TG: Trust Me! 8  by Vickie Tern, femdom, wife, M/F, M/M 

Vickie Tern's stories are archived at 
http://library.gaycafe.com/nifty/transgender/
by_authors/Vickie_Tern

She appreciates any kinds of comment on any
of them,  and usually replies in kind.






If you shouldn't be reading this, don't!



     
                                 TRUST ME!
                               by Vickie Tern



                                  VIII.        

     What could I say?  I called Denise, and she asked me over for
supper and the evening -- Tinka was trying out a variety of
mushroom souffles to see which should be served at the baby's
christening, and they wanted me to settle an old dispute between
them about onions versus garlic.  They sounded like an old married
couple, I thought to myself.  But then, that's what they are.

     So when I arrived, the first thing they did was take me into
the nursery.  There lay Mikki, the sweetest little creature in all
the world, all dimples and puffy cheeks, sound asleep, working his
teeny, delicate lips as if he was nursing, now and then jerking his
little limbs as if dreaming, and as I watched, a miracle, a
full-scale sneeze from someone much too tiny to accomplish anything
so complicated.  So very, very precious!  I was absolutely smitten,
and they had to lead me back to the living room, or I'd be there
yet.   

     "Have a stiff drink, Andrea" Denise said.  "At least you're
not pregnant.  Not at the moment, anyhow.  I can tell you've been
spinning in one of your wife's webs, and that's why you're here. 
She's a wonderful woman and we all love her, and you're lucky to
have her and that she loves you to pieces, and that's the truth. 
But she does make her own plans and keep her own counsel."

     So I just unburdened everything: Monica's affair with Ben, her
sudden change of heart about my cross-dressing, her encouraging me,
no, pushing me into a womanhood I now knew was irreversible, and
didn't want to reverse, how my little liaison with Eric had
prepared me to suck and be fucked by her lover Ben and even to
enjoy a brief affair with a young man she hired for the purpose,
even her too-swift assumption that I would be willing to care for
the child of her adultery, her infidelity, my rival's baby, just
because she knew I was sufficiently tender-hearted, and had also
gotten laid by the father.  I set it all out.  I assured them that
I loved Monica this side of distraction, and that life without her
was inconceivable to me.  But in all of these matters there were
questions that had never been answered, and without answers, I just
didn't know what to think.  How to feel.

     Denise asked Tinka to bring me another double, and waited
until I had it.  We were sitting in the living room, and our
conversation continued through dinner -- a delicious dinner I want
to cook for Monica real soon, maybe even also Ben, so I left with
all the recipes -- and it didn't finish until I was standing on
their front steps saying good night yet again, many hours later,
thanking them profusely for all their help.  Because finally, I
understood.

     Denise took charge.  "Andrea, to begin with, Andrew is dead. 
I saw you with that baby.  I've listened to you.  Give up on him. 
Cut off his balls.  Castrate him as punishment for distracting you
>from your proper role in life.  You're a woman.  Maybe you never 
were a transvestite.  Maybe you were always a woman, or most of 
you was, but you were too womanly, too hesitant, too scared to take 
the plunge.  Anyhow, it doesn't matter now.  Monica did you a favor, 
bringing your real femininity out into the open, and letting you 
learn to enjoy it."

     "But she didn't do it for your sake alone.  Like most women
she was raised to think that effeminate men are contemptible, not
admirable for wanting to be the same thing they are.  It's a kind
of self-hatred many women feel, maybe.  Especially wives.  Or
maybe, like Monica at this very moment filled to the hilt by that 
thing of Ben's, they get hung up on a single concept of cock and 
cock alone being desirable, and then they just hang there.  A man 
who doesn't act like a man isn't a man, they think.  Well, duh!  So 
he must be a woman.  One or the other.  But why?  Different strokes."

