milady. I’ll take the leftovers.” He gave an evil smirk.
“I think I’ll take the top half, so I can stop her screaming and disturbing the neighbours.”
“OK, then I gets the bottom and I’ll give her something to scream about.”
They both lapsed into sinister laughter as if on cue. “Mwa-Ha-Ha-Ha-Ha!”
I started giggling and hoped they would do their worst. I really wanted to be ravaged, so I spread my legs wide and threw my arms out to invite attention to my breasts. The next thing I knew Geoff was inside me. All this chit-chat had evidently not made only me horny, and seconds later I found myself eating Lucy as she straddled my face while she kneaded my nipples. I definitely wasn’t going to be able to scream. Well, maybe I could, but it would be awfully muffled. God, it was fun. I’d never been in a threesome before, and we kept on changing over. A little later I was sucking Geoff for all I was worth with my fingers keeping Lucy occupied, and then we swapped again and Lucy was returning the favour to me. We were a twelve-limbed octopus…..is that a duodecapus? Whatever! If you ever get the chance I can recommend it.
Eventually, of course, we collapsed in a heap, with Geoff whining, “How am I going to last a week?”
Women have more stamina. Now why can’t that be an Olympic event? What would you call it? A tri-sexathlon? We would always win gold and wouldn’t it be fun? I doubt a man could even take Bronze, but they’d probably rig the scoring somehow. Imagine the viewing figures if they showed it on TV! The judging would be hilarious. Some pompous arsehole of an announcer would intone “That looks like a ten to me. The technique is superb.” as a rigid penis thrust vigorously into its eagerly awaiting receptacle. Camera-angle would be critical. And then three judges would hold up their scores, 9.5, 8.5, 9.0. Do I have a dirty mind?
The afterglow was lovely, a kiss and a cuddle and a stroke and a nibble here and there. The bed was a real mess. Sigh! More work for the poor maid. Later I would have to strip it down to the mattress cover before making it. Lucky I had been using a moisture repellent cover for years.
A bit later we all repaired to the shower and cleaned each other absolutely thoroughly. Intimacy was no problem. Three in a shower is quite crowded and demands co-operation. I noticed that Geoff and Lucy took loads of time with each other. Have you ever seen those pictures of apes grooming? I couldn’t stop giggling and when I told them why it was me who got well and truly groomed.
Well, eventually we finished and got dressed. I retrieved my dress, underwear and shoes before going off to make fresh coffee and breakfast. I had to ditch my nylons. They had had it. The number of stockings we waste and destroy in this flat in a month would probably outfit the chorus line of the Windmill Girls for a year, but I don’t have a conscience about it.
So we ate and I did the chores, while they got to know each other better, and I sang to “No Milk Today” on the radio and they rudely yelled at me to shut up. I waited a little until “This Will Be The Last Time” happened to come on and sang to that. Bugger them.
When I was upstairs doing the beds Lucy came up and gave me a big hug.
“You really are awful, but you were right. I was dying for a man and seeing you with him was very hard. I do love you, you know. You’re sometimes very perceptive and last night was lovely. He’s very considerate. Maybe Carole actually did us all a favour, because he really cares what a girl wants when you make love.
“I’m sorry, but you asked to be razzed and we couldn’t resist. You did take the bait so nicely.” She giggled furiously. “You were so funny. If only you could have seen yourself. You really are so gullible sometimes. How could you have believed I was such a bitch?” I didn't spoil things by telling her I had actually caught on pretty quickly. We held each other and I was sort of mad at her while I loved her madly. Does that make sense?
I pushed my lip out and pouted. I do a pretty good pout, but she just laughed, and so I had to too, and we kissed each other thoroughly. She ran her fingers through my hair and I cupped her lovely face in my hands.
“Do you really like him? Was he good?”
“Yes and Yes.”
“Can we be a real threesome? And all love each other?”
“I think so. You’ll have to ask him, of course, but I think the answer will be yes. But I still think we have to take things a bit more slowly.”
“I can see that now. You’re the smart one. You set the timetable.”
“Darling, there’s no timetable, but I’ll tell you when I think we’re all ready, OK?”
“OK.” And I kissed her again, with passion.
