Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Calypso
Title: The Transformation of Evelyn Thomas
Part: Chapter 3
Summary: The erotic journey of a young man through transgender
transformation to a new female self.
Keywords: MF, MMF, TG, cons, reluc, oral, anal, rom, 1st

   Send me your comments at calypso93<at>gmail<dot>com

   CHAPTER 3

   The Fifth Day

   I awoke the next morning with a delicious feeling of dreamy contentment.
My dreams had been erotic but oddly formless...  as if my dreams, though
indistinct, had been of some deliciously sensual abandon.  My cock was hard
and straining against the satin panties.  My "breasts" felt heavy on my
chest; one of the bras straps had slid down my shoulder.  Hmmmm....  I
imagined a hand pushing the strap down off my shoulder, lips brushing mine
and then my neck, my chest, my belly...  I reached down and eased the
panties low around my hips, freeing my cock.  I grasped it lightly and
began to stroke it.  I imagined the hands turning me over, gently.  I
rolled over, face down.  I imagined the hands running down my back to my
ass.  I began to move, rubbing my cock on the smooth cotton sheets.  Slowly
at first, then faster as I imagined the hands gripping my hips, strong
thighs straddling my things, squeezing them together, and a hard shaft
spreading my ass cheeks and slowly, ever so slowly, penetrating me.  I was
breathing fast, raggedly.  I was just on the edge...  and then I swept over
it in a wave of pleasure and abandon and shuddering spasms as I came,
jetting long ropes of semen up the sheets and onto my belly.  I reached
hurriedly under myself and caught some of it in my hand.

   As my breathing returned to normal I rolled over, off the wet spot, and
lay still for a time, catching my breath and feeling my heartbeat slow.  I
brought the handful of warm semen up and sat up a bit to look at it.  It
was unevenly colored, varying from milky white to almost clear and was the
consistency of thick syrup.  It had a faint acrid odor.  I brought it
closer, thinking of the shower the other day, and of Karen's joking comment
as we went into the bar last night.  What had she said...  oh yes, she had
"advised" me to swallow the semen of a man she was suggesting I'd be
blowing...  in order to avoid getting on my hair or dress.  Ha ha.  At the
time she had probably meant it, in her teasing way, to break my obvious
nervousness at my first public appearance as a woman.  But now it seemed
erotic and even exciting.  Feeling a delicious sense of forbidden pleasure,
I brought the handful to my mouth and dabbed my tongue in it.

   It tasted the way I remembered...  it didn't taste bad.  It tasted like
being bad.  And that was good.  I had never been a bad or particularly
naughty person, but I was beginning to see the possibilities and the
pleasures that could come with the opportunities.  I imagined awakening to
find a cock pressed to my lips, and then opening those lips to permit the
cock entry to my mouth.  I thought of how wonderfully submissive it would
be to lie there, pleasuring a cock with my mouth and tongue, slowly and
lazily on a long sunny morning.  I thought of the sublime undercurrent of
control that paradoxically defines a blowjob as the most submissive and the
most powerful thing that can be done to a man.  Slowly and lasciviously I
licked my hand clean, imagining I was doing it to a cock and to another
hand, the same strong hand that had awakened my by pushing my bra strap off
my shoulder, rolling me over, and pulling my panties down.  The feeling of
abandon and submission and control truly was delicious.

   I lay in bed for a time afterwards, my eyes closed, my thoughts
wandering in that odd, slow, formless way they do early in the morning.  I
savored the fading glow of orgasm and the odd salty taste of semen, the
feel of my satin panties bunched around my hips, the bra straps down around
my shoulders, and the weight of the "breasts" on my chest.  It felt good.
My reverie was ended by the sound of the door to Karen's room closing... 
which was quickly followed by Karen's head poking through the connecting
door.  "Oh, good, you're up!" she said.

   "I was just going to take a shower," I said, pretending to stretch and
yawn.  "I'll be with you in a little bit."

   "Take your time, hon...  you've earned it!  No big appointments to meet
today.  I thought we could practice a few girlish skills that you might
find useful."

   "OK."

   "I'm ordering some coffee and fruit!"

   "OK, thanks!"

   Karen withdrew and I could hear her starting a shower.  I threw off the
sheets and stood up.  The semen had dried to a crusty glaze on my stomach.
I tousled the sheets to hide the wet spot and undressed, dropping my
panties with my discarded clothes from last night, and then adding the bra
to the pile.  I peeled the "breasts" off my chest, where they had stuck
with perspiration, and took them in the bathroom where I rinsed them off.

   My shower was long and hot and relaxing.  I luxuriated in the hot water,
followed by a good scrub all over with a pleasant smelling compound made of
ground apricot pits, and that followed by a wash with a wonderfully smooth
liquid that smelled like oranges.  Finally I washed my hair for the first
time, using a very gentle shampoo and a conditioner that smelled like
strawberries and left my hair feeling silkily smooth and free of tangles.

   I stepped out and took an enormous bath towel from a heated rack. 
Another touch of luxury, it was warm and soft and deep and I pressed it to
my face and smelled lavender as I blotted my hair carefully and then
toweled my smooth body dry.  I took the time to slick my hair back and
inspect myself in the fog-free mirror.  Still slim and milky and smooth all
over.  My slicked-back hair and flat chest gave me the look of a naughty
naked schoolgirl.  I spent the next half hour carefully and slowly drying
my hair while brushing it out.  The conditioner had left it glossy and
thick, with a small amount of hairspray and a few minutes with the curling
iron I managed to replicate Karen's work yesterday...  I'm a fast learner,
I thought with satisfaction.  Donning the white hotel robe and slippers I
walked into the room, opened the closet, and thought about what to wear.

   I had apparently ordered almost everything I had tried on the other day,
and the staff had efficiently brushed everything out and hung it all neatly
in my walk-in closet.  I had a lot to choose from.  I started by thinking
of what Karen had suggested we would be doing for the day.  But then I got
distracted...  I started thinking about how the snug grey 2-piece flannel
suit with its pencil skirt would show off my legs, especially if I wore
them with the red pumps for a provocative flair.  Then I considered the
linen green sheath dress, with it bare arms, short skirt, and dark
simplicity and how it would show my white arms and red hair to advantage.
Then I thought of a playful look with sandals, khaki capri pants, and a
plain white scoop-necked stretch t-shirt to show off my "breasts." Or the
slightly naughty leopard-print stretch mini-dress whose spandex-nylon
mixture would hug my every curve nicely, possibly set off by black
stiletto-heel boots.  At this rate I would never get dressed.  I decided I
was hungry first, so I walked through the connecting door and joined Karen
on her terrace where she was having croissants and coffee.

   Karen complimented me on my hair as I sat down.  "Not bad, sis!" She
said, appraising me thoughtfully.  "You learn fast.  Did you try any
makeup?" I laughed, shaking my head.

