Non-Identical Twins

By: Bea

What am I supposed to do – be apologetic because my behavior doesn't match what
is expected of me? I'm not.

Looking back though, I can't say that I'm not sorry either. I did some awful
stupid bloody things but they were honest mistakes – meant to please somebody I
loved – and me – if the truth be known. Later on I pleased me – and didn't piss
off my wife. Who can fault that?

Long before I married I was at school and was the typical nerd. Small, slight
with damn little personality. Good with computers and not a bad tennis player.
Made it to the schools first team and though I was never much of a challenge for
the better players on the team, was steady and played a reasonable game.

I first met Amy at our high school practices. Nice player – maybe higher on the
girl team than I was on the men, but we were pretty close in playing skills. In
our younger days we were both pretty silly. She was pleasant looking, but had
her eyes on the more macho type – while I was entranced by the flashy girls on
the school cheerleader squad, who wouldn't look at me twice.

Time passed. I went to college. Got a degree in Computer Science. My father
was long dead when I started there, but my mother died in my senior year. Being
an only child, I was left a nice home and a reasonable amount of money in the
checking and savings accounts. I started my own small business on Web design
when I graduated college, from the house and was gradually making my way – when
I met Amy again.

She was a member of the local tennis club. Like me, she'd never advanced much
but still liked the exercise and just plain fun of knocking a ball around. We
started with the occasional game then it just seemed to progress into dates –
then an elopement to Vegas and a quick wedding in one of the chapels there – me
an orphan and her only having a father who she hadn't heard from in years it was
a pretty quiet affair. So, happy as larks, we started our married life in the
company of strangers – just paid off the hanger ons that witnessed for us and
headed for the shows and tables. Spent a good week there and had a great time –
though our sex was nothing to speak of.

To tell the truth we were both sexually inept for a long time. We did enjoy it
– sort of. Would lie in bed and kiss and cuddle. Sometimes I'd get on top in a
simulation of actual lovemaking – actually penetrate her – not the best results
in the world. Sometimes she'd get on top and straddle me – much better but for
some reason I'd often ejaculate early – it would be then that I'd see that she
had a temper. I'd apologize but she would accept my excuses with a cold disdain
and remain pissed at me for a while.

But this was rare. Lets face it, we didn't get together sexually that often
then, when we did, I'd be the aggressor fifty percent of the time – then I'd
mess up – literally – about slightly more than half of when she straddled me –
so we got on without many arguments. Good friends. I made a decent amount of
money on my computer at home and she didn’t have to work so took care of the
house and worked as a part time docent at a local historical house – a job she
much preferred to housework.

Suddenly, our sex life started to improve. It all started innocently enough.
Occasionally I didn't wear pajamas to bed – slept in the nude at those moments.
Amy always dressed prettily for bed as for everything else. Kidded me that
she'd found that I liked her in pretty things there so – if she was to get ANY
sex at all? She had to look and feel pretty at all times. Grinned and
commented that she had to be ready for sex at the odd moments I wanted it.

Anyway this particular night was fairly hot and I couldn't be bothered with
fresh pajamas so was preparing for bed in the nude. At the very last moment I
was bending over to get my discard clothing for the laundry hamper when she hit
me right on the ass! Wasn't kind about it either! Really whacked me.

"Ow Ow Ow!" I yelled, straightening up. "Amy? That was sore!"

She had retreated to the bed and was sitting there pretty and demure. Smiled at
me. "It was so gorgeous and pink and white! Couldn't resist . ."
"Then she stared at me. "Mmmm! That an erection I see?" She got up and sidled
over to me. "Let's not waste any chances big boy! Come to mama!" She took a
hold of my arm and started leading me over to the bed. Laid me down on my back
and straddled me. Started to lean against me and I came - copiously – all over
her nightgown, the bed cover – everything.

To say that she was furious would be the understatement of the year. I had
never seen her so mad. She glared then ripped her short nightgown off. "Jesus
John! I finally thought we might have a good time! I'm so goddamn mad at you I
could SPIT!" Then her eyes narrowed and she used her wadded gown to wipe
themes off as much as she could – from the bedcovers, then me.
"Gosh!" I'm sorry darling! I don't know what came over me!" I said.

"Humph!" Was all she grunted as she threw her used nightgown on top of my used
clothes on the floor, then simply took a hold of my arm and stated pulling me to
her.
"What are you doing Amy?" I started, but then realized that she was pulling me
over her knees! "SCREW your apologies! I'm upset!" She snarled – then
proceeded to spank me! As if I was a little kid!

Naturally the first one or two whacks landed on me while I was surprised – but
she wasn't fooling and they stung. At that point I started to complain bitterly
and moved to get away from her – but found that I couldn't! She was stronger
than me – and maybe the fact that I'd just come weakened me, but suddenly I knew
that I was helpless and over the knees of an angry wife. To my shame and
horror, I started to blubber and cry.

She kept on whacking me for a few more before I think she heard or paid any
attention to my despairing wails and suddenly stopped.
"Oh darling!" She said, not too sympathetically. "I'm SO sorry! But I was
randy and really in the mood for some sex and . ." She had turned me over as
she spoke and I saw her eyes grow wide and round. "My my!" She exclaimed.
"What's THIS? Another erection? My goodness darling. Don't you DARE lose
this one!"

And unceremoniously, she had put me on my back and had mounted me, fitting
herself around me with a loud, satisfied, "Aaaah!" Then she Amye me for a while
– then let out a weird noise. A combination of sighs, grunts and screams that
seemed to go on and, as she stopped in the middle of riding me I looked up at
her with concern.
"All right Amy? You okay?"
She looked down on me with sleepy eyes that were almost crossing. "So THAT'S
what an orgasm feels like? Oh MY!"

Afterwards, I think we were both ashamed to look each other in the eye. For
different reasons pAmyably. Me feeling ashamed of my wimpy behavior and her for
reasons I can only guess at. But within a few days we were back to being damn
good friends again and things went back to being the same – well maybe not
exactly the same – but close enough. It may have been feeling my own
inadequacies that I tried to get on top of her shortly after – but it was like
before – pretty sad sex. Nothing to write home about. I think she tried to
make me feel better by saying how 'nice' it had been, but she gave up – she was
never much of a liar.

Then came a night when, once again, I was nude and getting ready for bed. I
honestly don't know what got into me – but this time it was me that leaned over
and presented my bare backside to her. It might not have been so bad, but I
paused as I bent over – and smiled at her.

She was watching me with narrowed cat eyes. Moved across to me – slowly –
leaving neither of us with anything but knowledge of what she was about to do –
and swatted me – hard!
"Ooooh!" I said, rubbing my now-red backside. But that was all – as she led me
to the bed and laid me down. This time, however, she intAmyuced something new.
She hung my legs over the side of the bed then moved in, straddling me. Looked
down.
"John? You come before I tell you? The last spanking I gave you – you cried –
remember?"
I nodded up at her, dumbly, my erection taking away whatever brains I had.
She smiled. "It'll be nothing – absolutely nothing - to how I'll spank you this
time. Got it?"
I nodded then panted as she slowly fitted herself on me, and smiling like the
cat that ate the cream as she started to work on me.

