Wedding Daze
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Wedding Daze
By StacyInLove
I looked myself over in the mirror and fluffed the billowing skirts
of my gown one last time. I allowed a last deep nervous breath to
escape from my full red lips.
The beautician that had come to do my makeup and hair had left over
an hour earlier. Before she did though, she had (thankfully) helped
with the scores of pretty little buttons running down my back too.
With my long nails, they were nearly impossible.
"This is it," I murmured to the mirror in a well-too-practiced
woman's voice.
Though all of my friends had seen me as a bride before, the other
gown had been a costume. That other gown had won a Halloween prize...
and only set the wheels in motion for this insanity.
Nobody, not family nor friends, knew about my secret obsession with
women's clothes. Nobody knew about the years of internet hormones or
countless painful hours of self-electrolysis (thanks to EBay). Nobody
knew about the panties; tightly bound chest; or hidden corsets under
baggy regular clothes (which hid curves that belonged on no boy).
Nobody saw how good I could do makeup or hair... and no one ever
heard my "other" voice.
Everybody thought only about frail little Brian with his ponytail
and earrings, which helped pull off my "cool" starving-artist look
since dropping out of high school.
Oddly enough, I didn't even want to actually become a woman. I just
liked looking like one every once in a while. But the urge to look
more and more "real" when I dressed was too strong to resist.
Hormones and electrolysis were just too easily accessible for a boy
of sixteen (when I started them). Even as an exceedingly wrong
puberty started replacing the one I was supposed to have, I took
comfort in my ability to hide things (and that those things could
eventually be "corrected" some day).
But what I wanted and what was happening to me were two very
different things. The bumps that were increasingly painful to bind
under my baggy shirts weren't "bumps" at all... they were breasts.
The womanly hips and rounded tear-drop shaped bottom were
terrifyingly real too. Though too petrified to reveal myself to
anyone, I started to realize that life as someone named "Stacy" might
actually be easier than a life as "Brian".
The surgery in Thailand didn't require certifications or "waiting
periods". Afterwards (and no longer a minor at eighteen), changing my
legal name back home was strangely easier than revealing what I had
done to myself. So Stacy remained hidden while Brian waited for the
strength and "right time" to come clean. But that "right time" became
more elusive with each passing day... and being Brian remained the
easier choice. I was almost resigned to continuing my strange secret
life as if nothing had changed. Aside from having to sit to pee...
not much HAD changed (except for more satisfyingly realistic "dress-
up" sessions.) In spite of what was on my new license, I felt so much
like "me" that I kept forgetting what it read.
Then life came up with a "right time"... an opportunity that I
nurtured almost absently in the beginning of it.
Though everyone had real jobs after they graduated high school...
Christine's rush-wedding gave Lori, Jen, Alana, Peg, and some of the
girls the idea to start a side-business of planning weddings for
others. Peg's family had a catering business. Alana worked at a
florist. John and Greg already assisted with pictures and videos for
someone else and wanted to go it alone. One of Paul's bands did
weddings too. Not that it mattered, but even Bob's older brother,
Bill, had become a priest and could come back to perform a kind of
test-wedding locally.
The idea of a staged wedding made sense. A dry-run would work out
any kinks without spoiling someone else' real wedding. Key moments
(like cutting the cake or throwing a bouquet) could be shot as many
times as necessary for the best promotional pictures and videos.
I wasn't even the one to think of me as the bride.
Knowing what the answer would be in advance, Bob didn't bother to
ask his brother (Father Bill) if he would allow a fake wedding to be
staged in a church. Using one of the girls was out of the question...
because the ceremony that Bill would perform would be "real". Bill
never saw my prize-winning Halloween costume more than two-years
earlier.... and a ceremony with me as the bride wouldn't be "real"
either.
"I'll be the groom," Bob mused as he thought about how to work his
brother, "but faking the marriage license is gonna be tough."
I remembered the quirk of my legal name and that I had to sit to pee.
"I'll work that out," I volunteered.
"How?"