   "No way.  I need expert assistance there before I'm ready to fly solo.
After breakfast?"

   "Sure."

   We laughed and chatted and snacked and sipped for an hour, enjoying the
warm early sunshine and the sea breeze.  We were two girls, carefree and
happy.

   After an hour or so, I asked Karen's input on what to wear for the day,
and also how that would fit with what she had in mind for the day's
activities.  We went back in, as Karen explained.  Today would be "general
instruction," as she called it.  This basically meant practice on
techniques such as sitting, standing, walking (in various types of shoes),
how to respond to men, basic mannerisms and reactions, and that sort of
thing.  She was going to suggest different scenarios to me, based on her
experience, and then walk me through appropriate responses.  It sounded
like fun, sort of like playing "cops and robbers," although this might more
accurately termed "girls and chasers."

   We decided to go with a casual general-purpose outfit.  I settled
finally on a black-and-white checked wool skirt, with a slightly daring
short hem that came to about an inch above my knees.  It was flattering and
snug, with a short slit in the back.  This was complimented by a black
buttoned shirt-blouse made of an amazingly soft cotton blend that had just
a bit of stretch which allowed me to wear a slightly small size and enjoy
the tightness over my "breasts." Then I laid out my lingerie: my fake
"breasts" (the more expensive semi-permanent ones were due to arrive
tomorrow by express delivery) came first.  Then what?  I opened my lingerie
drawers and thought about it while Karen went to get dressed.  My shopping
the other day had left me with as many choices as had my selection of
outfits, if not more: I had found the lingerie shopping incredibly exciting
and erotic and had probably gone a bit overboard.  They had carried
selections of a variety of major brands, but Karen had also suggested some
more shopping, maybe tomorrow, in person at stores like Victoria's' Secret,
Frederick's of Hollywood (there was a local retailer), and an online store
called Secrets in Lace.  I had checked their internet sites and each was
wonderful in its own way.  But I had to choose now!  Back to earth, Eve, I
thought sternly!

   I decided on slightly naughty, for the thrill of it.  I started by
selecting real silk stockings, nude colored, which I carefully laid out. 
Maybe the stretch lace top thigh-highs for tomorrow?  But today's choice
meant garters next.  Hmmm...  garter belt?  Or maybe...  I pulled out a
simply sinful full corset in bright red satin, with attached garters.  It
was strapless, had all-around semi-rigid boning, and was flexible and
slightly stretchy, lacing up the back and with hook-and-eye closures down
the front.  This will take some help to adjust the lacing, I thought
excitedly as I laid it out, anticipating the electric thrill of wearing it.
For panties I chose a black satin high-cut, plain and cut low in front.  I
was curious to see if it would full restrain my cock, which was semi-hard
now from the excitement of laying out all these beautiful things.

   I poked my head in to see if Karen was dressed yet; she was, in a
relaxed-looking khaki mini-skirt and blue polo shirt with laced up sandals.


   "You look like a soccer mom," I joked.  She grinned.

   "What about you?  Did you choose your undies?"

   "Yep.  But I need some help with this one.  I held up the corset.  She
raised her eyebrows.

   "Going a little naughty, hmmm?  Isn't that a waste with no one to see
it?" She asked as she walked into my room.  I blushed deeply, feeling the
heat rise in my cheeks.

   "Well, ummm, I just thought, well, that is..."

   "Oh, it's OK, silly!" Karen exclaimed.  "Half the fun of being a girl is
the secret of wearing sexy underwear.  It's like teasing yourself, all day.
Now slip that on...  right, now hook up the eyelets, leave the laces
loose...  here." She said handing me the fake "breasts." "This corset will
look better with those nice ones we have on order."

   "Yes," I said, "but you did say that today is for practice!"

   "It sure is, and it looks like you're way ahead of me!  Now, got those
hooks done up?  Breasts in?  OK, now I'll lace you up lightly at first, and
you position your breasts in the cups.  Got them?  OK, now I'm going to
tighten it." She began pulling in the laces while I sucked my tummy in.  It
was snug, then tight, and then it slowly squeezed me in, from my belly to
the bottom of my ribcage.  I exhaled as it constricted.

   "Whoa, hold it for a second," I said breathlessly.  The boning held me
straight upright, and I felt short of breath.  "How does that look?" I
asked.

   "We're headed for hourglass territory," Karen said...  want to look?"
Holding the untied laces she walked me to the mirror.  It did give me the
classic hourglass figure...  I had curves!  I decided I liked corsets.

   "I think that's as tight as I can stand for now," I said.  Lace it up
and see if you can find the tape measure.  I want to know what my new
measurements are, just for curiosity." She laced me up lightly, got the
tape, and measured me at bust, waist, and hips.

   "Well," she said, "without allowing for the corset itself, you now come
in at a 38-26-38.  Definitely in voluptuous territory...  it looks like the
corset does a better job of cinching your waist and it pushes you up a bit
on the chest.  Too bad you don't have cleavage!" Yes, I thought sadly, it
is too bad I don't have cleavage.  Sigh.

   I finished dressing, moving slowly and carefully in the strait-jacketing
effect of the corset.  First came the stockings, which I carefully rolled
on, hooking them to the garter straps.  I paused for a moment to study the
seams in the mirror, peering over my shoulder and making minor adjustments
until they were perfectly straight.  Next the panties, which I naughtily
pulled on over the garter straps.  That felt a little odd, but I fantasized
about being able to pull them down while leaving the sexy corset on and I
wanted to see what it felt like.  It didn't feel bad, just a little odd.  I
tucked my semi-rigid cock and my balls back out of the way between my legs,
but the head of the cock hung out past the strap.  I pulled the panties up
tight to hold my cock head in place.  Good enough, I thought, relishing the
feeling of the satin as it gathered between my ass cheeks.  It was the
first "wedgy" I had enjoyed.

   Then came the shirt, which buttoned snugly over my bust.  The black
stretch cotton hugged me very nicely, the buttons displaying just a hint of
gap which accentuated my bust.  Then there was the skirt, which fit my hips
like a second skin and nipped in around my cinched waist.  I turned for a
side view and admired the profiled curve of my ass in the mirror and the
way the skirt brought attention to the hint of thigh I showed below its
hem. When walking it would hobble me slightly, enforcing small steps and
stretching tight over my ass and thighs.  Finally there came the shoes.  I
had purposely chosen these cloth-covered 2" heeled pumps in a black and
white check, apart from their matching pattern, because the moderate heel
would allow me some practice in walking with heels.  I had bought some
shoes that had heels as high as 4", but I planned to work my way up to
that. The 1" heeled sandals hadn't given me any trouble last night, I
thought hopefully.  I was still 5' 10" with the heels.

