Message-ID: <41005asstr$1045865408@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {ASSM} Taken in Adultery by Vickie Tern  5/9 TG femdom
Date: Fri, 21 Feb 2003 17:10:08 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

The Man Taken in Adultery
Vickie Tern


                             v.

Whatever Gail wanted, Gail got.  Four hours later when we returned
I looked like a cute young woman, all curly headed, with darkened,
smudged, innocent, wide open eyes to match Gail's, and my body
launched irreversibly on a course to match that appearance.  An
hour later still Gail was congratulating me on my loss of virginity
as a hard-bodied, hairless man with a shaved head pulled his
hairless cock out of my asshole and wiped it with a towel Gail
provided him, looking rather pleased with himself.  "Now you're a
woman!" she said.  "Never doubt it!  Hurry!  Put a tampon in your
pussy and that new Donna Karan on your back, and let's go to
dinner."

How did this happen in the course of only a few hours?  Even
before we'd left our little suburban enclave and turned toward
town, Gail began instructing me.  "You look as if I'm driving you
to your grave," she said after an amused glance at my somber face. 
"I'm not, Bobbi.  I'm liberating you.  I'm taking you to a little
shop I know you'll enjoy, it's owned by my own couturiere, so we
can plan and order your wardrobe for whenever you're with me and
you can begin wearing some of the lovely things she sells and
designs.  Because wherever we go, you will need to seem to be fit
company for me.  Lots of the women I know would kill to have
dresses and outfits like mine for themselves, even to know where I
get them!  So you must promise never to say, and you can be sure
that they will ask.  Well, let them envy you the way they envy me. 
Enjoy it."

"This isn't just for today and tomorrow, then?" I asked.  "Ma'am,"
I added.

She glanced at me a moment.  "Why, no Bobbi.  We've discussed this! 
Why would I order an expensive skin-scenting and conditioning for
you for only a day or two's play?  Why would I be getting you
accustomed to sharing some of the things I enjoy, if I didn't want
you for my long-term playmate, sharing everything?"  She glanced
at me and then returned her eyes to the road.  "Everything, Bobbi!"

I was silent.  The things she enjoyed doing.  She certainly enjoyed
collecting cum.  Could she actually mean that those streams of
sports cars would be seeking me out as well as her?  

"I've wanted to share my pleasures with you for weeks and weeks,"
she continued.  "I spotted you almost the day we first moved into
this neighborhood.  A perfectly lovely man, cute as a button, with
a working wife often elsewhere, home all day alone.  My neighbor,
living right next door.  What could be more convenient?"

She was silent now too for a little while.  Then, "This isn't
exactly what I'd planned, honey.  I'd wanted you to play the role
of a man with me, like my other friends.  I'd have loved to have 
you as my local boyfriend, discreetly on call whenever I needed 
him, ready to fill any gaps in my schedule or my body.  But you 
didn't want that, and though they're old-fashioned by my lights 
I can respect your reasons.  You're loyal to your wife, in a 
manner of speaking.  So what we're doing now is your decision, 
never forget that."

That wasn't entirely true.  But I let it pass.  This woman was
accustomed to getting whatever she wanted for whatever her own
reasons.  I hoped Carrie would appreciate what I was trying to
do for her, what I was trying not to do too.  Trying to stave off
disaster.  When she finds out about this.  If she ever does.  She
had to, but I still hoped not.

"Not that I mind," she said sweetly as she pulled between two
carved stone pillars into a driveway leading to a little cluster of
rather elegant shops, and parked next to one of them.  "This is so
much more fun!  I've taken girlfriends in hand now and then, and
improved their wardrobes and enlarged their social prospects, but
I've never done  anything like this before with a man!  I'm so glad
you're special.  You really are!  Come here!"

I turned toward her, wondering what she meant.  Her eyes were soft.
"Closer, honey," she said.  I leaned closer.  She lifted her head
and kissed me, her lips sumptuous against mine.  For that 
moment she looked so vulnerable in her beauty, even frail. 
My heart went out to her, just a little, and I kissed her back. 
Just a little.

"I do hope you'll enjoy this too," she whispered.  "Tell me you
will."

"I'll try," I said.  It seemed selfish and pointless not to grant
her that much.

She opened her car door.  "Now to make you the envy of everyone who
sees us together," she said.  "Ready?"