"You do your part. I'll come through on mine."
He shrugged. A week later, I took a form to town hall with three
signatures on it. Bob's name and scrawl were on the left side. I had
signed my name as Stacy on the right... but signed it again with his
last name in the section indicating that I'd be taking his name too.
There was nothing fake about the blood tests. The wedding banns and
announcements in the paper had to be "real" for Father Bill's sake
too. Our made-up story was simple. Bob and "Stacy" supposedly met in
a far city on his after-graduation trip cross country. We fell in
love right away but couldn't even think of larger plans after so
short a time together. But after weeks of phone calls, we both came
to realize that we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.
Plane trouble was why Stacy missed the rehearsal... and had to go
through a walk-through over the phone with Father Bill instead of
doing it in person.
Thoughts of those plans and arrangements were behind me as stood
alone in my tiny apartment. Grabbing my beautiful flowered bouquet
and silk wedding purse, I looked every inch the trembling bride.
The woman who had done my makeup and hair had done almost too good a
job. With my hair died a bright blonde and cut and styled up into a
stunning bridal arrangement (complete with baby's breath sprigs and a
delicate veil)... "I" didn't even recognize me. The makeup was so
tastefully beautiful I almost wanted to cry too. But more than
anything else, the delicately thin ultra-feminine brows that she had
shaped on me had utterly erased "Brian"... and forced "Stacy" to
emerge in his place.
My billowing gown was no costume either. The sleeveless beaded
bodice was a bustier-style with hidden boning to further slim my
already severely tapered torso and wasp-like waist. It showed off
very real cleavage that none of my family or friends had ever seen...
and which made me feel more than naked in spite of the voluminous
gossamer petticoats and sweep of the elegant skirting and train.
A choker of real pears circled my over-exposed neck... with matching
earrings tickling me as they swayed below my lobes. Long white satin
gloves fit perfectly over the elbows of my slender feminine arms
(even if they did cover my perfect French tipped nails). Pretty lace
panties and gartered white silk stockings were hidden beneath that
gown; and unless I was gathering my train for a flash of them as I
walked, no one would see my white four-inch satin pumps either.
Scented with an enchanting perfume, I even smelled beautiful.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," I whispered in my Stacy-voice as I
turned the knob with slippery satin gloves and left the house as a
woman for the very first time.
With my dress gathered around me as my heels clicked down the walk,
I glanced at a half-dozen large bags piled at the curb. It was
garbage day and the sound of the truck in the distance made me
tremble. "Brian's" life was in those bags.
The waiting limo driver helped me into the back of his impossibly
long car without a blink. Sitting there by myself, in the midst of my
billowing petticoats and gown, I kept trembling at the thought of
meeting John and Greg and the "bride's maids" for pre-wedding
pictures at Christine's. The terror started to grow with my doubts;
but as much as I wanted to tell the driver to turn around and bring
me back... I sat there silently trying to fight my shivering.
Assuming that the garbage truck had been on time... there would be no
Brian-clothes to change back into anyway.
Christine and the other girls didn't hear me come up to ring the
bell. With my arms full of that wedding dress, I watched as her door
swung open... along with her mouth.
"Brian?" she asked in stunned disbelief as the others gathered at
the door.
"I guess its Stacy for today," I said with a meek smile in my Stacy-
voice and pretty red lips.
Lori, my Maid of Honor, whispered, "My god. Is that you?"
"Yes. Why're you all looking at me like that?"
"Because you're beautiful... Stacy."
Someone else hushed, "Those brows..."
"...you're blonde."
"You've got boobs!" Greg added incredulously as he joined the girls
at the door.
I actually gulped as I prepared to come clean. This was the
opportunity I had embraced and ultimately forced myself to play out.
But though I desperately wanted to finally confess... I suddenly
couldn't just yet.
"Tape and some creative skin mashing can do some incredible things.
Hey. Can I come in... or is everyone just going to stare and make me
feel like an idiot?"
They stepped out of the way for me as I swept me and that cloudlike
gown through the door.