It took a while, but she had another orgasm. Then, sleepily, she told me that I
could let go now – and I gushed like I never had before.

After that, sex was more often and it certainly didn't make any sense for me to
be the one on top. It wasn't a quick change but after six months or so, Amy
would give me a swat – even when I'd clothes on – and I knew what was coming
that night. Not that I minded of course. Even found little ways to do things
that would sex it up for her – make the act more enjoyable. Nothing much –
pretending that it was all news to me. Being sort of shy and demure. That sort
of thing.

Then we had a serious conversation about our sex lives one time and she seemed a
little embarrassed.
"John? I wanted to see if you had any real objections to me being so forward."
She said. "I'm starting to feel - I don't know – that it's not right. You
know?" She paused. "Like I'm taking advantage of you."
I blushed. "I know what you mean Amy but at the same time, I have to admit that
sex is much better than it was before. To be honest? I feel more that it's ME
that's let you down." I smiled. "Like I'm kinda wimpy – you know?"
She reached over and took my hand. "I'm really glad to hear you say that dear
because I feel myself going through a sort of change. Look at you different."
She shrugged helplessly. "I don't know how to explain it." She looked at me and
grinned. “To tell the truth? That’s what’s kinda bothering me. I sorta LIKE
you wimpy!”
"You DO want to stay married to me dear?" I said worriedly.
She laughed out loud. "My – you CAN get silly! No. I just feel different,
that's all. Once I know what the hell it is? I promise to let you know.
Okay?"
I got up, went over and kissed her. Somehow it was her that was kissing ME.
Rather nice if you want to know.

But she was becoming more and more inclined to state her mind. Got more
involved with decisions that had been exclusively mine for a long time. Started
to dislike any criticism from me, regardless of how slight it was. She did most
of the cooking and housework – though she didn't like to cook too much. She had
got quite disturbed one time when I'd commented that her meal had too much salt
– got quite huffy as a matter of fact. I didn't pay her too much mind though.

I did the next time when I said that her pasta was overcooked for a lunch.

A tornado hit me! Before I knew it she had wrassled with me, then got me down
onto the ground.
"Hey!" I protested. "Back off!" But she didn't and we were thrashing around on
the carpet. There was no doubt about it, there was nothing sexual in it – just
a physical fight – with me grunting and her squealing and punching. To state
things as baldly as I can? She won. Had me down on the ground and was punching
my shoulders indiscriminately.
"Say you're SORRY!" She demanded.
"Won't!"

She punched me on the shoulder again – and it dawned on me. She was the
stronger of the two and, by the looks of things, intended to stay as she was and
punch me all night.
"Sorry!" I said.
"That's the most grudging apology I ever heard!" She growled. Punched me
again.

Oh shit! I started to cry! "I'm sorry! Shouldn't have said that."
She relented a little. "That's better. Now don't you think that I've cooked
enough dinners? Don't you think it's your turn?"
"Huh?'
"Don't you think it fair? Give me a chance to critique you for a change?"
I thought it over. In all fairness, she was right. "Maybe. I guess so."
"So? Tonight then?"
"Okay." I said grudgingly.
"I'm not gonna have trouble with you?" She was truculent and punched me on the
shoulder. It hurt.
"No Amy." I capitulated completely. "None at all."
"Okay then. You'll make dinner tonight? Put up with any criticism I may come
up with?"
"I SAID I was sorry Amy." I wailed plaintively.
"Okay."
That afternoon was not a good one. I was shamed and I think that she was too.
We're not drinkers by a long shot, but I saw her over at the bar pouring drinks
for herself – and they weren't small drinks either. But I thought it best not
to say anything.

I wasn't too concerned about having to cook. Looked after myself for years and
knew that I wasn't that bad. Did feel that Amy was getting surly and looking
for chances to start a fight – make me look bad, so to speak. Accordingly, I
was very good about hauling our thick lamb chops out of the freezer, then
prepping the potatoes for Belgian Fries by getting rid of the eyes, cutting them
longwise into about eighths and plopping them into iced water. Getting rid of
the crap from the broccoli and slicing it longwise for steaming. Had the
feeling that I was pissing her off by my efficiency but grinned to myself. What
could she DO? I found out right when I got down to getting the oven and heaters
set up.

She was a little bleary. Stood at the corner of the kitchen with a glass in her
hand.
"Whatcha doin?" she asked.
"Making dinner. Just like I promised!" I riposted smoothly.
"Going to be the little wife here today, huh? Making MY dinner?" She was
slurring a little bit I thought. Thought I'd humor her.
"Yes dear. Just like I promised."
"You don't look right! Clothes could get dirty!"
I shrugged. "Doesn't really matter – does it?"
"Not if you're gonna skip doing laundry? Or are you screwing around and not
minding because it’s MY job to do the laundry?" She was glaring at me again.

“Oh SHIT!” I thought. “Don’t know what you want Amy?” I said mildly. “I
thought I was pleasing you.”
I think she had wanted me to get mad and make a response that she could fault
and my reasonableness was driving her nuts.
“Want? Want? How the hell do I know what . . .” Then she stopped, seeing my
grin. “I . .I . .want . .” She started up again.
I couldn’t leave well enough alone. “Yes dear? You want?” And I think that my
smile and attitude drove her to the next step.

“I make myself look nice for you when I do any housework.” She said with a sort
of malevolent tone in her voice.
I was wearing a polo shirt and tan shorts. “I thought I looked okay?” I
answered mildly.
“Not for someone doing housework! Here, let me get you an apron. That’s what’s
been missing!” She was triumphant now, seeing my look of despair.
“But I’m almost finished Amy.” I tried as she went into our larder where she
hung her aprons – but it didn’t do me any good.

She was happy now. “C’mon darling. You’re doing a housewife’s job now. You
say that you’re almost done – but you have a table to set, a meal to make and
serve up- then dishes to clean. I might give you a hand if you behave. Now get
you apron on. Here!”

It was over my head and, grinning now, she moved around the back of me and tied
me in firmly, tightening the ties with a satisfied grunt as she laced me in.
“That’s better!” She finished. Patted me on the backside, all traces of
surliness gone.

I sighed and started going about my business well aware of the feminine,
ruffled, apron I wore in large yellow and green checks. Felt silly with it
swishing about my calves but decided to make the most of it. I was sure that
Amy would be enjoying her triumph so tried not to look at her but couldn’t avoid
it. When I did though, her expression wasn’t what I’d expected at all.
“You feeling all right? You look funny.” I said.
“Fine.” She said. But she had a faraway look in her eyes.
“Sure?”
“Yeah. But are you aware that with you having shorts on – that the apron looks
like it’s covering a dress?”