   I studied the effect in the mirror.  I looked modishly casual, like a
business executive on casual day, or maybe like a well-dressed suburban
wife ready for a morning at her favorite café and a little shopping. 
Perfect.  I clipped on a simple silver braided necklace and some matching
clip on earrings.  I wonder if I should pierce my ears, I thought.

   Karen liked the effect too.  She spent a few minutes having me turn this
way and that, and then she decided it was time for more makeup training. 
We spent the next hour in the bathroom, sitting on the padded chairs in
front of the vanity with a towel around my neck to protect my clothing. 
First she had me apply my own work, under her direction.  After a few
miscues and heavy-handed mistakes she told me to stop and then,
step-by-step, walked me through the process with precise and careful
instructions.  I was starting to get what she was driving at.  Less is
more. Hint, don't advertise.  Light strokes.  Color coordination was going
to be a bit more of a challenge; but by lunch she had got me to the point
where I could reliably apply my own basic casual colors without assistance.
Another victory!  I felt a sense of accomplishment and basked in Karen's
praise.  As she pointed out, it took most women years to get it right.  I
was flattered and returned the praise by commenting on her excellent
instruction.  I settled on casual daytime look of subdued foundation with a
hint of blush, only the slightest of eye shadow and eyelashes, and a
subdued color but very glossy faintly pinkish-red lipstick that would make
my lips gleam as if I had just licked them.

   Since it was lunch time and the rooms had yet to be cleaned we decided
to go out for lunch, making it part one of my training in how to walk and
act while allowing the maids to come in and straighten up.  We left a note
to have our discarded clothing (still on the floor, I'm such a slob even as
a girl) sent for laundering, then I put a couple of pieces of ID, credit
cards, and some cash (it helped that my name didn't require any changes,
although my photos might look a bit odd in comparison to the new me) as
well as a handkerchief, sunglasses, and a lipstick in a small black
handbag, dotted Chanel No5 on wrists and neck, and off we went.  I felt
nervous, but not as bad as last night.

   Karen drilled me on walking before we left the room.  Take short steps.
Place my feet inward of their normal path, as if walking a balance beam, to
accentuate the sway of my hips, but don't overdo it.  Walk flat-footed,
pointing my toes downward and inward.  Walk slowly to avoid breaking a
sweat (and being out of breath in this corset, I thought!) This all harder
than it sounds.  Girls have had all their lives to be feminine, so by the
time they're adults it comes naturally.

   It also seems that women's bodies are put together differently and move
differently.  It's hard to move naturally and un-self consciously.  To
simulate women's forearms, which are apparently connected at their elbows
at a more obtuse angle, (they swing farther out and don't hit their wider
hips when walking) Karen had me put my arms down at my sides and rotate my
hands away from my body so my forearms faced forward, and curl my fingers.
When carry a purse she told me to try holding it or onto the strap with one
hand while letting the other arm swing free, allowing my arms to swing
freer from my shoulders.  Even standing still took some practice: women
tend to hold their arms above their waistline.  When resting my hands on my
hips, I was to turn my hands so my fingers were facing backwards and thumbs
forward.  Posture was important as well.  Men usually have larger and more
muscular shoulders than women (duh!) and they generally hunch their
shoulders forward, probably to emphasize their musculature and as a sign of
aggressiveness.  (This generally hadn't been a problem for me, I was
forever being criticized for passivity as a man.) Women, on the other hand,
tend to draw their shoulders back, it seems.  Karen made me stand in front
of the mirror and hunch my shoulders forward, then back.  She was right. 
They looked noticeably smaller when pulled back.  It also turned out that
this also helped my arms swing in a more feminine manner.  (The corset
helped a lot with this, virtually forcing a perfectly erect posture.) Apart
from feminine movement, my attitude was crucial.  Karen warned me not to
continually look down at the ground or obviously avoid looking at people. I
didn't want to make someone pause and take second looks at me...  except,
of course, as a compliment!  Also, men are socialized to be aggressive and
it shows in their walk: they tend to lean forward when they walk, as if
they are pushing their way through crowds.  Girls, on the other hand, are
socialized for passivity and tend to yield and hesitate more when walking.
Karen told me to not stride out in an aggressive gait, but to hesitate more
and yield to people coming towards me.  Last but not least there was a
class on smiling...  girls tend to be friendlier (according to Karen,
anyway), so she told me to glance at people's faces and smile.  Women and
men smile differently, too, it seems.  Men tend to have the classic wide,
lots of teeth, nice-to-meet-you smile.  Women tend to smile in a more
restrained manner, with their lips closed or just part of their teeth
showing, especially when meeting strangers.  Also, the sides of a woman's
mouth are more upturned in a smile.

   This was a lot to remember.  Karen saw my hesitation and laughed.

   "Don't worry, you'll do fine!" I didn't feel that way.  My earlier
confidence had evaporated with all the "do-this, don't-do-this"
instruction. I felt like I needed a reference card to remember it all.  I
wanted to stay in.  But Karen was adamant.  After a few minutes of walking
back and forth, around the furniture, and through each suite to get used to
the shoes, off we went.

   We walked down the hall to the elevators.  I had done this before:
yesterday in my dress, and the past few days in my robe.  Why was I so
nervous now?  We passed a couple coming out of their rooms, Karen smiled
and said "hello," The lady smiled back and the man said, "Hi," back...  and
caught my eye for a brief moment.  I gave him a smile that I hoped was
suitably feminine but restrained.  It seemed to work OK, he smiled back and
we went on.  We arrived at the elevators, pushed the button, and waited. 
The couple caught up with us and we chatted there for a bit and on the way
down.  They were on an anniversary trip to San Diego, it was their first
time here, and they were having fun.  Karen answered made up most of the
chit chat, I contented myself with a few "yes," "no," and similar brief
answers.

   We parted politely in the lobby, and Karen and I headed for the front
doors.  It was my first time outside the hotel since my arrival three days
and apparently a whole lifetime ago.  Karen had my car brought around,
since she hadn't bought a car yet since her return from Korea.  The parking
valet checked out my legs from the corner of his eye...  that was
interesting; he was cute in a blond California-beach sort of way so I
turned and put one leg out a bit from the other, tightening my skirt and
giving him a look at my ass and silk-covered thighs with their vertical
seams pulling the eye higher and higher...  Karen saw what I was doing and
smiled, I held her eye and winked quickly.  We grinned at each other.

   The car arrived quickly; I clicked around on my heels, tipped the valet
and he held the drivers door for me.  Just in time I remembered I was
wearing a skirt, and a snug one at that: I turned my back to the car and
sat on the side of the seat with my knees together, then rotated on my ass
to bring my legs in.  Karen nodded approvingly.  The car had been detailed;
it gleamed like it was new.

   "Where do you want to go?" I asked Karen.  I had never been here before,
Karen had at least arrived before me and had at least been out of the
hotel.

