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J is for Josie

By: BethanyJ



*** 

A series of stories with transgender themes which I hope will be of interest to those who like women, or would like to be a woman. Which includes me! 

*** 

It was a Friday. I remember that. Actually it's not really surprising, it was always a Friday, the day my stepfather worked late and I got home from college early. It gave me time. Which wasn't really important that first time though it was later. And on that first occasion not much happened. Though it did later. That first Friday I'd got home a bit early as usual, got my homework sorted, made myself some tea and started on things for Dad. And I was sat thinking. 

About Dad of course. Not my real Dad, but the man I'd always known as 'Dad'. The man who had, five months before my birth, consoled my Mum after her new husband had been killed in action. And who had, exactly a month prior to my birth, married her. So Mark was the only father I'd known. And I'd stuck with him after Mum had left. I was worried about how he was getting on without Mum. It was difficult for him, obviously.

Mum had left us about six weeks earlier. She just left. Just walked out. Just like that. And after all Dad had done to try to improve things for her. We'd just moved house, only about 30 miles, but it made travelling much easier for him, he'd moved much nearer to his work. Which smashed his travelling time and gave him much more time for the family every day, the very late nights home from work would stop. And it was a much nicer house in a much nicer area anyway. And it cut my travelling time to college too. 

But we hadn't known about Mum's affair, that she'd been seeing this other man quite often while Dad and I were both out. And the move took her further away from HIM. So she decided, well, they decided, to do something about it. She just left. One day Dad actually got home before me and found the house empty and a note. He showed it to me. He was crying. Apparently she and this other man, Terry, had decided to go away together and had done just that on the spur of the moment. 

It hit Dad hard, for a couple of weeks he just kept phoning friends where we used to live, trying to find her, to persuade her to come back and so on. But to no avail. Eventually he had made contact, she'd made it clear she was much happier and didn't really love Dad and she and Terry were probably going back to his own area, which was in the States somewhere. After that Dad did settle somewhat though obviously he still missed her. He and Mum married when she was very young after my real father was killed. Mark was quite a bit older, really he had been infatuated to start with and that had turned in some sort of love.

The problem was -- all those years later, even after the initial problems and indeed even after Mum had left -- Dad was clearly still besotted. 

That Friday, after Dad had yet another difficult week, I'd gone upstairs to look along the road to see if his car was coming yet. And there in his bedroom, I'd noticed that the main wardrobe door was open. Lots of Mum's clothes were in there, she'd left lots of them when she'd left in a hurry. We assumed, and realised later, that her new guy was well off, and indeed that turned out to be the case. 

But it was something else in the wardrobe I'd noticed, there, on the top shelf, Mum's wig. Her longish red-haired wig. The one she'd bought a few years earlier when she'd had her longish red hair cut very short one day and then regretted it immediately. So she'd worn the wig for several months. 

I took it down and looked at it, and the original slightly silly thought had come into my mind. I slipped the wig off its base and put it on. The elasticated inner bit stretched over my head, I looked in the mirror and brushed the strands down the side of my face into place. Then - totally daft really - I took one on Mum's lipsticks from her little drawer and smeared it over my lips. Not heavily, not very well, but it did have an effect. It made me look a little like Mum. I wondered what Dad would think, then I saw his car pull into the drive below. 

As Dad came in I was standing at the foot of the stairs, wearing the red-hair wig and the lipstick.

"Well Dad, how do I look?"

He just stood and looked at me. He did realise that I wasn't serious, and he smiled.

"Wow, Joseph. You really do look rather like your mother. But hadn't you better wipe the lipstick off, I passed Duncan on the way down the road."

Hell. Duncan. He'd said he would come round and help with my Maths coursework if I'd let him borrow one of my computer games. I dashed back up, threw the wig into the bedroom and wiped the lipstick off quickly. And then I heard the doorbell. 

After Duncan had left and after Dad and I had finished our meal, he did mention my dressing-up again. 

"You really do look a bit like her though she always did like to wear more make-up. You'd need to go quite a bit further, with the clothes and the make-up and so on. I think you'd actually look quite a lot like her. So why did you do it?"

"I just saw the wig, Dad. I thought you might like to be reminded of her. Just a bit, that is."

And we said no more, but what Dad had said stuck in my mind. 

'Go quite a bit further, with the clothes and the make-up and so on.' 

Maybe I should. Which is why, two weeks later on a Friday again, I'd gone up to the bedroom and got out the wig again. And put it on. And an old pair of earrings Mum had left. And one of her sweaters. And a pair of her jeans over a pair of short nylon socks and her shoes. When I'd looked in the mirror I admit I had been disappointed. Then I realised that the clothing was right but the shape wasn't so I'd undressed again and put on one of her bras and some panties, stuffing the 'cups' of the bra with some rolled-up socks. 

After that I'd inspected myself in the mirror again I'd been much more pleased. And even more so after I'd carefully applied some of Mum's make-up like Dad had said, just a little foundation over my face and some eye-shadow and lipstick. Yet again Dad had timed his return just as I'd finished so I didn't have time to reconsider what I was doing. I just grabbed one of the handbags she'd left behind and went down the stairs, carefully in the unfamiliar heels.

"Hello Dad. Well - what do you think?"

And this time Dad had looked surprised. His eyebrows rose -- he nearly smiled.

"Wow, Joseph." 

That was all he said. He paused.

"You said I'd need to do more makeup and wear Mum's clothes. So I thought I'd give it a try. Well?"

Dad realised he had to say something. I mean, there I was, his son, standing there dressed in his wife's clothes and I think looking an awful lot like her. Which is almost exactly what Dad said.

"You certainly do look an awful lot like her, Joseph. I like the shoes."

Now quite why he said that I'm still not sure. Maybe he thought that wearing high-ish heels was a significant departure from the norm. 

"And have you got a stuffed bra inside there, Joseph?"

OK, another departure. I pulled the sweater up to show Dad, then I spent a few minutes walking round the room and 'posing' for him. I thought I'd better do something about the dinner like I always did on a Friday.

"OK Dad, shall I go and change new?"

"Er - OK then, Joseph, sure." 

So I did. I had got the slight opinion, when I'd asked Dad about changing, that he'd seemed just a little reluctant. OK so it was a weird thing for me to do but maybe he didn't mind, maybe he actually liked it in a way. And it was when we discussed it briefly a bit later that I got that opinion again. 