     "You must certainly have noticed that a lot of things happened
at the same time around five months ago.  Monica got bored with
your gentle decency and fucked someone with balls, and got her cunt
planted by one of the great cocksmen in this part of the country. 
Then she breached a hard-argued three year old agreement with her
husband never to say anything about his compulsive cross-dressing,
and instead she started to encourage it, in fact to push him over
the edge.  And she stopped fucking her husband, who was more and
more becoming her wife, and turned exclusively lesbian with her --
only with her husband, not with the big prick she's still teamed
with and is no doubt at this very moment twisting into her pussy. 
And she sends her former husband off to a willing endocrinologist
for hormones, to get him physically converted as quickly as
possible into a wife.  Complete with breasts.  Breasts are crucial
in this equation.  Real ones, implants need not apply.  How they
hangin'?

     "I may need to shift to a C cup," I replied.  "They're
beautiful.  I love them.  So does Monica.  She's always kissing and
sucking on them."

     "I'll bet.  Puts you in the mood, doesn't it?  Tinka, do you
want to tell our sister here something that she ought to know?"

     The baby had awakened and started crying, so Tinka said, "Just
a moment.  I want to get Mikki and change his diaper.  Then I'll
bring him back in here for his feeding."  

     She did.  That sweet little thing was already nuzzling her
breasts.  She opened her blouse and unhooked a flap on one of her
bra cups, and the darling dived right in.  In a moment he was
nursing and sucking and grunting on Tinka's breast, and Tinka had
blissed out while she hugged him.  But, I realized, it was Denise
who had had the baby, not Tinka.  How could this be?

     "Easy," said Denise when I asked her.  "I had the baby.  Tinka
had the breasts and the desire to nurture another human life.  Our
endo had the hormone women secrete at birth that causes breasts to
make milk.  Put them all together, and what you see is what you
get."

     Tinka smiled up at me.  "That's right, Andrea honey.  If you
have real breasts, you can make real milk.  You do have real
breasts, courtesy of your pregnant wife.  Does that suggest
anything to you?"

     "Did Monica know about this plan of yours, Denise to carry the
baby, and Tinka to nurse it?"  I was feeling resentful yet elated. 
Cheated yet victorious.  I couldn't sort out my own feelings.  What
had Monica done to me?  Did I mind?

     "Not when we decided on it," Denise said.  "Only when she first
found she was pregnant.  I'll bet just about when she discovered that
having a sweet-tempered, cross-dressing, home loving husband has
certain advantages.  Especially if he likes filling his bras with
real tits." 

     Tinka broke in.  "Oh, Denise, you're too harsh on poor Monica. 
Let me put it a different way.  She loves you, Andrea.  Very
dearly.  This is for you, in a way.  It's her gift to you.  For the
two of you.  When you got your vasectomy, she didn't know how
womanly you wanted to be.  She had no idea.  She did know that she
didn't want to be a mother, that she didn't have the time, or
patience, or certainly the desire.  So when Ben knocked her up she
was going to get rid of it.  It was intrusive on her, and certainly
on the two of you.  But by then she'd seen what a wonderful little
homemaker you are, and she got to thinking that she'd deprived you
of one of the great joys of life, parenting, when she asked you to
sterilize yourself and because you're sweet, and loving, and
obliging, that's what you did.  She realized you'd love to raise
the baby, and that with you in charge she'd lose no more time from
her work than it takes for a peasant woman to give birth and get
back into the field.  A few days, a week at most, with no infant to
tire her out.  She could have her cake and eat it.  Motherhood and
a career both, with no conflict between them.  

     Denise added, "Motherhood for her husband, anyhow, once she'd
made him into her wife.  Very clever.  I'd do it myself, if I
hadn't already thought of it and done it."

     Tinka smiled at her and blew her a kiss.  The baby seemed to
be asleep at her breast, his little hand lying lightly on her soft
curves, but his mouth was still working.  She covered him with a
light blanket and held him close.

     "Andrea," Denise said.  "Pardon me for being suspicious, but
when someone mentions cheese, I smell a rat.  What's this "liaison"
with Eric you mentioned?  What kind of liaison?"