   "How about a trip to the park?" Karen asked.  It sounded good to me.  It
was another perfect day (are there any other kind in San Diego?) so we put
the top down and drove away in the California sun.

   In downtown San Diego there is a large and absolutely lovely complex of
park, exhibition halls, and museums called Balboa Park.  It has something
for just about anyone.  Lying between the enormous and lush San Diego Zoo
and the enormous US Navy Hospital, large pools are surrounded by impossibly
green lawns and ringed by incredibly colorful flowering bushes and palm
trees set off wonderful old-Spanish colonial architecture from the turn of
the twentieth century.  You can walk for miles through a nature preserve,
across bridges to sloping shaded lawns for a picnic, or down shaded walks
under old-Spanish porticos to the an art gallery, natural history museum,
and even an aerospace museum.  There is an outdoor theater, a Japanese
garden, an organ pavilion, and a greenhouse full of rare plants.  There are
even little micro-museums, like the model train gallery and a photographic
arts museum.  It's always populated by hundreds of people, young and old:
couples strolling hand-in-hand, older folks strolling in the sun, and
tourist and local families letting their kids run free.  I adored it.

   We parked in a large central lot, put the top out, and got out to catch
the tram.  The tram was an open-air bus made to look like a streetcar
trolley; it had a small flight of bus-style stairs.  My skirt hiked up a
bit as I climbed on, gathering tightly across my ass and thighs as I raised
my knees.  As I turned at the top I just caught an older man just behind me
being poked hard in the arm by a woman, probably his wife...  had he been
watching me too obviously?  I sat next to Karen; the older couple got on
and the woman conspicuously directed the man to a seat as far away from us
as she could get.  I grinned to myself.  You old dog!  He was kind of cute,
in an older and distinguished way.  When did I start thinking of men as
cute, I wondered, absently.

   We rode the tram down to the end by the old-Spanish plaza, and then got
off to stroll a bit.  I wasn't really all that hungry yet; probably a
combination of the constriction of the corset and the pervading thrill I
was feeling from the constriction, the weight of my "breasts," the tug of
the garters, the swish of my silk-clad legs as I tip-toed my way along, and
the tight hem of my skirt hugging my thighs.  We walked for a bit, bought
iced lattes from a vendor, and sat and watched the passers buy, enjoying
the sun and the freedom.

   To be honest, I was regretting a bit my decision to wear a black blouse.
That plus the corset was starting to combine with the afternoon sun, which
was getting a bit warm.  I wasn't sweating yet, but I was just on the
verge. The iced lattes helped and, while I wasn't particularly hungry, we
walked down to an open café and had iced tea and salads.  My ankles and
calves were feeling a bit sore from the unaccustomed walking in heels, it
felt good to get off my feet for a little while.

   Refreshed from our light lunch we walked up to the art gallery and went
in.  It was cool inside and the terracotta tiles echoed with the click of
our heels as we strolled about, admiring the pieces.  I was turning a
corner, with my head turned the other way listening to Karen chatting about
something or other, when I ran smack into something firm and solid.  I
almost lost my balance; teetering on my heels I grabbed out, turning my
head to see, and realized I was grabbing onto a tall blond man in a navy
uniform.  He grabbed my wrists before I could grab his shirt, and held me
as I took a step back and stabilized.  As I did he let go of one wrist and
put his hand between my shoulder blades, transferring his other hand from
holding my wrist to holding my hand, gently.  I was shaking from the
surprise.

   "Are you OK, miss?" he said gently.  "I'm terribly sorry.  My fault
entirely." He still hadn't let go of me, I noted.  I also noted that I
didn't mind.  He was tall, just slightly taller than my 5'10" (with heels);
I figured him at about 6'.  He had sandy blond hair cut very close at the
sides and tapered to a military cut on top, and with a slightly disorderly
cowlick threatening to come loose in front.  He had grey eyes that seemed
very soft and warm.  He was big and muscular and the way he held me in his
hard tanned arms I imagined he could have picked me up without even making
an effort.  He was wearing the Navy summer "un-dress" white uniform of a
short sleeve shirt, open at the neck, white trousers, and (I assumed, I
hadn't looked down since I saw his eyes) white shoes and socks.  His
shoulder boards said he was a Lieutenant Commander, equivalent to a Major
in the Army.  He had gold wings on his chest, so he was also an aviator. 
To me he was heavenly.  With his hand gently pressing between my shoulder
blades and the other holding my hand it was as if we had paused in a very
slow and very close dance.  My hand, cradled gently in his, was only an
inch or so from lying flat on his broad chest.  I was speechless.  He
smelled good, too.

   Karen broke the silence.  "Eve, are you OK?" There was a hint of humor
in her voice.

   The spell broke.  "Umm, yeah, uh, I'm OK...  I'm so sorry; I didn't mean
to run into you like that."

   "Well, how did you mean to run into me," he asked, with a hint of a
smile.

   "I, umm...  Oh!  You know what I mean!" He was laughing at me.  I
couldn't help but giggle in return.

   As my giggles subsided, I asked in what I hoped was a sultry voice, "Are
you ever going to release me, Commander, or am I your prisoner?"

   Now it was his turn to be flustered.  He dropped my hand and whipped his
other hand away from my back as if I was red hot.  Then, not knowing what
to do with his hands, he fidgeted.  "Oh, geez, I'm sorry, I didn't mean
to..." Then he noticed the half smile creeping up my face to my eyes.  "Oh,
hey, good one!  You really got me, didn't you?"

   "Hmmm...  maybe a little." I turned as if starting away, but looking at
him out of the corner of my eye.  I had dipped my head down, quickly, and
the "peek-a-boo" bob in my hair was doing its thing.  I peered at him from
under a red-gold cascade of silky tresses.  I was feeling calm, sexy, and
in control.  I was surprising myself.  I wanted to control this incredibly
masculine, sexy man.  And I wanted to...  well, I wasn't allowing myself to
think along those lines, not yet, anyway.  I felt like I could make him
melt in my hands...  and that I had started off well in that endeavor.  Now
to apply a little more pressure.  He looked a bit flustered, as if he was
trying to think of what to say.

   I started walking as I talked to him, carelessly and without looking at
him.  I knew he'd half to take a couple of quick steps to catch up and hear
what I was saying; it also meant he had to follow me like a lost puppy. 
"So, what brings a Naval aviator into the art gallery, Commander? 
Shouldn't you be in the air and space museum?" I paused, pretending to look
at a 17th century religious icon.  I was actually watching him as he
stepped quickly up to my side; his eyes focused on me and not the art.

   "Well, you know, Dave and I figured that we'd take in a little culture
since we have this period of down time.  Our squadron just got back from a
Westpac.  That's a..."