"Look, Joseph, you obviously like dressing up and so on. So how about getting really dressed up and doing the 'Italian'? The Friday after next?"

"OK then. Good idea." 

I didn't ask about it. I didn't need to. I knew exactly what Dad meant. We'd often done that in the other house and a couple of times after moving, me and Dad and Mum before she'd left. Dressing in best clothes and Dad bringing home an up-market Italian take-away from one of the restaurants in town, and us sitting down at the table with the best dinner service, and wine and all the trimmings. 

That would be good, yes. But the next day I began to wonder just what Dad had meant about 'getting really dressed up'. He was out at the time, I couldn't ask directly. But he did seem to have quite liked my own dressing-up efforts in a way. Maybe I should do that again? Was that what he meant? But if I did I couldn't just wear jeans, not for a 'special occasion'. 

So I had another look, more carefully this time, into Mum's wardrobe, at all the clothes she'd left behind. Literally she'd only taken the clothes she was wearing and a very few more, with some jewellery and passport and so on. Most of her stuff was still there. And as I looked through her make-up drawer I noticed - Dad must have shoved it in there - the letter he had shown me when she'd left. And her wedding ring. She'd left that behind too. 

I spent the next week thinking, then decided to do something about it. Just before going to college one day I asked Dad about the money I'd been saving, towards a new PC.

"Would it be OK if I used it to get something else instead? Just my money, I mean."

"Sure, Joseph. Sure." 

He wasn't really listening though, he was reading some work stuff. He'd started to bury himself in his work a bit, partly to get over Mum, I think, and partly because there was a chance of a promotion coming up. One of the Regional Managers was retiring and Dad reckoned he was in with an outside chance of the job. So he did spend quite some time in the evenings working, trying to make sure his bosses wouldn't have any reason at all to find fault.

I had several hundred saved up altogether but really I didn't want to spend it all yet, not on a PC anyway. Because I'd discovered something else. On a website, a company selling things specially for people who liked to dress up, in all sorts of clothes and uniforms and so on. Some of them were, I thought, rather rude. And some -- well! They were way beyond 'rude'. 

But others looked good, maybe just the sort of thing I could use. I'd just set up my Pal-Pay account so I used it to send in an order. I knew some of Mum's stuff would be useful for me but there were a few extra items I'd need, if I was going to do it properly.

So I did it properly. When Dad had left on that Friday morning he'd reminded me. 

"And don't forget, Joseph, we're doing Italian tonight."

I hadn't really needed reminding. I really had been planning it for nearly two weeks even to the extent of warning Duncan I was cutting college that day because Dad and I were doing something special. I didn't say what, I really couldn't tell my best mate I was going to dress up in my mother's clothes. 

And really Dad hadn't said exactly what either. It has occurred to me several times since that things would have turned out oh-so-differently if Dad and I hadn't each jumped to conclusions. Both of us really, me in not properly understanding exactly what he meant, and him in not asking me to explain things. So I was pretty sure what his 'doing Italian' meant. And after his comments when I'd worn Mum's jeans and bra, and shown him what I'd done in terms of make-up and so on, I thought I knew what he wanted me to do. And I was more than willing to do it. 

The breast prostheses I'd bought off the Internet were, of course, not necessary. But I wanted to do a good job. So when I'd found the company dealing in items for dressing up as a woman, I'd bought a few items to help me in my task. And as I finished my day-long session that afternoon, this time an hour or so before Dad was due home with the Italian, I took some time to inspect myself in the long mirror in his bedroom. I really did look like my mother! The falsies-and-basque combination really did give me a good-looking feminine figure, the black tights and high-heeled shoes I'd bought added to the effect. 

I was very pleased with my own purchases. And the false fingernails too, I'd stuck them on with the glue provided, longish scarlet nails, the sort of thing Mum did on special occasions. The wig, or course, was the one I'd had before as was the jewellery. Since Mum hadn't taken those items I assumed they were not real, just gold-effect, but the clip-on earrings I'd bought and the chain round my bare neck did also add to the effect. And the skirt and the blouse too were both Mum's. The skirt was a slightly darker blue denim effect and the blouse was white and rather frilly. 

It felt good wearing them and the skirt went quite well, I thought, with my black tights. Just above the knee though with a bit of a slit up the right leg. But it showed off my figure, and my newly-acquired 'boobs' very well. When I'd finished my make-up I squirted 'Diorissimo' behind my ears and into my 'cleavage'. I grabbed Mum's small black clutch bag and spent some time, rather as before, posing in front of the mirror. I knew, Dad was going to love this!

And then, very carefully in the extremely high-heeled black stilettos, I made my way downstairs. I had half an hour or so, and used my time in getting out the crockery and the cutlery, in doing the fancy folded napkins Mum always used to. I put the glasses and a bottle of wine on the table, basically getting everything Dad and I would need to have a good meal. And to have fun, too - I wondered exactly what he would say when he saw me.

But when he came in - I heard the door open and braced myself - he just dashed upstairs. 

"OK Joseph? Sorry, bathroom. I'll shower and change while I'm here. OK?"

"OK" I called out. 

He hadn't even seen me, just went straight up the stairs. I pottered around in the kitchen, and put the plates in the oven to warm up. I heard movements above, and the shower, and about fifteen minutes later I heard his footsteps as he came down.

"OK Joseph. Ready? .................. Oh my God!"

He'd seen me. He really had got changed, got himself 'dressed up.' Not just in a jacket and tie but in his best suit, the one he only ever wore for christenings and weddings and so on.

I had to speak, to break the awkward silence. 

"You look very handsome, Dad," I said, in what I hoped was a quieter and more gentle version of my own voice.

"You look - gorgeous, Joseph, you really do. I just didn't expect - this!"

"Well, when you said 'go Italian' I thought it might be a good idea to dress up like I did when you said it, when I wore Mum's clothes before. Except if we were really going to dress up I should maybe wear a skirt."

"But that skirt, Joseph. I got it for your Mum a couple of months ago, just before she left really. She's never worn it to go out in."

"Go out?" 

I'd just realised. What Dad always did when he came in with a take-away was to put it into the oven to keep warm. And of course he hadn't.

I turned to face the fully laid-up tableware, nice plates and glasses, all the best things, what we usually did. He saw it. 

"What I meant was we could actually go out to the Italian, that one we've seen in town by the market. I'm sorry, I didn't realise. But Joseph, I'm not kidding, you look so much more like your mother now, really, absolutely gorgeous. How have you - you know?"

