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Subject: New TG: Girlfriends by Vickie Tern 2/6
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Girlfriends by Vickie Tern  2/6 


Was there an implicit threat there that she might turn elsewhere
for loving if I couldn't meet her needs?  I didn't think so.  Was
she worried that some day I might become impotent?  Lately my
hard-ons had been less than rock-hard, and sometimes less than
that, but then, I was no longer a teenager, and besides, she'd been
asking me to restrain my erections as best I could during our
"loving friends" lovemaking.  So I wasn't worried.  But I really
was a little jealous of some of the heroic cocks she brought home
from some sex store downtown.  What would she think of me after
she'd gotten accustomed to them?  "Why should that matter,
sweetheart?  They'll all be you!  It'll be your face I'll be
kissing when you fill me full of them!"

It was true enough that for all her lesbian games, for all her
desire to adopt me as her girlfriend, for all of our "loving
friends" sessions, as Connie had observed there was no question
that Tracy also loved cock!  She loved getting fucked! 
Passionately, ferociously!  

I remember one Saturday night soon after we were married, when I
was feeling exceptionally horny, and was somehow able to ram her
repeatedly for hours with a gigantic boner that wouldn't quit. 
She'd given as good as she'd gotten, ready to take anything I could
push into her.  She had orgasm after orgasm, over and over, for as
long as I could hold out.  Then when finally I came and amazingly,
still stayed hard, she started yet again and had more, gasping
through clenched teeth with her lips spread wide apart like some
vampire tasting first blood, her eyes open but seeing nothing, her
legs spread apart wide enough it seemed to welcome a truck,
anything that could be driven in or crammed in.  Later as I kept
going she'd clamped her legs so tightly around my waist that I
couldn't breathe.  And all the while she'd shrieked and screamed,
carrying herself by the sheer force of her voice from peak to peak.
and across valleys to the next peak, her head flinging from side to
side back and forth, mindlessly.  For hour after hour I literally
screwed her brains out, and I'm sure she fainted once or twice. 
The next day she hadn't recovered.  She looked dazed all day, her
mouth smiling faintly, her eyes unfocused, and barely able to walk. 
She loved cock all right.  

Whether my cock exclusively or some artificial cocks also, that was
the issue between us.  No one else's cock was under discussion, not
yet, but I began to worry that it might be.  I took a while before
deciding to go along with her.  At first I tried to negotiate.  

"I'll fuck you with any dildoes you choose," I told her.  "But my
asshole is mine!"

"No it isn't," she said.  "Fair is fair.  Equal rights.  Sometimes
I'll want to use you the way you use me.  Have you forgotten what
happens sometimes when you're about to cum, and I tuck my finger
into that virginal little rosebud of yours, and stroke in and out. 
You think that's an accident?  Always, lover, when I do that you
explode and then you cum in torrents, and my finger can feel that
pussy of yours just throbbing and throbbing away with each spurt! 
Just like my pussy throbbing on your cock when I cum!  Just think
how you'd feel if someone were to push a really long, thick cock
into you there, and slide it in and out.  Can you imagine?  I bet
you'd get blown into another world!"

So I agreed, but only a little dildo for now, I added.  I wasn't
sure she heard. "You're on your way, darling," she said.  "It's
going to happen!  More and more.  Real orgasms like mine!  And
getting fucked by the most gorgeous, shapely pricks your pussy can
take in!  You're going to share with me the most wonderful feelings
a woman can feel!"  

"Only a little dildo for now," I repeated, worried by what she
might want to push into my ass, but also worried that she'd notice
I wasn't as enthusiastic as she was.  Because I wasn't, not at all. 
I told her that.  "You will be," she said, hugging me.  "You won't
be able to help it!"

That night we made some of the most passionate love of our
marriage, and in the midst of it she came up with an idea I first
found shocking, then wonderful.  

"I want to fuck your ass," she said huskily.  "And I will fuck your
ass!  But first you should fuck mine!  Now!"

