Crossing Your X's And Dotting Your Y's

Young Ovidius

Part Five

  

With each passing day, Scott and Debbie Raghetti are drawn more deeply into confusing issues of gender identity and sexual attraction. In a strange way, though, they're coming to find that they truly are made just for each other. But that sort of twisted marital satisfaction still isn't enough to help them cope completely with the outside world....

 

SCOTT:

That Wednesday was the happiest day I could remember, all things considered. My period was over! I put the box of maxi pads back into the cabinet with a sense of profound relief combined with enthusiastic vigor. I had more than three weeks before I had to think about that again. But just that very thought put a damper on my upbeat mood. Had I really become totally resigned to having a vagina on my body? I mean, was I so ecstatic with relief at having stopped bleeding that I couldn't even imagine the possibility of regaining my old equipment? Could I, after only four days with female genitalia, be getting used to the idea as permanent? No, I shuddered as if I could ward it off. No.

I had to get going to work. Debbie was already gone to the bank. Wednesdays and Fridays were her long days there. I reached deep into my underwear drawer and pulled out the latex strap-on device that helped to restore the appearance of masculinity where it counted most. And for the first time I added the faux testicles, too, now that the sac wouldn't be collecting blood and potentially causing embarrassing messes. I must have spent nearly two or three minutes (a long time for a man getting ready) adjusting and re-adjusting the device to my satisfaction.

Deep down I feared that I couldn't escape detection for long, and definitely not forever. Of course, my fellow sales associate Angela already had her strong suspicions due to an unsettling encounter a couple days before. When that blood-tainted sock rolled down my pant leg, temporarily revealing the smooth front to my crotch, she saw it all too plainly. That was the only way one could come to believe the unbelievable, unless she had seen it more up close and personal. And there was no way I was going to let that happen!

That day I was feeling fairly fine, having stopped bleeding and all, just a bit anxious about my first big visit with a client since the important transition in my pants. Rationally speaking, I don't know why in the world what genitals are on my body should affect my confidence and expertise in selling auto parts, but it did. That's all there was to it. The thought lingered in the back of my mind always... everywhere.

Well, that wouldn't have been so bad, until I showed up at the office around nine o'clock, only to have the manager assign me and Angela to make the sales call together. I was thoroughly against that – anyone but her! I did everything short of begging to restore the original plan, to have me go it solo. But the manager Jeff contended that this was not only an important account but in a way a new experience for Angela. It was becoming apparent to me that the company was really interested in grooming her for a climb up the ladder. Under my breath I often muttered, "Affirmative action." Not that she was bad at the job, just not particularly great enough to deserve that sort of special attention. I knew the limits to my protest, and sensing that Jeff was set on sending her with me I quickly conceded.

It was an hour long drive out to visit my client at the warehouse, and Angela – dressed in a blue business suit that showed some nice leg, I must admit – occupied the passenger seat. My stress and discomfort level, already dangerously high, began to escalate. For twenty minutes or so we talked shop as I tried to keep her focused with some added pointers. No matter how I delivered them, though, they seemed to come out with a lot less condescension than before. I chalked that up to the humbling experience of my first menstruation. That can bring a swelled male head down to earth in no time. Trust me!

But eventually the formal conversation died down, leaving my passenger an opening. "I can see you're doing better than Monday."

"What do you mean?" I feigned ignorance.

Angela smirked. "C'mon, Scott. You can't pretend like it didn't happen. We both saw it."

"Oh, that..." I muttered.

"Yes, that. Now look, tell me. If I put a sock in my panties, will that improve my self-confidence or sales technique or something?"

I just about slammed on the brakes and swerved into the sedan in the next lane but managed to keep some composure. Beads of sweat dripped down my forehead. I definitely didn't like that insinuation she made. "You can put a sock anywhere you want. You can put one in your mouth, for all I care!"