He was looking at my figure, at my slim waist and my bulging 'breasts', and at the effect the sheer black tights and the black stilettos had on my legs. I told him about ordering things from the Internet, about the breast falsies and the shoes and so on.  

"Well, Joseph, you really have done a remarkable job. And your make-up too, it looks so good."

"Well, I hope it's all right. I practiced a bit in the week and copied one of your photos of Mum. To try to get the eyes right, really, that was difficult. I suppose I was trying to look a bit older than I am really, to look like Mum, you know."

And -- Joseph -- how do you feel? You know what I mean. Dressed like that?"

I had to think for a moment. Actually getting dressed up had really been so much fun. And I felt ....

"Actually, Dad, I feel great. I feel -- different. Really girly."

I think I probably blushed. Dad smiled.

"I suppose I'd better go out again, see if I can get something from the restaurant. I didn't order anything though. Mind you, Joseph, if you went in looking like that, nobody would know."

I didn't reply straight away. Then I voiced the thought that had leapt into my mind.

"Well, we could if you like. Go there for dinner I mean."

Now it was Dad's turn to be dumbstruck. For maybe ten seconds we just stood there, a little embarrassed, both of us really.

"Surely you don't mean ....". He paused for quite a long time. Thinking. "Would you like that, Joseph? I mean, are you sure? It would save me a drive, really, nobody would know. They'd just think you are a woman. You don't have to say anything, I can order. It would be a laugh, Joseph. Are you game?"

Well, it had been me who suggested it. 

"Just hang on a minute, Dad," I said, walking past him towards the stairs. 

Up in the bedroom I completed my 'transformation'. I'd needed one final thing - I slid Mum's wedding ring on. It was just a bit tight but it was OK really. When I showed my Dad he just smiled, perhaps a little weakly. Maybe seeing that ring on my finger just reminded him of what, or rather who, he had lost. Well, for tonight at least in a sense, his wife was back. 

As he drove us into town Dad was telling me what to do, to let him do all the ordering and so on, that sort of thing. And when we pulled into the kerb by the old market he came round and opened the door for me, then lent me a hand as I struggled a bit to get out in the unaccustomed short skirt and high heels. 

As we set off towards the restaurant I kept hold of his hand, tightly. There weren't many people around thankfully but just as we passed a couple of young men waiting for their bus I heard - a wolf-whistle! I automatically squeezed my Dad's hand at the sound, he just turned back to look and then grinned at me.

"I told you!"

And just as we were going to go into the restaurant Dad turned to me again. 

"OK then. I can't really call you Joseph, can I?"

I really hadn't thought about that but a sudden thought occurred. Mum is Jo, that was one of the reasons I had been 'Joseph'. So. Something a bit similar, I thought.

"How about Josie? And shall I call you Mark?" I asked quietly.

"If you have to, yes. But please, I'll do all the ordering and so on. OK - er - Josie?"

We were inside the restaurant. I just smiled a 'yes'.

The actual meal, and everything around it, went superbly. Dad knew I'd go for a particular pasta dish, I always did, he ordered a linguini thing for himself. And we had one glass of wine each with the meal. And, that first time, actually being seen and being treated as a female rather than just putting a few of Mum's clothes on like I had done before, it was fun. Actually it was more than fun. 

The way the waiters fussed around us, the way they paid particular attention, called me 'madam' and all that, it was just a really satisfying experience. And as we were about to go, as Dad was paying the bill I just took his hand in mine and gave it a small squeeze and whispered 'Thanks.'

It was all going so well. Dad was going to reply but we were interrupted.

"Hello Mark. Hello there - er - Jo, isn't it? Good to see you. I didn't know you came here?"

Dad looked horrified. As well he might. I knew this man. I'd seen him a couple of times, walking out of the office with Dad at the end of the day when Mum had driven us to pick him up, when his car had been in for repair or testing or something. This was Mr Franks. Dad's boss.

"OH - er - hello Neil. We were just leaving. Er - no, we've not been here before but it's good."

He was making a little sense, coping quite well in the situation. I don't think Mr Franks noticed.


J is for Josie



"Well we come here quite often, Gwen is just in the kitchens chatting to one of our neighbours who works here. Come on, we're early, let's have a drink, I hate drinking alone." 

And Mr Franks took Dad by the arm and encouraged him round the corner from the restaurant towards the bar. I was still grabbing hold of my Dad's other hand, I had to follow. 

Dad was stuck. We had no choice. I knew I had to do what I could to try to help him out, presumably Mr Franks's wife might arrive at any moment, or their table might be ready. Maybe we could get out in a couple of minutes. But I just didn't know what to say. I mean, 'as a woman' I just wasn't into social chit-chat, obviously. 

Mr Franks was looking at me, smiling widely. Quickly I tried to think what Mum would have done in that situation. Then I knew. She'd use her most effective weapon, or rather weapons. I slid past Mr Franks into a space by the bar right next to him and turned to hoist myself up onto the stool, crossing my legs as I did so that the slit in my skirt opened to reveal something of my nylon-covered thighs. 

"Please, Mr Franks. Call me Josie."

That stopped him. He stopped pushing my Dad, he stopped saying anything, he just looked - at my legs and at my bulging bosoms. Dad realised. He was probably horrified at what I'd done but he realised why. 

"I'll get them. Whisky, is it, Neil? And what about Gwen?"

Dad got the drinks while I chatted to Mr Franks. Now I really was being Mum. She had always been a bit of a flirt, keen to chat to men they met when they went out. Nothing serious of course, not until this Terry guy came along. 

"Neil, have we met before? I don't think so, I'd remember, I'm sure I would." 

OK then, just a bit of flattery then. I knew I had to 'role-play' Mum until Dad or I worked out a way to get out of this, and as quickly as possible.

"How's the house move going. Mark hasn't said much about it for a while?"

"It's going OK, thanks. Mark really appreciates being able to get to work easier. And it does mean we see quite a lot more of him."

"That's good, and what about - oh, hang on a moment."

Dad had just got the drinks, I assumed he'd got me a tonic water. That was what I usually had, I was allowed one glass of wine when we went out but no more. But Mr Franks - Neil - had turned to Dad.

"Mark, is that Jim Sanderson over there? I think it is. I think he's seen you, you'd better go over and say hello. Got to keep your clients happy, Mark."