"Gail, " I said.  "Ma'am, I mean.  I'm a married man.  My wife has
a responsible position working for your husband.  That's why I'm
going along with this.  But I don't want to embarrass her.  I don't
want to be seen by anyone the way you intend!"
    
"Silly!" she said.  "C'mon now!  No one will ever guess who you are
when you're with me!  Maybe not even your wife!"

As I left the car I was once again embarrassed to be wearing only
the pink robe Gail had loaned me, and I clutched it closed.  We
walked toward the large oak door of one of the shops, and a footman
appeared from nowhere to pull it open!  Dressed in black boots,
white breeches, and a red coat, as if fresh from riding to the
hounds.  "Ms. Hanover," he said respectfully.  "Welcome!"

"George," she acknowledged, nodding at him.  "This is Bobbi.  She's
my dear friend, and she's to have whatever she wants whenever she
comes here.  It'll be often because she needs everything, and often
it'll be without me because I'll be busy.  But she'll expect every
courtesy!"

'She'?  I supposed so.  That was her plan, but it was a bit jarring
to hear the word for the first time, referring to me.  'Often'?  I
wondered what that meant.

"Yes ma'am," George said, utterly unflapped that he was looking at
a man in a woman's robe when he looked straight at me.  "Miss
Bobbi, welcome to Yvette's.  We hope you'll allow us the privilege
of serving you for a long time to come."

I was called on to say something.  "Thank you," I said in that
high, soft contralto Gail wanted me to use.  "I hope so too!"

Now why did I say that?  Idiocy!  I hoped no such thing.  I was
caught up in the spirit of things I supposed.

He seated us on small, painted boudoir chairs, in an exquisite
salon brilliantly illuminated through huge rear windows and
skylights, the walls hung with luxurious white and salmon colored
drapes.  The afternoon sun made them glow, so the very air took on
a rosy cast.  And now Yvette appeared.  A short middle-aged woman
in a smock, brisk in her manner and decisive in her hand gestures,
her face impeccably made up, her eyebrows plucked away and then
pencilled back on.

"Gail!" she said in what I took to be a faint French accent. 
"Delightful, as always!  And you're Bobbi, how lovely to meet you
at last!" She looked me up and down as I sat there hunched over,
still clutching my robe closed.  "My dear, you look like a bundle
of laundry!  Stand proud and tall over here on this little
platform, and let's see what we have!  Just tell yourself, 'I'm a
woman, and I'm beautiful!' and that's what the world will see.  No,
leave the robe behind!"

As she spoke she reached out her hand, and I reached to take it,
but she shook me off with a wave of her wrist.  Of course, the
robe.  She wanted me naked.  So I took a deep breath and shucked it
onto the chair, and then she clasped my hand and led me onto the
little platform in the center of the room.  Gail sat as if at a
fashion show, eyes alight with anticipation.  With a single
eloquent wave of her hand, Yvette ordered me to stand erect, chin
high, perfectly still.  And there I was, as fully on display as a
nude statue on a pedestal.  Her eyes flicked over my body as if
photographing it.  "Now say it, Bobbi!  Tell yourself and tell the
world!"

I didn't know what she meant at first.  Then I remembered.  Let's
get it right the first time, I told myself, so this doesn't become
an endless repetition.  "I'm a woman," I said with all the deep
sincerity I could muster.  "And I'm beautiful!"

"Yes!" Yvette said, as if absolutely persuaded it was so.  There
was my thin, flat chest and my there were my penis and testicles
and my angular body, and she said it with absolute conviction. 
"Her figure presents no problems at all," she told Gail.  "We can
do everything with the cut and fall of the fabrics, and a little
bolstering and padding here and there.  Very little cinching
needed.  But shall we leave a certain amount of room?  Will she be
developing over time?"

"We'll see," Gail replied.  "Meanwhile you see how she is, and fit
her as she is.  She needs everything.  She has literally nothing to
wear.  Right now we need to get her through the afternoon, lingerie
of course, and pumps, deep-cut vamps I'd say, and a simple skirt
and blouse perhaps, whatever you suggest.  A dinner gown for
this very evening, something high styled but not too formal, and
I'd like it to fit her beautifully.  And heels and accessories. 
Even a purse."