I blushed. “Aw C’MON Amy! No need for that.”
“Huh?” she asked, obviously surprised. Then she laughed. “Thought I was teasing
you a little, huh?”
“That’s what I thought it was alright!” I said somewhat snappishly.
“Well, it wasn’t. Like I just said, it looks like you’re wearing a dress and it
suddenly dawned on me how much you look like my mother.”
“Your mother? You never said that before.” I said.
“Yeah.” She said, bemused. “Look just like her. Even have the same name.”

“What in hell’s name are you talking about! My name’s John!”
She shrugged. “Hers was Joan. Same thing.”
“Is NOT!” I said emphatically – but she was starting to come towards me with a
strange look on her face.
“You look funny?” I said.
“Got to admit it – Joan. I feel like I’m just about to screw my own mother.”
I found myself backing away from her. “Hey stop this Amy! This is no joke
now.”
“Of course it’s no joke Joan.” She took a hold of my arm and started leading me
to the bedroom. “Joan? Like to call me Bob?”

I learned how a woman must feel up against a man who is more powerful and has
sex on his mind. It had taken Amy and I some time but we had learned who was
the physically stronger – and it wasn’t me. On top of that, Amy was getting
used to me playing at being the female – being coy and all that good stuff.
Automatically taking the ‘underneath’ position. To further muss the gender
waters, I was wearing a pretty feminine apron – and now my wife was pulling me
towards the bed with sex on her mind.

Don’t get me wrong. I was thrilled by what was happening despite what I was
thinking. We’d been getting involved in sex plays where she was – sort of –
playing the male role, with both of us enjoying it. Now it seemed to have
escalated to a higher level where not only was I dressed in a feminine manner –
she was calling me by a girls name and expecting me to address her as a male!
But I was like anyone else I guess. Wanted to have SOME say in what was going
to happen, but here I was being manhandled back onto our bed, my wife laughing
at my feeble attempts to stop her – calling me Joan, putting her hand up under
my dress – at least it LOOKED like a dress – and pulling my shorts down.

Then, shorts around my ankles, my dress up around my neck, my wife straddled me
and gave me the warning that was becoming commonplace by now and as docile as a
little lamb, I lay on my back and let her tell me how pretty and desirable I was
as she mounted me. I even found myself squealing happily as she finally gave me
permission – after she had her own orgasm of course.

We lay on the bed for a while. She yawned. “Have I time for a nap before
dinner? I think that the booze I had may have made me sleepy.”
“Kinda sleepy myself.” I yawned.

She got up on one elbow and smiled at me. “This is what you’re going to do
Joan. You’ll take those shorts off – you can keep on your jockeys if you want.
But you’ll fix your apron, then go and get dinner ready. When it’s ready?
You’ll give me a call. Then I’ll come and we’ll have dinner together, during
which time you’d better hope that you haven’t screwed up in preparing it. Then,
if you’re good? I’ll maybe give you a hand at clearing up. Okay?”
I stared at her. “That’s not fair Amy! Not fair at all!”

She smiled gently. “That’s the way that women have been treated for centuries.
I suggest that you get used to it. By the look of it, you need a little
practice – but that’s okay. I’m sure it can be arranged.”
“I don’t quite understand, Amy?” I spoke clearly and distinctly, feeling
strangely cowed yet excited.
“That really doesn’t matter you know dear. Just go and get on with your chores.
You can think about the whole situation while you cook dinner. Then waken me
up so that I’ve time to get my act together before I eat.”

She was SO confident and assured. It never seemed to cross her mind now that I
would disagree and, to be honest, I could feel myself starting to think along
the same lines. With her smiling at me in a knowing way, I got out of bed then
stepped out of my shorts then used a tissue from a bedside table to wipe myself
off before pulling my undershorts up. Then, I couldn’t help but adjust my apron
– even though I could feel Amy’s amused eyes on me.
“Anything else?” I mumbled. Not because I wanted anything, but I didn’t want to
go about my womanly chores like a chastened lamb.
She looked calmly at me. “No dear. I don’t think so – but now that I think on
it?”
“Yes?”
“After this when you have a nice apron or anything like that on? I think it
best that you call me Amy – and expect me to call you Joan.” She beamed. “I
find that I get a big kick out of it.” Her beam widened. “Sexual that is.
Okay?”
I was shaken but nodded and left.

I’d like to say that I thought about everything calmly and clearly as I went
about doing what my wife had told me. That’s a far way from the truth, however,
as I found myself spending an awful lot of time concerning myself about not
making any mistake. I won’t say that I was frightened - naturally not - but
I found myself thinking with a feeling of dread fascination. Would my wife put
me over her knees? Would she lift the skirt of my apron and spank me? Yes, I
was scared but there was an awful lot of expectant speculation in my mind and I
wasn’t totally convinced that I would NOT make an error – a sort of Freudian
slip as it were. Accordingly, I worried about dinner – not much else.

Dinner came and went – and pleasantly as well. I found myself blushing
furiously when Amy complimented me on my cooking. “I wondered how you’d do.”
She laughed. “Thought that you’d maybe –maybe – screw up a little? Just to see
what I’d do?”
I found my lips and mouth very dry. “What would you have done?” I answered
saucily, pretending disinterest.
“Oh Joan! I’ll swear that you’re becoming more like a girl in front of my very
eyes! To answer your question? I really don’t know. I can’t go around
spanking you all the time, can I?”

“I certainly hope not!” I said with a show of indignation. She almost laughed
out loud.
“Sure about that? Now would you care to comment – really comment – about what
you’d have liked me to do? I’m curious. I really am because I have to figure
out what’s happening to us myself.”
She was nice – but serious. Looking inside myself, I felt that I was pAmyably
just as mixed up as she possibly was. Didn’t have a clue. I was embarrassed,
yet sexually drawn to whatever was happening. Without planning a thing, I found
myself flouncing and stamping my feet. “You SAID you’d give me a hand to tidy
up!”
“So I did. So I did. Let’s go.” She said.

In the days that followed it didn't come as any surprise to me to find out that
Amy – Amy – had assigned me the housework. "I always disliked it." She said.
"And you seem to take to it like a duck to water. There really isn't that much
to do – you can hire a maid if you wish – but honestly? As I don't know what I
have in mind for you yet, this could be an embarrassment for you – but it's up
to you." She grinned at me slyly. "Though maybe you might get a kick out of me
treating you meanly in front of a nice looking girl?"

Wisely, I left it alone. To tell the truth, I didn't object to housework. As a
matter of fact if it hadn't been for the constant amused snide remarks about the
'femininity' of what I was doing, it pAmyably wouldn't have had that much effect
on me. Though I did find that ironing Amy's lingerie was a bit much –
particularly after she spanked me for burning it – just a trifle – was a bit
much. But the laundry, cleaning house, meals? Didn't impact on me too much – I
was at home anyway and my web business was lucrative without me spending gobs of
time on it. I was embarrassed – sure I was by the fact that I never seemed to
be out of an apron – and Amy was bound and determined that my aprons were always
fresh and feminine –and I went along.

