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Subject: {ASSM} Choices by Vickie Tern 1/2 TG F/m Wife
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VickieTern} NEW TG: Choices 1/2 F/m Wife
If reading this story offends you or the law, do what I do, don't.
Choices
by Vickie Tern
I was so miserable I felt like crying. A single sob escaped,
but I stifled it, couldn't allow it. I was terribly worried
yet there was nothing to do but wait. There never was. Sit
in the living room, turn on the tube, turn pages in some magazine,
wait. Ignore all sorts of hysterical fears. Finally realize
I'd been dozing in my chair, and wake to hear her key scratching
in the lock. This time it was nearly three a.m.
Her meetings rarely lasted this long. Usually they
began and ended early and she was home by midnight. This time
there were still gleams of daylight in the sky when she'd given me
her usual quick light kiss on the cheek and her usual "G'bye for
now honey. No, you're sweet but don't muss me. And please, this
time don't wait up. I'm not sure when, but you know, I'll be home
when I'm home!" True enough. But once past midnight I couldn't
help worrying.
She stood in the hallway a moment, her topcoat hooked over her
shoulder with one finger, saw me sitting and looking at her,
glanced wistfully up the stairs toward our bedroom, then
reluctantly came in to join me. She looked tired, yet in some
obscure way satisfied. Her dress wasn't much wrinkled this time
but her hair was mostly undone, coils and strands hastily pushed
back up off her face. Obviously she'd rather we talked in the
morning, but she saw the mingled anxiety and relief in my face and
she took pity.
"You're still up, honey? Aw, that's sweet. You poor baby, you
were worried about me! I've told you not to worry. I've told you
over and over that I'm perfectly safe, always in good hands. We
all look out for each other, and Chuck always takes special care of
me. I think he feels something for me, poor man. But you see,
there's no reason to feel fretful!"
An odd smile had flickered across her face, the same one every time
his name comes up. I'd never met Chuck. I'd seen him only
once when her car wouldn't start and he came to our house to fetch
her. She'd rushed out and then hopped into his car so quickly I
caught only a glimpse. It wasn't reassuring. Wide shoulders,
square-jawed, an easy grin. Once she was seated alongside he'd
turned to kiss her with such possessive self-assurance that my
stomach clutched. I couldn't tell for sure, but I could imagine
that she kissed him back ferociously, her arms pulling his face
into hers, her make-up hopelessly mussed even before they'd driven
away. Long after they were gone I stood by the window still seeing
it, trembling.
She continued. "Really, you dear man, there was nothing tonight to
concern you. You shouldn't torture yourself. We dance, we talk,
we enjoy each other's company. Now and then we pair off, but even
then no one's ever left alone. I've told you that so often!
Really, honey, you should just go to bed at your usual time on
these nights when the Club meets. I always come home safe."
She raised her eyebrows and smiled resssuringly. "Tired, I'll
admit, but safe."
I knew she'd say that. But this time I had to speak my piece
regardless. I'd been rehearsing it for hours.
"Well, I'm sorry, Claire, I really am. I try, but I can't help it.
I'm always anxious for you when you go out like this. I wish I
weren't. You can understand it. I'm concerned for, well, lots of
reasons. I don't know any of these people, the ones you see there.
People change, I'm sure the membership changes. I don't know if
you're with the same people from week to week, apart from maybe
this Chuck and some others you mention now and then. If anyone
decided to get mean and play rough when you were alone with him, I
mean, how would anyone know? How would I know? And what if your
car broke down driving home through a bad part of town. This is
the latest you've come home for a long time."
Her face didn't change. There was nothing in my speech she hadn't
expected me to say. I was dithering because as we both knew I
couldn't bring myself to name my real fears. She was out having
fun and I was wasn't, and I was jealous of everyone she was with.
Moreover, I was afraid that one day she'd enjoy herself so much
she'd see no reason to return to me.
"Billy, I came home late because I was having a good time. You
should feel happy for me!" She knew that statement was no
consolation, more a riposte.
Then she began deciding where she'd sit down. Not the couch, that
was a commitment to talk, and she wanted to get to bed soon. Yet
we had to talk. I had to, even though she'd given up hope that
anything would ever come of it. An uncomfortable straight-backed
chair facing me, maybe. "You're right of course," she said
absently. "It's like any social club, there are
always new people, and some come back and become old people and
others drop out and disappear. We're never the same mix twice,
different folks and strokes. That's what makes each session so
exciting for me. The regulars know each other, and the newcomers
add an element of unpredictablity. We anticipate known quirks and
needs and sometimes we're surprised to discover new ones. We enjoy
them. We enjoy each other."
