Another snippet

Dear readers,

Posted below is another short snippet I've written recently. As usually, it started out with an outfit I saw on a TV presenter, then grew into a story, albeit not a very long one. The background is only implied, though seasoned readers of TG fiction will probably have no trouble figuring what is going on.

Rosie.

Although I have spotted my wife the moment she arrived to the party, mixed in with the upper management group, it takes me a while before I realize that it’s actually her. It is her height that made it easy to spot her, and it is the only thing about her that helps me finally recognize her. Everything else about her seems changed. Almost all of the refreshments are already at the banquet tables in the center of the hall but I still fiddle around the kitchen area. Hidden from her own view, I admire my wife from the background.

She’s wearing a pink leather blazer over her simple black top, the open bodice hemmed by a bright red zipper, and pink leather ribbons hanging loosely from the cuffs of its ¾ length sleeves. With deft use of makeup, her rugged, almost manly features are smoothed to a perfectly feminine form. Even her previously jet black hair, is now dyed to an almost blond shade, with platinum highlights and while it’s still short, she wears it in a wavy style. On top of it all, she’s wearing high heeled shoes and a black knee length, pleated satin skirt. The glistening fabric captivates my attention for more than just a moment. I stand frozen, looking at her absently and finally step back into the kitchen nook to avoid being seen by her just at the very last moment.

With my back to the wall, I try to remember when it was the last time I have seen Joanne last dressed like… well, like a woman. It is hard to believe she has changed so much in the past two weeks since we last saw each other. I sneak a peek around the door frame, and she’s already moving back into the center of the room with a loaded plate. On one hand, I am amazed that nothing about her betrays the manly figure I have become accustomed to, though on the other, I am relieved that despite her utterly feminine look, she still carries her with the same confidence and, for the lack of a better word, power.

I feel a pang of jealousy as I see her smile and talk to the men around her, who no doubt gaze her adoringly. With her masculinity suddenly gone, my own femininity, which I seemed to have finally learnt to accept, now seems both pointless and again in the center of my full awareness. Even before my conversion, when I was still a man, I could never measure up to any of the men I see Joanne talking to, but now, standing at the back of the room, with my pale green and white polka dot blouse tucked into the high waistband of my light grey grosgrain skirt, I feel more inadequate than ever.

In this moment of gloom, when I’m actually contemplating leaving the party, I finally catch her gaze. The way her face lights up when she sees me makes me realize just how silly I’ve been. She could have any man in the room yet, I am reassured as she discretely excuses herself and moves away from the group, still choses to be with…well, whatever she has created of me. Still, I can feel the jealousy persist, and I realize I’m actually feeling jealous over the fact I’m not the feminine one of the two us anymore.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d thought you were hiding from me,” she says as she takes us out of the banquet hall.

“I didn’t recognize you,” I say, as she calls for an elevator.

The elevator is crowded and we have to separate again. Though it’s only for a couple of moments, I can hardly bear to be away from my wife and I am strangely comforted to find her sneaking glances at me in the elevator mirror. We reunite only after stepping off on her floor.

“I’m not used to seeing you look like that,” I shyly say as we enter her hotel room.

“Like what?” she chides.

“Well, you know…” I reply nervously.

“Looking like a woman?” she smiles.

Dryly, I nod.

“I thought you said that …” suddenly, I’m overcome with tears and I look away as I feel the hot streams across my cheeks, but Joanne gently yet firmly cups my chin in the palm of her hand and makes me face her again.

With an unmistakable nod of her face, she makes me continue what I was trying to say.

“I thought you said I would be the one to wear the skirts,” I finally manage to say.

“What, and let you have all the fun?” she says.

“But I thought you said it wasn’t appropriate anymore for you to…” I try to say, then pause for words.

“Well, that it wasn’t appropriate for you be the woman,” I finally say.

She pulls me down in her lap.

“That’s still true,” she says, “It wasn’t appropriate for me to act like a woman because I was making a point that it wasn’t appropriate for you to act like a man.”

I squirm with embarrassment. For a second, I try to get off her lap, but she won’t let me. With my hands on her shoulders, I feel the pink leather pulled taught against her muscles. Though I’m not struggling to get up anymore, I’m still wiggling in her lap. Although my body is wrapped in a cocoon of silk, satin and nylon, I finally manage to press the exposed skin of mu thighs, between the legs of my panties and the tops of my stockings, against her skirt.

“But now that I’ve proven my point, I want to go back to normal,” she says, “Especially before we finally move back home.”

The zipper of her blazer feels rough on my chin as she kisses me on the lips. My left hand snakes around her neck while my right hand slips off her shoulder and reaches underneath her jacket. As I cup her firm breast, I am a little disappointed by the plain fabric of her top, though at the same time, I feel a pleasant tingling as the skin of my thighs starts to make out the sharp edges of the pleats among the slipperiness of the satin. As her tongue is probing my mouth, I feel myself submerging in this whirlpool of caresses. Mustering the last remaining strengths, I break off the kiss and try to focus my mind on the impact of her words. With the prospect of having my own life back, the past humiliations seem even more pointless, yet also suddenly irrelevant.

“You mean…” I pant, then pause for a second. She gazes at me with a raised eyebrow.

“You mean we’ll go back to how it used to be?” I ask, hopefully.

“My sweet husband,” she says, “My poor, poor, sweet husband.”

“Won’t we?” I say, trying not to let my hope wither away.

“We’ll go to how things ought to be,” she says and pushes me on the bed.

“What does that mean?” I panic.

Seemingly oblivious of my sudden distress, Joanne hikes down my panties.

“What do you think it should mean?” she asks.

“Will you let me wear…” I begin, but stop when she straddles me.

“I will let you wear whatever you think it’s appropriate, honey,” she says, then spreads out her skirt across my legs.

The tight pleats are a black, shimmering sea that captivates my consciousness as she moves rhythmically up and down, washing away my awareness that this is my last chance to free myself from the femininity I had allowed myself to succumb to, until I hear myself seal my fate.

“Will you let me borrow your skirt?”