The ensuing barrage of questions and amazed awkward compliments
continued through the pictures of me and my bride's maids "getting
ready" for my big day. Though the amazement didn't abate, my
incredibly realistic transformation became less and less of a topic.
So my bride's maids and I eventually left in the limo... with
everyone believing that I was still Brian (and that those breasts
were just disturbingly believable illusions).
Father Bill joined us in a small room towards the back of the
church. Praying that he wouldn't recognize me, it was truly bizarre
"meeting" Bob's brother again for the first time. My trembling became
noticeable, but his attempts to reassure me that all brides are
nervous did nothing to help me. After he left, my father came in and
openly gawked at my chest. One of the girls explained about taping
and mashing my skin before either of us could speak... but his stares
were still unnerving. I joined in the conversation in my Stacy-voice,
which made him raise an eyebrow even higher.
I knew my father would be there. Most of our parents were "in on"
the charade to make for the most believable shots. The plan for him
to walk me down the isle and give me away was even his laughing
idea... though he wasn't laughing now.
The organ changed its tune. After the other bride's maids left, Lori
was the last to walk down the isle with Bob's Best-Man. Finally alone
with my dad, he turned to me.
"You look beautiful," he said almost too naturally.
"Thanks," I said dropping into my Brian-voice for some reason.
"Use the Stacy-voice," he said gently, "it suits you."
I think I actually cocked my head as I stared into his disturbingly
knowing eyes.
"Dad..." I started in my Stacy-voice.
"I always liked when daughters called their fathers Daddy."
I stared at him again before a stranger's head poked into the room.
"We're ready," the man said (even as the organ changed its tune
again).
The distinctive opening blasts of the wedding march sounded as my
father held the door for me.
"Dad... Daddy..." I started to say, "I have something I want to..."
"Tell me later Sweetie," he smiled, "We're on..."
With my train somehow arranged behind me, I held my bouquet in one
long-gloved hand and took my father's arm in the other. The doors
swung open and all eyes locked onto me as I started the distinctive
bride's steps down the isle.
I stared forward as Greg and John memorialized my march toward a
stunned Bob. Before I knew what had happened, my father had somehow
slid into a pew at the front and I found myself with a gloved hand in
Bob's instead. Lori was standing with the other bride's maids on my
side... holding my bouquet after having spread my train behind me.
"Dearly beloved..." Bill started as the ceremony began. Bob, to his
credit, hid his stunned disbelief well. His incredulous smile was
easy to mistake for a happy groom's attention on his beautiful bride.
He almost fell out of character when I answered "I do" in my pretty
little Stacy-voice... or when I slipped a ring on his finger with the
words, "With this ring, I thee wed."
It didn't seem real. It wasn't real. For everyone but Bill, it was a
show for Greg and John's cameras... and a test of the entrepreneurial
efforts of friends.
But as Bob's brother neared the end of the ceremony, a fear crept
behind Bob's eyes. I understood why as the words leapt loudly from
Bill.
"I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Not knowing what to do, Bob stared almost apologetically into my
eyes as he lifted my veil. Lowering his face toward mine, I closed my
upturned eyes and parted my lips... hoping it would be quick.
Bob's lips touched mine. But instead of having to hide a feeling of
disgust or revulsion, an unexpected wave of pleasure rippled through
my body.
I don't know how long that kiss lasted. I don't even remember the
enthusiastic cheers and applause. All I remember was being incredibly
confused about the genuine disappointment when that kiss finally
ended.
The walk back down the isle on Bob's arm and the receiving line were
blurs too. With everyone staying in character, pictures and video
captured every happy compliment and question about a non-existent
honeymoon. There was rice thrown as we finally excited the church and
(after tossing the bouquet) we rushed ducking into the limo. There
were no second takes.
"Holy shit Brian," Bob said swatting rice from his hair in the limo
with me, "You look so real. Those tits are incredible!"
"Thanks," I said in my Stacy-voice before I could catch myself.
"Thanks?" he said with a raised eyebrow.