I'd never thought of entering her there, and she'd never proposed
it.  But given what we'd agreed, it made perfect sense.  She hauled
out a lubricant she kept in her bedside table and she turned onto
her stomach, and she pushed her bottom high up into the air, and
then she hissed "Now!"  I plunged all the way into her in one
exquisite stroke -- she wasn't at all as tight as I'd expected.  It
felt like bathing my dick in warm honey.  Then I felt the round
melons of her beautiful, full, smooth ass pressing against my
thighs, cushioning my pubic bone and tucked into my abdomen, and I
felt my cock clenched and unclenched by muscles she squeezed and
unsqueezed in her anal opening.  Without seeming to move, I found
myself rising and falling on a huge, hot, plump, undulating pillow,
my pleasure rising higher and higher and spreading through my loins
and my cock until finally I shouted for sheer joy, and began to
spurt over and over into her ass, as if once my prick had started
squirting it couldn't stop.  Eventually it did though, and
softened, and plopped out.

"Wow!" was all I could say.

"I thought you might like doing me that way, love," Tracy said
demurely.  "I know I loved it!  I wish I could have seen your face
when you began to shriek like woman in heat just now!  But there'll
be other times, and positions, and other feelings to explore.  Lots
of them, now that we're sharing our lovemaking as equals.  You'll
push into my bottom with my legs on your shoulders or maybe while
I'm squirming on your lap like a wicked little girl,  and then I'll
fuck you the same ways and you'll be the wicked little girl!  We
can both be girls now, or boys, sometimes at the same time and
sometimes not.  Oh, I just can't wait!"

Our loving took on enormous variety.  I used different cocks on her
on different nights, only one of them mine, and as I plunged into
her she'd pretend different things, one of them true enough, that
she was an unfaithful wife imagining herself bedded down with a
different lover every night, all of them her husband.  Her passion
varied with the different dildoes I used on her.  Or maybe my
techniques varied as I discovered what each dildo could do most
effectively.  One invited long, slow, mellow strokes that had her
desperate for my re-entry after a dignified withdrawal  Another
allowed at best only short quick stabs.  One was even shaped like
a dog's, with an inflatable knob at the base.  She smiled when she
brought it home, and said that she was eager to see how it felt,
but even more eager to fuck me with it.  She did.

When she wanted to be the lesbian Dyke lover of a delicate bed
partner, she'd fuck me with all kinds of large, fat, dildoes -- she
insisted I must always seem insatiable, always starved for more
cock no matter how stretched or sore I felt.  I never was, but
pretended because it made her so very happy to gratify my supposed
hungers.  Some dildoes vibrated, and some were heated.  

One in particular was huge, with a noble purple helmet for a head
nearly the size of a teacup, and with incredibly thick veins on its
underside, and with large hairy balls hanging down from its base,
as if for real.  This one she reserved for my ass only, not her
cunt.  "If you knew that my pussy was shaped to receive a
magnificent cock like this," Tracy said when I suggested I try it
on her, "It would shrivel you, with your silly jealousies.  You'd
worry how I could ever be satisfied with you ever again.  And with
reason!  No, this is my cock to use on you, and you're the girl who
will learn to love it and settle for no less.  If you're also a
little bit afraid of it, my pretty hubby, better still!"  

We called it "the Emperor."   When she strapped it on and finally
managed to push it into me -- it took a week of asshole stretching
with other dildoes and butt plugs before that finally happened --
I could feel every vein rub against my anal opening as she worked
it deeper, and when its balls were slapping on my buttocks I could
feel its bulk snugged up tight against my prostate.  Routinely,
before she'd insert it she had me lick it, to lubricate it with
kisses and with deep sucking, and it always amused her, when it was
strapped on and she was straddling my face, to have me lick its
balls the same way she'd licked mine so many times in the past. 

I could take any length cock up the rear it seemed, over a foot if
it pleased her, and it sometimes did.  Tracy's depth seemed to be
less, nine or ten inches like the Emperor before I'd hit an
obstruction, probably her cervix.  On the other hand, she could
take any width into her capacious pussy, fatter than the fat end of
a baseball bat, fatter than a fist, whereas the really thick
dildos, especially "the Emperor," stretched me out so far that the
next day I'd leak helplessly into my panties, and then have to wear
a tampon to work as women do, and change it a few times in the
course of the day.  She once asked me if I felt feminine enough to
want to use the women's bathroom to change my tampon, so I'd feel
more like other women having their periods.  I didn't know what to
say, and let it go.  