"Of course," Yvette said, as if men stood before her to be fitted
for dresses every day.  "She has lovely shoulders, not too broad at
all, it would be a shame to cover them.  So for tonight, a basque
to hold up her breasts, and spaghetti straps on a slim silk taffeta
sheath to accent her slender hips and yet her femininity.  Is that
what you were thinking?  I have one in her size I think, a Donna
Karan."

"Perfect.  In cerise, perhaps?" 

"Oh, my dear, perhaps later, she'd need superb confidence to carry
off that strong a color.  For now I'd say a demure fuschia,
especially with her coloring.  It's one of this year's shades.
Then her make-up can match.  You know, she's quite shapely,
considering.  We must show the world the shape of her derriere,
many women would kill for curves like those."  Yvette paused,
then asked.  "Her breasts, what have you in mind?"

Gail laughed.  "Oh, several possibilities, Yvette!"  Her eyes
sparkled as the two women exchanged amused glances.  I had no idea
what they were talking about.  "But Bobbi will have something to
say about that I'm sure.  Maybe her partner too -- she lives with
another woman, and they're quite attached to each other I gather. 
For now, not too much decolletage.  But can she possibly show a
hint of cleft this evening?"

This charade, discussing an obvious male as if he were female, was
annoying me.  But this was the first I'd heard that Carrie might
have a voice in any of this.  I was still pondering that, thinking
about Carrie as "another woman" like myself, when  Yvette moved
around behind me, placed her hands on my ribs and pushed my love
handles up toward my chest.  "Oh yes," Yvette said.  "No problem
with a bit of cleft.  I have everything her figure needs."

"Then I leave it to you.  Meanwhile, let's consider the rest of the
season.  Sportswear, a summer suit or two, a few casual dresses, a
tennis dress perhaps, another really good dress.  You know.  And as
soon as possible.  We'll discuss her fall and winter wardrobe
another time."  

What did this woman have in mind for me?  Fall and winter?  I more
than half-anticipated that Carrie would order me out of the house
as soon as she saw me.  And when I was no longer Gail's convenient
neighborhood playtoy, that would be the end of that!

"Yes, of course," Yvette said.  She called into the air, "Celine,
s'il vous plait?" and then explained, "We need to take her
measurements now."

Gail said nothing.  I watched to see what would next happen.  A
quilted satin door in a far wall opened and a stunning brunette
appeared, wearing measuring tapes around her neck as if necklaces
and carrying a pink clipboard.  She stood perfectly still when she
saw a naked man standing there on a platform where dowagers,
debutantes, bridesmaids, businesswomen, and little girls usually
stood to be fitted.  Then suddenly broke into a playful grin.  I
couldn't tell what it meant.  I didn't want to know.

"Celine, this is Bobbi," Yvette announced.  "Bobbi is Mrs.
Hanover's protege, and she needs everything, and we want to see she
gets everything she needs.  We'll be fitting her out for some
months.  But she needs a summer wardrobe immediately.  She's thin
enough for extremely tight, figure-revealing styles, and I don't
think we should deprive her of the pleasure of showing herself off. 
Not too severe of course.  Skirts perhaps A-line with a cross-gore
to the waist.  Blouses shaped and tucked until we can see if
anything develops.  For now, a shift she can wear for the rest of
the day.  Isn't that right, Gail?"

"That's right," Gail replied, watching me to see if I'd understood
any of that conversation.  I hadn't.  "We'll accommodate in due
course to whatever may change during her fittings."

"Oui, madame," Celine said.  She got up on the platform with me and
began taking measurements, all sorts.  As she stretched her tape
below my nipples and then around them, I felt myself begin to
swell.  Then she reached into my crotch and pressed an end of her
tape measure gently against my balls, looked up at me and smiled as
if we were sharing an intimate joke, then stretched the other end
down to my knees, then to my ankles, then to the ground.  My cock
began to harden noticeably.  She entered her readings onto her
clipboard and didn't seem to notice.

Then suddenly she turned to Yvette.  "Madame," she said.  "Weel
zees ... lady be keeping zees stings?"  She pointed her pencil at my
cock and balls, now on full display.  "Weez zees verry tight
styles, ...."  She shrugged and awaited an answer.  Yvette looked
at Gail.  Gail looked at me, her face unreadable.  Then she said
suddenly.  "No Bikinis this summer.  Maybe a Maillot.  We'll see
about next summer, quite possibly by then."