I shrugged before saying anything... and still using the Stacy-voice.
"Maybe it'll be easier if I stay Stacy until this thing's over. I
don't want to hafta do things over."
"Like that kiss?" he laughed.
For some reason, mention of that kiss made me suddenly want to come
clean with him.
"Bobby?" "Geeze that sounds too real coming out of the pretty little
mouth of yours."
"You think I'm pretty?" I said, unable to help myself.
"Well... I don't... OK... yeah... pretty. Shit Brian... Stacy... you
really DO make a beautiful bride."
I blushed in spite of myself.
"You don't make such and ugly groom yourself," I said.
"Whoa! Whatever we're calling you today... I don't think I want you
to be..."
"I really am Stacy... and not just for today," I interrupted.
"What?"
"These tits bobby... they're real."
"Good one," he laughed after a fraction's hesitation.
"They're not taped skin or rubber or makeup Bobby."
"Get the fuck outta..."
He grabbed for one to put an end the "game" before I knew what was
happening. His large hand was suddenly cupping my half-exposed breast
and squeezing down on it as I squealed in an unnaturally natural
girlish way.
Bob's eyes went wide.
"Holy shit Brian."
"Stacy," I corrected while fixing the cups on my dress.
"But I saw you this week. You didn't have boobs."
"I've been binding them. I wear baggy clothes too."
He openly stared at me, looking me over thoroughly, before speaking
up.
"You've been hiding those?"
"Uh huh."
"Does anyone else know?"
"You're the first Bobby. My parents don't even know."
I thought about my father for a brief instant before Bob continued.
"Shit. Is that dress hiding anything else... Stacy?"
"Yeah," I barely whispered.
"When... oh shit... the Thailand trip?"
I nodded.
After a long silence he smiled and said, "Well you DO look a lot
better as a chick."
"Thanks," I said smiling back.
"A guy could do worse marrying you too," he started to add before
his eyes went wide.
"What Bobby?"
"The marriage license... all that stuff you did to fool my
brother... was it legal?"
"Yeah... why... oh shit..."
"How oh shit Stacy? Are you legally a girl? Are we legally married?!"
I thought for a moment before saying, "Well... technically...
maybe..."
"Technically?!"
"Well yeah... but its only paper. We can have it undone. At worse we
use a divorce to make it official."
"We're Catholic Stacy," he said staring in my eyes like I had told
him he was losing his limbs.
"So?"
"Very Catholic Stacy. Hello? My brother's a priest? In the eyes of
God and let no man tear asunder and all that? Remember? We're fucking
married Stacy."
"No we're not..."
"We're not?"
"Well..."
"Shit. You're Mrs. Robert Jones... my WIFE."
I thought he was going to cry. "I'm sorry," I whispered while
stretching a slender gloved hand to his arm.
He looked at me touching his arm and then into my eyes. There was a
kind of resolve there.
"No one's going to know... not tonight... OK?"
"OK."
"We'll go along with this until it's over and can figure something
out... until you go back to being Brian."
"I'm not sure I can," I said.
"What?!"
"Even if I could hide the brows, I threw away my Brian-stuff this
morning. All I have are Stacy things now. I was going to..."
My voice trailed off. It was clear that he had no interest in my
plans to use the wedding to force me to go through a kind of coming
out event.
"I'm going to kiss you," he said with a half disgusted look on his
face.
"What? Why?"
"I have to know."
"Have to know what Bobby?"
"You're my wife now. I have to know."
He just stared into my eyes until the silence became unbearable.
I barely whispered, "OK."
Like at the alter, I closed my eyes and parted my lips as Bob's now-
resolute face approached mine. His lips touched mine with no audience
to watch us.
That confusing thrill returned... like a first real kiss. I smelled
the scent of his aftershave and felt the scruff of his skin... and an
unwanted ache of longing between my hidden slender legs. I didn't
resist Bob's tongue, which found its way through my bright parted
teeth and into my yielding mouth.
