Epilogue

"I love you so much," I heard myself crooning in a series of indistinguishable mumbles. "Thank you; thank you for all of this."

A brief pause quickly allowed her strap-on and my well-stretched ass to become new best friends, and tears filled my eyes as her strap-on's faux balls pressed against my ass cheeks and its dildo slowly began to saw me. The rest of the night went down just like my long-cherished dreams had imagined, save only for one thing:

Finding myself fucked by my wife's strap-on was even more amazing than even I had ever imagined!

+ + + + + + + + + +

"Slide over, hon, I think there's room for both of us here."

After returning her cleansing products to the ensuite, my wife slipped in alongside me on her vanity's cushioned bench. Seated side-by-side, we could now watch us both talk just by looking straight ahead. "Nice, isn't it?" she asked my image, slipping her arm around me. "Is there any doubt left in your mind right now that your wife doesn't love you unconditionally?"

I felt humiliated knowing my past reticence required such a question. I dropped my head in shame, but she cupped my chin in her hand. "None of that shit," she demanded. "Look at us in the mirror! When you first brought up this path for us, I told you if we took it, there'd be no way to ever go back to what we once were, remember?"

While she still felt that way to a degree, she said such a dire diagnosis only applies to folks whose paths are set in ways they don't understand. That, she claimed, was not us. While what we had three weeks ago no longer existed, she said it was possible for our life to evolve into something she called "a reasonable facsimile thereof."

When I asked what exactly that might be, she simply answered: "Something better."

"Ohhhh-kay," I said. "I'm listening."

"Well, as exciting as I find my new role as 'fucker,' I'm missing my old comfortable role as 'fuckee,'" she said. "As I'm sure you found out last night, that role DOES convey some mighty serious benefits." She looked directly back into my eyes to see if that registered. In turn, I watched her image in the mirror tuck a loose strand of hair behind the image of my ear.

"Unless you get pregnant," I said.

"As if you need to worry your pretty little head about THAT," she replied. "You know, I never got the idea that you found your husbandly duties all that distasteful to you in the past, especially considering how you can still plow what you love to call my "loamy thighs" with the same eager, child-like enthusiasm normally reserved for fall plowing... and don't give me that look, either! Just because your clue went over my head 15 years ago, don't ever think for a second that I misread your behavior today! I can read you like a book, dear, even though lately that book is 'Sometimes a Great Notion.'"

She ran through a quick review of our life together, and it irked me that once again she felt the need to remind me that her friends warned her against marrying me and how her roommate's boyfriend - an idiotic football wannabe I always despised - had told her I was probably gay and only needed her as a beard.

"I hope those two jackasses enjoyed their stay in divorce court," I snarled back at the mention of their names.

"Don't tell me something I already know, okay?" she said. "I effectively had both of them as roommates and had to listen to them pant and moan most evenings. Seriously, I'm still not certain about the sexuality of either of them, but I was satisfied you weren't too nice to be straight after you did me on the couch on our third date.

"I don't enjoy hearing their names anymore than you do, but I personally know for a fact that neither of them ever approached the level we reached on that couch. And if it makes you feel better, the bitch probably got pregnant using a turkey baster."

I laughed. "We've sure known a few, haven't we," I remarked. "Indeed" was her only reply.

She reminded me that she'd originally thought feminizing me was an exercise in lunacy but added that she'd known for some time that I was hurting and something drastic was needed. At first she thought the death of my father was my problem. "You two were so close," she said, "I'll even admit I was jealous of your relationship when we were first married, the way you both could end the other's sentences. But I first sensed something was missing in your life long before your dad's death."

She said she'd also known for a long time there were parts of me where she was not allowed to go, beginning with the most obvious example - my long hair - which prompted a wince on my part. After I had immediately agreed to what she herself had considered outrageous terms, she said it was obvious I was desperate for SOMETHING.

"I really questioned the notion that pegging your ass was going to help," she said, "but you put it out there and I decided to see just where it might take us. Your change that first night was remarkable, and I loved how at ease you were wearing this same night dress the following morning.

"When you did me like you did on the couch, though..." she said. "Well, that's when I thought we might be really on to something.

"I'm really sorry I still don't remember putting panties on you, " she added. "I've searched and re-searched my memory and just don't remember something you say you can never forget. That doesn't mean I don't believe you; it just means I don't remember it.

"When we were first married, I was always trying crazy stuff with you to see if I could turn you on the way you did me. I was so in awe of your ability to come up with new ways to fuck my silly brains out that I was afraid you'd eventually find me boring...

"I have never found you boring," I insisted.

"I know that now, but it doesn't help when you're 23 and worrying about being traded for some newer model... I guess I slipped panties on you one night to see what would happen. I'm also guessing what I took away from your reaction convinced me you considered it a turn-off. For that I'll probably be forever sorry.

"But I just didn't know you well enough to understand that while you're outspoken on things you don't particularly like, you're seldom demonstrative about things you really enjoy," she said. "You savor things you like in thoughtful ways not too many understand. Is that fair to say? You can be so quiet about things you love. One of the first things I loved about you was the way you allow things you love to just wash over you. You don't grasp; you just let it happen.

"I could recognize that right away with obvious things," she told me, "but it took some time to realize it applied to subtle things, as well.

"When I took you to that college reunion, one of my old friends told me she thought she really liked you but wondered why you looked so angry at times. When I told her you're afraid people will finding out how happy you are, she thought I was joking. You know I wasn't.