Talking about going along. Things changed and pAmyably with my approval at
that. It's hard to describe. We had been happy, and that didn't change. Still
were happy – but in a different way is all. Hard to describe, but I'll try
because with our attitude changing our lives went along with it and without an
understanding of our mental processes gradually changing, what happened makes no
sense.

I'm not being sexist when I say that every marriage has a power point – a sort
of boss. Can be nice or mean but whose ideas seem to permeate the whole
relationship. Can be male or female, it doesn't seem to go by sex. Being
sexist though, there is one type of marriage that seems to exist where the male
is the stronger of the two and the female tends to defer to this strength. Gives
up many rights to her individuality and exists primarily for the pleasures of
the husband. This is what was happening to us. Without even seeming to try, my
wife was making me into her idea of a perfect man – one who looked and acted
like a subservient – but happy – wife.

Amy was now, if anything, fonder of me than she'd been before. But she was
fonder in a more amused, tolerant way as if standing back and watching my
transformation. Yes, I suppose there were some orders given by her that I
grudgingly followed – though my reluctance didn't seem to have a lot of power
nor last too long.

Perfect case in point. Cologne then perfume.

One day she said to me "Isn't this lovely?" and she had a bottle of DKNY in her
hand. She sprayed it gently in the air around us. I sniffed appreciatively.
Light, somewhat flowery. Distinctive.
"Very nice!" I agreed.
"Glad you agree. Why don't you use it?" She handed me the distinctive bottle.
"It's a little feminine – don't you think?" I asked, not overly concerned.
She sniffed. "That's plain silly! It smells nice and as long as you don't
overdo it? It's a very good nose these days that can differentiate between a
man and woman's cologne." Then she added the clincher. "Anyway darling? I
like it."
Guess who started to wear it?

Now comes the word on the efficacy of positive and negative responses. When I
started, I didn't wear it every day but on the days I did? She'd give me a big
smile or hug and tell me how nice I smelled. On the days when I didn't? She'd
glower at me and say something – usually mean. Liking peace and quiet the way I
normally do, it wasn't long before the spraying on of that cologne became a part
of my daily routine, and though we still went outside to various places –
shopping and suchlike, I never once heard – or saw- any reaction to my cologne.

So what is my reaction when she gives me a bottle of perfume?
"The cologne is SO nice on you," she gushes, handing me the small bottle of
scent. "This is really expensive – but they had it on sale and I couldn't
resist it. Put a little on behind the ears and let me smell, huh?"

Let's face it. The perfume is a member of the same family as the cologne, but
the smell, though alike, is stronger. Feeling somewhat foolish, I open the
bottle and apply a dab to behind each ear.
"Lovely!" Amy says, rapturously.
So now it's cologne during the day – and perfume at night. Soon I hardly
notice.

I suppose it should have been obvious. My wife had learned to spank me as a
sort of enjoyable foreplay – and, let's face it – I participated. After all, it
didn't hurt physically – well it DID if she was mad about something – but that
was rare and I tended to forgive her quickly. Then she learned to like me
smelling of cologne and perfume. I don't think it stretches the imagination to
ask – could makeup be far behind?

She went along with me on certain things. I suppose that I was conscious of my
growing femininity, especially around the males in the changing rooms at the
tennis club. On top of that, we'd discovered a great place to play. It was
even close enough that we could walk there, the courts were gorgeous – sunken
hard courts with excellent windbreaks and surrounded by old and large oleander
bushes. There weren't any changing facilities as they were courts belonging to
a gated retirement village. But even though they were maintained beautifully,
we never saw anyone play there. We liked it best when it was early morning
though – there pAmyably was action later in the day – but we'd walk there, enter
through the manual gate then get on the courts and play. It was lovely.

"You know?" Amy said one day as we were heading back to the house. "I think we
should maybe go back and play at the club. I thoroughly enjoy playing early in
the day, but you look like you need time in the sun. You're spending far too
much time indoors with your computer and housework."
I looked at my smooth white arms and made a point of gazing at my legs. "You
know, Amy darling? If you hadn't become so adamant about me shaving all over, I
might not look so pale."

She laughed. "That's nonsense Joan. You never did have a lot of hair but if
anything it would have to protect you from the sun if anything. You'd probably
be even whiter if you didn't shave your arms and legs for me. I suggest the
club because we're not members of the retirement community. I don't think they
care if we use the courts early in the morning – but they might raise hell if we
wanted to play later."
"Wasn't that dear. I agree that any hair I had wouldn't do much but protect me
from the sun. I know that I'm blonde, but it was darker than my skin – probably
made me look a little more tanned. That's what I meant and . .."
"Aha. I'm sorry." She interrupted. "But I do prefer you lovely and smooth
all over – and you've never complained before?"
"As I was saying? I'm not really complaining dear. I never had much hair to
begin with and to shave my body once every few weeks is no major problem. I'm
just not sure I want to go back to the club." I searched for an excuse without
revealing my embarrassment of appearing in the men's changing room. "I LIKE
playing in the morning – and we couldn't get on this early at the club. They
don't open until ten o'clock most mornings."
"Mmmm. I just don't like you so pale." Was all she said and I thought that the
subject was dropped.

Therefore it was a surprise to me a few days later when Amy was not ready to go
and play tennis and I was a little behind her – though normally I tended to be
the laggard.
"C'mon dear! What's keeping you?" I asked.
She was in the bedroom looking through some cosmetics on the dressing table and
let out an aggravated sigh, then added. "I'm sorry dear. Just can't make up my
mind which foundation would look best."
"Foundation? As in makeup? I didn't know you wore that stuff in the morning?"
I asked. "Don't see you needing it – so come on, why don't you."

She blinked at me in some sort of surprise then collected herself. "Oh dear!
I'm so sorry! I didn't tell you, did I?" She giggled a little. "I'm getting SO
absent minded. No darling. The foundation crème isn't for me. It's for YOU,
silly. I think I've picked one – so why don't you come over here and sit down
beside here." With that she stood up. "I won't be long. I promise!"

I don't suppose it hurts to tell that I was already on my way to where she'd
been sitting, even though the meaning of her words had registered. I had no idea
of what she was talking about, but obedience was becoming so engrained in me
that I was doing what I was told, even though I was asking, "What are you going
on about darling? Foundation crème for ME?"
"Yes. Sit there darling, with your back to the mirror. I'm SURE I told you
that you were looking very pale, just the other day. I distinctly remember
discussing it with you!"

I sat down, but started licking my lips. "But I didn't know that you were
talking about makeup! That's women's makeup darling!"
"Of course it's women's makeup dear! Lot's better than that silly, expensive,
stuff they make for men. You're nice and smooth, just like a girl. So just sit
still there and let me apply some!"