Dad looked across at me. He knew he had to leave me, and he knew that this was getting complicated. He did go over and shake hands with and begin to talk to this Jim person. I was left with Mr Franks. I was determined to do my job, to be 'Mark's wife' for as long as it took until we were able to get out of there.

"Good man, your Mark is, Josie. He's after a promotion soon I hear."

"Er - yes, he is. Well he does seem to work hard, Mr Franks. I mean Neil." 

I smiled, hopefully just encouragingly, I wanted to boost Dad's chances of the promotion or at least not to do anything which would cause problems. And I knew that if Mr Franks found out Dad had taken out his son dressed as his wife, well, almost certainly that was so weird. It would scupper any promotion prospects and it might even cost him the job itself. 

I had to be convincing. I was thinking of things to say or do which would help Mr Franks to believe I really was Jo, or at least Josie, Dad's wife.

"Well I think he's in with a good chance. Another drink, Josie?"

Mr Franks had finished his drink quite quickly. I just muttered a 'yes' to his request.

"Gin and tonic, is it?"

I had to mutter another 'yes', and began to sip it slowly when it arrived. Dad was still occupied across the room. I could see he was torn between trying to get away and also doing what he needed to do to stay in Mr Franks's good books. I remembered something, and opened my handbag to take out the pack of Mum's cigarettes and the lighter I'd brought with me. Though not a regular smoker I'd tried it like lots of young people, and could manage the mechanics of it and so on. I had a little difficulty taking one out of the pack with my long nails but I managed it.

"Allow me," offered Mr Franks, taking my lighter and lighting the cigarette for me. 

"Thank you," I muttered, feeling a lot more grown up, with the cigarette and the gin-and-tonic, hoping they would help in the illusion I was trying to foster. And they did!

"I'm sure we haven't met, I know I'd remember such an attractive woman."

And Mr Franks wasn't just flirting now - he had a hand on my knee! I was torn, beginning to have difficulties with my emotions really, simply because - I liked it! The thought that Mr Franks was in some way interested in me excited me. But I realised - I was supposed to be a married woman. How the hell would a woman put down unwanted advances in such a situation? I had to play it by ear. I reached down and took Mr Frank's hand in my own, removing it from my knee.

"Now, now, Neil. Let's take this slowly shall we?" 

And I smiled widely at him. But I kept hold of his hand, gently stroking it with my long red-nailed fingers. 

"We don't want Mark to see anything, do we? Anyway, he's coming back," I whispered rather conspiratorially.

And I gave Neil's hand a squeeze and let it go, smiling again at him. This was it -- a chance to get out!

"Mark, darling," I said as my 'husband' returned. "I think we really should make a move." 

And I stood up and put out my cigarette, finished my drink and turned to slide an arm into his.

"Er - yes, we better had. I'm sorry Neil, pass on our best wishes to Gwen. See you Monday," Dad said.

He was audibly -- and visibly -- relieved. And we left, my arm through Dad's, probably with quite a few pairs of eyes on my departing bum and legs. Outside, I just turned to my Dad. 

"Well Mark, how did I do?"

He looked at me with an obvious expression of enormous relief. 

"I don't want to ever go through anything like that again, Joseph."

"Josie."

"What?"

"Josie. You'd better call me Josie when I'm dressed like this, just in case anyone hears."

"Oh, OK"

"Well I thought I did pretty well," I said as we drove back home. "I'm sure Mr Franks didn't imagine anything like what was actually happening. As far as he's concerned I am your wife."

"I just hope you're right."

While I was elated at the events of the latter part of our outing, Dad was clearly distressed. Which is a great shame really. The first hour or so, the getting there and the meal and so on, had all gone so well. It was just the surprising meeting with his boss which had upset the apple cart as far as he was concerned. 

"Mr Franks said he thinks you're in with a good chance, the promotion, I mean."

"Did he? Did he say that? I didn't think he wanted me for it really. What else did he say?"

"Not much, just that really, it just came up a bit while we were chatting. It was him who actually raised the subject."

"Wow. Maybe I really do have a chance then." 

And that seemed to cheer Dad up a little. I got out of the car when we got back and opened the front door. 

"Shall I put the kettle on, Mark darling? Did you like that, at the end, I thought it was a nice touch."

Dad grinned at the recollection. 

"Yes, Joseph, I mean Josie, that was a good idea. Sounded very convincing."

"I'm sorry about the cigarette and the drink, I know you don't really approve. But they seemed like good ideas too."

"In the circumstances I think you can be excused, Josie. But don't bother with the kettle yet. I need another proper drink after that."

"OK. Whisky and soda? I'll get it for you. You sit down and relax."

So I got Dad a drink and got myself a tonic water - with just a little gin in it. And I sat in the big chair opposite Dad and looked across towards him as we chatted about the events of the evening. Eventually bedtime came round. As we got up, locked the doors, cleared things away ready to retire I knew there was something I had to say.

"Dad, I'm really sorry about the mix-up earlier, and the clothes and all that. But I enjoyed myself, and the meal was OK. Thanks so much."

And I put my arms around his neck and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Thanks again, Mark darling."

And I kissed him - very gently - on the lips. That first time, the sensation of my own smooth lips sliding against his, the feeling of satisfaction I felt was so complete, so good, I remember it to this day. It had been a different sort of evening, sure, but one to remember. 

"Josie, you shouldn't be doing this." 

At least that's what he said, as HE kissed ME. Just the once but, like they say, with feeling. He stepped back, clearly embarrassed. I just smiled and took myself off to bed.

The next day I was up and dressed a bit late. I just dressed in my usual male stuff that is. I'd spent quite some time the previous evening carefully dismantling my 'female persona', by which I mean taking off my false nails and the breast-forms, and hanging up Mum's clothes though I had put them in my wardrobe so as not to disturb Dad. We did mention the evening's events briefly in passing though Dad was mainly just concerned his boss hadn't spotted anything untoward. He never even mentioned THAT kiss - he was probably too embarrassed and in a way I was too. 

Dad didn't see Mr Franks in the office on the Monday, apparently his boss was off visiting the Coventry branch. So it was Tuesday evening, after I got back a bit late from college, before Dad was able to say anything. And he was relieved.

"It looks like you got away with it, Joseph. Neil Franks saw me this morning, he was very flattering indeed. He told me how lucky I am to have such a gorgeous wife, stuff like that. He doesn't suspect at all."

"Well that's one thing off your mind then. So you haven't told people at work, about Mum that is. You didn't tell them that she's left and all that?"