She left me to finish my chores and I waltzed through them, singing along to “Catch Me If You Can” and “We’ve Gotta Get Outta This Place” and I seemed to finish in no time at all, everything changed, beds made, the washing and washing-up done, bathrooms clean, and only the ironing left to do. Dusting could wait until tomorrow.
I went downstairs and found them canoodling on the sofa in the living-room. I announced myself with a discreet cough and they came up for air and both stretched out an arm beckoning me to join in, which I did with pleasure.
A few minutes later Lucy told me I had better get showered and changed as we were all going to the Victoria and Albert (museum) to show Geoff a bit of London culture. I don’t know if you’ve ever been there. It’s an absolutely wonderful place. Many people think it only has costumes from Victorian times but it has all sorts of artifacts from mediaeval times onwards and from exotic places. I could spend days in there and, best of all, it’s only about fifteen minutes walk away in Cromwell Gardens. Some of the Elizabethan, Stuart and Georgian gowns made my mouth water as I imagined myself dressed to the nines in those gorgeous fabrics and brocades. Mind you, imagination was probably the better part of it; they must have weighed a ton and getting in and out of them would have taken hours, even with a couple of ladies’ maids to help, and cast-iron corsets.
I went and freshened up, glowing as I was from my housework duties and the little snog. I spent a minute or two in front of the mirror, naked, reassuring myself that I was really a girl (in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m a bit insecure sometimes), and then put on a pair of jeans and a summery peasant blouse in a bright aqua. I wore a pair of flat sandals for all the walking we would be doing and kept my hair up in a ponytail. A little touch-up on the mascara, eye-liner and shadow and a fresh swipe of lippy and I was ready to go. I went back for a black angora wrap since although it was warm it was late September and the weather could do anything.
So off we went and had a fabulous time. I had worried that Geoff might get bored, because the museum is widely regarded as a girly place, but he found fascinating things in the exhibits from the Far East and some of the Scottish stuff. I kept having visions of dancing a minuet with him in knee-britches, ruffled shirt and brocade jacket. Maybe you thought that would look poncy on him, but in my mind’s eye he looked scrumptious.
When they closed at six we went and had a drink at the Ifield. They had one of those table-football games in the snug (private bar). You know; the ones with the handles with little wooden players on a spindle. I used to be pretty good back when I was a boy so I challenged Geoff to a game. I was still good even though I was out of practice and I beat him, so I jumped up and down, clapping my hands and chortling. That got his male ego going of course, so he challenged me to another game and he won, so I had to challenge him back, and I won.
Lucy wanted a go, so I thrashed her and then she played Geoff and he thrashed her too, so she reckoned we weren’t fair and went and sat down in a huff, so we had to stop playing and go and comfort her. We were tempted to eat there again, but instead went to the chippie next door and took our fish’n’chips home and ate there. Not much washing up and I made tea and coffee afterwards. We sat and watched TV for a while and then all looked at each other and went to bed, together of course, in Lucy’s bedroom, after a lovely intimate shower.
Lucy and I laid there with Geoff in the middle, each with a hand on his tool, our fingers entwined and giving it a little massage, just to keep it in top condition. He had an arm around both of us and was playing with a nipple on each side. Arousal was definitely not a problem, at least for me. I snuggled in and kissed him, without loosening “our” grasp on his dick, and Lucy did the same on the other side.
I felt a sudden need for Lucy. Even though she had scared the living daylights out of me in the morning, I wanted to cuddle and kiss her and show her that I loved her. I let go of her hand, the one we both had on Geoff, and climbed over him to embrace her properly. With my arms around her I pulled her close, kissing her passionately, melding our bodies together. Geoff lay beneath us with an enormous hard-on and couldn’t be ignored, so I manoeuvred Lucy over him and pushed her down until she was impaled. When I was satisfied that she couldn’t escape I began stroking her breasts and carried on nuzzling her and running my fingernails up and down her back. She was moaning and panting with pleasure. I didn’t care whether this was a result of my ministrations or Geoff’s. She seemed to be happy.
Our man from Hove (actually) was performing in a sterling manner, thrusting up into my darling girl until they both gave an enormous shudder and came together. That gave me such a thrill that I was only a fraction of a second behind them, and then we were all holding each other, lying slack on the bed. I wanted Geoff too but knew I would have to wait for a bit of recovery time. Everything has its limits.