She started to apply some fairly thick liquid stuff onto her fingertip then
around my face.
"Bit . .but . .but . ." I stammered.
She paused with her finger in mid air. "Yes?" But her tone was becoming
decidedly aggravated.
"I don't understand this dear?" I wailed.

She put the cosmetic bottle down on the dressing table, then put her hands on to
her hips and gazed down on me. "You sure? ABSOLUTELY sure that you want to
understand?"
"It might help me?" I quavered, my voice sounding weak and frightened.
She sighed and sat on the bench beside me.
"Dear? For some time now, I've called you Joan. I have you wear pretty aprons
around and do the housework. Have you wearing nice colognes and perfumes and,
though I shouldn't mention it, spank you at times, sometimes when you're naughty
– and sometimes just for foreplay. Is that an honest statement?"
"Yes." I murmured softly in agreement.

"Very good!" She said, relaxing. "Now I think it fairly obvious that I like to
make you do womanish things – and wear pretty things too. I don't know the
reason myself – don't have any idea where it may stop – but I got to thinking
recently, that I'd like you to wear makeup." She paused. "I KNEW that that
sounded ridiculous so tried to come up with some sort of legitimate reason that
wouldn't make you feel as if I were bullying you. That's where the idea of
saying you were pale came in – there IS a tiny element of truth there." She
smiled patiently. "Not much of one I agree. But if you'll just accept what I
say? Then, I'll put the foundation on your face and you can use the reason I
gave you as some form of rationale. So is that all right?"

I licked nervous lips. "Only foundation? I can see that it might help me look
healthier?" I tried to sound positive about it, but couldn't hide the question
in my voice. Knew that I was going to wear foundation. She was adamant and I'd
no will power.
"Well?" She looked uncomfortable. "That wasn't really ALL, I had in mind.
Let's face it dear. If you only wear foundation, your face will be all one
shade – and that wouldn't look too good." She brightened. "Just a light, light,
touch of blush – and a smidgin of lipstick?"
"Lipstick?" I wailed. "Oh Amy!"

"I wish you wouldn't make such a fuss!" She said. "Just a little bit – and once
you get used to putting on cosmetics? You'll feel positively naked without them.
How many women have you heard of who will not appear in public without their
'face' on? Trust me. You'll get used to it. Now let's get on with it." She
looked at her watch. "I'd like to get SOME tennis in this morning!"

She was true to her word. It didn't take her long to apply my foundation, then
simply brush my cheeks with blush, then have me pout as she applied a light coat
of lipstick. I'd noticed before how much weaker I felt when I wore, or put on
something feminine. Now, the smell and feel of the cosmetics seemed to surround
me in a womanly miasma.

Finally I looked at my face in the mirror. Tried to regain a little of my ego.
"You were right darling. I certainly don't look very pale now."
"See? I told you that you'd like it. But now I see it? Just one thing more?"
She smiled.

When I went out to play tennis with her I was pretty sure that any onlooker
further than five or ten feet wouldn't be conscious of my makeup any more than
anyone sees it in a woman at that distance. But the touch of mascara that I now
had on my eyelashes seemed to affect my whole vision. I even felt softer and
weaker than I had earlier on with the other cosmetics on me.

Yet? Surprisingly? I played fairly well! Amy looked surprised when we finished.
"Maybe that's what you've been needing darling – self knowledge?"
Then after we got home it wasn't too long before I forgot that I even had it on.
Amy reminded me at bed time. "I know that your makeup might mark up the bed
clothes and be a pain for you to get out? But for tonight anyway? Think you
could indulge me by making it a little heavier? Some perfume too?"
She had excellent sex that night – and mine wasn't too bad either.

She was right in other ways as well. Okay, she spanked me a few times because
of my reluctance to go along but between you and me? A lot of it was feigned –
after all, I HAD to look as if I were unwilling and – every so often, I sort of
enjoyed squealing and squalling over her knees. But it wasn't that long before
I put on my makeup and perfume as if I'd been doing it all my life. Not much,
mind you, but I was learning to be tasteful. Even started experimenting with
various shades and coloring. Even I was impressed at how much she cared when
she caught me experimenting with dusting powder to soften the looks of my
cosmetics.

There's the old saying "Clothes maketh the man." But what happens when his
clothes are – mostly – masculine – but he is wearing lipstick, blusher – makeup?
Perfume? And not only that is encouraged to act in a feminine manner? Not in
so many words perhaps, but his spouse is stronger than he – and frowns if he
shows signs of masculinity. But smiles and kisses him gently when he behaves
effeminately? Even if he had a stronger masculine persona that I showed? He
might not have had the perseverance or strength of character to resist his wife.
God knows, I didn't.

Another thing? Time. Maybe I'd have fought more for my initial gender role if
Amy had hurried me in any way, but she didn't. I was being molded to her
desires, but so slowly that the changes I was going through were almost
imperceptible. There had to be a weakness in me that allowed such things to
happen but none of the things seemed to be THAT important to fight about when
they initially started and once I'd been doing them for a week or two? Hardly
worth making a fuss over.

Nails? What male can fuss when his wife has a 'thing' about cleanliness,
especially when he's working around food in the kitchen? And if he finds
himself doing laundry and ironing her fine lingerie – isn't it perfectly natural
for her to ask that he takes care of his nails in such a way that they never
snag on her finer things? I do have small hands to begin with and although I
noticed that Amy was fussy about my finger nails, it took me a while to realize
that they were becoming distinctly small, oval, and shaped nicely to please her.
How happy she would be when I'd take files, emery boards and suchlike to take
care of them in an evening when we'd be sitting watching TV or something?

What do they call it – a watermark? Something like that? Indicates a change in
position that can be pointed to? I think that we had such a thing one night
shortly after I'd started painting my nails – at Amy's request I guess, though
things were getting rather hazy in that regard about then. We were just sitting
around one night watching TV – or giving up is more like it because it was
terrible. I finally switched the set off in disgust.
"Better find a book or something. Nothing on TV." I said.
She had already started on a Sudoku puzzle, but she put it down. "Maybe it's a
good time to talk? There's something I've had at the back of my mind for a
while."

"Serious?" I asked.
"Nah. Just something I think we should clear the air about. Why don't you come
and sit on my lap?"
I laughed. "Sit on your WHAT?"
"My lap. Humor me if you don't mind. Okay?"
"I feel kind of silly." I smiled going over to where she was spreading her legs
apart. "You sure?" I asked.
"Absolutely. It was just an idea I had on the spur of the moment, but the more I
think on it – it's seems perfectly natural. Sit down and make yourself comfy."