"No I haven't. It just hasn't come up and it's not the sort of thing any man is proud of. I suppose I'll have to wait a bit now though."

"Good idea, Dad, at least until after your interview. I mean, it shouldn't matter, you being a single parent as it were now and so on but you never know."

"Maybe you're right, Joseph. But anyway Neil did say one other thing. He wants me to go over to Ipswich tomorrow, some problems with one of the staff over there. I just wonder, he's never asked me to do anything like this before. Whether it's some sort of try-out, you know, for the Regional Manager post maybe?"

"It does sound a bit like that Dad. But that's a good thing isn't it?"

"Yes it is. But it means I'll have to stay over there, get back Thursday afternoon maybe. Will you be OK on your own?"

"Of course I will, Dad. No problem."

"Well it's just for one night, Joseph. I'd better read up though, have a look at the figures for the Ipswich office tonight so I'm prepared. The interviews are on Friday afternoon and I know now I've made the shortlist. So, a busy week."

"I hope it all goes OK, Dad." 

Which of course I did. Dad deserved a promotion. He'd been with the company for years and of course, inevitably the extra money would be useful. The next morning Dad was off a little later than usual since he didn't have to actually go into the office. And when I got back in from college there were two messages on the answer-phone.

'Hi Joseph. Dad here, just to let you know I got here OK. Look after yourself tonight.'

And the second message.

"Hello there. Josie? Neil Franks here. I was just wondering, I know Mark's in Ipswich this evening Well, my wife is away at her mother's. So if we're both going to be home alone how about getting together for a drink or two maybe? Give me a call if you'd like to. Bye.'

Hell! What on earth should I do? Just not reply? That seemed possible, I mean I might not have got the messages. But Mr Franks had called 'Josie'. My mother. Well, no, me actually, but me as my mother. I'd better reply at least. Well maybe I could get dressed up and go out, a bit later, it was almost the end of the term and I didn't have any college work at all that evening. What would Dad want me to do? 

On the one hand he certainly wouldn't be happy about me dressing up and going out. Yet on the other it was only a couple of days to Dad's interview, he wouldn't want Mr Franks to feel he'd let him down. Or rather that I had. Josie, that is. I dialled his number and tried to adapt my voice a little as I had done quite successfully the previous weekend.

"Er - hell, Mr Franks? Josie Jackson here .... Yes I did .... No, nothing really, just going to do a few things at home on my own .... Yes .... OK then...... Right, see you then."

I put the phone down. I breathed in, heavily. What the hell had I just agreed to? I looked at the clock. I had an hour and a half. Before my 'date', with Neil Franks. Dad's boss. And his wife was away for the night. The significance of that comment hadn't escaped me. 

'While the cat's away...' 

Surely not.

It had taken me well over two hours altogether that first time to complete my changeover from man to woman. But that had been the very first proper time, not counting the other two when I just went part-way. I had to do this in half an hour less but I was sure I could do it, and I did. Just a few minutes before Mr Franks was due to arrive to pick me up I was stepping carefully down the stairs, yet again having spent several minutes closely inspecting myself in the long mirror in my parents' bedroom. 

Inspecting the tight mini-skirt I was wearing, one of Mum's very best I think, certainly the one she'd worn when she had wanted to excite Dad. Looking closely at the top I'd chosen, black and flimsy and low-cut over my 'boobs'. Peering at my make-up for flaws, done very similarly to last time but just a bit more extravagantly. And looking even more closely at my legs, sheer black stockings this time which were just about covered by my skirt, and at my very high-heeled stilettos. 

I really was 'dressed to the hilt'. OK, if the mouse wanted to play, he'd find a willing playmate in me. I had to, I knew that. The tone of Mr Franks's comments when I'd spoken to him, rather than the actual words he used, gave it away. So to whatever extent I was able, I was going to play. I may have been young and naïve then, but not that young or that naïve. I knew what Mr Franks wanted. He wasn't going to get -- THAT. But .....

As soon as I saw his car pull up I was out of the door as quickly as I could. Not that I was worried about any of the neighbours recognising me as a dressed-up male, rather that I didn't want them to see my mother going out with another man. Even though that was precisely what she had done. I slid into the passenger seat and smiled across at my 'date'. I'd thought in advance exactly what to say at that moment, whether I should say 'Mr Franks' but I'd decided that was too obviously formal.

"Hello Neil," I said, smiling widely. "Let's get this right - Gwen is away for the night isn't she? Not just for the evening?"

"That's right," Neil replied. 

Then he realised the significance of what I'd just asked. What with that comment, and the large expanse of nylon-clad thigh I was revealing, and my very prominent boobs - I'm afraid I was a bit obvious.

"OK come on then, I'm thirsty. Where are you taking me?"

In fact it was to a pub I'd never been in before, quite some way away. Almost certainly he didn't want to risk being seen out with 'Josie' in case the word got back to Gwen. And while we were out I was a little less obvious, just teasing him a little by stroking his hand in the pub and placing it on my thigh and a couple of other things like that. But it was when we got back into the car at the end of the evening that things began to heat up.

"Your place or mine? For coffee I mean, of course."

I smiled at him. 

"Mine I think. Just for coffee of course." 

But he knew damn well I had something else in mind though I don't think he could have imagined exactly what.

It was dark by then so I was less worried about the neighbours, not that we knew any of them really well by then that is. But I allowed Neil to slide a hand across my bum when we headed towards the front door. As we went in he tried to grab me but I pushed him away. 

"Now, now, Neil. I need to get the coffee. You go in and sit down."

As I went into the living room a few minutes later with the coffees, my guest was sitting on the big couch, looking nervous - but excited. I handed one mug to him. So far I'd really been teasing him, half-way between promising something could happen later and just going out for a social drink. I sat next to him for a minute, then got up and lit myself a cigarette. I really did have to re-emphasise the fact that I was quite a bit older than I really was. 

"So, Neil. Mark is away in Ipswich. He thinks it's something to do with the interview on Friday. Is it?"

"Well, I'm not sure I should say."

"OH, come on, Neil darling, you can tell me."

Suddenly he was nervous. I think I'd moved quite quickly, surprised him.

"Er - yes, it is really. He's in with a good chance I think."

I put down the cigarette and sipped my coffee again, then put the mug down and moved over to sit beside him. I'd known from the start something like this could happen, I just had to be careful. I reached up to move a little of his hair away from his forehead.

"Good," I said, as I moved in closer and touched my red lips to his very gently. "I really wish there was something I could do to help him, you know, to try to make sure he gets the job." 