   "I'm familiar with Westpacs, Commander." I was being deliberately cool.
I wanted him to work harder on me.  (Westpac means a cruise by a Navy
battle group, usually grouped around a carrier, to the Western Pacific. 
They usually lasted about 6 months.  I knew about the Navy from a tour with
the joint Army & Navy staff at the headquarters of the US Pacific Command
in Hawaii.) I noticed that "Dave" was another Naval aviator in undress
whites, and that he was following along, chatting with Karen, who was
apparently doing a good job of keeping him laughing.  I hadn't noticed
either of them for a few minutes now.  My attention was focused on this
one. Damn it!  What was his name!!!?  I hadn't been able to catch the name
on his uniform nametag.

   "Oh, really, you are!  Well, that's something..." he floundered a bit.
Apparently he wasn't used to smart women.  "Um, is your husband or, uhh,
boyfriend a sailor?"

   "Oh, I don't have a husband.  Or a boyfriend.  Right now, anyway.  And
I've never dated a sailor." I let that sink in.  OK, I'm advertising myself
as available.  Let's see if he takes the bait...  and if he picks up on the
mystery of a "girl" who knows military jargon and ranks without being a
stereotyped military dependent or groupie.  I didn't have to wait long.  He
was a quick study.

   "Well," he said brightly, "This must be my luck day!  And you're
intelligent as well as beautiful!" He grinned at me with his boyish grin,
which he probably expected to make me melt in the face of his masculine
charm.  It was having an effect, come to think about it.  He was terribly
attractive.

   "Oh, I have my moments," I said off-handedly.  "Don't you meet many
intelligent women, Commander?" I asked with a saucy tilt of an eyebrow
under my red cascade.

   "Oh, you know," he said as he struggled for a `correct' answer, "most
women want to talk about clothes and shopping...  not that that's wrong!"
he hasted to add.  He realized that he might have lost me.  It was funny.

   "Oh, I hardly ever talk about clothes and shopping...  to a man,
anyway," I said.  "They generally don't understand.  Do you have a name, by
the way?"

   "He stopped and took my hand, softly and almost formally and said,
"Lieutenant Commander Peter Fitzgerald, miss...?" His eyes were a
sparkling, and as he stared deep into mine I felt spreading warmth deep
inside my groin and lower belly...  God, I was getting hot for him!  For a
man!  What was happening to me?  This was going way beyond the fun teasing
of dressing up...  his hand was strong and hard and warm and I realized
that I was staring, speechless.  I jerked slightly and he smiled, just
slightly, to see my discomfiture as a burning in my cheeks told me I was
blushing.

   "I'm Eve Thomas, Commander, and I'm pleased to meet you."

   "Oh, the pleasure is all mine, Miss Thomas," he responded softly... 
"but please, call me Pete."

   "OK, Pete," I said, softly, looking at his gorgeous eyes and feeling the
warmth spread.  "I'm Eve."

   We walked and talked and walked some more, and my feet hurt so we
stopped and Pete playfully offered to massage my feet and I accepted, much
to his evident surprise.  His hands were as strong and hard as I had
thought at first, but incredibly dexterous and gentle as well...  as he
tenderly worked the flesh of my feet and toes through my silk stockings I
began to feel more than warmth...  I felt my small cock beginning to stir,
hardening as I grew aroused by his attentions.  Where was this going, I
wondered briefly before Pete began to roll my toes, gently, between his
fingers.  Wow that felt good...  I purred with pleasure, forgetting my
reservations.  Pete had talked about himself, about how he and Dave flew
the FA-18 Hornet, about the Navy, and, just a trifle suggestively, about
how hard it was to keep a relationship going but that he was still looking
for "the right girl." Have anyone in mind?  I thought to myself.

   Karen was having a good time chatting and laughing with the Dave, but
every now and then I caught her looking at me with something like
amusement. It was getting late, too, the dry semi-desert air cooling
quickly.  Karen broke my reverie.  "Hey, sis, remember our dinner
reservations?" Of course we didn't have any, but I know a signal when I
hear one.

   "Oh, yeah, right!" I said, with what I hoped sounded like sincerity. 
Pete moved fast before I could say more.

   "Is there any way I could talk you into canceling your plans and having
dinner with me?"

   Karen saved me again.  "Oh, this is girls night...  we've been planning
it for weeks!  Right, sis?" She was giving me an out.  That's when I
surprised her.  And myself.

   "I'm free tomorrow," I blurted.  Pete looked startled, as if he had been
expecting the big brush off.  He also looked pleased.  Karen looked
surprised for a moment, and then smiled.

   "Well, great!" Pete said, breaking a brief silence that had seemed to
stretch out for a time.  Was I afraid of rejection?  A man was asking me
out on a date!  What was I doing?!  "Umm, is six OK?" he asked tentatively.


   I smiled slowly and laid my hand gently on his arm.  He twitched as if
he was surprised, almost enough to jump.  Was I having that much an effect?
"Six would be lovely," I purred, softly, so that he had to lean in and
smell my perfume to hear me.  I stroked his arm, softly and almost
imperceptibly, as I withdrew my fingers.  He twitched again.  I had no idea
teasing was so much fun!

   We exchanged phone numbers; he gave me his cel number, scribbled on the
back of a calling card, and I gave him the hotel number, which he wrote in
a slightly clichéd `little black book.' Then we said some overly friendly
and slightly awkward goodbyes and parted ways.  I caught a glimpse of him
out of the corner of my eye as he watched my legs, and probably my ass too,
as I walked away.  I made sure to pigeon my steps to give him a nice ass
wiggle.  He almost walked into a sign and his buddy Dave had to punch him
in the shoulder to get him to pay attention to where he was walking.  I
almost laughed out loud, but stifled it into a giggle I shared with Karen.
"You know, I have to ask," she said, "do you know what you're doing?  I
mean, I know this is all my idea, but I had no idea you would get this far
into the part...  You do know he wants to fuck you, right?  I mean, this is
way beyond flirting!"

   I stopped giggling.  She was right.  This was serious.  I had some
decisions to make.  I had never been attracted to men...  and I was not and
am not gay.  I know that sounds weird, but it's how I felt that mattered. I
felt like a girl who has been let out of a convent for the first time and
feels she has to make up for lost time.  I felt excited and afraid and
anticipatory and apprehensive all at the same time, but in a combination
that was more thrilling than anything I had ever known.  "Karen," I said,
looking in her eyes, "we need to talk.  Someplace where we can get drinks.
Maybe lots.  I don't know what I'm doing...  except I do know that I want
to do this, and I need you to keep helping me until I figure out what it
is."

   Somehow she understood my incoherence.  We drove to the Old Town section
of San Diego, parked, and walked to a restaurant that specialized in
Mexican seafood, which I loved.  Over spicy fish and margaritas we talked
back and forth in privacy that was guaranteed by a balcony table with
potted palms to the sides and background mariachi music.