I smiled inside, as that shut her up for awhile. But it wasn't long before she had regrouped for another verbal onslaught. "How small is your package, Scott? Hmmm? Or should I ask your poor wifey?" After cursing Angela up and down, I told her to leave Debbie out of the discussion. "I must have hit a sensitive spot," she deduced. I let her think she was onto something. The rest of the ride was mostly uneventful.

The sales pitch in the tiny, drab warehouse conference room was like any one of several I'd made in recent weeks for the new strut assembly. Besides me and Angela, there were four men representing our client, a small automaker. The first time I inadvertently glanced at the midsection of one of them I momentarily lost my train of thought. Fortunately, my partner was there to help back me up. But then it got worse and worse as my thoughts ran out of control. That I'd mentally noted with fond desire the bulge in the man's pants was bad enough. That my mind kept going over it again and again with a confusing mixture of guilt and pleasure eventually threw me off my game. It all fell apart when my tongue slipped and I said, "These are so much more advanced than the cock systems of, uh, of a decade ago."

The furrowed eyebrows, sneers and snickers from my audience told me I'd goofed. Angela pinch-hit for me. "What he meant, of course, was shock systems...."

I felt like passing out but stayed strong. From that point on I lost control of the discussion. Mr. Jenkins, the balding and middle-aged manager, started addressing his questions to Angela. His underlings followed suit. I slumped back in my office chair and did my best to keep my facial expressions engaged with the sales presentation. Angela did a fairly good job finishing the presentation and atoning for my shaky performance.

We had scheduled an informal lunch session with the clients after the meeting, so when the action seemed to wrap up around noon we all agreed to adjourn for a break. As they headed off toward their offices and left us alone, Angela turned to me. It was obvious she was recovering from the nervous effects of having to make an impromptu presentation. "What was that all about, Scott?"

"I don't want to talk about it." I pushed my chair back and stood up.

She couldn't hold back any longer. "Cock? Cock?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it. I'm having an off day."

"I'd say it's more than an off day, Scott.... Cock?"

"Why are you so fixated on... on that?" I snapped at her.

"Why am I so fixated? I took a couple psychology classes before. I think you're trying displacement."

I knew she was right, but I couldn't stand it for one second. Now seemed like the perfect time to deal with nature's call. "I've got to go to the bathroom."

"Good idea," she responded. "Me, too."

In heading toward the restroom I tried to stride quickly enough to keep distance from Angela, but she was right on my tail. Just as I pushed open the men's room door and she moved for the women's, she remarked lightly, "Good choice! You'll find a lot of cock in there...."

I was still fuming at her as I realized that I wasn't alone. One of the underlings from the meeting stood at the mirror, washing his hands and checking his teeth. With no other choice, I headed straight for the stalls. On one door a sign read "out of order," and beneath the other door I saw a pair of legs. I cast a furtive glance at the urinals. Both of them were open, but that wouldn't do me any good. Impatient, I crossed my arms around my stomach and lightly tapped my toe, loitering around like an idiot. I got a strange look from the guy who finished washing his hands and was heading for the paper towel dispenser. "Yeah, it sucks. That toilet's been out of order all week. I do my dump in the morning before I even get here, so I don't worry about it."

"Wait your turn!" a grouchy voice called out from the stall. It was the balding, middle-aged manager who had led the client's delegation at the meeting. Meanwhile, another guy came in when the first one left. He strode right up to the urinal and did his business. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed the tight stream of pee, and a speck of envy started to grow. And as the envy grew, my peripheral glance turned into an unabashed stare. I didn't even notice the sound of a toilet flushing and the manager emerging from the stall. "What are you staring at?" I'd lost all esteem in this man's eyes.

The man at the urinal was just about to zip up when he heard the remark and turned his head to notice me. "Yeah, why are you just standing there? Was he....?" But he couldn't bring himself to answer the question.

I wasn't sure what to do. The urge to urinate was definitely real, and my only option to take care of business was the smelly stall that the manager had just emerged from. To make things worse, they were still in there washing their hands. Inside, I knew they'd be able to hear the sound coming from inside the stall and recognize that it wasn't a man taking a dump, or a man at all, but a woman-like sound. And I couldn't afford for that to happen.

