Teasing 
Four


Then she began her hard sell.  She leaned toward me.  "Honey, just
tomorrow, just for a few hours tomorrow!  You only need to look
like a woman, it isn't as if you had to become one, I'd never ask
you to do that.  Just so when we walk in and he glances at you
he'll put aside any ideas about me until a later time when I'm
better prepared to cope with them, when they aren't part of our
negotiation.  He won't bother with you.  You'll be practically
invisible from the moment you walk in, only one more secretary
there to take notes."

I wasn't happy, but that no longer mattered.  I had to hear her
out.

"Oh, look at that dear long face!  Sweetie, you won't need a
complete disguise.  You already have a cute face!  All we need is
to enhance it a little.  Provide a few cues signalling that you're
a woman and a secretary, no more than that.  There's not much
you'll need!  Maybe smooth your hair and gloss it, and put it into
a high pony tail on the crown of your head instead of down at the
nape like Geronimo's.  Or better, give it a little body, a little
curl, cut and fluff it to fit your face, that would work better I
think.  Then with a little mascara and lipstick, you're practically
all set.  Earrings of course.  Fingernails, secretaries are always
repairing their nails.  A note pad, a laptop computer maybe,
something like that.  A handbag to match your heels and complement
your skirt.  That should do it.  Nothing, really!  You'll hardly
look different, just different enough."

I wriggled uneasily.  "Tara," I began.

"It won't touch how I feel about you, about your masculinity,
sweetheart.  I've been pretending that you're swish for a long
time, you know that!  This just carries it a little further,into
outright girly.  You'll have to try to feel more feminine inside
yourself of course.  More delicate maybe, more passive and
wide-eyed.  Interested in what this Bill Bartram is like as a man,
not take his measure as a man, try to size him up as competition,
the way men always do when they meet each other for the first time. 
Study his shoulders a moment, give him a quick check below the
belt, that's all.  We all do that.  Smile into his face as if you
were impressed and flattered, now finally meeting him.  Nothing
improper.  Mainly I expect what you'll do is look pretty and take
notes."

Worse and worse.  I tried again.  "Tara!  I can't ...."

"Think of it this way, too, honey!  You'll be there, you'll be able
to see everything that happens between us.  You'll see exactly how
I entice handsome men, why they're glad to pay my fees!  I know
you'll want to see that.  Actually be there when it happens.  And
you'll want to see how I resist them, too, won't you?  Or have
those ideas I've put into your head taken over, so now you want to
see another man seduce me?  I hope not, because you never will."  

And having offered those extra thoughts, she smiled.  Now she was
back in form.  She wasn't asking or trying to persuade me, she
already knew what I'd decide.  I hadn't exploded, gone ballistic,
so that was that.  She was now assuming it was a done deal and
taking my consent for granted.  She knew she had me, and I saw her
relax her shoulders.  I'd decided, I just didn't know it yet.  A
playful glint came into her eyes, and a teasing lilt in her voice.

"Maybe you'll enjoy letting your feminine feelings bubble up for
once.  Maybe it'll be fun, releasing your inner girl?  Maybe that's
why you're so hesitant?  You're afraid you'll like being a girl? 
Well, pretending to be one is the next best thing, you know.  Just
think, girls all get to be pretty, and get to attract all kinds of
great guys!  Are you afraid you'll be tempted?  That you'll want to
live like a girl all the time?"

I could feel myself coming around, reconciling myself to helping
her this way.  Just this one time.  But I tried to resist.

"Or maybe you're a wannabe gay down under after all, frightened
that I may be offering you a marvelous chance to make out with a
great guy, because you're still shy and inexperienced?  Is that
it?"  She grinned.

I did feel afraid.  "I don't want to be a girl," I said in a small,
helpless voice.

She didn't seem to hear me.  She leaned forward to reassure me,
confident, still in her "closing the deal" mode.  "I know,
sweetheart.  Of course not.  You're afraid to look like less of a
man in my eyes when there's another man around!" 

I tried to speak.  My mouth was so dry again that nothing came out.