The longing remained after Bob gently withdrew. Almost afraid to
open my captivating eyes, I was breathing heavily, feeling my bosom
actually heaving. When I finally allowed my eyes to open, I was in
for another surprise.
Bob was staring at his own tented crotch in disbelief. The fact that
I was the reason for that straining hard-on only added to my own
confused longings.
"You really are a woman?"
Amongst the myriad of emotions, Bob's question had a hint of
desperation. It was if my being a real woman would somehow make
things better. It would somehow allow him to keep his sanity.
"Yes Bobby."
"We can do this," he said more to the air than to me.
"Do what?"
We had come to a stop and the limo door opened before he could
answer. A faked fumble for nothing in the back gave him enough time
for the embarrassing strain in his tuxedo pants to subside before he
helped me out.
The pictures were endless. Planned events like introductions and
toasts came and went in a blur. My father didn't say anything as we
had our father-daughter dance; but his raised eyebrow made me regret
not purposely trying to look more awkward as he led me.
Playing our parts to the hilt, Bobby and I visited the tables and
posed with everyone for the cameras. The hardest part of our "act"
though was when our friends enthusiastically clinking their glasses
for us to kiss... which was only hard in that it kept forcing me to
confront how much Bobby's lips aroused me... and that I was turning
him on too.
Our show finally ended with images of us leaping into the limo;
waiving goodbye to everyone as it whisked us off on some imagined
honeymoon. The limo was supposed to circle back around the block,
where the test-wedding would end and turn into a real party (with us
no longer playing the bride and groom and just being "ourselves").
Bobby pressed the intercom to the driver.
"Don't drive back just yet. Head North on 95."
"Yes sir," a voice said back to us.
"So," Bob said turning towards me, "Where do we go?"
In surprise, I asked, "Where not heading back?"
"Back to what? Unless Brian's coming back, we're on a honeymoon."
"A what?!"
"A honeymoon Stacy."
"But we can't... I mean... we're not..." "We can and we are... and
no wife of mine is skipping her honeymoon."
I had been girding myself for a return to the party. With Father
Bill gone and the cameras off, I prayed for the strength to tell
everyone my secret. But even if I couldn't, I expected to sleep in my
own bed... and to deal with whatever followed next at home. Aside
>from the utter insanity of a Honeymoon at all, I wasn't mentally
prepared to deal with the idea of dropping out for two weeks on a
whim.
"But our jobs..." I said with more desperation than I wanted.
"Who's job?"
He was right of course. Brian had a job, but Brian was gone... at
least for a while... and Bob was obviously unconcerned about taking
time away from his.
"But..."
He spoke into the intercom with a gentle smile on his lips, lips
that I didn't want to be staring at. He gave the name of an upscale
hotel a few towns away.
"Yes sir," came the expected answer.
In spite of my nervous disbelief, I let Bob help me out of the limo
and lead me into the hotel. I watched outside of myself as he booked
a room for the night and next led me into the glass elevator and down
a long hall. Instead of numbers, the delicate words "Bridal Suite"
confronted us... and Bob keyed the lock.
"What are you doing?!" I yelped as he swept my frail little body up
in his arms.
"I'm carrying you across the threshold Mrs. Jones."
Which is what he did.
Kicking the door shut with his foot, he didn't put me down right
away. Instead, Bob carried me to the large bedroom and deposited me
gently on the oversized bed.
As much as my brain protested, I didn't stop him. I didn't say a
word or move a muscle. As if watching TV, I simply stared as Bobby
slowly undressed in front of me. Shoes and socks were strewn on the
floor. His jacket, suspenders, bow tie, and cummerbund were piled on
a chair. Bobby undid the buttons of his cuffs and shirt, slowly
exposing a masculine chest that held my eyes. His pants next crumpled
to the floor, before his formerly-tented boxers followed behind...
leaving his unbelievably erect penis hard in front of me. I didn't
move as Bobby then came over to me on the bed and bent to kiss me
again. My breath was laboring before I closed my eyes and felt our
lips entwine. His hand cupped my half-exposed breast for the second
time that day... but not to see if it was real. Slipping his hand
into the cup of my gown, his fingers brought un-imagined sensations
to my straining young nipples.