I felt kinda childish but did as I was told. Once I was settled in, she put an
arm around my shoulders and pulled me in. Kissed me gently. "You my little
sissy?" She asked.
"Aw, c'mon Amy!" I said, getting red. "You don't need to rub it in!"
She actually nipped me! "Yes I DO!" she said as I let an 'ouch' go. "Yes I DO!
The two of us have been beating about the bush for a long time now. I think it
high time that we got an idea of what is – or what HAS – been going on. I've
been gradually turning you into a soft little sissy – and I think it time that
we both admitted it!"

"But Amy? I'm not a sissy. Honest. I've just been going along with what you
wanted. I just like to please you!"
She sighed in resignation. "Yes Joan – did you hear me call you JOAN?"
"Yes." I mumbled.
"I call you by a girls name and you accept it?"
"Well? That's what you like."
"It is. But if you didn't like being addressed as if you were a girl – wouldn't
you object? Object strenuously?"
"Doesn't mean that much to me!" I sulked.

She pushed me away a little and grinned at me. "So the name, and the makeup, and
the nail polish – don't mean a thing to you?"
"Aw c'mon Amy!" I whined – just to be saying something – anything to end the
shame. But she kept on, boring in. Pressing me into a verbal corner.
"Joan? I know that I sound mean – but I'm not really. I don't even know how I
discovered that I liked my boy to be all soft and fluttery like a girl is
supposed to be. But that's what I want and, to be honest? I think that it's
what you might like as well. I think that you have to pretend to be
embarrassed? Well that's all right, because I hope to embarrass you quite a lot
in the coming period. With any luck, we'll both enjoy what I have in mind."

I tried to make light of what she was saying. "Dear? I think you've lost your
mind. I mean, I've gone along with you this far – but don't you think it's time
we stopped the folderol?"

She laughed delightedly, her eyebrows rising in surprise. "Wonderful darling!
You almost sound like you mean it!"
I blinked. "But I DO!"
She let out a gasp of delight. "You've NO idea of how happy you make me when you
say things like that. It's no fun for me when you make things too easy. But it
makes me sort of hate to tell you what I've thought if for you to do next – but
I'm afraid I have to. It's one of those things that I MUST insist on. It
really isn't a lot physically – but I could see that it might be a mental
problem – that sort of thing?"

I thought for a minute. "Well? If it's physically easy? I don't see much of a
problem . . ."
"WONDERFUL! I was hoping you'd see it my way!" She interrupted me, laughing.
"Mentally? I think I'm a fairly tough guy!" I finished – boasting a little.
She giggled. "Oh! You are SO marvelous! After all – who will EVER see you
wearing nice panties? Nobody!"
"See me wearing WHAT?" I gulped.

She looked like she was trying to blush – and failing miserably. "I blush to
say this – but I really was hoping that you wouldn't raise a fuss. It's just
that I have this thing – a silly feminine feeling no doubt! But I'm positive
that you'd feel so natural in soft, lacy panties. Just hoped that you'd be man
enough to try something new!"

I couldn't help but look around. Wanted SO much to get up from her knees and
leave – but I seemed to be a prisoner. "I don't want panties Amy. Honest." I
heard the squeak of weak submission in my voice.
She actually clapped her hands! "Ooooh! I misunderstood, but this might be
even better! It would be so marvelous if you're gonna fight me. Honest? A
rough and tough rumble? Oh my goodness!" But then her face fell. "Though? I
really hadn't expected you to do this and, if you are? I'd need to get some
bras and things. Maybe a garter belts and stockings?" She gave me a tentative
smile. "What do you think? Anything else?"

"What are you talking about Amy? You lost me!" I had a problem with talking as
I kept gulping. I looked at her helplessly.
"W . .e . .e . .ll? It's kinda hard to put it into words. I want you in
panties – I'm almost sure of that. But if you're wanting to make a real
physical contest out of it?" She smiled at me and spoke in a confidential tone.
"I must admit that I think I'll win. And that being the case, I think it's
best to put you in full lingerie at that time." She shrugged. "That way, we
don't have to keep on doing this argument thing all the time. I wasn't sure
that I wanted you in full lingerie – but this way? It should be terrific fun –
don't you think? Get it over with?"

"Maybe I misunderstood? Maybe mis-communicated my point of view to you?" I said
weakly. "I certainly don't want to fight you – that's just not the thing that
married couples should do. But you were saying that you didn't have any real
idea of having me wear a bra – or other items of lingerie?"
She shrugged. "I thought I said that it was a thing I hadn't made up my mind
about."
"So? If I wore the panties? They wouldn't show under my normal daily wear – and
you probably would stop with the other lingerie . ."
"I did NOT say that!" she interrupted. "Just that . . "
"You weren't too sure?" I broke in instead.
"That sounds about right." She said unwillingly.
"Oh. In that case? I don't see much wrong in putting on a pair of panties now
and then?"

She was distinctly aggravated now. "Now and then – nothing! You'll start
wearing nice panties – and stop when I tell you! None of this 'now and then'
BS!"
"Okay. Okay!" I was as placating as I could be.
"That could have been SUCH fun!" she sulked. Then she half smiled and reached
down beside her chair pulled up a bag. Opened it. "Here. Take your choice
then go and change put the ones you don't use in your chest of drawers."
"Now? Right this minute?"
"Yes. And the more I think on it – the nice lacy pink ones. The panties I got
you are all pretty sissyish – but they're about the nicest. So hurry off and
change, would you?" She handed me the bag and I took it in nerveless fingers.

She was still upset and a little angry, so I thought it best to do as she
suggested. "Okay . The pink ones it is! I'll be back in a jiffy!"
"That's better little sissy Joan. Hurry back!" She was definitely mollified a
little so I hurried to my bedroom and put on the panties. Put the rest of the
frothy, pastel hued underwear into a drawer then put my pants back on and went
back to where robaby was.

She gave me a flinty smile. "Got your panties on?"
"Yes Amy."
"Come over here and drop your pants. Matter of fact? Kick them off, then come
here."
I wanted to sigh, but knew better. Took my loafers off, then undid my belt and
lowered my pants. Took then off, then went over to her, shame faced at my
cowardice.

She leaned forward at using the tip of her finger, raised the front of my shirt.
"Yesssss!" She hissed. "Lovely and pink. Just what a sissy loves. Is that not
correct – sissy?"
"Yes." I mumbled.
"You don't have any troubles being referred to as a sissy – NOW?"
"No." I hung my head.
"I imagine that sissies enjoy being spanked on their panties? Is that true sissy
Joan? Look at me please!"

I could feel the hot tears of shame in my eyes. "Don't know, Amy."
"You've been very naughty – raising my hopes and making me think you still had
enough manliness to fight me – haven't you?"
"I'm very sorry Amy."
"Of COURSE you are! But why don't you just lie over my knees? Let's find out
of sissies like to be spanked on their panties – shall we?"

And, lying there, I admitted that sissies just LOVED to wear pink lacy panties.
Did NIT like hard spankings – but adored soft, ceremonial spanks on their
panties – and would never, ever, dislike being called 'sissy' again.