   She felt bad, as if she had got me into something and that I was trying
too hard to play a part she hadn't intended.  I soothed her concerns,
explaining that I felt more alive and free than I ever had.  I explained
how I had acted on impulse by accepting Pete's advance, but that I had
truly wanted to and that I was excited and thrilled by his attraction to
me...  and that I wanted to continue with it to see where it would lead.  I
explained that I didn't feel attracted to him as a man...  that I didn't
feel gay, but instead like a perfectly natural sexual attraction by a woman
to a man.  At that she took my hand and looked in my eyes.  "Eve," she
asked, "don't take this the wrong way...  have you ever wondered if you
might be, umm...  transsexual?"

   To be honest, I had.  During some of my lonelier and hornier periods I
had looked at internet porn, and had discovered, and visited more and more
frequently, transsexual porn.  At first I had been excited by the exotic
nature of the transgendered women, but as time had gone by I had begun to
fantasize about what it would like to be one.  I admitted as much to Karen.
She sighed with relief.

   "Sis," she said determinedly, "I feel better knowing that.  I really do.
Is this what you really want to do?"

   "Yes," I said simply.  I had taken the plunge.  "I don't know how, but
`Eve' is the real me.  I want to be `Eve.' I want to stay her.  Will you
help me?"

   "Of course," she said simply, "but it's not going to be easy." She
frowned for a moment, lost in thought.  "This is going to take some
thought. But first, we have a date to prepare for." She brightened,
suddenly.  "This is going to be fun!  It'll be like prom night, but with no
curfew!  But do you want to have sex with him?" she asked suddenly and
earnestly, shifting moods in mid stride.

   I thought about my morning fantasies of semen and cock and submission.
"Yes," I said simply.  I was really taking the plunge for good.

   "Well," she said, "we have some work to do to get ready!  I'll have to
teach you how to have sex with a man...  how far you can go, how to get him
to do what you want, and how to brush him off if you change your mind. 
This will be fun!  It's like helping my kid sister lose her virginity.  In
a sense I guess you are, come to think of it.  But there are some issues. I
mean, your big problem is going to be your, ummm, physical reality.  I
can't help you much in that area.  We don't know if he's the kind of guy
who would go for it anyway, or if he would be turned off...  or worse yet,
get violent or something.  I can at least teach you how to give him a
handjob or blowjob good enough to send him away happy...  I'll help you
with the rest too, but you'll have to feel it out on your own."

   "Well," I said coyly, sipping my third margarita and feeling the heady
rush of alcohol, anticipated sex, and the sense of wickedness of it all, "I
was actually planning on feeling him quite a bit.  Out of his pants, if
possible." I timed it to catch Karen sipping her own drink.  She almost
snorted margarita out her nose, and then segued into a fit of giggles that
we shared for some time.

   The first part of Karen's plan, as it turned out after we left, was at a
sex toys shop.  How did she know where everything was located?  I was
feeling a little reluctant and worried and was starting to wonder if this
was really what I wanted to do.  I was getting beyond second thoughts... 
but Karen grabbed my hand and dragged me in.

   It wasn't sleazy, like I thought it would be.  It was well lit and clean
and looked a bit like a video rental place, except for the truly amazing
things on the shelves...  as I goggled at 12-inch lifelike plastic cocks
with heads on both ends and plastic models of anal and vaginal orifices,
Karen made some selections.  I was surprised to see I wasn't the only
`girl' in the place.  While there was certainly more men than women (the
men generally looked like slightly furtive middle class guys - probably on
business trips away from the wifey, like those two guys last night, I
thought) there were several couples shopping together.  I never would have
guessed!

   Karen paid and we left.  In the car she showed me what she had bought.
First was a butt plug...  a short, slightly cock-shaped rod with a firm
shaft inside and covered with a "skin" that had an amazingly authentic
flesh-like feel.  It was about 4" long and tapered to about an inch wide at
its base, with a wide flange at the bottom.  Karen informed me this was for
my ass (duh!) and to get me ready in case I wanted to try anal sex.  She
told me I could leave it in as long as I wanted to!

   Next was a surprisingly lifelike dildo...  complete with balls, it
looked and, amazingly, felt exactly like the real thing!  It was about 7"
long, and 1 1/2" wide (Karen informed me that, porn stories
notwithstanding, the average cock was only about five to five and a half
inches long) so it would probably be more than enough for a "beginner."
This, Karen said, was for me to practice my cocksucking and, if I made
enough progress, to try sodomizing myself to get used to the length of cock
up my ass.  It was even covered in a vinyl coating that was not only
velvety smooth but even had raised veins & lifelike balls!  This was
looking more and more like fun!

   Finally there was a tube of water-based lubricant that was also a
warming lotion...  The instructions advised me to drizzle a little
(strawberry flavored) gel on breasts, back...  or ass or pussy, and then to
gently rub it in and blow on it.  Apparently it would make the exposed skin
feel warm, sensual and tingly...  all at once!  I was already looking
forward to it!

   I could hardly wait.  Karen drove back while I daydreamed in a sensual
reverie.  A date...  what would it be like?  Would he still be attracted to
me?  What would I wear to make myself attractive?  Would he try to kiss me?
Should I kiss him back?  What would it be like?  Did I really want to have
sex with him or was this just a kinky fantasy?  Could I go through with
having sex with him if he even wanted to?  What would it be like?  The
questions and emotions swirled in my mind as we arrived at the hotel.

   The front desk had good news in the form of a package.  The prosthetic
`breasts' had arrived.  We went up to the room.  I wanted to try the
`breasts' on, but Karen had other ideas.  "First," she said, "You need to
learn about cocksucking and buttfucking so you can practice on your own. 
We'll start with cocksucking." Performing a good blowjob took some
practice, it seemed.

   I had never really thought about it, to be honest, but now that Karen
was teaching me it made all kinds of sense.  My, umm, "masculine insight"
gave me a bit of an advantage as Karen lectured me, using the dildo as a
teaching aid.  I even managed to teach her a few things as we went on.  For
one thing, I already knew about male sensitivity...  I knew only too well
that the male genitals are highly sensitive to pain.  I didn't need any
encouragement to be very gentle!

   But Karen went on to give me some additional pointers that I hadn't
thought of, like foreplay.  "Try starting by gently kissing his face and
mouth before gradually proceeding to his genitals," she advised.  For extra
effect I was to use my lips and tongue to lick, suck, and nibble all along
the shaft.  She said the best technique was to start with the cock head and
then move to the sensitive place where the head joins the shaft on the
underside, following the seam that runs down from the head to the base.  As
I sucked my way along the shaft all I would have to do is pay attention to
learn those areas that gave him the greatest pleasure.  By continued
licking and gentle sucking and nibbling along this area with my tongue I
would very likely bring make him cum quickly...  Karen suggested that if I
wanted to please him in a hurry that I get him off like this in order to
become familiar at first hand with what his orgasm would be like for any
later occasions.