"Oh Bobby..." I moaned unintentionally.
The sensations were overwhelming. Though my brain said it couldn't
be happening, the rest of me body knew that it was. I let him sit me
up before him as he reached behind to undo the first of my numerous
little buttons. With our gazes locked, every loosening button of that
intricately beaded bodice sent tingling waves of pleasure racing over
my soft skin.
My bodice fell forward, exposing my pert young breasts and jutting
hard nipples to the air. I stared at Bobby as he in turn stared at my
freed breasts hungrily. Letting him lay me back, I lifted my bottom
to help him extract me from the cloud of that dress and petticoats.
His saucer eyes remained wide when he saw the smooth contour of my
lacy white panties and gartered silk stockings, which soon joined my
gloves and the mingled shoes and clothes on the floor.
I lay under him, naked and submissive. Just knowing that I oddly
WANTED to yield to him made me feel more feminine that I ever had in
my life. I felt like a wife... like HIS wife.
Seeing me naked... and a woman in every way... seemed to brighten
Bob's eyes even more. His lips found mine again... as his hands began
to explore my curvaceous smooth body; bringing me sensations I didn't
know possible.
Panting and moaning in spite of any will to do otherwise, I was
pliant to Bob's touch and writhed in unexpected ecstasy. With my eyes
still shut, I felt a finger against my virgin sex... but it wasn't a
finger.
With my eyes snapping open to meet Bob's lust-fogged gaze above me,
I felt the head of his penis press... then gently part... the virgin
folds of my new sex. I felt my own lubricating moistness help it
slowly slide into me as Bob's weight relentlessly lowered towards me.
I felt his hard penis enter and fill me... until Bob's hairy body
pressed against me.
He was buried within me. Bob's penis, my husband's penis, was
actually engulfed inside me.
Bob slowly withdrew his body... only to press back into me. I wasn't
prepared to feel so aroused by the delightfully painful sensation of
being filled by our coupling... or by the surprising ache of longing
when his penis slid back from me.
My thoughts and emotions were a confused jumble. Being under a
man... under my husband... as a submissive vessel for his sex, made
me feel oddly "complete" with him inside me. There was no fear...
none of the expected terror from being violated. Lying on my back and
with legs spread to accept his utter dominance over me; I instead
felt safe and protected... and aroused beyond any desire to deny it.
Slowly at first, but with an ever-increasing rhythm, he slid out and
into me as he started to make love to me. His eyes had a far away
look as the tension built for both of us.
Bob grunted and moaned above me as I found myself thrusting against
his powerful pistonings. I felt Bob reach a point of no return, and
then the sudden tremendous throb of his release as my own body
spasmed and arched to an orgasm that I didn't think possible. Bob's
hot lubricating semen pulsed into me in great spurts as I wrapped my
soft slender legs around his back and pulled him close into me.
I felt the last of his throbs within me before Bob's penis slowly
deflated and withdrew. The emptiness left a longing I wasn't prepared
for as he rolled away to my side. It was strange. His sex continued
leaking out of me while we both stared at the ceiling. His absent
twirling of my hair made the whole abnormal event feel more real too.
Bob and I had just had sex... real sex. We had consummated our
marriage like any other man and woman. It wasn't an act or game. Bob,
the man lying next to me, really was my husband now... and I really
was his wife.
"Are you cold?" he asked sincerely.
I was shivering.
"A little," I lied.
He scootched the bedcovers from under us and covered our naked
bodies. Unbelievably, being naked under those soft sheets made me
feel even more like a Stacy than what we had just done on top of them.
I pressed my soft smooth skin against his and snuggled against his
hard masculine form. Bob's welcoming arm over me made me feel oddly
safe... and the shivering stopped.
But in spite of the strange normalcy I felt, I wasn't prepared for
the words that Bobby next spoke.
"I love you Stacy."