I suddenly realized they were talking about my package!  The shape
of my crotch!  About my displaying a woman's snug curve there, not
the hint of a bulge.  About removing my penis and testicles, so
tight clothes would show properly?  I got frightened!  "Gail!" I
called out to her.

Gail ignored me and went on, "But we will want to put her into
slacks right away, tight enough to display that cute tush.  Isn't
it dear?  Could any girl's rear be more feminine?  But that means
snug in the crotch, so measure her for a gaffe," Gail said,
unflapped.  "Send it along with the dress.  Bobbi has enough
to worry about right now, bless her heart. We can let her wear
pants as well as dresses, if they're the right kind, figure-tight.
But you do remind me, when we get home today we'll need to reduce
her inclination to bulge out from her crotch, and we'll also want to
reward her patience.  I'm sure Jason will oblige the lady on both
scores.  Meanwhile, can we get her dressed for the rest of the
afternoon now, and move on?"   

"Of course," Yvette said.  "Celine?"

"Oui, Madame.  Mais les lingerie?  Quelle style ...?"

"Sexy," Gail said firmly.  "Risque.  I want Bobbi to enjoy her
femininity, its intimate secrets and its outward appearances, in
every way possible!  She should want to feel downright seductive
at all times."

Celine disappeared.  I stood there.  Within five minutes she was
back, her arms piled high with plastic parcels and small boxes.  As
Yvette and Gail watched, she then did a kind of strip tease with
each item, tantalizingly removing them from their packaging -- a
dainty hi-leg lace panty, a wispy matching bra she called a
"soutienne-gorge", a frail slip.  And then just as suggestively she
slipped each item onto me, waiting silently when she wanted me to
lift a leg or raise an arm to help her.  I cooperated.  She rolled
thigh high stockings up my legs and slid her hands up my thighs to
smooth them. She tucked breast forms into my brassiere, and tugged
at the cups until they looked shapely.  She handed me slim,
delicate, low-heeled pumps, beige, apparently with the "deep-cut
vamps" Gail wanted for me, and I slipped them on.  

Then finally, when I was fully dressed in my lingerie, she stopped
and stood back and smiled broadly at me, as if she were welcoming
me into a secret society only other women know about. 
"Ravissement!" she said.  I thought for a moment she intended to
kiss me.  Then she disappeared.  I just stood there in my bra and
panties and hosiery, feeling like a Victoria's Secrets catalog
model.  At least I was no longer naked.

"I think this shift dress for now," Yvette said, handing me a long,
loose tube of shiny rust colored fabric without even looking at me,
assuming that of course I'd figure out how to slip it over my head,
as I did.  It went narrowly straight down from my shoulders to my
calves and then floated free, yet seemed to cling to my hips and
poke suggestively away from my chest.  Its sleeves hung gracefully
from my elbows.  "Yes," Yvette said, looking at me as if I were a
store mannequin. "Silk, of course.  And the deeper earth tones are
certainly her colors. Though she'll want a few summer things in
more sprightly shades, lime or berry.  Just look at her!  Doesn't
a well-cut garment always declare itself, no matter how simple?
Even though this dress seems severe, it couldn't be more feminine,
and flirty!"

"Yes," Gail said.  "It's just lovely.  I'll send Jason over to take
back to the house whatever the blouses and skirts and things she'll
need for the next few days, along with everything she'll need for
tonight.  In two or three hours perhaps?"   

"Time enough," Yvette replied.  She held her hand out again to help
me off the low platform, and as I stepped off I bobbed my knee ever
so slightly and rose again -- somehow it seemed more ladylike.  The
hem of my dress brushed my calves.  I was very conscious of the bra
and panties, those provocative lacy wisps Celine had snugged onto
my body, now hidden under a dress but clinging to me, very much
there.  Now I'm dressed like a girl, I was saying to myself.  My
body looks like a woman's.  What are these women doing to me?

As we left Yvette's salon, George again held open the heavy oak
entrance door, this time looking at me appreciatively, as if I had
been transformed into a beauty queen.  I tried to pay no attention,
but it felt queer.

"Now, don't you feel more confident?" Gail asked me.  "More
self-assured?  Now that you're properly dressed?"

"These clothes feel very strange," was all I could reply.  The
dress felt smooth and slippery, and seemed to roll and splash on my
body whenever I moved.  I felt loose and free inside it.  The
slip's hem danced lightly on the backs of my knees.  The bra hugged
me like a girlfriend fearful that I might leave her.