Later that night I got my wish with Lucy ministering to me and my boobies. We decided that we didn’t have to wear Geoff out on the second night, but could use him a little sparingly so he would last the whole week. After all, once each for us girls meant two for him. The way he carried on you would have thought twice a night was some kind of jail sentence, instead of a reward for a good boy. Lucy and I rolled around the bed laughing when he complained.
Some people are never happy. Here was a man living an adolescent’s fantasy, whining about being called on for two performances a night. Typically British! He couldn’t keep a straight face for long though.
We slept entwined and I woke in the morning and disentangled myself to get up and get breakfast, evading sleepy clutches from both of my sweeties. When I was dressed and brought their juice and coffee my heart almost overflowed with the love and affection I felt for both of them.
The rest of the week just got better. We did touristy things, like going to the zoo (which stirred the dirtiest recesses of our minds. Some of those animals can really fuck) and the British Museum, a boat trip on the Thames, the Tower of London and Tower Bridge, Piccadilly Circus and Trafalgar Square; Buckingham Palace. You name it. Lucy called in some favours and we got seats at a couple of the current hit stage-shows and did the clubs afterwards, impressing Geoff by introducing him to some well-known actors and musos. He himself was a bit of a hit with some of the women (and a couple of the men) and we had to keep a sharp eye out so as not to lose him.
And every night we made love. Geoff and Lucy bonded so well I was almost jealous, but I was always there in their arms and they lavished as much love on me as they did on each other and I did on them. Everything I had hoped for came true and we were a threesome in all senses of the word.
We did talk about the future and we all wanted our rapture to last. We all knew we didn’t HAVE TO make any drastic decisions yet and so we agreed to carry on for a while just as we were.
Inevitably Sunday came around and Geoff had to go back to Hove (actually). We arranged for him to come and spend the Christmas holidays with us, two weeks spanning the New Year too, but we also told him to come any weekend he could. Just give us a ring and his room would be waiting (that was a laugh. He’d only slept in it the first night).
We went and saw him off and cried a little afterwards. God, he was only going fifty miles! What a silly sentimental couple of creatures we were.
Life got back to normal. Geoff came back for a weekend in late October and we had a ball. Then one morning I took Lucy her coffee and juice and she wasn’t in bed. I could hear retching sounds coming from the bathroom and rushed in to find her sitting on the floor with her head down the toilet-bowl, throwing up.
When she finished and I had wiped her clean I asked her what was wrong.
“Ohh, my love, I don’t think there’s anything actually wrong. That may have been morning sickness. I’ve missed my period.”
Thick as I was, I didn’t grasp the importance of that. I got her back to bed and went and rang the local doctor’s office and made an appointment for her later that morning. I got her ready, and took her the couple of hundred yards to the consultation rooms, and then waited anxiously while she was in with the doctor.
She came out beaming and hugged me.
“I thought so, Suzie. We’re going to be mummies.”
Sometimes I can be so stupid I amaze myself. “That’s great, sweetheart. But how?”
She gave me a real old-fashioned look. “When we get home I’ll tell you about the birds and the bees,” she said. We were already out on the street.
The light bulb in my head finally lit up. “Geoff!” I exclaimed.
“Hooray! Give that girl a cigar.”
“But didn’t you take precautions?”
She sighed. “No, I didn’t. You must admit at first it was a bit of a surprise, engineered by someone quite close to me. And then it simply didn’t occur to me. When your equipment still worked, at least for the last year or so, it wasn’t something I had to worry about. Then I was technically chaste, har-har, for three years and I guess I just forgot.”
She squeezed my arm as we walked. “Don’t worry about it. I’m very happy for all of us. I hope Geoff is when we tell him.”
“I’m happy for both of you,” I said, feeling a sense of outsiderness, because this was one area where I could not participate.
As we turned into the entrance to our flat she grabbed me, sensing my estrangement, and we stood there, faces inches apart, her arms around my neck.
“Listen, darling. This baby will be as much a part of you as of me or Geoff. It wouldn’t be inside me without you. So you are going to be a mother, like it or not.” She tittered. “Unless you want to be a daddy, but you really don’t look like a daddy and we don’t want to confuse the child, do we?”
I gulped and started to tear up. “Thank you, Lucy, my love. I promise I will love him or her as much as I love you and Geoff.”