"You think that if you let down your guard just a little, do
something just a little bit feminine, I won't respect you or keep
loving you?  Well, I will keep loving you.  Even more than now,
because greater love hath no man than to give up his manhood for
his woman.  And I'd respect you all the more too, for your
willingness especially.  Is it really such an enormous risk that if
you awaken your femininity you'll be tempted to go all the way, get
yourself castrated, get a vagina installed in space vacated by your
cock?" 

"No."

"Are you really afraid you'll go uncontrollable, that you'll try to
seduce this man yourself, to take him into you, that you'll want to
feel him moving around inside you?   Or is it that you're afraid
your chivalry will get out of hand, that you'll feel noble and
self-sacrificing, that you'll tell yourself you've got to seduce
him to save me from a like fate?  That you'll feel an irresistible
urge to suck his cock in order to protect my virtue?"

Was she teasing or mocking me?  I couldn't take it!  I broke! 
"Enough!" I said.  "Honey, I'm ... look, you want me to do it, I'll
do it!  I don't ...."   I stopped.  She knew.  What more needed to
be said?  I know I looked unhappy.  I felt unhappy.  But now I'd
said it.

She relaxed some more on hearing that.  But not altogether.  "I
love you, you sweetie, you do know that, don't you?" she said in a
low voice.  Not at all mocking. 

She waited.  She needed a response.  My participation.

"Yes."

"And I want you to be happy, you know that too?"

"Yes, honey, I know that."

"Then trust me.  Just do it.  We're together in this.  We will be. 
It isn't only that I need you, and also that you're the only one in
the world who can help me, and also that you're willing.  It's also
because ... well, it'll be different.  In a small way it'll be
something new for both of us.  Another relationship we can explore
together.  We've done you as a cuckold and a pansy, in our
imaginations anyhow, and you know it gave you an illicit charge! 
Who knows, maybe you'll enjoy feeling feminine too!  Maybe despite
yourself.  Remember, I know where you're coming from, and I know
where you're going sometimes even when you don't.  OK?"

"OK," I said, wondering what she thought she knew.

"I love you," she said again.  "More than ever now.  No matter
what.  Remember that."

"I love you too," I replied, needlessly, now wondering what she
meant by 'no matter what.'    

"Come kiss me," she said.

I stood up and went over to her, and she stood and started toward
me.  I wanted to take her head in both my hands and kiss her lips,
to reassure her that it was all right, I was glad to help.  But
just as I came within reach, she stood to join me and encircled my
waist with one arm and gripped the back of my head with her other
hand, and leaned forward and clamped her mouth to mine.  She
pressed her face into mine, and her tongue came into my mouth as my
head pushed back helplessly against her open hand. I went nearly
breathless before she released me.

"Wow!" I said, trying to grin, trying to make light of something
challenging I'd sensed in that kiss.  Something serious.  She'd
been the boy.  I'd been the girl.

"Wow yourself, honey.  Isn't it nice, being the submissive partner
for once?  No need to think, just follow my lead and do what I ask
you?  We begin now.  You're a pretty girl.  Go straight up to our
bedroom and get undressed and get into the shower and shave your
legs and your arms and your chest.  There's a pink shortie nightie
on your pillow.  Put it on and wait for me, I need to make a few
calls first.  Tomorrow you'll be my administrative secretary, and
I want you to look right and feel comfortable as just that from now
on, so come show time it'll all seem natural and easy and pleasant. 
Your happy memories as a girl begin now." 

I felt a little uneasy.  Begin now, end when?  Better be sure we
understand each other.  "But after tomorrow I'll be your husband
again, right?  A man?"

She smiled devilishly.  "My husband?  That quivering cuckold?"  Her
voice took on its familiar, gossipy tone.  She was now talking to
a friend, not to me.  To a girlfriend.  The way she talked to
Astrid.  "You know, Pattie, for weeks, months, that so-called man
I'm married to has watched me get off in bed with all kinds of men,
and he's never once complained!  He likes it.  He even sucks their
cum out of me afterward, can you imagine that?  You can't call that
a husband!  He's not even a man!"