Gail saw me attending to each of these sensations, and simply
waited.  Then she asked,"Strange, but nice?"

"Yes," I had to reply.  As if I were being caressed by silken
webs, I was thinking, but I didn't want to give Gail the
satisfaction.  "It's odd.  Luxurious."  And I had to add "Sort of
sexy, too!"  I realized that I'd regret taking these things off
again.  Maybe also not being able to wear them when Carrie was
home. 

"I'm glad you enjoy them," Gail replied.  "I'd thought the novelty
might excite you, but it's so much better that you find them
erotic.  You'll enjoy them much more that way.  Lots of women do. 
And some men."  She looked down and saw that my lace-net panties
weren't quite holding back a partial erection.  I couldn't help it! 
These clothes really were sexy!

"We'll take care of that when we get home, Bobbi.  You won't have
that problem at all once we've slipped you into the kind of gaffe
I've asked for.  But now it's time for our hair appointments.
You'll need a facial too, and nails of course.  Actually, a complete
makeover."  

'Nails of course!'  This woman was determined to ruin my marriage. 
But I was already beyond a point of no return for excuses to
Carrie.  The more persuasive I look as a woman, I was thinking, the
less I resemble a cross-dressed male, the greater the chance that
she'll find me only a disappointment, not an absurdity.   And maybe
pity me and stay with me?  This was a new thought.  I'd try seriously
to look like a woman!

Gail led the way two stores down, and we entered another unmarked
entrance, this time with a door cherry red in color, and "Private,
By Appointment Only" on a brass plaque next to it.  Then we walked
down a brightly lit corridor and through a door.  I found myself in
the middle of a boudoir, but with a salon chair near a sink and a
mirror by one wall, and alongside it a large round table loaded
with plastic boxes of hair rollers, lotions, and other bric a brac. 
A hair dryer hung over an upholstered armchair by another wall,
behind a low table strewn with magazines.  It was odd, as if
someone had set up a beauty parlor in their own home.   

"No one here?" Gail inquired loudly.  Then "Hello!" she called out.

A dainty, long-haired blonde came through a door next to the
mirror, extremely thin, almost fragile, a girl with beautifully
shaped cheekbones, seemingly barely in her late teens.  She wore no
jewelry, but her breasts were large and thrust forward under her
mini-uniform -- powder blue, with 'Tina' stencilled on her breast
pocket.  They were like gifts, like a bouquet of flowers she
carried in her arms.  Her hand grazed them as she reached up to
brush back a stray lock of hair undone in her haste to enter the
room.  "Mrs. Hanover!" she said.  "I'm so sorry!  We thought you'd
be with Yvette a bit longer!"

"Well, clearly we aren't," Gail said, just faintly annoyed.  She
was obviously accustomed to immediate service.  "But no matter. 
Here, Tina, I've brought you Bobbi.  As I told Jason, she needs a
really pretty but easy-care hairdo, the kind she can fluff with her
fingers to keep neat.  And I want her altogether presentable for
dinner with me tonight in a good restaurant" -- she paused to be
sure Tina understood -- "so there can't be slightest chance that
she'll embarrass me or I'll feel embarrassed for her.  Not the
slightest.  Soignee!  Her gown will be fuschia with spaghetti
straps.  Bobbi, this is Tina!"

Tina gave me a welcoming grin as if delighted, and a dipped a
slight curtsy.  Her boobs bobbled.  "Hi, Bobbi, lovely to meet you. 
Yes, Jason's given me exact instructions.  The kind of hairdo
you want will need a body perm first, Bobbi, so its curls can
stay curled.  Has it been a while since your last perm?  And is
that your natural color?"

Curls!  How could I ever hide curls from Carrie?  Tell her I just
happened to be curious how I'd look with curls, so I got some put
in?  I should stop this right now!  But Ms. Hanover -- Gail -- was
a formidable women, not easily thwarted.  She'd already reminded me
of the obligations any employee's family owed the company.  I was
Carrie's family.

"I've never had a perm before," I said.  "This is my first."  What
was I saying now?  My first?  Of how many to come?  My throat
sounded a little hoarse, but I managed to keep the tone girlish. 
"And my hair has always been this color."