We stood there on the steps and hugged and kissed, me with tears of relief and joy running down my face. We even got a couple of whistles from passing tradesmen, before we went inside.
We could have rung Geoff at work, but decided against it. We didn’t want him going into shock in the office. So we waited until about six before phoning him at home. I was using the main line and Lucy was on an extension as I dialed (remember dials?) his number. We had tossed for the job of dropping the bombshell and I had lost.
“Hello, Geoff Stoner.”
I put on my plummiest Sloane Ranger accent. “Hello, Geoffrey.”
“Hi, Suzie, what’s doing?”
“Are you sitting down, Geoffrey?”
“Yes, what’s with the silly accent?”
“Geoffrey, I am delighted to tell you you’re going to be a daddy.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said. You are going to be a father.”
“Oh, come on Suzie. Stop shitting me. We both know you can’t have kids. How?
”Well, Geoffrey, you have a thingy between your legs and sometimes when you stick it in a girl’s thingy some little potential Geoffies swim up into the girl and voila.”
Lucy was doubled over, trying to stop laughing out loud.
“Any way, who said anything about me?”
“Oh shit! Don’t tell me Lucy’s got a bun in the oven. It’s all your fault. I should’ve known you’d get me in strife. Nothing’s changed from when you were a boy.”
“Aren’t you happy, Geoff?”
There was a sort of a gurgle on the other end and then silence for maybe a minute.
“You’re really not shitting me? It’s really true?”
Lucy spoke. “Yes, Geoff. It’s really true. I went to the doctor this morning.”
“That’s great, Lucy. Why didn’t you ring me at work?”
“Geoff, play back the conversation in your head. You could have had a heart attack.”
“It’s that bloody Suzie! I thought she was up to one of her tricks. You know she can’t be trusted.”
Lucy laughed. I was wounded.
“We taught her a lesson darling, and she wouldn’t kid you on something like this.”
“It’s really true. I’m going to be a father. That’s wonderful. How are you, Lucy? Is everything all right? You must take care of yourself. Don’t lift any heavy weights.”
“Geoff, I’m about six weeks pregnant. You don’t have to worry. I’m not going into labour yet. Besides, I have a heavy-lift labourer here next to me.” I dropped the phone and hit her.
“Ow! I’m being assaulted.”
“Can I come up and see you at the weekend?”
“Of course you can, love. Are you pleased?”
“Bloody Hell! Yes, I suppose I am, but you two know how to take the wind out of a feller’s sails, don’t you?”
After a few endearments we put down our phones and then hugged each other, waltzing around the room. He was happy, so we were happy, parents all.
I should mention that we had upgraded Lucy’s bed to king size, so we had lots of playing room. In fact, with only two of you in it you could hunt for half an hour before finding the other one. It meant that it was very easy to organize when Geoff came. He only used “his” bedroom for hanging his clothes and parking his toothbrush. We laid in a few basics in case, like socks and underpants, and a razor, so he could come on the spur of the moment, if needed.
Lucy had rung the theatre and begged off for a couple of days, taking her through the weekend. As I said, I didn’t have to do too much to get ready for Geoff. So we talked. How was this going to affect our lives? Apart from changing us fundamentally, of course.
We might have to move. The baby would need its own room. That caused us some heartache, I can tell you. We both loved the Finborough Road flat, the scene of six….now going on seven….years of happiness, but a flat is a flat and a child is a child, and it takes no brains to work out which one comes first.
But the three of us could fit into two bedrooms. Would Geoff come and live with us? We both wanted him to. A child needs a father, even with two mothers. I was already thinking how I could feed the little darling.
I dreamed of having enormous boobs, a double E at least, filled like barrage balloons with lovely milk for our baby. She (I had decided it would be a she) would never go hungry, because my titties would have an inexhaustible supply, on tap so to speak, at any time of day or night. I imagined the feeling of having this tiny infant sucking away at my nipples, and almost wet myself in anticipation.
“I wish it was me,” I said, snuggling up to Lucy in bed one night. “I wish I was pregnant.”
“I wish it was you too, darling. Then you would be the one feeling sick every morning and in six months time you would be the one waddling around with a sore back from carrying a watermelon in your stomach. You can have it any time. I’ll give it to you.”
“Would you really?”
“No. As a matter of fact I wouldn’t. I really want to have it. Just think. Our very own baby. Isn’t it exciting?” She hugged me tight, grinning from ear to ear.