   Then we talked about positions.  She suggested, for my own convenience,
kneeling between his legs and approaching his cock from the bottom rather
than from the side or the top.  "Pay attention to the inside of his
thighs," she advised.  When I got to his cock and I had warmed him up a bit
by nibbling and licking the head and shaft she told me that the simplest
and nicest would be the old favorite: to simply slide my mouth up and down
on his cock.  Take the head of the cock in my mouth and suck it, she said,
tickling it at the same time with my tongue.  Slide my moistened tongue
lovingly over the head until my lips closed around the shaft at the point
just behind the head.

   "Don't just open my mouth and close it around his cock...  slide it in!"
she said with mock severity, "he'll enjoy it much more that way!" Then I
was to move my lips up and down the shaft, sucking and pressing with my
lips and tongue.  I could go slow or fast taking as much cock into my mouth
as I like.  Slide down as far as I can, drawing his cock out slowly while
sucking on it.  Gently rasp my teeth across the skin.  When he came it
would be up to me.

   "Swallow or not, it's up to you," she said.  "I swallow, personally,
mainly because I don't like the mess if I don't.  It doesn't taste bad... a
little salty maybe." (I didn't let on that I already knew this.) "It
depends what he's been eating.  DO NOT let him eat asparagus if you are
planning on sucking his dick later!  Some guys want to pull out and shoot
their come in your face or hair or on your tits.  That's up to you, too. 
It's kind of fun, in a submissive and kinky way, but it makes a hell of a
mess and it really messes up your hair and makeup.  Don't let him do it if
you still have to go out in public!"

   Then we chatted about other methods.  One was to lick upwards from the
balls to the top of the cock, like a lollipop.  Another was to heighten his
orgasm: I should place my thumb at the very base of his cock, blocking the
tube through which the come spurts so it can't escape.
"At the same time," she said, "suck hard on the head of the cock so that
when he comes it will last longer and be very intense." That sounded
delicious!  Karen said that this could delay his cum for several long
moments...  and that when I finally allowed the come to spurt it would last
much longer and be more intense as a result.  She said I might be surprised
by the intensity of his cum...  and I was looking forward to finding out

how intense I could make it!

   Then she told me about the warning signs that tell a girl when he is
getting ready to cum.  I was to watch for signs so that I would be ready in
the future, like getting ready to swallow.  The head of his cock might
swell.  He might thrust his hips forward.  And for most men, immediately
prior to coming, there would appear at the tiny, lovely lips at the tip of
the cock a clear drop or two of fluid.  When I saw this, tasted it, or felt
the opening I would know that he was coming...  "then get ready!" Karen
said.  "When he comes he may want to push your head down the shaft of his
cock...  he'll wants to fuck your head!"

   Then she talked about depth of penetration.  I had now idea this was
going to be so complicated!  One of the first things I would have to deal
with would be my gag reflex.  "Most men," she said, "seem to want to force
their cocks down your throat as far as they can get it.  Particularly when
they come!" Since, as she pointed out again, the average length of my oral
cavity is three to three and a half inches while the average cock length is
five to five and a half inches this is a problem.  She suggested two
techniques.  One was position: I was to get in a position where I could
turn my head so that my mouth and throat would lie almost in a straight
line, probably by lying on a bed so that my head would be near the edge
with my body sprawled with my head is tipped sharply back.  This would
allow him to enter my mouth in such a way that and so deeply that his pubic
hair would press against my lips.  Wow!

   The other method involved mastering my gag reflex.  This would take more
skill and concentration.  I could overcome the gag tendency, she said, by
completely relaxing my throat at moment he thrust into my mouth.  "But
you'll have to stay this relaxed during the entire his cock is down your
throat or you'll gag!" I must have looked worried.

   "Practice with the dildo," she said, handing it to me.  "But remember,"
she warned, "You'll only be able to relax and take his cock like this if
you completely trust him.  He'll be in full control.  He'll do all the
motion.  This is one of those times you'll have to completely relinquish
control to him.  As soon as he can, he'll stick his cock as deep down your
throat as you'll let him.  Then he'll start fucking your head.  If he can
get deep enough into your throat it'll be like he's shooting directly into
your stomach!" Wow, I thought.  What an idea!

   "After he comes you might need to try something else to keep him hard
and interested," she said, "in case you aren't just trying to get rid of
him.  Most guys are wiped out by a single orgasm.  It's possible to get him
up again but you might have a long way to go before you can get him to come
again." Cocksucking alone at this time would most likely not be enough to
get him off, it seemed.  Karen explained further.  I would have to combine
some of my techniques to stimulate the juices for a second or even third go
around...  which sounded really enticing, to tell the truth.

   "The best part," she said, "Is that after he has come once and if you
can get him up again, he'll be able to keep going for a long time...  and
you'll be free to really get into his body and explore all those erotic
areas you missed when you were concentrating exclusively on his cock... 
his navel.  His toes.  With the second come you'll have all the time in the
world." Then she started on anal sex which, thankfully, was a bit simpler.
The key point she made was about cleanliness, which seemed like a
no-brainer to be honest.  Karen had three basic rules.  I didn't even have
to take notes.

   Rule number one was the cleanliness rule.  Anything that would go up my
ass shouldn't be touching anything else.  Never ever take the penis out of
the anus and put it into the vagina.  (Karen stopped and reddened for a bit
while I giggled.  My what...?!  OK, she made her point, but it was kind of
funny.  Karen seemed to be forgetting my status, much as I was.)
"Basically," she said, getting back on topic, "after any kind of assfucking
or fingering, you should immediately wash those parts." It sounded good to
me.

   Rule number two was about lube.  This also sounded like a no-brainer. 
The ass doesn't produce lube, she explained.  (No shit, I thought). 
Basically, using a lot of lube is good and using even more lube is better
from a pleasure standpoint.  That sounded fun, to be honest.  Karen
recommended a high quality water-based lubricant like the one she had
bought me in the sex shop.  (I was really looking forward to that warming
sensation the package promised).

   Rule number three was about foreplay.  This also sounded good.  Three
fun rules!  Why wasn't school like this?  (Hmmm...  I was having a vision
of a schoolgirl uniform...) Karen poked me.  "Pay attention, silly!" She
had caught me fantasizing.  I was getting really turned on.  My cock was
straining against the panties.  "Start with your fingers," she said.  "Try
one, see how you react, then another.  Make sure he goes slow.  Don't
forget the lube!" Karen suggested I start practicing with the butt plug and
then work my way up to the dildo.