She paused, weary. Nothing new there either. She knew what I
really needed was assurance that no matter what, I was still
special to her, that she still wanted me. "Now there are even
couples," she volunteered hopefully. "A few. I don't mean people
like me and Chuck, people who spend time with each other no matter
who else also, or no matter what else they're into. I mean, some
guys bring girlfriends. There are even husbands now. A few."
There it was. She paused again, then reconciled herself to it and
sat down in the straight back chair. From the way she slithered
down I could tell she was leaking, that she was a little concerned
for her dress. Plainly she'd rather be in the shower right now and
then in bed. But the old topic had come up again, and Claire was
never one to avoid tough issues. She had to put blame where blame
was due.
"Billy baby, this is your same old jealous resentment speaking,
isn't it? Well, I've told you repeatedly that you can come with me
any time you want. That you'll always be more than welcome. Even
if you only come once just to see what it's like and then never
come again. I know that if you're properly prepared for it you'll
love it! But you don't want to, you never want to."
She looked directly at me to drill the point home. "Well, that's
your choice. You pay your own piper and you call your own tunes.
You'd rather sit here and agonize over whatever you imagine I'm
doing there, and never just go and find out for yourself. I still
don't know why, really. The offer's still open."
We'd started in again. "Well, no, Claire," I said gently but
pointedly. If we were going to remind ourselves of some of it, we
should remind ourselves of all of it. "It isn't exactly my choice.
You set conditions. I can't meet those conditions. I can't agree
to the terms you stipulate."
"You mean that if you come, it has to be as my roommate, not my
husband?"
"Yes. Sort of."
She took a deep breath, trying to maintain patience but starting to
lose it. "What's wrong with that? I've told you the reasons, over
and over! No one in the Club wants to meet my husband. Any
husband! For one thing, if they've ... ahhh ...spent some time
with the wife it makes them uncomfortable. We all have our little
secrets and kinks, special intimacies husbands shouldn't know
about."
True enough, I thought morosely. Claire had let slip one morning
her exultation that she'd worn down eleven men in a single night in
some contest they'd held. It depressed me. As only one man my
chances with her seemed all the more hopeless, whatever the game.
"But mainly, no man wants to risk tangling with a husband. Whether
a husband's possessive or generous or just plain indifferent,
there's always something at stake for them. They get contentious
for no reason. Well, life's too short for hassles, and there are
always plenty of unencumbered women available. So everyone
figures, who needs it? Believe me, the high schools and colleges
and the divorce mills keep cranking out all the singles anyone
would ever hope to meet!"
"And Billy, just think about it! How can I possibly play romantic
games with some beautiful man I may have just met when my husband's
moping around in the background watching? How can the man? How
can I dance with someone long enough and close enough to know
whether he's got what I want deep inside me later on, if my hubby's
watching and worrying and maybe disapproving? And what if I'm
dancing amorously with a woman, and my husband doesn't know
anything at all about that part of me? No, husbands as husbands
are definitely out! Brothers are out too, the way they confuse
family honor with chastity. And live-in boyfriends can be worse
than either of them! "
"But roommates? You know! They enjoy seeing each other start
little adventures, and they love to talk about them endlessly
afterward. Roommates are fun! I gave you a choice which kind of
roommate you'd like to be, and you chose not to be either kind. So
again, if you choose to stay home and be jealous and resentful and
anxious and worried and miserable, don't blame me for that!"
That wasn't the point, and Claire knew it! I felt a little
irritated, and it must have been in my voice when I answered her.
"Claire, it's never that I object to pretending I'm your roommate!
It's what kind of roommate! You insist a decent girl can have only
two kinds of roommates, an obviously gay male or a girlfriend! If
I came with you I'd have to be one or the other. No way your
husband so no way a threat to the others."
"Some choice! If I decide to be gay, then everyone understands
that I'm a man you share your apartment and your secrets with but
never your body. I'm your dear friend and confidante. Someone
with no designs on you who's always urging you to go off and have
a good time with any guy hung heavy enough to interest you."
"So? That's what I do anyhow. You'd get a greater feeling of
involvement if you gave it your blessing. Why don't you?"