But she used "the Emperor" on me the next few nights nevertheless,
so for the next few days as I passed the Ladies' Room I wondered
about it.  Once when I was short and had to run out to buy more
tampons, Tracy commented that if I were using the Ladies' Room the
way I should be, I'd know they always keep some there.  
Exasperated, I told her I just couldn't, I was a man, they'd arrest
me!  She said, "We'll see about that!" and looked at me sweetly. 
The next day I needed another and was standing in front of the
Ladies' wondering if there was anyone inside, whether I could dash
in and grab just one, when Connie came by.  "I see from the way
you're walking that something's sore," she said, her face
impassive.  "Is there anything I can do to help?"  I shook my head
and fled.  

Our gentle "loving friends" sessions changed when she brought in
the dildoes.  Now that Tracy always had a cock when she wanted one,
some nights she wanted me to play out different women's roles,
often a helplessly languishing, lovely young girl, sometimes a
temptress.  She bought me some exquisite nightgowns, really
romantic, and from that point on I always slept with her en femme. 
She told me I felt especially wonderful as she stroked my satiny
waist and kissed me where the decolete shamelessly displayed what
should have been my breasts.  Certainly I felt more sumptuously
enticing.  On certain nights when she especially wanted me to be
her girl, she'd call me from work and ask for a date.  I knew then
to meet her at the door in my prettiest undies and my most
provocative negligee both, my makeup done in an extreme style I
called "bitch in heat" and my "pussy" as she now called it well
lubricated.  To please her, each time she made a date with me en
femme I tried to surprise her with some new feminine
accomplishment, by speaking in a higher and softer voice for
example, or by walking delicately with my elbows close to my sides. 
She saw I was really trying to be her girlfriend, and she'd kiss me
gratefully afterward.
       


                            Two

After a few months more her birthday rolled around, and I really
surprised her.  When she came home that night she found me for the
first time fully dressed as a woman, in a beautiful dress and
stilleto heels,  and she was beside herself with joy.    

I'd always been wary of dressing all the way as a woman, because I
just knew that when she saw me she'd want me to go out with her
dressed that way, and that would change everything.  Then it
wouldn't be "our" personal and private intimacy with each other but
"the" way I related to the world, or one of the ways.  Then I
really would be more her girlfriend than her husband.  I knew I'd
soon take on a feminine social identity whether I wanted one or
not. and then I really would begin to think of myself as feminine.

I dressed to the nines anyhow.  I'd gone out that day to buy her a
really stunning cocktail dress for her birthday, and found one that
was absolutely scrumptious, elongated and thin to fit her figure,
black, and beaded, with cap sleeves, slit to the hip.  Considering
how to present it, I realized that the perfect way would be for me
to model it myself.  My better brassieres were filling me out
generously, and my hips were as narrow as a fashion model's.  So I
knew the dress would look attractive on me.  In a strange way I
wanted to see for myself.

I also knew that Tracy would be overjoyed to see me for the first
time fully dressed up without being urged or coaxed, and that too
would be my present to her.  She'd been pointing me toward this for
years, I realized.  And it was all to the good.  I'd recently
learned from Tracy's sister yet one more possible reason why Tracy
felt more comfortable with me as her girlfriend than as a male
husband.  Her sister mentioned that Tracy had once had an
unfortunate experience with men in a bad part of town, and while a
psychologist was trying to help her deal with it she'd had another
unfortunate experience with an uncle.  Exactly what these
experiences were I never found out, and her sister wouldn't say. 
Afterward, she said, "Tracy went crazy for a while," which I
interpreted as a familiar post-rape syndrome -- feeling worthless,
she had been for a time turned slut, available to anyone.  "It's
what I want to do," she'd said just before going out with two boys
of unsavory reputation, "I can't get enough!"  She stayed out all
night with them, her sister told me.  All that ended when her
therapy took hold, and when she went off to college she was once
again a proper young lady.  

I hadn't known any of this.  Yet, I thought, it may be that in some
subconscious way Tracy now feels safe only with women.  I had to
smile as my mind added the words 'especially women with huge
dildos.'  That period when she was one of Connie's set might have
been around then.  Maybe really masculine men still left her
feeling soiled or used?  Until now I'd gone along with her desires
in order to please her, and for the variety it brought both of us,
not because I thought she needed to be with women, or because I
myself enjoyed feminine sex.  But I did enjoy it.  I was feeling
more and more feminine myself.  Just as I wanted Tracy to feel snug
and safe in my arms, I was beginning to want to feel snug in hers. 
My own masculinity was faded, a little.  For Tracy's sake, perhaps
it was just as well.