And I kissed him again, harder this time, sliding my tongue over his lips as I moved one of my hands inside his shirt to stroke his chest.

"Christ, Josie," was all he said before grabbing me hard and pulling me towards him. 

Our kissing continued and became more passionate. 

I broke the clinch and sat back, continuing to undo the buttons on his shirt and to caress his body. 

"Neil, darling. Let's stop pretending. We both know why you're here. So if I have sex with you, you will promise me that Mark will get the job. OK?" 

And with that I undid the buttons in the front of my blouse and slipped it off. Then, carefully, VERY carefully so as to keep my panties tight against my crotch and my 'secret' well and truly tucked away, I stood and undid my belt and pulled down the zip, allowing my skirt to fall to the floor.

"You like what you see, Neil?"

"Oh YES!"

"And if we fuck, you promise me Mark will get the job?" 

I knew damn well that was a dangerous question. If he answered honestly I had a get-out, if he lied in the passion of the moment I was stuck.

"Well I'm chair of the committee, Josie. The rest of the team will be influenced by what I say but there's no guarantee."

Yes! Exactly what I wanted to hear. I sat back, looking just a little disappointed. Then I reached down and slowly undid the belt of Neil's trousers and pulled the zip down. I reached in and freed - my very first erect cock. 

I'd wondered how I might react if that situation occurred. Having had no more than slight gay tendencies prior to that, seeing things in the showers at college and so on but never actually being involved in any way, I had thought about what my reaction might be. I looked at - IT. The erect, slightly throbbing erection which faced me. 

And my first thought was - I've done that. Wow. The hardness, the length, the throbbing, they were all reactions to the presence of a woman dressed in seductive lingerie. Me. And my second reaction was - it's beautiful. The shape, the life in it, the slight quavering movement, they combined to produce such a thing of beauty. From that very first moment, I loved it.

It surprised me. I was pretty ignorant of such things at the time of course. I'd only ever seen one erect penis at the time and you know which one that was. Not that I've seen a great number since. Three, actually. But that one, Neil's, my first 'other' one was really not as I'd expected. I really did think it would be thicker. I mean, it was long, probably quite a bit longer than my own when fully erect, but really quite thin. I just didn't know at the time what effect a woman could really have on a man's cock though I was in fact about to find out. 




J is for Josie



I reached down to touch it, to stroke it with the tips of my scarlet-nailed fingers. It reacted almost of its own accord though a quietly-hissed 'yes' from Neil told me that it wasn't operating totally in isolation. I looked at his face, he looked expectant, I hadn't really told him what I hoped was going to happen at that stage. I smiled at him.

"Do you like that, Neil? Do you like me stroking your cock, I mean?"

"Oh yes Josie, yes," was his only reply. 

I knew very well that if I didn't keep things moving he was liable to become, well, not exactly bored, but rather anxious to be getting on with things. So I kissed him. Not on the cock, on the lips. I touched my own lusciously-sculpted red lips to his, sliding them just a little as I felt his intake of breath.

"And do you like THAT, my darling?"

He didn't reply, he just groaned as my red-nailed fingers continued to caress his cock and to stroke his hardening balls."

"And would you like to fuck me, Neil?"

"Oh yes, Josie, sure, I'd love to - oooooh!"

And this last exclamation was because I'd just squeezed his balls a little causing his cock to stiffen. 

"Well my darling. I'm afraid I'm going to have to disappoint you a little. You're not going to be allowed to fuck me, not today at least. Maybe after Friday, after my Mark has been promoted. Maybe I'll let you into me then."

Now in a sense he should have been disappointed. Maybe I half-expected him to subside at the news though I was hoping he wouldn't and he didn't. Really he didn't get the chance to. I could tell he was still receiving a more-than-satisfactory dose of sexual stimulation as I carried on stroking his cock, not quite as gently as previously. 

"Still maybe I can help you in some other way right now. I mean, Neil my darling, you don't HAVE to slide your cock into my cunt, do you?"

Yet again - he just groaned. I could tell, he was in turmoil, I recognised the signs of a man in an erotically stimulating experience. You know there is going to be such joy at the final release yet there is still such a sense of well-being on the way that in one sense you don't really want it to arrive. I'd told him the destination wasn't where he'd originally wanted yet he was still having fun on his journey. And I'd noticed a particular reaction as I'd spoken to him.

"Oooooh darling, your gorgeous cock just got extra-excited. Was it when I said 'cunt'? .... oh yes it was. There it goes again, do you like me to talk dirty to you, Neil?"

"Oh yes, Josie, yes."

"Well ask me nicely Neil then?"

He was staring at me, his eyes were glazing over a little. 

"Please Josie my love. Talk dirty to me, talk real dirty - oooooh!"

So I did, I asked again whether he'd like to shove his cock up my cunt, if he'd like to slide his cock between my big tits, if his wife ever fondled his cock like I was doing, if he'd like to lick my cunt, to shove his tongue in my cunt, or to slide his fingers into my cunt. He really did like to hear me say that word. Basically I was teasing him, playing with him, my very first taste of the power of being a woman in such a sexual situation. 

And I was loving it. But my own journey, enjoyable as it was, had to come to a close. I leaned over and took Neil's cock in my mouth, pressing my lips to it, sliding them along its length until I could feel his gorgeous bulging cock-head in my throat. And the tone of his groaning changed, it became more laboured. I was pushing his restraint to the limit in teasing him and in not really allowing his final release. I realised it was time to do so. I slid my lips away from it and looked him in the eyes again, kissing him once more.

"You want to cum in my mouth, Neil? Want to shoot your sperm into me? Shall I let you do that now?"

"Oh yes, Josie, yes, sure! I need to do it, baby, I need to!!"

So I let him. I slid my lips down his much-thicker shaft for what I hoped would be the final time and gently squeezed his balls in my hand, sucking with my mouth to give him the very final encouragement. And that did it, that drove him over the edge. He climaxed. That beautiful erect cock, deep in my mouth, began to jolt and buck as his semen spurted out in hot sticky pulses. I was surprised by both the heat and the speed of Neil's ejaculation, reflex kicked in and I just swallowed and swallowed the hot cum as it kept on coming in my mouth.