But apparently I couldn't afford to think clearly either. I made my way out of the men's room as casually as I could, averting all curious questions that would have to ask why I just went in there to stand like an idiot and stare at a man pissing in a urinal. So what did I do, you ask? I knocked on the door to the women's room and called out Angela's name. What an utter fool! When she came out a few seconds later, she gave me a look of sheer patronizing disgust. "Scott? Yes? I hope you weren't waiting too long...."

I started to stammer. "Uh... I... uh...."

By now she and I were several feet away from the restroom doors. "Spit it out, man! We're going to be leaving for lunch here in a minute."

"I was just wondering if anyone was in there...."

"In the ladies room, Scott?" She was shaking her head in sheer amusement.

"Um, yeah, but, uh...." I noticed the two men leaving the bathroom. "Never mind." And I slipped back into the men's room, praying for the chance to do my business in peace. But what an utter fool I'd already made of myself!

 

DEBBIE:

My first long day back at the bank drove home a growing impression I had of living two separate lives. That's what it felt like, you know. Walking around with that thing between the legs is just something a girl can never quite fully get used to. That gaffe thing that we'd ordered to keep my unwanted member tucked away, that I had so looked forward to receiving, was a mixed blessing. I thanked God for having it, so I could wear almost anything from my wardrobe and maintain my completely feminine appearance. But what they don't tell you is that after awhile of wearing that, your penis gets hot and sticky and sweaty and itchy. It takes all you have to control yourself. And a trip to the ladies' room becomes a relief for a whole new reason.

So there I am in public doing everything to keep up the appearance of my natural womanly self and all my typical feminine personality traits, interests, and behaviors – all while hiding away that stick of dynamite. I mean, you have that tucked away inside your panties, but you can't completely forget about it. Sure, for a few minutes here and there, you do your job and go on as if all is normal. But just try shifting in your seat or taking a step the wrong way and you can't help but be reminded of your disfigurement.

That's one half of the life. The other is getting home and looking forward to freeing "willy" from that contraption so it can breathe and roam free, as it were. It's a time where I felt comfortable in my own space with my new equipment. I looked forward to fooling around with my husband and his vagina, or even fooling around with my tool myself. I began to understand the prevalence of these male urges in a firsthand way I never thought I'd experience. I also looked forward to getting to pee standing up. It was a guilty pleasure but also oh, so liberating. Nothing could viscerally be considered less ladylike than that, and just getting that chance to break free of old gender norms and restrictions in such a dramatic way made me react ecstatically. I doubt you'd ever see a man letting out a loud "yee haw!" after taking a whiz; but this gal did a couple of times. Besides, I made sure every time to put the seat back down for Scott. I could empathize with his new plight. At the same time, I felt like lording it over him.

Keeping that growing sense of domestic and sexual masculine dominance under wraps while out in public was a tremendous challenge. How long could I continue being the normal sweet and sassy woman I'd been for so long? How long could I keep being just one of the girls – whether at the bank or at the store or at church – and taking joy in the typically feminine bonds of communication and emotion with one another? How long could I hide from some of them that I'd actually fancied the thought (if ever so briefly) of "whipping it out," showing off my new penis, and taking her for the ride of her life?

It was the times those unwanted fantasies pressed to the forefront of my brain that the confusion lying deep within my soul continued to mushroom out of control. It was then that confusion paralyzed me more and more. I needed to cry out for "help" but didn't know how, where, or to whom. Was I bisexual? I mean, after all, I still almost completely and primarily found myself attracted to the male form, yet naturally began craving a place to put my new member to work. It was into this context that I had a hard time figuring out what to do with the occasional attraction to soft, womanly flesh. It was on that Wednesday at the bank, during my break as I sat alone in my office, that I inadvertently found myself drawn to my own breasts and began rubbing one of them casually and subtly. Only the sound of an approaching voice and the arrival of a new customer roused me from my embarrassing moment of self-gratification.