A few days before her birthday Tracy had seemed to suffer a kind of
pang of conscience.  Or perhaps she was testing me.  She told me
that she knew that I was becoming less and less manly, and more and
more womanly, to please her, because I loved her.  She was grateful
for it.  But now she had to know if I wanted it for myself too,
that it pleased me to explore my own femininity and to make it a
part of who I was.  That I delighted in it, maybe even preferred
it.  She had to know, or she'd feel terrible about what she'd been
asking me to do.  I should let her know by the time her birthday
came, she said, because if I wasn't as happy as she was that I was
now so wonderfully feminine, if I wasn't now her unabashed sissy
girlfriend, we'd have to re-evaluate everything.

Needless to say I gave it a lot of thought.  Femininity, especially
submissive femininity I'd found, was a wonderful game.  I had
learned most of its rules and many of its skills, and had realized
that I should be trying to enjoy it more, and I was enjoying it. 
Some things I found marvelous, such as the ways I felt when we made
"loving friends" and I was the passive partner.  My orgasms were
glorious, especially when my darling pushed "the Emperor" into me
while nursing on my nipples -- that drove me wild!  And I'd noticed
that my penis was smaller, less rigid lately when I reached climax,
and was sometimes quite soft.  But my nipples and areola had grown
larger as if to compensate, and to accommodate the greater pleasure
we both took in them.  These days they actually stuck out!   

Some things I knew I liked because they were feminine, without my
doing them to please her.  I enjoyed looking smooth and
sophisticated, suave and beautiful when fully made up, and
sometimes I regretted I couldn't look like that all day, even at
the office.  I realized that I really wanted to try on this
birthday dress for myself, to see why it had so charmed me out of
hundreds of others that I just had to have it for Tracy, had to see
how I felt wearing it, to see how beautiful it was on me.  Had I
bought it for Tracy or for me?   

She wanted me to look like a complete woman I knew, but she also
wanted me to feel like a complete woman, quite another thing, and
above all she wanted me to *want* to feel like a complete woman,
yet something more still.  Before, I hadn't especially gone along
with her.  But this dress urged me to want to, to please her, to
surprise her, to look nice, to feel as elegantly feminine as I
could.  I really wanted to yield to the urge.  I realized that now,
if I were somehow forbidden my undies and gowns and cosmetics and
darling gestures, forbidden to practice all of the womanly arts I'd
learned, I would feel quite desolated, deprived and separated from
a central part of myself.  Life would lose much color and joy.  I
realized that I really did feel feminine now, in part, and I loved
Tracy all the more for leading me into such exquisite new ways of
feeling.  

Tonight, for her birthday, Tracy would see me become all the woman
I wanted to be, for my own sake as well as hers.

I knew Tracy would understand immediately when she saw me.  And she
did.  When she came through the front door and saw me standing in
the hallway waiting for her, stately, poised, radiant, made up as
faultlessly as I knew how, my hair piled high and held up by a
sapphire clip, the cocktail gown's black beads and sequins
scintillating from its choker neckline past my rounded breasts,
along my hip bones, down to well below my knees, and my ankles
turned pertly by black four-inch-heeled strappy sandals I'd found
in her closet, she just stood there and studied me quietly for a
moment.  And took a step forward.  

And then leaped at me elated, threw her arms around me, and quite
ruined my carefully made-up face by kissing me over and over and
over, saying "Oh, my sweet, dear, darling, my love, my love, you're
just gorgeous!" over and over.  She clung to my neck and began to
cry, inconsolably.  "Oh!" she sobbed over and over.  "Oh, darling,
I've wanted this, but I've been so afraid to ask you.  I really
don't want you to meet my needs, unless they're also yours.  I know
so much more about what we're doing.  And you've been such a dear,
going along with everything!"  The effect was everything I could
have hoped for.  I began to cry too.

Then when we went into our bedroom to change, me back into an
especially sexy negligee and Tracy into her new dress, she did
exactly what I'd anticipated and feared.  "Here," she said, handing
me one of her nicest cocktail gowns, deep blue, chiffon, with a
deep scoop neck, one I'd often admired on her.  "Put that negligee
away.  This is the happiest day of my life, and I won't have my
darling girlfriend looking any less beautiful than I feel.  Put
this on, so we can both be beautiful together."  I looked at her
surprised, surprised to find that I was delighted -- the blue
chiffon was really wonderful, it would be a joy to try on.  "This
is only a loan, girlfriend, not a gift," she said.  "It's just for
tonight, so be careful with it.  After tonight you'll have to buy
your own dresses."  I heard.  There was no turning back now, I
thought to myself.  She smiled happily at the thought, and we
dressed together.  It was all I could do to keep from hugging her
and burying my cock or a dildo in her, or asking her to bury a
strapped-on part of herself in me.  I wanted to make love.  But
that could wait.