"Really!  We'll lighten it just a bit then.  Then once you've
gotten your perm we can design your hairdo without compromising,
from the scalp on up!  I think you'll be pleased.  That gamin cut
you've let grow out wasn't really right for you.  Cute, but not
really feminine.  What I have in mind will make your face seem much
more petite.  When we're finished, you'll be a teenage girl all
over again." 

Gail was amused at that.  "Tina, Bobbi's never had her hair done,
nor her nails, nor her face, and so on, because she's never been a
teenage girl.  Look closely at her."

Tina looked faintly injured.  "Ms Hanover," she said.  "I see Bobbi
clearly enough.  Of course she's been a teenage girl!  We all have! 
And I can see the hope in her eyes right now!  I know how it is! 
When a girl's finally able to say that's what she is, a girl, that
she can't pretend she's a boy any longer because she's always felt
like a girl!  That's how I felt.  I never felt any other way!  I
started myself on hormones on my thirteenth birthday, just as soon
as I could earn the money for them, and then and there I became a
teenage girl in body as well as mind!  Then when Jason advanced me
the money for everything else, well, you see for yourself what
surgeons can do with a girl's good looks these days.  I'll be going
into the hospital for my final operation only a few months from
now, the day I turn eighteen!  My own vagina!  My girlhood dream
ever since I decided I was a girl whatever anyone else said!
I know exactly how Bobbi feels!  "

"I'm very glad for you, dear," Gail said.  "But now let's fulfill
Bobbi's girlhood dream, shall we?  I'll leave you two alone.  Jason
expects me in the other salon?"

"Yes, Ms. Hanover, that's where I just left him."

"Then I'll see you in a few hours, Bobbi.  Enjoy feeling pampered. 
Tina has the most marvelous gifts, she'd be wasted in any other
profession.  Just leave yourself in her hands, and don't question
anything she thinks needs doing."

I heard Gail's statement as a warning, and nodded.  Gail re-entered
the corridor and closed the door behind her.

"Just lovely," Tina said, lifting my hair up and studying it. 
"Perfect.  You'll be gorgeous, honey.  This is the moment you
become your true self."

That was what I was worried about.  During the next few hours my
hair was washed and rinsed and rollered and razored and snipped and
toned and dried, and my face was rubbed and lasered and plucked yet
again, and covered with several kinds of lotions and unguents.  It
seems that the dark stain on my eyelids was just that, an indelible
stain, so Tina dyed my eyelashes deep black to match, to stand out
as a thick fringe when my eyes were lowered.  When periodically I
sat under the dryer she worked on my nails, glueing and filing
extensions on them and layering plum colored polish and gloss on
them, until each was a miniature jewel.  

And the whole time she talked.  She assumed we belonged to the same
sorority, bound together for life by being transgendered, convinced
from our earliest memories that we were girls in boys' bodies. 
"When did you begin taking hormones, Bobbi?" she inquired as she
whisked some kind of fluid into my tightly rolled hair.  "Your skin
is so soft and fragrant, it's heavenly.  But it isn't as clear as
it should be.  You've only just begun?"

"I've never begun," I said.  My mind was preoccupied.  How in the
world could I possibly explain my appearance to Carrie when she
returned.  She'd married a man.  She wanted me to be a man.  I had
to assume it, we'd never played gender-swapping games the way some
couples do, and there was never anything kinky in our lovemaking. 
And she always took the lead, whatever we did, so I knew that if
she'd wanted it, she'd have surely proposed it.  The topic simply
never came up.  But now it surely would.  I didn't feel in the
least reassured by Gail's confidence that Carrie wouldn't mind what
was happening to me.  She even believed that Carrie wouldn't mind
my performing the ultimate infidelity, fucking her!  Tomorrow?
Impossible! 

Tomorrow.  She thought Carrie would be back tomorrow?  Didn't
Carrie tell me it was the day after tomorrow?  I was still
pondering this suddenly foreshortened period of time before Carrie
saw me and left me, outraged, our marriage in ruins.  Even though
all I'd done was try to stay faithful to her after my one terrible
lapse, just one.  Even though also all I'd done was try to offend
the woman who could tell her about that one time, a woman who could
make or break her career, ruin everything she'd worked for all her
life.  I had to go along with Gail's odd quirks, I was telling
myself, when I felt a sudden stab in my upper arm and then a slow
burning sensation.  Then the same thing in the other arm.  I
twisted my head and looked up.  I couldn't quite see Tina behind
me.

end 5/9
VickieTern@AOL.COM

-- 
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