     I told her what Monica had told me, that when we last visited
together, after talking babies and bottles and breasts upstairs
with Tinka I came downstairs absolutely zonked, and Eric got me to
cock sucking him before he corn holed me, and that I loved it.  All
of this supposedly being proof that I was a true woman, finally. 
Or maybe that I wasn't."

     When I finished, Tinka was smiling, and Denise the same, even
more broadly,  "I don't believe that woman!" she said.  "She should
be Ambassador to the Universe!  President of the World!"

     Tinka explained.  "Oh, we went upstairs for my recipes and
started talking babies and nursing, all right, you and me.  I could
see you were over the hill and not likely to remember anything, so
I told you our little secret, that I meant to breast-feed Denise's
baby, our baby.  You asked how, and I took you to my breast, and
you were soon sound asleep.  It was so very dear.  Then you didn't
wake up until Monica came to get you and take you home.  Eric never
did show up that night."  

     Again, I was astounded!  "He didn't?  But Monica....But there
was cum all over my panties the next day!"

     "Oh, these days Monica's got no shortage of cum to
redistribute any way she pleases.  She's wonderful, your wife,"
Denise said.  "She'll say all kinds of things to get people to do
what she wants, because she knows it's what they really want
themselves, that it's the right thing for them in the long run. 
And she's always right.  It's uncanny.  Think about it.  Anyhow,
you should meet Eric some time -- he's all man, you'd never guess
he's gay.  Girls feel flattered by his attention because he's so
good looking, but he's perfectly safe.  He'd never hit on Denise or
me.  Nor on you either, I should think.  You're not his type.  He
likes guys who look even more manly than he is.  Tight buns, hard
pecs, you know, weight lifter macho types.  He'd go for Ben, but
Ben would probably flatten him.  Girls like us are safe enough."

     Now I was really dumbfounded!  "My own wife seduced me into
blowing and getting fucked by her boyfriend, partly by telling me
a fairy tale about my already having sex with Eric, so it didn't
matter!  Why!?  And she has gotten herself pregnant by him, and
gotten me physically rearranged to nurse and raise their baby. 
Why?  She's not that cruel.  Nor that vindictive. I never did
anything like that to her!  I've tried to be a devoted husband!  Or
wife, anyhow!  Why?"

     Denise began speaking to me much more gently, but very firmly. 
She could hear my pain, my fear that my wife was really another
woman, a stranger, my bafflement.  So she started right in.  

     "Monica told you all the reasons, I'm sure.  Didn't she? 
Right after you got laid by the man who is now the father of your
child?  I'm sure she did.  She's very up front and honest.  That's
why people trust her.  Because she knows what people really want,
and she knows how to sell it to them.  She's a real ace at it. 
It's what she does!"

     "Think of it this way.  She could have told you that she got
you fucked by her boy friend because you're a nice guy, and she was
feeling guilty that she had been unfaithful to you, so she thought
she'd make you think you'd done something like that yourself, and
that would get her off the hook, even the score.  So she invented
this story about you and Eric getting it on.  But it didn't work. 
If you did it, you didn't know what you were doing, so it didn't
count, but anyhow you didn't do it!  That story didn't wash her
conscience clean.  So next she seduced you into her lover's bed. 
Then she felt better. I'm sure that's why she did it.  Among many
reasons why.  But that reason if she'd confessed it to you wouldn't
bring you to the next step of your enlightenment, finding out what
you really want.  You might not forgive her.  You might even
divorce her.  It's quite a betrayal, looked at one way.  So I'm
sure she didn't tell you .  Right?"

     "Right, I guess," I said.  Monica confesses her sins to
nobody.  "All right.  She got me to fuck Ben for all of the above
reasons, and I'm not sorry I did it.  I'm glad.

     "I'll bet you're glad," Tinka broke in.  "You're a woman,
right?  And that stud is God's gift to women!  Monica had yet
another reason to get you well and truly laid.  You didn't think 
you were a woman until recently, right?  You were a transvestite, 
not a transsexual.  You liked looking like a woman, and feeling 
the way you think women feel, and doing womanly things.  But that's 
not being a woman.  That's being a man who enjoys expressing 
his feminine sides, which all men have and most men suppress."  