I ignored her. "Or if I pretend I'm your best girlfriend, the girl
you live with, everyone would assume we lend each other clothes and
advice and that we share all our girlish concerns and desires with
each other. And again, they'd think I'm always happy for you when
you go off to get laid. And again, that you tell me all about it
afterward!"
"Well, don't I? Mostly? I don't like to keep secrets from you,
honey. We're married, after all!"
"Yes, but most of the time I don't want to know those kinds of
secrets, Claire, they make me uncomfortable. You're right, even
jealous, in a way. Or maybe envious. I mean, for example, with
this guy Chuck, I have the impression that you're more intimate
with him, you do more different things with him during any one
Club meeting than you've ever done with me in the whole of our
marriage. And I haven't even met him!"
"So? What bothers you more, that he has more access to me or that
you haven't met? It's true. I'll take that beautiful prick of his
into any one of my openings any time he wants. Mouth, pussy, or
ass. I love it! God knows I'd want him in all three openings at
once all the time if he could manage it. And it's true you've only
been in my pussy and no where else. Because that's where I want
you, where I feel you belong when you're inside me. It feels
right, and the other places feel ... improper, somehow! Wrong!
That's what sanctifies marriage, Bill, proper sex in proper
places!"
"But Bill, if that's your idea of 'intimacy,' the fucking and
sucking I do with Chuck, I must beg to differ. No, with Chuck I
never feel intimate. I feel stuffed, crammed as full of his
goodies as a Christmas goose. Or sometimes the other way, he leads
me into something so pure, so spiritual, so out-of-body that my
whole being becomes one grand throbbing orgasm pulsing in a cosmic
universe surrounding his cock, until I've just about lost my mind.
But intimate? No, sweetheart, *we're* intimate, you and me! We
have feelings for each other that go way back and way deeper, far
deeper than my admiration and gratitude to Chuck because he has
such a great cock and he gives me such great sex."
She sniffed, and tossed her head self-righteously. "In fact, Bill,
you shouldn't feel jealous of him, you should feel grateful! He's
the one after all who persuaded me that it wasn't right, my not
allowing you to kiss my pussy now and then as a special treat.
"Claire, that 'special treat' as you call it always seems to be
whenever your pussy and your asshole are so stretched out and raw,
with cum pouring so heavily out of your crack and down your thighs,
that you can barely walk into the house. That's when you seem to
want to feel my tongue slurping and soothing you!"
She smiled at me smugly. "Well, that's when I need you most,
sweetheart! Especially when he's come in my ass over and over and
it's leaking heavily, and I can't douche it out easily and a tampon
stuffed into it feels uncomfortable. When the accumulated goop in
there needs to be sucked out gently. And when my ass cheeks are
chafed from all that rubbing and thrusting. That's when your sweet
mouth and tongue feel so very welcome, lover! So soothing and
comforting! There's no one I love more than you when you're down
there between my legs, licking out my rosebud and my pussy and
cleaning all that sticky stuff off my bottom. Isn't it true? You
know how sensitive I am when we're like that and your tongue
touches my clit. Sometimes I come almost as often on your mouth
as I do on Chuck's prick when he's first working it into me and it
won't quite fit."
I couldn't say anything. For years I'd wanted to have oral sex
with Claire, and only after Chuck told her had she let me. And
only after she'd been with him. It was as if she were awarding me
his leftovers in exchange for my mopping up after the two of them.
Well, I'd run out of arguments. I had to open up to her honestly.
So finally I just said, "Claire, please! I'm so lonely when you're
gone! And so frightened each time that you won't come back! And
yes, I do feel jealous that you do things with him you don't do
with me! And with the others. I can't help it!" My voice
quavered. I felt so vulnerable!
In response, Claire's voice held as steady as her gaze, unmoved.
"I've invited you to come with me and join in with us and make
yourself welcome, and do all kinds of things with us. Just agree
you'll come not as my husband but as a gay guy or a girl. Of
course Chuck would know that you're really my husband. But if you
were really sincere he'd know that you don't intend to act like a
husband in any way during the evening, and that would be good
enough. The others wouldn't know anything."
"I don't know why I can't be introduced as your husband. If that's
what I am, and that's what he knows I am, why not?" Something in
me just wouldn't quit.
"Oh dear," she said to the air, rolling up her eyes. Then she
mustered enough energy to look directly at me and to speak slowly,
deliberately, with some force. "Because that isn't how he or
anyone else wants to know you. I've already told you! He wants to
meet you either as the gay friend who lives with me or as my
live-in girlfriend. As no competition whatever! Because he wants
to know right away where he stands with you. That you aren't
jealous or resentful. Especially of his prick. That he isn't
making you feel bad about your own endowment. Oh yes, he knows all
about your endowment!"