Then over cocktails in the living room she suggested the inevitable
in a very quiet voice, as I knew she would.  "Honey," she said. 
"Do you think we could go out together for dinner, instead of
eating what I'm sure is the fabulous birthday dinner I know you've
prepared for me?  Just two lovely women enjoying each other's
company?  We both do look smashing!  We shouldn't waste it!"  

I told her very gently why I felt reluctant.  Up until this moment,
I told her, our gender play had been like our sex play, a private
thing we shared, just between us, known to no one else (though I
knew the secretaries at my office speculated why with such a lovely
wife I seemed to be going gay, with my perfume, and eye liner, and
lip liner, and the chest bulges my better bras were making for me
these days, maybe even the tweezed eyebrows that went with making
up my face properly).  I was now a man who enjoyed looking like a
woman, to please my beloved wife and as I now knew, to please
myself.  Apart from a nod or two at propriety, I no longer cared
what the secretaries thought.

When I said that, Tracy's eyes gleamed with an "I told you so" kind
of triumphant expression, obviously proud of me.

But if we took my transformation out among total strangers, I said,
it would become a very different thing.  If other people thought I
was a woman even at a glance, because I looked like one, and I knew
it, I might really begin to look at myself the same way.  My
self-image might actually change.  "Women are very attractive," I
said.  "I might find being a woman very attractive.  I might begin
to believe that's what I am, a little, maybe a lot, not just a man
who enjoys being feminine."

"Well what's wrong with that?" she asked me, puzzled.  "I know
you're a man, but I know you're a woman in my eyes right now, and
you know that I know.  You know that's how I prefer you.  Why do
you think you looked so utterly ravishing standing there, yourself
the best birthday present I have ever received?  Because you knew
I was seeing you as a complete woman, a beautiful woman, and that
made you that kind of woman in your own eyes, and you positively
glowed!  You loved it!  And I was so proud of you and of myself at
that moment I couldn't stand it!"  She put her hand over her eyes. 
I wondered if she was starting to cry again, but from sorrow this
time, on this happiest day of her life.  I folded.

"I fixed you a lovely dinner, sweetheart. No chef has ever planned
more carefully, nor made such delicate sauces.  I poured my soul
into it, and all my love.  You'll see.  But the dessert is only a
bakery birthday cake.  How about we go out for dessert and coffee
to "Sweets to the Sweet," that new place that's just opened
downtown?  Just the two of us.  It's upscale enough for the way
we're dressed, and we're not likely to meet anyone we know there. 
I hope.  But if we do, then we do, and they'll recognize me with
you or not, and think whatever they may think, because tonight I am
what I appear to be. Your best girlfriend.  Tonight is your night."


Tracy brightened immediately.  "You are a pet," she said.  "That's
just lovely!  Oh, I do so love you.  When we get back here, I want
to tell you how much I love you.  I want to tell you a secret I've
been keeping from you. I didn't think you'd take it in the right
spirit when you heard it.  But I think you're ready now.  I think
you'll love it.  I do hope so. I can't keep it back any longer."

I was amazed!  "You're pregnant?  We're going to have a baby?" I
began. 

She quickly interrupted me.  "Oh, no, darling.  Not unless you are,
and haven't yet told me!"  We both smiled at the thought of me
inseminated by a dildo.  "It'll happen some day, but you know
neither of us is ready for babies just yet.  No, just wait and see. 
When we get back, I know you'll like it."

So after dinner, still tiddly and giggly from a whole bottle of
Chateau Lafite sipped with my grand entree, a Beef Wellington, we
went out.  I was very self conscious about my appearance at first. 
I knew I passed, but I felt as if I were enacting myself as a
well-dressed woman, not just being one.  I drove, and I had to
adjust to my high heels on the foot pedals, and I tried to drive
like a lady, hesitating before left turns instead of turning
ruthlessly in the face of oncoming cars.  When I pulled into the
Valet Parking I readied myself to turn to swing both legs out of
the car before standing up, as I'd so often seen other women do.  