     "A heterosexual man, that is.  I'll bet even during your 
flounciest cross dressing, you hated the idea that you
might be gay, a man who wants to have sex with men.  Most men hate
that idea.  Its unbearable, unendurable.  But there you were,
getting fucked by Ben and loving it.  So you had to think, either
you really are a faggot, a fairy, one of those pathetic nancies like
Eric, or else you're really a woman.  Right?  So at that moment you
decided you're really a woman, not pretending but actual, though in
a man's body.  Didn't you?  I thought so.  You crossed the line.  
Monica set you up with that stud to drive you so deep into your 
own femininity you'd never emerge, and never want to emerge.  
Never again feel ashamed to think of yourself as a woman.  
And it worked!  Didn't it?"

     I had to admit that Tinka had a point.  "But that still
doesn't tell me why she decided to keep the baby," I said.  I had
a feeling I was fighting a losing battle but winning a war.  "Maybe
she did worry that I had deprived myself of fatherhood, or
motherhood, or whatever, and wanted to make it up to me.  But why
didn't she tell me?  We could have worked it out together.  Why all
this elaborate manipulation?"

     "Two reasons," Denise said.  One is that as she got to know
you, she saw that you'd make her a perfect wife and mother, but she
knew there was no way you'd agree.  Not a prayer.  That's much too
weird a notion for you.  For any man!  Especially any heterosexual 
man so ashamed of his cross dressing he couldn't confess it 
even to his wife."   

     "But there's more.  I'm sure she plans to tell you this after
the baby's born, to surprise and delight you with the news.  She
didn't let Ben off the hook.  She gambles.  When she first found
she was pregnant, Ben offered to pay all the costs.  He's never had
a kid of his own, and he wanted her to carry it to term.  

     She saw he wanted it, so she put that little brain of hers 
to work.  She saw a way to get as close to Ben's money as she 
already was to his cock.  To get it inside her.  She set conditions.
She made a bet with Ben that she could do the impossible, have the baby 
and turn her husband into a woman to nurse it and raise it, so 
she could keep working full time on this big real estate deal 
they've got going.  And, so that psychologically it would really 
seem to her husband to be his very own baby, she would get him 
to accept Ben fucking him, getting filled with Ben's sperm at 
both ends.  It was a big gamble.  The bet was a full partnership 
for her if she could sell her husband that proposition."  

     "Well, Ben thought it was a safe enough bet.  If a woman can 
sell her own husband that, she can sell anyone anything, and is 
well worth a partnership.  So if he loses, he wins.  But Ben didn't 
think he'd lose.  Would any man alive agree to get fucked three ways 
like that?  To suck your own wife's lover's cock, and to open your own ass 
for him to plow at will, then to stay home and raise his baby while 
your wife is still getting it on with her lover nights and weekends?"  

     "Ben was right.  No man would do those things.  But Monica 
knew that another woman might.  And that you liked looking and feeling 
like a woman, close enough for openers.  And that Ben wanted that 
baby, and that this was his chance to have one, and he was sure he'd 
win.  So the bet was all signed and sealed, and all Monica had to 
do is deliver.  Including, deliver you from your peculiar notion 
that you're a man, and then deliver you to get fucked over by your 
wife's lover.   She saw no problem.  When she first told us 
about all this, way back, before you had even the slightest notion,
she was having an affair, before you even dreamed that your relationship
with her was about to change, she was already amusing herself by 
calling it her sucker bet."

     "But it's an open question who got more fucked over.  In effect, 
>from now on you'll have Ben working for you half-time to make you 
even richer than you are.  Soon the two of you will share a full 
half of Ben's big deals as well as a full half of Monica's, not 
just a percentage.  That's a very big piece of money.  Eventually, if
you think about it, the baby will get it all, which may be why Ben
finally agreed.  He's got no wife as well as no kids -- he's been 
too successful with the ladies to want to settle down and raise a
family.  So Monica decided that she knew better than you what you 
really wanted, and better than Ben what Ben really wanted, and she 
figured a way to get the two of you to agree on what you both 
wanted, and in that way get what she wanted.  So she made the bet." 