The earnestness behind his words carried a quiet intensity that
frightened me... but only because of how they made me feel. Those
simple words terrified me because I believed them.
"I love you too Bobby."
I started trembling again, but Bobby didn't ask if it was from the
cold. He knew otherwise. His words... and my reply... seemed to have
made decisions for us. They seemed to have made our strange new roles
somehow more genuine.
As we quietly retreated into our own thoughts, I reflected on my
mother's life. The cooking; the endless cleaning; the laundry and all
the other unsung little things she used to do to run a home sprang to
my mind. From grocery shopping to taking charge of Christmas cards,
the list of things that she did seemed daunting... and I developed a
new respect for her role. As I wondered if I would have the strength
to do half of what she did without complaint, I realized that I
didn't have much choice. I realized that all those were part of a
role that she had accepted... and that I was staring at that same
role myself.
In the crook of Bobby's arm and feeling the rise and fall of his
chest (which I had been using as a pillow); I could feel him slipping
slowing into a lust-sated sleep in our marriage bed.
"Bobby?" I said gently.
"Huhm? Wha?"
"I'm sorry Bobby. I didn't mean to wake you."
"No. That's fine. I wasn't asleep," he lied groggily, "What is it?"
"Niagara Falls."
"What? Niagara Falls? What are you talking..."
"Our honeymoon. How about Niagara Falls?"
"Are you serious?" he said waking up quickly.
"Yes," I said in a Stacy-voice that sounded more definitive than I
felt.
"OK Mrs. Jones. Tomorrow we'll head for Niagara Falls."
"Really Bobby?"
"Really."
He lowered his head into his pillow again, but I spoke up again.
"I hate to be a pest..." I started.
"You aren't," he said smiling sleepily.
"You really are sweet," I smiled back. "But I didn't make plans. I
don't have any clothes to..."
"Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh," he hushed. "We'll get you some things
tomorrow. Don't worry your pretty little head about any of it."
"Really?" I said brightening up at the prospect of actually shopping
as Stacy for the first time.
"Really."
The exchange must have woken him up enough to find my excitement
contagious. I didn't know what I had done, but couldn't ignore the
rise of the covers over his crotch. Though still foreign to me, the
idea of his hard penis no longer frightened me. On the contrary. I no
longer fought the fact that my "husband's" erection was arousing to
me. I groped my French-tipped fingers under the covers until they
wrapped around his hot hard penis and gave him a tentative squeeze...
to which he moaned.
As Bobby rolled toward me to take a nipple in his tender lips, the
last shred of my old life fell away.
I had become Stacy Jones, Bob's loving wife... and oddly enough... I
had no regrets.
We honeymooned in Niagara Falls, which couldn't have been more
perfect. As I built a wardrobe and our roles became more comfortable
to the both of us... our marriage felt more and more real. By the end
of those two weeks, we really were a married couple.
Bob had called his work early. Messages to family and friends...
that we were on our honeymoon... gave them a laugh while preventing
their worry too.
But the fact that I was still Stacy when we got back (in a denim
skirt, haltered top, and cork-wedged summer sandals)... and was
staying at Bob's place at all... raised a lot of questions; which we
both just shrugged off.
People started getting tired of our "gag" after a few days... until
Lori's pool party. No one said another word after I undid my gauzy
flowered wrap and slipped into the chilly water. After the initial
gapes and open stares at the flimsy white string bikini I wore (and
my nipple's reaction to the cold), it almost would have been easier
if people DID talk.
Instead, everyone just started acting as if I really were someone
named Stacy, Bob's wife. Though it was what we both wanted, it was no
less bizarre to have my old life basically ignored. Then came the
visit I dreaded most...
"Daddy?" I said at my parent's door with Bob at my side.
He stared at me in a simply floral sundress and low-heeled pastel
pumps. He then looked at Bob, who hid any nervousness completely.
>From shock to understanding to acceptance, the forced enthusiasm on
his face was welcome.
"Stacy! Bob! Come in! Mom's in the kitchen." He then hugged me as if
nothing were wrong in the world and shook Bob's hand warmly.