I slid my mouth from Neil's subsiding cock, taking in as much of his remaining cum as I could. I kissed him once more, then I stood up and leaned over to pick up my skirt. I'd done it. My secret was safe, my 'cunt' was intact and I'd just executed fellatio on my husband's boss. Certainly I was happy, I turned again to look at Neil. He was tucking his member away in his pants. He caught my eye, he was happy too. He was bloody deliriously happy. I stepped into my skirt and pulled it up, then began to fasten the zip and the clip at the top.

"Thanks for that, my love," I said. "That was good - and very tasty too."

He just stared at me. His gaze was so intense that for a moment I was sure he'd spotted something, something wrong that is, something that had given away me secret. But when he did speak, then I knew I really had got away with it.

"Josie, that was an amazing blow-job. You really are just such a sensational woman."

I glowed. There was no way Neil could possibly know just how much that compliment meant to me. And it set me thinking too. If I really could be a woman in such a situation, what else was within my capabilities? Just how much scope did I really have?

We kissed once more as he left, quite passionately though I guess he was rather tired by then. 

"I'll be in touch," he said.

"After Friday my darling. And don't bother sending Mark away again after you've given him the job. I know we can work something out. Bye, my love."

After Friday? OK, so I knew that I'd created a potential problem for myself if Dad really did get the job. But I was so much more confident then, probably just the arrogance of youth. I'd sort it.

I had Thursday to get through at college first, and Dad coming home and telling me about his business trip. And him going on about how well he'd thought he'd done and how positive his line manager had been when he'd called in at the office to give his report. Dad really was chuffed about it, both the satisfaction at being given the responsibility and the good feelings he'd had wielding the power productively in the Ipswich office. He really did think he'd passed any sort of test OK and was well set up for his interview the next day.

With Friday being the last day of term it was a lot easier, we finished early at college. And when I got it there was a message on the machine.

"Hello Joseph. Dad here. I got the job. So celebration tonight. I'm bringing an Italian meal home. Did you hear that? At home. I should be back at seven, we're off for a drink first. See you."

Great. Job done, job got. And Dad was getting an Italian take-away, I couldn't remember the last time we'd done something like that two Fridays in a row. But -- what had he said? 

'At home.'

He'd emphasised that. He'd said it twice. No mistakes possible, no going out to a restaurant - in a tight skirt or whatever. A quiet evening at home. Pity really. Yet at the top of the stairs I automatically turned towards my parents' bedroom rather than my own. And opened the wardrobe again and looked in. OK, so we were staying in. But Dad hadn't actually said that I wasn't to dress up at all, had he?

It was the word 'dress' which got me. In all my attempts I'd worn a skirt, after the first jeans attempts I mean. But to really be a woman I'd have to wear a dress, wouldn't I? And if it was to be a celebration it should be one of Mum's party dresses. I reached into the wardrobe and pulled out some hangers, laying three dresses out carefully on the bed. 

I really did hesitate. Lots of thoughts had been running through my mind in the previous 48 hours or so ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous. And what I was considering at that moment was definitely a course of action at the extreme end of the ridiculous part of the spectrum. I was pretty sure that, since we would indeed be staying in that evening, Dad would go along with phase one of what I was thinking about. Letting me dress up again as Mum, that is, in fact actually wearing one of her sexy dresses. OK then, if I'd waited for him to come home before suggesting it he'd almost certainly say no. But I didn't plan on waiting. And if he arrived to face a 'fait accompli', like I said I thought he would go along with it.

But phase two? No way would he agree to that, let alone phase three. If he got even an inkling of what I was considering I'd get at the very least a sharp telling off and most probably an urgent referral to some sort of psychiatric treatment. 

Phase three was most definitely a phase too far, way out at the outer extremes of 'ridiculous'. However without phase one, the actual dressing up, it couldn't happen. So after I hesitated briefly about it - I did it. 

I knew I had a couple of hours before Dad arrived bearing the Italian, so I set about the sort of transformation I'd done the previous week. I knew I had to just stretch things a little by way of more provocative make-up and maybe a little more, maybe even too much, perfume down my cleavage. Oh, and one more thing. Stockings. I'd worn black stockings for my 'date' with Mr Franks, Neil that is, but not for Dad the previous week. So I used the fancier pair I'd not dared wear with Neil, black and sheer and with a patterned seam up the back. And with the ultra-high black stilettos and Mum's indecently short black glitzy party dress - that was the one of the three I'd picked - I thought I looked good. Attractive. Female. And sexy, I specially wanted to look as sexy as I possibly could for my Dad. 

Like the previous week I sorted all the dining arrangements, the best crockery and so on, even though on that earlier occasion we hadn't actually used them. I'd had to put them all away on the Saturday morning. 

And then, with everything in place including the bottle of champagne I'd bought for Mum and Dad on their previous anniversary and which had never been opened - that was the day when Mum and Dad had begun to drift apart just before she left - I was ready. I checked the contents of my handbag - everything I'd need was there - and had a final inspection in the big upstairs mirror. 

I heard Dad's car in the drive. I heard him come in and go into the kitchen, some brief rattling as he sorted the oven and so on. I heard the dining room door - which had always creaked a little, I think I heard a slightly surprised and excited gasp. Then Dad called up the stairs.

"OK Joseph? Well done, the champagne's a great idea. Shall I open it now do you think?"

I paused. The entrance had to be good. Still moving down the stairs gingerly on the 6" high stilettos, I descended and moved through into the dining room.

"I think that would be a good idea, Mark. You deserve a celebration. Well done."

And Dad simultaneously popped the cork and turned to look. I was ready. Because he froze. The champagne didn't, as he stood there I quickly helped him by holding the champagne glasses in place to minimise the spillage on the floor. Then I took the bottle from him and set it down, passing over one of the two glasses.

"Josie!" 

Yes! He'd got the name right, I'd just hoped it would come automatically when he saw me. 

"Streuth!! You look - stunning!!"

I was glad I'd said 'Mark' when he first saw me. OK so I'd done a lot of 'darling' with Neil - had that only been two nights earlier - but it would maybe have disturbed Dad if I'd said that first off. But now was the time. I moved closer to my father, letting him have a full view of the 'woman' in front of him. I held up my champagne glass deliberately in my left hand so he could see my wedding ring glistening in the candlelight. 

"Thank you, darling. But it's you who should be congratulated. Regional manager, well done." 

And I clinked his glass and sipped my champagne, aware that he was staring at my bright red lips over the rim of the glass, and hoping he would recognise that I was wearing 'my' wedding ring. Josie's, that is. His wife Josie's. 