As I said earlier, a human being gets used to just about anything, so it wasn't
long before it was the most natural thing in the world for me to slip into fresh
panties every morning. A few weeks after that and it was as if I'd worn ladies
panties all of my life. Then, like humankind everywhere, I felt the worst was
over. Should have known better.

Amy was as kind to me as she'd ever been. Of course she now referred to me as
either sissy or Joan – and I seemed to have become the housewife of record. She
was spending more time as the docent at the historical site and often brought
her uniforms – usually historical replica dresses – for me to clean or do minor
repairs on. Did expect me to have a drink for her when she came home and could
get annoyed with me if her dinner wasn't prepared properly but, all in all, it
was a pleasant time.

I wasn't prepared though when one late afternoon she came in carrying a few
carry bags that indicated she'd been shopping. "What color panties are you
wearing today sissy?" she asked me conversationally the minute she closed the
door behind her.
"I don't know. Yellow, I think." I said.
"Like to have a look darling?" she asked pleasantly. She searched in her
parcels and pulled out a yellow lacy bra. Waved it around her finger. "Would
this be a perfect match? If you're wearing yellow panties, it should."

I really didn't know what I should do but thought it politic to hurry up and
check without undue modesty. Quickly I unzipped my pants and did a fast check.
"Yes. Yellow." I said, my face crimson.
"What are you all red for?" She asked pleasantly. "I bought you some nice bras
to match your panties. Here. Feel this. Isn't it lovely?" With that, she
handed me the bra. I didn't know what else to do than to take it.

"Seems - - - nice?" I faltered.
Her eyebrows went up. "Don't you think it a perfect match for your panties?"
"Yes. I guess." I answered.
"You don't seem very excited? I thought that sissies would just love matching
bras and panties. Isn't that so?"
"Oh Amy!" I wailed. "I don't know!"
"Silly little thing! You won't know until you TRY? Do you?"

I looked at her. Her face was smiling, but there was a hint of implacability
there. "Want me to try the bra on?" I asked, hoping against hope.
She shrugged. "What else? But before you try it on? I have a few other little
things for you. I'm sure that your sissy side will be delighted!"

The worst thing of all was having to pretend delight as she showed me how to
position the false breasts, then attach them with a special adhesive. How proud
she looked as she helped me tint the breasts to match my skin tone! "They look
SO real!" She emoted. "You ARE thrilled – aren't you?"

In addition to my 'delight' at my girlish appearance I knew better than grumble
and feigned even more delight when my bra was fitted on and fitted perfectly.

She was pleasant but firm when she spanked me for not maintaining that delight
when I had to put on the tennis dress she'd bought me. "That's allowing that
sissy male testosterone to come to the fore – now ANYONE knows that little sissy
boys just love to wear pretty dresses and that tennis dress is lovely when I
saw it, I knew it was you! So darling when I see your panties flash under those
skirts – and the puffy sleeves? Just YOU!"

She made me parade myself in front of the full length mirror after I was spanked
and admire very facet of my outfit – the short, gored skirt, the blouse with the
embroidered top and lacy, puffed sleeves. How I loved and admired the fact that
it was back closing and how much I would depend on letting her finish my
dressing – and let me out of it once I was ready for a change.

I haven't mentioned the fact that she'd also bought me soft white tennis shoes
with a pink lace running through them – and tennis socks that were very fine and
barely covered my ankles – but had a soft pom pom of various colors at the back.
She giggled when she had me flip my skirt to show the panties I was wearing
underneath. Finally, she allowed me to change so that I could make dinner and
clean it up though I had to keep the breasts on – but that night she made love
to me, caressing them softly and commenting how beautiful I was becoming. Then,
on the following morning, how I had to wear my new tennis dress when we went to
play tennis!

I think we were both surprised at how well I played. She was actually a better
player than me by this time – though not by much. But on that morning we were
almost equal – as a matter of fact I pressed her to deuce and my advantage in a
few games that could have gone either way. Naturally, she teased me a little
afterwards.
"I'm beginning to think that you should have been in dresses a LONG time ago!"
She smiled reminiscently. "I don't think you realize how graceful you looked –
there in your pretty dress – and your panties showing every so often! Made me
feel almost dowdy!"
I blushed. Let's face it – Amy is by a damn sight, a good looking woman. She
wore white shorts and a ladies 'T' of course – and her breasts left no doubt as
to what sex she was – but there was no doubt about it now – my dress was a LOT
prettier and more feminine. "Did you realize how much freer you moved?" She
asked with a smile as we walked home. I didn't answer.

The one thing was my hair of course.

She smiled happily when I broached the subject once we got back to our home.
"But darling? Am I hearing you correctly? You'd like a girl's style?"
"Amy? I'm a boy in a dress. That's how I must look anyway. It's embarrassing.
If I had my hair done so that it was more girlish – just a tad – nobody would
notice."
"But wouldn't you feel strange looking like a girl all the way? After all, it's
early morning and the old folks at the retirement home aren't up at that time.
And what would you DO – all day here?"

"I've thought about it Amy." I admitted. "But you want me more and more
girlish all the time! Isn't that so?"
She shrugged. "I guess so – but don't you mind?"
I was honest. "Wouldn't matter much if I did, would it?" But as this was
getting onto dangerous grounds so I hurriedly changed the subject. "Look at it
this way. Seems to me that there aren't many times when I have to play the male
role – right?"
She smiled. "Finding it more difficult – are we?"

"To be honest? Probably yes, I suppose. But I'm at home here now most of the
time and I figure that if I have to go into town I can always comb my hair
differently – and as you will be busy doing other things? You can't object if I
wash my makeup off – can you?"

She pondered this for a second. "Up to you I suppose – but don't you think you
might get awfully confused? Being dressed as a girl sometimes – and a man at
others? Strikes me you might just as well bite the bullet and be a girl ALL the
time."
I stared at her, nonplussed. "I knew you liked me girlish." I said slowly.
"But ALL the time?"

She was just as thoughtful as I was. "To be honest Joan? I'm starting to get
this inward feeling that I need a man now and then. Don't mean any offense when
I say that you're NOT him. I think I've learned to love you more and more since
you've become like a girl." She paused and smiled ruefully. "Not making much
sense, am I?"
She was soul searching and doing it in such an obviously honest way that I
couldn't fault her. But I had to be honest too. "You're trying to be nice Amy.
But do you realize how inadequate that you're making me feel? Do you have some
guy in mind?"

The incredulous look that spread over her face was answer enough and though I
felt much better, I was still silly enough to try and act masculine one morning
that it was raining. Not a LOT of masculine behavior mind you, but more than
recent developments would indicate. She wasn't long in picking this up. "What
on earth are you DOING Joan?" She asked me with a disbelieving frown.
"You know? I'm not saying that I have any real objection to being treated like
a girl most of the time?" I answered haughtily. "But I don't think I'd object
to you calling me John now and then."