Mom wasn't quite as accepting... but she and Daddy must have had a
talk before we got there. They invited us to stay for dinner; which
was almost uncomfortably "normal".
Afterwards, Bob and Daddy watched a game together in the den, while
I fell into cleaning up with Mom in the kitchen by default.
"Are you... OK Dear?" she asked me tentatively.
"Yes Mom. Very much so. Why do you ask?"
She seemed to be biting her tongue, but not completely...
"Are you HAPPY... Stacy?"
"Bobby and I are both happy Mom. We're in love."
She turned away toward the sink and started cleaning dishes in
silence for a while. After a few hurried dishes, she turned to me
with tears in her eyes.
"I don't know about any of this but I love you Stacy... or whoever
you are. If you're happy, then I'm happy for you. Too many people
never find true love... however it found you."
The tears were silently falling down her cheeks until she threw her
arms wide around me. As I held onto her, I noticed tears trickling
over my cheeks too as we both sniffled in each other's arms.
When we finally broke, she mock-scolded me.
"You better stop that fuss or you'll ruin your mascara."
"It's a waterproof formula," I replied automatically.
"Really?"
We launched into a bizarrely normal discussion about makeup while
the "boys" talked sports in the other room. We never looked back.
Dinner with Bobby's parents was more frightening... to me anyway. In
part, it was scary because we were having them over. I fretted about
the meal, desert, and shine of the bathroom fixtures to the point
that Bobby started laughing at me... which he instantly regretted
when I cried.
But in the end, I "did well" and was welcomed (however stiffly at
first) into the family. "We should think about getting a house," Bob
said over a fish and rice dinner I had made one night.
"Why? This apartment is perfect for us."
"For now Stacy... but what about when we have kids?"
I stared at him for a long while before asking, "Adoption?"
"Um hm."
As his wife, I could tell that he was serious without asking.
Adoption. Babies. The idea of bottles and diapers... and someone
calling me Mommy... was terrifying.
"I don't know Bobby."
"Why not?"
I didn't have an answer, and found it oddly easy to defer to him. He
had some very definite ideas about child-rearing too. By the time a
young unwed teen delivered "our" baby... I had been on a very
different regimen of hormones... hormones that made other changes to
my body.
The delivery was by c-section and the birth-mother wasn't conscious.
Our baby girl was cleaned and put right to my painfully-full breast
moments after birth. Her wrinkled little face reached for my
impossibly hard nipple, which a lactation nurse roughly jabbed into
Jessica's tiny mouth.
"Ouch!" I squealed in surprise.
"Are you OK?" Bob asked nervously as a warmth let down through my
breast.
"Just surprised. She's got some little grip," I said of her latched
mouth.
As my heart melted to the sweet little soul feeding at my breast, I
realized that what we were doing was for keeps. As much as I had
grown to love Bob and my role as his wife Stacy, a part of me must
have had a nagging thought that it was temporary... or even
reversible. A part of me kept thinking it wasn't real.
But little Jessica made it real in ways I could never describe. She
was our responsibility now. Bob was her Daddy... and I was her Mom.
As she suckled from me, I felt a connection that surprised and
overwhelmed me. Tears started streaming down my face, but tears of
joy.
Bob's eyes welled up too. Hugging the two of us in his broad arms,
our happy tears kept flowing. From that moment forward, the three of
us were a family.
"That looks so loving," he said nodding toward little Jessica
feeding hungrily at my breast.
"It's wonderful Bobby," was all I could say through my blissful tears.
The three of us went home several hours later. If I wasn't an expert
on changing diapers; cleaning spittle; laundering mountains of baby
clothes; or discretely breast feeding Jessica in the beginning... I
soon became that expert as Jessica's "Mommy". I didn't have a
choice... not that choices mattered. I wouldn't have chosen any other
life over the one I found myself living.
I was Mrs. Stacy Jones, loving wife of Robert Jones and mother of
baby Jessica... and the happiest woman on Earth.