That was shocking! I was horrified! "You told him about me?" My
voice shrank back into the rest of me. I'm not bad as prick sizes
go, low average maybe, maybe a little lower than that. When I
first met Claire she'd called it "unimpressive," but she didn't
laugh, and I'd been so worried she'd think it ridiculous I took
that as a compliment. I've always felt ashamed of its size.
Teenage kids see to that. They know nothing about how to use the
things, so they make a big deal out of size, that's what they can
measure. Mine never measured up.
"Sweetheart, yes, of course I told him! I've told everyone! When
I was first initiated into the Club they all wanted to know why
I wanted to join, and I had to tell them. Your cock size was one
of the big reasons. No, let's call it one of the main reasons.
That night after they'd accepted me the big reasons for my wanting
to join pushed themselves into me one after another and kept coming
in me and at me until by morning I was stretched out and
drenched and gooey and everyone else was exhausted, but for once I
was satisfied!" She smiled, amused by a stray thought. "I could
have gone on for another few hours," she added. "A lot of men have
since found that out."
"Just what did you tell Chuck about me?"
"Nothing to discourage him from voting you into the Club, if I
could ever finally entice you to join. He likes the idea of you
becoming a member. That's a plus as far as he's concerned. Of
course your small cock does raise problems with our women members.
They'd have no use for it. So when I talk to them about you I have
to accentuate the positive.
"What's that?"
"That your secret fantasy really is in fact to be either gay or a
girl. That you'd be more a woman member than a man member. A
lesbian with the women and a slut with the men. That above all
you'd love to feel a really big cock inside you, your legs wrapped
around a masterful cocksman. That you'd love it almost as much as
I do."
"Oh God, Claire! You told people that?"
"The women understood that and sympathized immediately! But more
important, that's why Chuck is now persuaded that the husband in
you won't interfere with us. That given the prospect of getting
really royally fucked yourself for the first time in your life, you
won't allow yourself to play husband!"
"So that's why you told me that if I attend any of your meetings it
has to be as either a queer or a queen? To make good on your claim
that I want to be one or the other?"
"No, honey." She was beginning to sound really weary now. "The
other way around. That's the condition the Club's rules set for
admitting any husbands. No spouses as spouses! Period! End of
discussion! A spouse has to behave like a queer or a queen, as you
so delicately put it. And do it convincingly! Do I have to spell
it out for you again? I've already told you, and I've already told
you why -- please don't make me repeat myself. I also told
everyone that given your low-voltage cock, you'd probably get more
pleasure out of being a queer or a queen than you do from being a
man. I think that's true!"
She paused, then looked at me so very sadly. "Oh, honey, I do wish
you would! I don't like having this life apart from yours any more
than you do!" she said. Then she said nothing. She seemed on the
edge of tears. Tears of sorrow and sympathy and frustration,
because I was miserable and yet I was unwilling to help myself.
I had to offer her at least some small encouragement. To seem
interested. So I said, "You said there were a few husbands
attending your meetings now. Do they meet the Club's conditions?"
Claire was silent. Then, "Yes. Maybe not originally, but they do
now. If you were to attend one of our meetings, you'd see a few
gay men flouncing about. Some are for real and some are
pretending, or think they're pretending, but all of them offer to
suck cock. And all seem to be delighted when a man wants to pump
their assholes, or a woman approaches them with a dildo. Yes.
Does that answer your question?"
"Is that what Chuck would expect from me when he meets me?"
"Of course, sweetheart! He very much wants to get to know you
first of all as someone sucking on his cock, whether as a grateful
faggot or a cock-hungry girl doesn't matter to him. He doesn't
care which as long as there's devotion and respect in the way you
bring him off."
She repeated her plea. "Please, honey! You'd get to love it.
We'll all see that you really and truly get to love it. I promise
you!"
I retreated and threw up a defensive shield. I resented being made
out to be the one at fault here, and the hour was late, and I felt
bitter. So I let fly! "Your Chuck isn't satisfied that he's taken
my wife from me? He also wants to turn me into a cocksucker and
take my self-respect as well?"
A big mistake! It was as if I'd slapped Claire's face. She
winced, then stood up suddenly, angry! Then sat down again, and
couldn't suppress her scorn.
"Oh don't be ridiculous!! You can be such a pompous fool, Bill!