I changed the subject. “You’ll have to marry him, you know.”
“That’s something we have to talk about when he’s here, dear. You and I can’t make a decision like that. Besides, you want to marry him, don’t you?”
“Yes, but we have to think of the baby. She has to have a father.”
“We don’t know if it’s a girl, Suzie, and, if it is, she has a father, married or not.”
“You know what I mean. She has to have a proper father, or people will look down on her and there will always be legal problems. You have to marry him.”
“We’ll talk about it when he’s here at the weekend, OK?” She kissed me, just to shut me up I think.
The weekend came and with it came Geoff. When we met him at the station he gave me a big regular hug and kiss, but Lucy he handled as if she was made of eggshells, and we both laughed our selves silly, leaving him looking all put out.
Lucy hugged him.
“Geoff darling, us pregnant women are as tough as old boots. While I appreciate the care and attention, don’t think you’re going to get out of making love to me for the next seven or eight months, even if you have to take me from behind later on. Actually, I’m going to get more of you because I don’t have to worry about periods for a while, so I’m going to make Suzie SO jealous. I’m going to shag you silly.”
I swear he blushed from toes to hairline, and then he laughed.
“Then I’ll have to put you up the duff again when you’ve had this one. Let’s see, how about one a year for the next twenty years?”
All chuckling, we went home.
It being November now, and cold and miserable, I had cooked us a nice lamb ragout (stew to you) for dinner and we had that with a bottle of claret. Lucy, not a big drinker at any time, had only one glass, perhaps unconsciously looking after her child-to-be. We followed up with my signature bread-and-butter pudding (dead easy actually) and coffee. I loved feeding them. I really loved it when they licked their plates clean, well, they didn’t quite, but they ate it all.
Geoff belched. Romantic and mannerly, eh?
Lucy rolled her eyes and looked at me. “I suppose we have time to housebreak him before he starts teaching the little one bad habits.”
He grinned. “God, that’ll be fun. I’ll teach it to drool and fart and belch and poop its pants, and make sure its first words are*fuck it* and not mama or dada.”
“You will be a good boy or you won’t get your naughties in bed,” I warned him.
“I knew you would gang up on me,” but he reached over and took my hand and Lucy’s and suddenly got serious. He told us later that he had spent a couple of nights tossing and turning since we told him about the child, wondering what he was going to do.
He took a deep breath.
“Suzie, I love you, and Lucy, I love you. Please don’t say anything until I finish. I have thought about this and some of it is not what blokes find easy, especially blokes like me. Suzie, you were special to me when you were John, in a different way of course, and you’re even more special to me now. “
He let go of our hands and felt in his trouser pocket, bringing out a small tissue-wrapped package, which he opened up to reveal a diamond ring, The stone must have been a carat.
“Suzie, will you wear this as a token of my love?” placing it in the palm of my hand as he said it.
I started to say I would, my heart nearly bursting, but he put a finger on my lips and shushed me and turned to Lucy.
“Lucy, I haven’t known you very long, but you are beautiful inside and out. You have already given me the most precious gift I ever had. Her name is Suzie, and she wouldn’t be here without your love and understanding. Now you’re about to give me another precious gift.”
He rubbed her stomach and then reached into his pocket and brought out another little packet and unwrapped it, producing a ring identical to the one he had just given to me.
“Lucy, will you wear this as a token of my love?”
My cool, calm and collected darling had tears rolling down her face.
“Hush! I haven’t finished. If I could I would ask you both to marry me, but I can’t. Just know that I will always love and cherish you both equally.”
He took our hands again.
“Lucy, will you marry me, knowing that you only have half my heart?”
“Oh, Geoff. You’re so sweet sometimes. I will if you know that you only have half of my heart.” She looked down at her stomach and smiled. “I think my heart will have to get bigger to hold another half too.”
We both slipped our rings on. By now I was crying too. I blinked at Lucy through my tears, and we wrapped Geoff in our arms and smothered him and each other with kisses. He was funny. He looked ever so relieved.
He said to me, “You don’t mind, do you?”
“Of course not, silly man. I love you both.” I ran my fingers through his dark curly hair and kissed my best friend again.
The wedding……well. That’s another story.
The end(for now) Love, Suzie.