The woman who sat down across from my desk couldn't have been but a few years older than my 26 and just slightly heavier perhaps. She was young and reasonably attractive, perhaps a bit focused on the task at hand. She wanted to open a new account, and it was my job to assist her in that transaction. It was my natural custom to try connecting casually with my customers. That day, though, I was finding it especially difficult. My mind was clouded with distractions, and I was barely making it through my computer processing and formal question / answer routine without too many mistakes to delve into the world of small talk. But this particular woman eventually let the ice break and started doing it herself.

"I hear we're supposed to get some cold weather soon, which is too bad. I was getting kind of used to it being warm. Guess it means I'll have to put this wardrobe away." I couldn't help but look up as she casually gestured at herself. The wardrobe she was referring to caught my eye in a way I wished wasn't starting to become familiar. Looking at the low-cut blue blouse and tight, short stretch pants put a lump in my throat. "Are you all right?" she asked, mildly aghast. I was still a woman. I could tell the tone of voice and what it meant about her reaction. She had that uncomfortable feeling she was being scoped out too much but wasn't sure what to make of it coming from another woman, and one so readily heterosexual-looking as myself.

I could sense the customer's discomfort but was too preoccupied with my own. Without thinking I reached down to scratch my crotch, glad at catching myself that she couldn't see through the desk's wooden front. Just by grazing it, I could feel a hint of throbbing desire in my expanding member and the increasing pain that came with its torturous latex trap. "Ow," I grimaced, pressing the "Enter" key to finish processing the transaction. Not giving her a chance to inquire about my little outburst I started handing her the appropriate documents and explaining them to her. You know, "Sign here, initial here, date here, etcetera...."

I was also learning that often with the increase in blood flow down below came an urge to pee as well. I struggled through the last few minutes with her, no doubt eliciting some anger for my suddenly impatient demeanor. But I sighed gratefully when I reached the employee bathroom, pulled down my skirt, planted my flabby butt on the porcelain seat, and watched with amazement as the gaffe made sure business was taken care of cleanly. The rest of the day went by fairly well, strangely aided by dwelling on making love to Scott. Somehow that sort of focus kept me on the ball and made the last few hours pass more easily.

At home that night it was back to the other half of my divided persona. I giggled gleefully as my penis sprung to attention after sliding off that device. I'd waited not only through work but through dinner together and the dishwashing afterwards.

"Why are you so happy?" Scott asked, hearing me from the hall.

"Oh, you'll find out!" I think he knew right away what I meant. It was the recent role reversal that made him so especially glum. Sure my reaction and expression were exaggerated somewhat, but that had been his playful, frequent sex drive. Now it was mine. I was the one who needed it at least four or five times a week. For one thing, I found myself thinking about it more than ever, so I needed the satisfaction. For another thing, each time it had happened so far, the results weren't so good on the male side of things. I felt like I needed it all the more to make up for that deficiency.

 

SCOTT:

As for me, it was hard to believe, but following only four days with a vagina I found myself happily resigned to sex a couple times a week. That's the way Debbie had been! But having swapped all the equipment, I had gained her diminished sex drive as well. Let me tell you, though, the two orgasms I'd had so far with a woman's parts blew away anything I'd experienced in my life before the switch. It was in that moment that I thought I could begin to understand why Debbie wasn't so insistent about having it. And I also understood what she was going through now. I actually felt bad that my wife had lost the ability for multiple orgasms or for orgasms as deep and sweet as we both knew them to be from the female side! That night I learned to fake it. I had other things on my mind (it was so hard to get all focused on lovemaking), including the embarrassing events on my sales trip and the grateful relief that my period was over. Anyway, I remember what it was like being in her place and let her have fun. I don't know how convincing I was.

 

DEBBIE:

I knew he was faking it. I'd been on that side before. But I didn't care... not that night.

  

  

  

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