She came over and leaned over me and kissed me sweetly, gently,
softly, on my mouth.  "And it's just as well," she continued. 
"Because you know what?  You'll never believe this either.  He's
just agreed to become a woman!  Well, we'll see if he's better at
it than at being a man.  Tonight I want to make glorious love to
him as a women.  Tonight I want to make him glad that he's a
woman!" 

She turned to speak to me directly.  To me, again, not to some
confidante.  "Don't you find that exciting, lover?"

I was addled.  This was all pretend, but she'd added yet another
kinky new twist.   "Yes," I said.  The idea was exciting, I had to
admit it, now that I'd agreed to it.  Maybe even liberating.  I had
no idea why. 

"I thought you would, honey.  Now go upstairs and make yourself
smooth and pretty for me as best you can!  I want you to feel
really good about yourself, persuaded that you are what you seem to
be.  That begins now.  Starting now, you need to believe that
tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life, and that
tonight's the first night."

Maybe only women can understand how come, but it was rather
pleasant as Tara teased and coaxed me to bring out my most feminine
traits, encouraged womanliness to emerge and replace my manliness. 
It was much different from the earlier implicit mockery she'd
brought to our lovemaking.  At times, I have to confess, it felt
just lovely.  Tara wanted me to persuade myself that I was a shy
woman, and she was determined that I enjoy the illusion.  And I
did.

I realized for the first time that despite my heightened ability to
cum repeatedly whenever Tara goaded me about supposed her
infidelities and my own inadequate masculinity, all of our
lovemaking had been about Tara, not about me.  Tara had dissociated
me from myself, pretended I was other men in order to stoke my
jealousies, to build up a helpless dependence on her passion and
her love for me, to keep my prick up and functional for her uses. 
I hardly noticed, because my most ardent desire had always been to
please Tara anyhow -- my own pleasures arrived along the way.  Once
she took charge, Tara always satisfied herself as she chose,
rotating her pussy on top of me or under me, and I kissed or sucked
or fucked her also as she chose.  Her orgasms were what the whole
thing was about.  Mine were almost incidental.  

But now I was who it was all about!  Tara took the initiatives. 
She made love to me, and I responded.  I became her receptacle
waiting to be filled, and she filled me until my cup ran over!  It
seemed wrong somehow, but I loved the attention!  I loved it all!

When I got upstairs I saw that she'd forecast my willingness well
in advance -- there was a prepared upholstered box by the shower
containing shaving cream and a razor, and a bottle of depillatory
lotion with a note reading "First shave everything, then use this,
then rinse well.  Use the hair conditioner too."  And there were
other cosmetics.  

So I did.  The hair on my body has always been thin and fine, never
wiry, but fifteen minutes later there was none at all, and I was
wiping a perfumed body lotion into my strangely-softened, silky
skin.  Lilac, not Tara's signature Gardenia.  I wondered if the
scent would wash off, or if like Tara's Gardenia it was expected to
sink into my skin to become my own personal scent.  Me.  The
conditioner was also lilac, I saw.  Apparently so.  She'd planned
well ahead.

There was another note on the hair-dryer, telling me to brush out
my long hair and blow dry it until it was straight and neat.  I
did.  The conditioner was a "volumizing" gel I'd not seen in the
bathroom before, and when I'd finished, my hair felt unnaturally
full, even heavy, floating down to my shoulders.  In the mirror, it
made my face look smaller, more pixieish.

Then when I came into our bedroom there on the pillow was the pink
nightie she'd mentioned, a pink satin babydoll as silky smooth as
my skin.  I put it on, and it was nice, it flowed over my body like
oil.  I sat on the bed in it to wait for Tara and the strange
sensations gradually subsided.  It was my own shortie nightgown.
that's all.  There was a copy of "Modern Woman" on her bedside
night stand, so I picked it up, thinking to put myself in the right
mood for all this.  Turning its pages over, I was amazed to find
that every one of the models in the ads was looking directly at me,
mildly approving my hair and my babydoll, not at all surprised that
a man was seeking their advice, ready to make just one or two
further suggestions to change my appearance and my life. 