   Then Karen wanted to chat.  I wanted her to leave the room so I could
try on lingerie, fuck my own ass with the butt plus, suck on the dildo, and
jerk myself off.  Several times, maybe.  I was thinking about covering the
dildo in my own come and then sucking it clean.  My heart was racing and my
breathing was a bit ragged, and not just because the corset was making me
breathless, either.  But Karen made some good points while I fantasized...
which only added fuel to the fire.  What made assfucking and cocksucking so
much fun, anyway?  Karen liked the idea (and so did I, now that I thought
of it) of being submissive while still running the show.  Since
communication is such an important factor (trying to make him read my mind
when he's sodomizing me is an even worse idea than usual), it would be
perfectly acceptable for me to give detailed instructions while lying there
getting fucked.  Cool!

   It's also incredibly relaxing, she said.  In order for it to work, I'd
have to let my butt muscles get seriously loose.  In the process, the rest
of me would presumably get pretty loose as well.  "It's an odd sensation,
relaxing into ecstasy rather than tensing into it," she said.  "For me at
least, sex tends to be fierce and tight, with lots of blinding white light
and electricity, a bit like climbing a ladder of high tension wires. 
Getting buttfucked is a very different experience, more like a slow gentle
dissolve into the cosmic abyss." That really did sound nice.  I was really,
seriously hot by this point.  It was all I could do not to pull off my
panties and start jerking my cock right then.

   "Also, you can feel everything," she went on, oblivious to my squirming.
"Your ass is very sensitive; a lot more sensitive than your cunt, er, dick
anyway, and it's really tight.  Every move, every nuance, every twist and
turn of the finger or dildo or cock goes right through your ass and into
your brain.  It doesn't take much to make you feel completely full, and it
never leaves you feeling like you didn't get enough." She was still
talking, dammit!

   "And, last but not least, there is the submission...  which is
wonderful. Since your ass puts up a lot of resistance to being penetrated,
the feeling of being taken, opened up, invaded and ravaged and violated or
whatever, is intense...  If you're able to stay loose enough while you're
taking it up the ass, then by all means, go for it...  play the part. 
Moaning and little cries turn a man on, along with demands for more and
talking dirty.  You might want to try a little role play while you're at
it. The innocent-but-naughty girl act is always a favorite.  Especially
when you're being buttfucked." She noticed me squirming and grinned. 
"You're hot for this, aren't you?"

   "Yes, dammit, and are you done yet?" I demanded.

   "Why, got something urgent you need to take care of?" She was teasing me
now.  I stuck my tongue out at her and, with that, she got up and went into
her room, closing the connecting door.  At last!

   I didn't even bother undressing.  I pulled my panties off in one
movement and flung them into the corner and grabbed the butt plug and lube
bottle with shaking hands while my cock sprang to erection, free at last. I
squatted on my knees in the center of the bed and pulled off the wrapping.
The butt plug was eerily lifelike in feel...  like my cock, small and firm,
with a soft outer covering layer.  It widened to a flat flange at the base,
so it wouldn't disappear inside me, and the flange had a small knob to grab
onto when pulling it out.

   I squirted some of the lube in my hand, rubbed it all over the butt
plug, and then ran the rest up and down in the crack of my expectant ass.
It felt deliciously wet and cool at first, then...  it was warming!  With a
hint of a tingle, too!  God, it felt good!  Oh, my, God....  My hands were
shaking even more as I squirted some more lube on my fingers, dropped the
bottle, and found my anus with a glob of lube.  I gently pushed the finger,
lube and all, up my ass.  Aaahhh.....  Ohh...  it was soooo goooood... 
God, the warming of the lube was incredible.  I wiggled my finger around a
bit, enjoying the feel of it and exploring myself.  I found the hard round
knob of my prostate and rubbed it gently...  and was rewarded with a wave
of quivering sensation that almost made me collapse.  Experimentally, I
inserted another finger...  and then another.  Enough.  Time for the plug.

   The plug popped in easily enough and felt wonderful in place...  I felt
full, like I had to shit, but it rubbed me just the right way, in just the
right place...  my cock was so hard you could have broken glass with it. 
Now for the dildo...  I pulled it out of its package with fingers still
greasy from the lube.  Ooops...  I stumbled into the bathroom to wash my
hands.  I must have made quite a sight...  my hair mussed, my skirt rumpled
up, no shoes...  and with a butt plug in my ass.  I washed my hands, and
then took the dildo in both hands and brought it to my face.  It looked
like a real penis looking back at me.  I held it semi-vertical, as if it
was in front of me, leaned back against the bathroom counter so that the
counter rocked my butt plug knob, sending more waves of prostate pleasure
through me, and then began to lick my new toy.

   I did everything to that dildo that Karen had told me, and more.  I
licked, nibbled, sucked, and stroked it.  I ran my lips up one side and
down the other.  I took the head gently in my teeth and tried to wrap my
tongue around the head.  I relaxed as best I could and tried to stick it
down my throat, but gagged...  so I kept trying.  After a while I was able
to get it in my throat without too much trouble.  Karen had been right.  It
was just a matter of technique.  But I needed some flavor...

   On shaky legs I stumbled back to the bed, dropping the dildo on the bed
and my skirt and blouse on the floor.  In my corset and stockings I lay
back on the bed, feeling the plug in my ass, and began stroking my cock...
it wouldn't be long...  and suddenly I was coming, hard, in long lingering
spurts.  Some splashed on my face and I licked the drops I could reach. 
The beads of semen felt warm as they ran down my face.  The rest splashed
my corset.  I hoped it was semen-proof.  I grabbed the dildo and rolled it
in the puddles on my chest and corset-clad tummy, making sure to scoop up a
good glob on the head.  Then I began to lick it like an ice cream cone.  I
concentrated on technique...  first the head, then the rim around the
head...  now the shaft...  back up the underside, sucking and nibbling...
then deep throating, faster and faster.  I imagined his cock shooting its
warm salty fluid in my mouth, savoring the lingering taste of my own and
wondering what a man's would taste like...  wondering what Pete's would
taste like, in fact.

   But I was a gooey, sticky mess!  I sat up and loosened my corset and
detached the garters, allowing it to drop on the floor.  Then the
stockings. I simply made a pile, making a mental note to tip the maid a
little extra the next day to make sure my now stained clothes went to the
cleaners, and went in the bathroom for a little quick clean-up.  After a
shower and a little after shower splash I donned a long, red, silk
nightgown and climbed into bed.  The silk was incredibly smooth and
luxurious against my smooth, hairless skin.  I imagined Pete running his
strong hands down my back as I knelt before him in red silk sucking his
cock, and shivered.  My calf muscles were stiff from being extended all day
in heels, my feet were sore from the new shoes, and my ribs were sore from
the corset, but I didn't care.  I drifted off to sleep fantasizing that I
was in bed with a man I had just made love to.