Self-respect? It's simply that you're no use to either of us as a
man, so you'll need to cultivate other talents. Your little thing
is, well, I've said it, you've said it yourself, 'unimpressive'.
I told you that before we were married, when you first agreed to
let me make up for it with other men whenever I was feeling really
needy. Remember, that's why we took the phrase 'forsaking all
others' out of my marriage vows? So I could remain faithful to my
vows and to our marriage despite your deficiencies? I'd hoped at
the time that you'd join me now and then, at least to the best of
your ability, and that was why we took that phrase out of your vows
too! Remember? But you never did join me! You were faithful to
me! That's yet another way you've been a disappointment to me,
Bill."
She recovered herself somewhat. "Not that I don't love you to
distraction anyhow!" she said more earnestly. "I do love you, my
darling, darling husband! Just cuddling with you is for me so much
more erotic than getting it on with Chuck or with any of the other
regulars these days. Most of the time I can't feel you when we
fuck anyhow. You're too meagre. But I can always feel your arms,
and when you're down on me I can feel your mouth. And your mouth
is wonderful!"
She took a deep breath and tried to speak calmly, her love for me
almost balancing off the resentment still lingering in her voice.
But not quite. I braced myself.
"How can you speak of self-respect? Already whenever I come home
from a meeting you can't wait to bow down low before me and bury
your face in my crotch and swallow down a bellyfull of Chuck's cum,
your rival for my affections, a man who can outfuck you in his
sleep! And if I've felt a little wild that night who knows how
many other men's cum is mixed in, and you're eager to suck it all
even out of my asshole! Chuck arranged for you to do this when he
heard you wanted it, and you accepted his gift. Where's there an
issue of self respect there? You should thank him humbly! You
should feel flattered that now Chuck is willing to let you suck him
off directly, to let you swallow cum spurting fresh from his cock
instead of dribbling hours later out of my cunt. That's if you're
able to bring him off at all! If you're man enough, or girl
enough! It's only for my sake, really, that he's willing to let
you try. Because of his respect for me, because he knows that I
love you and want you to enjoy my pleasures."
Now that she was on the attack she warmed to it. "Self-respect!
You'll really learn to respect yourself the first time you get that
huge thing of his in front of your eyes and you start to lick it,
and then finally manage to figure out how to wrap your mouth around
it! If you can! That'll be an accomplishment to make you proud!
And you'll really learn self-respect when you've learned how to
open your ass wide enough to take him in, his whole thickness and
his enormous length, and when you learn how to pump him until he
fills up your guts! And all through the next day, to love the
thought that your innards are still coated with his cum, that
you've earned that reward. To smile each time you realize it!"
"You see, Billy dear, it isn't easy to give Chuck a blow job or a
fuck. Believe me, I know. I'll be awestruck with admiration if I
ever see you manage it. And you'll have to offer him your mouth
and throat and also your ass the first time you're allowed into our
meetings. Or who'll ever believe that you're really queer or a
girl, whichever you mean to be. And when you've done it, Billy my
love, that's what you will be, No pretending, no fraud then. When
Chuck's inside you you're the real thing!"
Then she struck hard.
"Billy, I've done a lot of thinking about us lately. I really
don't know that you've got enough genuine self-respect to quit
feeling sorry for yourself and instead attend a meeting with me.
I don't think you've got the guts. I don't think you've got enough
courage to follow out the consequences of everything I've said to
you tonight and everything I've done without you since we first got
married. It should be obvious by now. You're a man with a
bird-sized pecker and a loving wife you'll never be able to
satisfy. I'm offering you a way to be happy and to make her happy
too. To become truly married to each other, and to completely
satisfy each other's desires. Are you willing to commit yourself?"
"Or do you really prefer sitting up late waiting for me to come
home, imagining me doing who knows what with who knows who and
wringing your hands in grief because I'm enjoying myself and you're
not. All the while worrying that some day I might not come home at
all. Billy, some day I might not! I still love you, but my love
doesn't seem to prevail here! For the first time, I've begun to
wonder whether maybe I should leave you. For both our sakes! I
can no longer see clearly that we have a future together."
Having uttered those terrible words, she sat there, then added in
a forlorn voice, "I hate feeling like this, sweetheart! I just
hate it! But there it is!" Then she turned her huge eyes to me
and said in the most incredibly small, pleading voice, "Please,
honey? Please! Just once?"
end 1/2
VickieTern@AOL.COM
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