When Tara came in, I wasn't surprised to see that she wore exactly
the same expression on her face.  And she was wearing a satin
babydoll like mine, also with a lace fringe around the edges of
sleeves and hems.  She pulled up a chair and sat next to me, almost
conspiratorially, as if girl to girl, and she stared into my face. 


"Gorgeous, Pattie!" she said.  "You are a gorgeous girl and never
forget it!  You're so pretty with your hair down it'd be a shame to
get it cut to your ear lobes and restyled to prim and proper
secretarial.  Maybe we'll just re-shape it, give it a little more
curl -- an attractive secretary is also an asset.  Now you just lie
back on the bed, lover girl.  I want to do everything."

I did.

She lay down directly on top of me, fitting her body atop mine, her
feet grasping my ankles.  I was pinned down.  Her face was directly
above mine, and as she breathed I knew that even her toothpaste was
gardenia.  She leaned up on her elbows and inspected me.  "Yes,"
she said.  "Lilac is your scent.  I was almost sure of it this
afternoon when I was out shopping for the new you.  And pale pink
is your color, nothing too dramatic.  Didn't you find the lipstick
I left for you?  No?  Your mouth needs to be an eensie bit more
emphatic.  Just a moment."

She hopped off me, was gone, and just as my body was feeling the
loss of hers she returned and lay atop me again.  It felt good. 
We'd never before just lain still like this with her weight alone
pressing against me.

"I didn't think you'd used it then wiped it off accidentally.  It
isn't supposed to come off that easily," she said.  "'Perma-color'
they call it.  Use as a base under any darker colors, never needs
removing."

"Not even after tomorrow afternoon?" I asked her.

Tara acted amused.  "Why sweetie, why ever in the world would you
want to remove it after tomorrow afternoon?  Don't you have faith? 
Don't you think tomorrow evening we'll be out celebrating our
signing of the biggest contract ever, months and months of
commissions and royalties, and prospects for months and months
more?  Not to mention my breakthrough as a designer of office space
for a huge company, practically a Fortune 500?  When I land this
account I intend to take out a full-page ad and tell the world!"

"Sure we should celebrate," I said.  "But don't you think it would
be better for us to return here first so I can change back into
something more appropriate?"

"And what's more appropriate, my lovely new secretary and
assistant?  What dress would you want to wear tomorrow night to
help us land this client tomorrow afternoon?"

I got her point.  If I didn't believe in this new role I was
playing, no one else would either.  So I went along.  At least for
once I wasn't one of those stud lovers I wasn't, nor that wimp
husband I guess I was, in a way.  In this thing I was more her
partner, a collaborator."

"I'm your new administrative secretary all day tomorrow," I said. 
"But after you've signed this guy up I'm going to be Cinderella and
turn back into a pumpkin."

"We'll see," she said.  "But Cinderella never became a pumpkin. 
She became a princess.  If you insist on confusing your fairy
tales, let's just say that right now you're an ugly duckling who's
about to become a beautiful butterfly.  Open your mouth just a bit,
my fairy princess, and make your lips smooth and tight."

She took a wand out of a thin cylinder and held it up.  Not a
short, fat lipstick but a kind of paint brush covered at the tip
with a demure, drenched, pink sponge, not quite red.  "The
perma-color," she explained.  "Now hold still.  And resting
comfortably on one elbow, with infinite care she traced the tip of
the sponge over my lips.  It felt cold and wet.  She paused a
moment.  "Now again," she said, and did it a second time.  Then
again, waited.

"A liquid?" I asked.  "I thought lipsticks were colored wax."

"Hush, Pattie," she said.  "This is lip coloring, not your usual
lipstick.  A kind of ointment dye, it sinks down through the lip
membranes so you stay pretty and kissable for days.  Once more,
make a mouth for me!"

I did, and she painted the pale red dye on my lips yet a third
time.  "You know," she said thoughtfully.  "That's already a huge
improvement.  Your upper lip had hardly any shape.  Now it's a
really cute cupid's bow.  And your lower lip has a sweet pout. 
'Bee-stung' they call it.  Hold very still while it sinks in. We
want the full effect of the softeners, so your mouth can feel more
like my mouth.  Men like women with soft mouths."