"Ladies," the parking attendant said as he opened Tracy's door and
then raced around to open mine, handing me a chit for the car as I
stood up alongside him.  "Let me know if there's anything I can do
for you."  He seemed to be standing very close.  He was.  As I
stood up our faces almost touched, the car pressing against my
back.  He didn't step back.

"You can be sure we will," I said in my high, breathy, strained
femme voice.  "Don't park too far away,  We're here for only
dessert and coffee."  

"At your service," the attendant said.  I looked over his shoulder,
and saw Tracy mouthing the word "Smile!" repeatedly.  So I did.
Only then did the attendant back away, turn, leap into the car, and
drive it a short distance away.

"That's all men really want," Tracy said.  "They're all so
insecure.  But one smile from a pretty woman, especially women as
well-dressed as we are, and they're fine!"

"Well, I'm a well-dressed woman feeling pretty insecure right now,"
I told her.

"Don't be," she smiled at me, looking coy and amused.  "He was
coming on to you.  Haven't you played that trick on women, forcing
intimacy by somehow occupying space they've got to occupy
themselves?  He thinks you're attractive.  So do I, you know." 
Immediately I began to feel better.  She was right.  "We'll enjoy
our dessert, and then later this evening, who knows, maybe you'll
get lucky!  If not with me, maybe with that parking lot attendant. 
Meanwhile, how do you feel, now that a man has been smitten by your
appearance.  More like a beautiful woman than before?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," I said.  "I do.  And it's a very nice
feeling.  Women are nice people.  Being one is nice.  I'm happy to
join the club.  At least right now I am."

We went in and were seated, and nibbled at a plate of Sinful
Surprise confections, and sipped Cappucinos, and I paid the bill,
smiled appreciatively at the attendant when he brought up the car
and gazed into my face, and drove home.  My womanliness had
registered in several other sets of eyes too.  The Maitre d' was
courtly.  The waiter was gently attentive, as never before in my
experience as a man.  Two men at a table near us tried to catch our
eyes, one of them rather handsome, but we ignored them.  One woman
eyed my dress closely, narrow-eyed, as if suspicious of something. 
I began to quail inside, and Tracy felt it.  "Smile again!," she
whispered to me.  "She's admiring what you're wearing!"  I did, and
she smiled back at me, and again I felt warm inside.  Another
acknowledgement from another member of the club.  I really did feel
privileged to belong.

"Now," I said when we were back inside the house, and had both
kicked off our heels, and were together on the couch.  I sat on one
end while Tracy stretched herself out on it, her head in my lap,
looking up at me while I looked fondly down at her.  "What's this
secret you couldn't tell your husband, but you're happy to share
with your new graduate girlfriend?"

"Sweetheart, you're not to get mad at me.  This is still my
birthday, right?  And you've made me very happy today so far,
right?"

"Right," I replied.  I bent over and kissed her.

"Well, darling," she began.  "You're more a member of the club than
you think." Tracy's face was impassive, her eyes staring unwavering
into mine.  I knew she was watching for the faintest shadow of a
reaction, for sorrow or anger or something else to appear there, so
she could modify the way she said whatever she was about to say. 
Even, I suspected, say something else altogether, something
harmless, if disaster seemed to threaten.    

I put on my most affectionate poker face.  "Oh?"

"You remember some time ago, after you refused to have your hair
permed, about the time I suggested that we'd both enjoy playing
with dildoes, those lovely boy toys that give girls like us so much
pleasure?"

"I do. And yes, they do." I had to confess it.

"Well, you hadn't agreed even to the dildoes then, and I knew I was
right about them, just as I'm right about the perm too!"  She
glared at me adamantly, knowing I'd find her determination
absolutely adorable.  I did.  I kissed her again.  She continued.

"Remember, I told you I'd had another really great idea, but
wouldn't tell you what it was because you'd only have said 'No!' in
your fuddy duddy way, so I'd gone ahead and done it, and you'd find
out later what it was."

"I don't remember that you said exactly that.  I guess I thought
you were still talking about fake pricks.  That gave me a hard time
you remember.  A man isn't overjoyed to learn that his wife wants
more than one kind of prick in her, when he's only got one kind."

end 2/6
Vickie Tern@AOL.COM

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