She looked at me in amazement for a moment, then laughed uproariously. "Oh
dear! I see now! You being silly? Call you John? Come here!"

She spanked me soundly, then dressed me completely in an old party dress of
here, pale pink and very feminine – and in complete lingerie. Did my face up
completely and found high heels that were a good fit.
"Now?" She giggled. "My soft little wife? I want you to stay like this ALL
day. When we go to bed tonight, I'll have a pretty nightgown all set out for
you. Once you're ready for bed, you can tell me how much you want to be my
husband. Okay?"
Needless to say, that day eliminated any thought I ever had about being the man
of the house again. She stayed amused all day, but in a loving way, so I was
reassured that she still loved me – and I enjoyed her making love to me that
night while I wore a sensuous nightgown.

In the weeks that followed, her initial doubts about my capability to 'change'
from one gender mode to another showed themselves to be accurate. Dressed and
made up like a woman, it became more difficult for me to change into a masculine
role and, though I didn't think about it too much at the time, I gradually
modified my persona to fit my clothes and as I was rarely out of skirts and
blouses – or nice dresses – with my whole attitude starting to fit what I was
wearing. I sensed that she was looking for something more, but she seemed happy
enough so I gradually put it to the back of my mind.

Then things changed drastically.

One morning we were just starting to play a game when a voice sounded from
behind us, out of the court. It wasn't masculine by any means, but it certainly
was deeper than the normal female.
"Hi girls. Can we join you? You play a nice game and we get fed up with
singles all the time."

I was shocked, as was Amy. It was so entirely unexpected and it was noted.
"Hey! We didn't mean to scare you to death, but we’ve seen you from our window
this last few mornings. Thought you might like a game?"
I turned around to see two women who were almost identical. They were twins as
it turned out. Both blonde and short haired – curly. Good physical shape –
maybe on the stocky, muscular, side. Both wearing tennis outfits – shorts, 'T'
shirts, and well scuffed shoes that showed a lot of use. Amy was the first to
recover.

"Hell!" She said with a smile. "We're finally caught! I'm afraid that we
don't belong to this community – but the courts just look SO nice – and nobody
seems to be using them, so we just thought . ."

The other one who hadn't spoken to that point, laughed. Her voice wasn't quite
as deep as her sisters, but pleasant. "No skin off our backs. Our aunt just
died and we thought we'd come try living here. We've seen you here the last few
mornings. Have to agree with you – courts that are this good should be used.
I'm Audrey – and my ugly sister here is Bernice." She came towards us, her hand
outstretched.

They were extremely pleasant and after we'd introduced ourselves – me as Joan
naturally we split up with me taking Audrey on as partner and Amy with Bernice.
It was a damn good game with Audrey and I finally losing the first set 6-8, and
winning the second 6-4. At that point, all sweaty and hot, we decided to call
it. I was more than surprised when Amy accepted Bernice's offer of a cold drink
after our game. It did make sense though, their house wasn't far from the
courts and we headed there.

Nothing untoward happened, but on the way back to our own place, Amy had this
far away look in her eyes. "That Bernice – she's dreamy!"
"I didn't know you liked girls." I said in all honesty.
She looked at me in amazement, then laughed. "I was gonna say that I liked YOU!
Then it dawned on me. But honestly?" She looked at me calmly. "It wasn't her
girly side I was talking about dear. Not at all." Then she added. "What did
you think of Audrey? You seemed a little smitten if the truth be known."

I started to reply in umbrage, but then I blushed, because I HAD been very taken
with Audrey. Amy saw my blush. "Was it her girly side you liked – Joan?"
Now I really blushed because her question had hit the mark perfectly. Audrey
and her twin were both direct and were no nonsense type girls – women if you
will. But they gave off a distinct aura of being masculine – not boastful or
cocky, just serene self confidence.
"Oh shit Amy!" I said in some shock. "I'm not sure!"

We were walking home, but now I felt that we were the closest we'd ever been.
When we got married, Amy was the woman and I was the man. Then we had changed
the relationship so that I was the woman – and she was the man. Now fate had
struck and as we talked, I was hit by the fact that Amy had reverted to being a
woman again – but now saw me as her SISTER – and I didn't mind! By the time
we'd reached our house, we were two girls plotting how to seduce two guys –
without looking too forward of course.

Amy pooh poohed my fears about being a male by gender. "Joan? That's silly.
These girls have had to fight all of their lives because they were more
masculine than society wants. I'll give you the fact that Audrey may get thrown
off romantically when she finds out that you're actually a boy? But somehow, I
don't think so. Trust me!"

Logic told me she was wrong and I had a funny feeling when I thought of my wife
being interested in someone else – someone more masculine than myself – yet a
woman to boot? But how could I bitch about her, when I thought that Audrey was
just my own cup of tea? How Amy and I giggled when we set out plans to invite
both girls for dinner and drinks one night shortly thereafter – and how could we
get ourselves all made up – yet look perfectly natural? Finally, we simply said
"The hell with it." And decided to go after Audrey and Bernice.

We both went to the beauty salons had treated ourselves to the works – facials,
hairdo's manicures, pedicures – you name it. Amy loaned me one of her dresses
and I had canapés and the bar well stocked, when the twins finally arrived.
They looked great – athletic and outdoorsy – but nice and strong. Amy and I
looked very pretty together – like feminine sisters. I think that the four of
us knew that sex was in the air from the minute they arrived – but I still had
to 'reveal' my terrible secret. Had a few drinks to give me Dutch courage.
(Amy had said that she'd do it for me – but I had enough savvy to know that
Audrey didn't like bullshit – so knew I HAD to do it.)

We were all sitting around after dinner. Amy and Bernice – Ben – had got
together on one sofa – arms around each other tentatively now and then. Audrey
had started to put an arm around me, but although I wanted to – I knew I had to
speak out first. I looked around me. Took another slug from my drink.

"Audrey? Bernice? I have a confession to make. Amy and I are actually
married!"
The twins looked at each other calmly. Audrey looked at me. "So?"
I gulped. "It's not a lesbian marriage – like you're probably thinking. I'm
actually – actually – a guy. A real life guy!"
Audrey continued to look at me. "And?"

Then Bernice started to laugh. "My sister can be a real shithead at times! Of
COURSE we knew that you were a guy Joan."
"Huh?" I muttered.
The twins smiled at each other. Audrey continued. "Remember I said that we had
come to our widowed aunt's house? Well we came some time ago – to look after
her. Used to see you two sneak onto the courts in the mornings. You were a guy
then Joan. Nowhere NEAR as nice looking as you are now!"
"You KNEW I was a guy – and didn't mind?"
Audrey shrugged. "I always favored sissy boys - so why don't you just come
here to me Joan – and I'll prove it to you."
Bernice had taken Amy and was kissing her – and I certainly didn't want to be
left out – so did as I was told. Lovely.