I held very still.  Eventually she leaned forward and kissed me, 
pressed her lips against mine and held them there.  A teeny flick
of her tongue, and then she pulled back, smiling ever so gently. 
She looked so content I almost couldn't bring myself to ask the
obvious.

"Tara," I said.

"Mmmmm?" she replied, looking now into my eyes.

"What you just put on, it doesn't come off?"

"No ma'am," she said dreamily.  Her mind was already elsewhere. 
"Not for days and days and days.  Maybe even weeks.  I'm not sure."

"Then how do I get it off?"

Her eyes widened.  "Sweetie, you don't want the bother of
re-applying your makeup!  Remember?  In order to be a convincing
girl at a glance, you need certain enhancements boys don't use. 
Not most boys, anyhow -- my little girly-boy here is very special! 
This will keep its color and keep your lips soft without any
further attention.  You don't want it off, you want it on!"

"Honey," I said.  She was concentrating on my face again, studying
my eyes, looking softly into them.  

"If you're worried about the color," she said, "don't, there's no
need.  I told you.  This is a daytime shade, almost a neutral pink,
just distinctive enough to be noticeable. You can always put other
shades on top.  Reds, purples, whatever your little heart desires
or whatever enhances whatever dress you're wearing.  But this will
be your basic tone.  It'll match your nails when we have them done
tomorrow.  You might not want to use any other shade ever, except
maybe when you go out very formal."

I tried again.  "Honey," I began.

"Who are you?" she interrupted me, tracing a finger over one of my
eyelids.  

"Your administrative secretary," I replied dutifully.

"That's right, sweetheart. My long-time administrative secretary. 
For five years now, ever since you first came to me for employment
and I hired you in that wonderful wedding ceremony that gave you to
me for life.  Remember?"

"Of course I do," I said, and I lifted my head to kiss her lips.
She came forward and met mine half way.  So very, very soft!  I
nearly melted.

"Your lips are so soft, now," she murmured.  "For life."  She began
pecking oh so gently on my mouth.  "Just remember who you are and
that you always will be who you are.  For life.  If you don't
believe in yourself, who else will?  

She was right again.  This was method acting, find my inner girl
and live whatever she lives, to achieve authenticity.  Of a kind. 


"Yes," she said, confirming the thought she saw on my face.  And
kissed me yet again.  "You'll always need to know that your make-up
is perfect at all times, won't you?  That's how women who play in
these leagues need to play it.  You need to know with perfect
confidence that you're everything you seem to be and that
everything in your whole past life brought you here.  Isn't that
true?"

"Yes," I said.  

"That's my girl," Tara said, satisfied.  "That's my sweet, lovely
girl!  Think about it.  All day tomorrow this will have to be for
life, won't it?  It has to be, doesn't it?  In fact, starting now
it's for life, isn't it?"

"Yes," I said.  There was nothing else to say.  

"Good.  Then think about it this way.  You're new to this.  You
can't possibly take out a compact and repair your face whenever
you've nibbled on something.  Or kissed someone.  You've never done
it before.  No one would ever believe you've been doing it ever
since your mother allowed you to start using make-up, just about
when you had your first period."

She was right, of course.  That was why this permanent lip color. 
In as unobtrusive a shade as possible, but visible, one of those
strong cues that said "Girl here!"  It was advantageous for me to
persuade myself I'd always be wearing one or another kind of lip
color, that my lips would always look feminine.

"Yes," I said.  "Of course."

She resumed her examination of my eyes, her fingertips stroking my
half-closed eyelids.  "Just smoky gray here," she said.  "With
maybe a touch of umber for warmth.  And just a hint of shine. 
Lovely!"

And with that much settled as she lay there on top of me, she
wriggled her hips.  "Oh, it's so nice to be with a woman again,"
she said. "Woman are so much softer and nicer than men!  After day
after day spent with all those hard-plowing and thrusting men,
flattering their egos and squeezing their cocks.  And then coming
home to console my husband with their cum, because he doesn't
excite me any more except when his face is between my legs.  After
all that its so lovely to be just me with you, Pattie, just the two
of us.  You know how it is with men, I know you do.  You were once
real close to one I think!  Or like me you thought you were!"