And as we lowered our glasses I moved closer and slid my other hand round his waist. 

"I'm so proud of you, Mark, really." 

And I kissed him. Not on the lips, just on the cheek, close to the mouth, but a little more than a fleeting kiss. I knew I had to let him speak, I sipped my champagne again.

"Joseph -- er - Josie. Wow, you really do look sensational. I really didn't expect - well, you know, that's why I made sure you knew I'd be bringing the meals home tonight. So you wouldn't - you know."

"Well, since we're not going out I thought it would be all right. I thought you might like to see me in this dress. What do you think?"

I put my glass down and turned round slowly, making sure he was able to get a good eyeful of the figure - I was so proud of how tight I'd got the basque, and the legs and the heels and all the make-up, in fact the whole package.

"As I said, Josie, you look stunning. That dress - wow, it really does show your gorgeous figure. I'm amazed."

"Good. And I'm hungry, so sit down please, Mark my darling, while your wife treats you as you deserve to be treated and serves your dinner for you." 

I didn't wait for a reply, just pushed my 'husband' down onto a chair and disappeared into the kitchen. Mark had indeed got Italian take-aways, very quickly I was able to return and serve us both and we were able to get on with the meal. I knew if I gave him the chance he'd start talking about the way I'd dressed and maybe questioning whether or not it was a good idea so I didn't give him the chance. I was playing the faithful wife now. 

"So, Mark my darling, how was the interview? Was Mr Franks there? Did he give you a tough time? I want to know all about it." 

And I kept the conversation along those lines, with only slight detours into other topics, through the meal and through the dessert. OK so we'd often played at fancy meals before but we've never gone as far as coffee and brandy at the end. That always seemed to be going too far especially when I was younger. But just sometimes Mum and Dad had a small brandy at the end of the meal. Again I didn't want to go too far but I was there with a little brandy in the bottom of a brandy glass as we stood up after the meal.

"You need this now, Mark, I think, this has been one hell of a day for you." 

And, almost exactly as I had done with Neil Franks after getting his coffee, I sat on the end of the sofa and crossed my legs to allow the hem of my dress to rise and show off my heels and thighs. I lit one of Mum's cigarettes, hoping just again that the effect would be to make me seem older, more like my mother. 

"Don't worry, darling, this is nearly the last. I'm going to quit. Well, Mark, what do you think of your wife's performance tonight?"

I had to back off. I knew that. Give my father room to think and ponder what had been going on, give him the chance to consider my role-play and to comment on it. That, I knew was necessary. Phase one had been just about 100% successful, there had to be a break before phase two. 

"Well, Josie....." 

He grinned in amusement at the continuing use of my 'female name'. But I was thrilled, with only one exception he'd called me 'Josie' all evening and I'd called him 'Mark'. Or even 'darling' once or twice, surely he must have noticed that. He must have begun to realise just what I was feeling. 

"I was very surprised at first. But - heck - you really do look so much like your mother, you know. She was very young when we first met, lots of people were not too happy about that. I mean, me, an older guy, with a much younger girl, and with the problems of ..... It wasn't totally approved of. But you look a lot like she did then, maybe a bit older."

I smiled again at him. I knew what I wanted to say, the topic I needed to get round to but really he had to say it. But I had to do the teasing, the taunting, I had maybe to lead him in that direction. 

"And what about the dress? Does it suit me, do you think? How do I look?"

OK so I was fishing for compliments but there was another purpose to this.

"The dress is gorgeous on you, really, your mother only got it a few weeks before she left. I never even saw her in it."

This was going too slowly. I stood up and strolled as sensuously as I could towards Dad, sitting down right next to him and sipping my brandy once more.

"So I really look OK?"

"Josie, really, you look incredibly sexy, honest."

Sexy! He'd said it. That was just what I'd wanted, it gave me the excuse I needed. I kissed him on the cheek again, he looked a little uncomfortable. 

"Mark, you remember last week, at the end of the evening...."

He looked at me. He seemed worried. He remembered. I moved closer again and just touched my lips to his.

"Josie, really, we shouldn't."

I knew damn well we shouldn't, and so did he. His voice was saying 'no' but his body language, even the words he was using, he was still calling me 'Josie', to some extent he was thinking 'maybe' or even 'yes'.

"It was such an - exciting - moment, Mark, when we kissed. I'd really so like to do that again." 

And with these words I moved right into the middle of phase two, leaning across to touch his lips again with mine and this time to slide one of my hands round his body, to turn it just a little more towards me and squeeze.

"Really Josie, I don't think this is a good idea."

"I do, darling," I whispered. 

I went into full attack mode, kissing again and opening his mouth with my tongue. And this time he definitely responded. He pulled me towards him and joined in the kiss for a few seconds. When we separated he looked me straight in the eyes. 

"Josie. Look, we're getting into dangerous territory here. It's one thing you pretending to be my wife but I'm not sure what you're really after. So. What's all this really about?"

I sat back and sipped the last of my brandy. 

"Mark, this is all new to me too but it feels so lovely. Such a good feeling, being dressed like this, the nice meal, wine, soft lights. And you did say I look sexy after all. I know we shouldn't really be kissing like this but tell me, do you enjoy it? I know I do."

"Well, maybe. It is rather nice in a way But ..."

'Rather nice?' Well, that would do. 

"Mark, my darling, where's the harm..." 

And I broke off my sentence to move in on him again. I was determined this time. I hugged him firmly and kissed him open-mouthed, wriggling round to slide my leg across his thighs. As we began to become just a little unstable he had to grab my thigh to stay balanced and, at the same moment I felt his lips part under mine. 

"Oh Mark, that is so good."

And I groped, and he groped. His hand slid up my thigh under my skirt and gripped my thigh just below my stocking tops. And we kissed, we heavy-petted for about five minutes. Just as I felt his resolve weakening I moved away. 

"I think I'd better do my wifely duty now, Mark my love. I should load the dish-washer, it's getting late."

I had hoped just to see a glimpse of disappointment in Dad's eyes as I stood up. I slid my hands seductively down my dress from the waist to smooth it out and went off into the kitchen. Very quickly indeed I packed the dishwasher and locked the outside door, then turned the light off.

Back in the living room Dad was just finishing another drink. I smiled at him. 

"I enjoyed myself tonight, darling, it's fun being your wife." 

And I gave him one more very brief kiss on the lips. As I went up the stairs in front of him I turned.

"Are you looking up my dress?" I asked, laughing. He smiled.