     "You're practically a multi-millionaire.  You can set up as
a society lady if you want, and even get a nanny to raise the kid
if it seems like too much bother.  Even get a wet nurse, if you
really want to spend your life polishing your nails and doing
nothing else.  You're married to a great provider, and she's
provided for you and the kid for life.  You didn't know that?"

     Tinka finished with Mikki and put him back in his bassinet,
and sat back down on the couch.  "Oh, look at that look on your
face," she said.  "I can't tell whether you're laughing or crying. 
Come here."

     I went over and sat down next to her, absolutely blown away. 
Like that day when Eric didn't show, and I never sucked his cock, 
and he never fucked me.  Tinka took me in her arms.  

     "Precious baby," she said.  "This has all been very confusing
for you.  All of this scheming so you can be happy and everyone
else can be too.  Come drink me.  Soon you'll be nursing your own
baby, and we'll have such good times together.  There are so many
things for us to share about raising babies.  Much better than
trading recipes."

     "For instance, my sister Carol wants to get her baby weaned to
whole milk in bottles in just a few months, so as not to bother
breast feeding at all.  Her pediatrician doesn't mind if she tries. 
I think she's wrong.  Breast milk is far better for an infant than
bottled.  It provides the little dears more of the mothers'
antibodies, to protect them when they're most vulnerable.  So
Betsy, my neighbor down the road, says she means to nurse her Billy
until he gives it up all by himself.  He's already past two now,
with no sign of quitting.  Why should he ever quit?  Some little
boys just can't ever get enough, I guess, even when they're
supposed to be grown men."  

     "That's it, darling, suck deep.  I've got lots, and it's good
for me to be fully drained now and then, and little Mikki's always
falling asleep before he's emptied me.  It's so comforting, isn't
it.  Anyhow, that doctor's done wonders with you.  You're not even
lactating yet, and look how your breasts are already quite heavy. 
You'll probably be able to nurse Ben and Monica's baby until he
goes away to college.  Or if she's a girl, until she gets married 
and has babies of her own, and you're a grandma."  

     "But most likely it'll be until Ben and Monica present you
with yet another baby.  And then another.  Remember, Monica's
always thinking ahead to the next move.  She's usually way ahead of
all of us!  Monica's probably confessed to you that she now knows she 
loves feeling a fat cock ramming and thrusting into her, day in and 
day out, her pussy overflowing with spunk, that she can't do without 
it.  Ben's got one of the best, as you already know, and he's 
attractive and available.  And you also already know that Monica 
doesn't like contraceptives.  So once she's set you up to take 
care of one pretty, sweet little creature, and to nurse and nurture 
and care for the darling out of your most profound innermost desires, 
what happens next seems to me pretty inevitable."  

     "Your life is pretty well laid out for you.  You can't
complain she's having all the fun and you're doing all the work,
because she's also bringing in all the money, and you're always
invited to join in the fun.  You can always schedule Ben for a
rerun into your mouth and ass.  Or you can always give up on those
dangling things down there altogether, and get yourself a proper
vagina for him to stuff with his meat, or go find someone else's
cock when you feel like a fling."  

     "Or if you still prefer women, you might plan to spend the 
night with us now and then -- you're a dear friend, we'd just 
love to have you, and under these circumstances I see no need to 
kiss and tell.  You can make up for all those pyjama parties 
you missed because when you were a girl, you thought you were 
a boy, and never suspected that you were going to be the lovely 
woman Monica's made you!  You'll taste delicious when your milk 
comes in, and look at you now, sucking so sweetly.  It feels so 
good!  We can taste each other in lots of places.  Three girls 
can have so much fun together!"

	"Now, don't tell me none of these ideas appeal!  Andrea, to 
sing the old song, 'She made you what you are today, I hope 
you're satisfied.'  I'm sure she's satisfied.  I'll bet you are.  
Really satisfied, deep down.  Aren't you?"




END
(c) 1996 by Vickie Tern