"I've watched you zone out on some crazy old thing that really grabs you. Or it's like when I look out the window in the fall and see you working ground. I watch a flock of gulls following your chisel plow, see that trail of diesel smoke and instantly picture your poker face tossing impassive glances over your shoulder while the soil turns over and our crazy dog barks at the gulls from your tractor cab. A stranger who sees that sees only an unhappy man being driven crazy by his very loud dog..."

I tried to interject, but she cut me off. "No, it's true. That's all I saw 15 years ago, too, but I've since learned you're often deeply involved when you show no emotion at all. I now know you're really conducting something like a symphony from the cab of that tractor. All those crazy elements - the tractor, the gulls, a barking dog, diesel smoke, the smell of freshly worked earth! - they all play a role in your total happiness. When I take the dog's place in the cab and we talk while we go back and forth in the field, well... I become part of it, as well

"I didn't know what rang your bell when we first were married, darling, but that's completely changed. I see your bell now, and I can tell whether it's ringing in everything you do! You know that's true about you, and now you know I know it, too.

"I also know if you were any happier during those hours spent in that tractor cab, you were peeing your fucking pants!"

We both had to laugh at that! She was right, of course. Throughout my life I've often been told what I did made no sense. I didn't care then, but it humbled me to realize that the little girl I loved so much had cracked my code. I realized she knew probably knew more about me than I did...

"I know you miss fucking me," she said, completing my very thought. "I know it for no other reason than working the "3-corner field" with a tool on your tractor is no match for using your own tool to work your wife's marvelous cunt in our bed. You know that's so, too. Back before you had me and my cunt, dumbass, that fucking "3-corner field" was about all you had. And I know you were one poor unhappy little ex-wrestler for it.

"You know that's true, too," I watched her image tell the stunned face seated next to hers in the vanity mirror.

At one time, my farm had been all I wanted from life, but today I loved that damn fucking farm almost as much as I loved my wife's endless putdowns, mocking laughter and long penetrating stares. I missed reaching out in the middle of the night to trace her sweet gash with a finger while my other hand stroked my own awakening tool; I missed her moist warmth swallowing my cock, and I celebrated the roll of her body beneath me as it responded to my lightest touches. It disturbed me that I had valued it all so little just to obsessively gaze at the other side of an imaginary gender fence.

The thought was about to run away with me when I heard that voice resume.

"Here's what I'm proposing," she said. "Let's share the wealth. You fuck me in all the ways you and I think I like to be fucked, and I'll fuck you in all the ways you and I think you'd like to be fucked. Not simply acquiescing to each other's need to get off as we may have done in the past, but proactively the way we did it last night. If you want something, just ask. Please don't wait 15 years trying to come up with a way to finesse me into doing it. If it's mine to give, it's yours to have. Just ask for it, damn it!

"Let's take turns - not by keeping ledgers on who goes when next; instead let's measure what we need against what we have to share. Just bringing you up to the feminine level I feel you need for me to peg your ass properly takes time, so don't expect straight quid pro quo there. But if you still want strap-on sex, I promise your crazy Yin will get enough to justify a new wardrobe."

Once again I felt one of those long stares boring into me. "The way I see it, dear - the way we order our sex lives is our business, especially when we live in a wonderful place like we do which makes it so easy!"

She gave me another of those long searching looks that always meant she already had me figured: "What's that song you like so much from that old Peggy Lee album you play in your tractor? The one you say is about us?"

"'The Folks Who Live on the Hill?'"

"Yeah, that one! To everyone around here, we're the 'Folks Who Live Up the Lane.' People can guess for a million years, but they'll never know what goes on up that lane of ours, beyond the obvious, of course. They'll just see us laughing all the time. They'll guess, if we're not insane, we just might be insanely happy. Maybe they'll even wonder why we are and they're not."

I was flabbergasted by the simple perception. We'd wasted years because I wouldn't talk, because I preferred things made difficult. "I don't think you have to twist my arm," I enthused. "I'm not going to tell you I haven't missed fucking you the last two weeks, and that's just the start of it.

"I'll be glad to lose the cock cage, too.. "

"Actually, I like the idea of seeing you wearing my little plastic seal of ownership," she interrupted. "The cage was meant to symbolize that your masculinity belonged to me alone, but in the last 10 days I've found that seeing your cock physically locked is a real stimulus for me. I'm even thinking of ordering one custom made for you. Stainless steel? With a urethral tube fucking the inside of your shaft while I'm fucking your ass? Would you like me to lock you in something like that? I know you like to feel weight when you're confined. I'll bet anything you'll love steel locked around your cock..."

"Yeah, but cages... they're, well... unsanitary," I complained. "It's really exciting when you first lock up my cock, but in practice I think they're just too funky! A couple hours in either of those pink cages you bought, and I worry that they smell worse than the fairgrounds urinal at the end of Fair Week..."

"If you'd let me finish," she interjected. "I was going to add you'd only wear one when I ask, and even then you'd have your own key. I don't have to wear one around my neck for you to know I'm your permanent "keyholder." I would, however, want to keep you in those panties 24-7. I'm really addicted now to knowing you wear them under your jeans, and frankly? I think you really get off wearing them, too. Each morning I promise to set out the pair I want you to wear that day. It'll be my assurance to you that never again will I ever forget what started all of this!

"So what do you think?" she asked, her arm pulling me tighter to her while those dazzling dark brown eyes met mine in the mirror.

"Well, okay to all that," I said, "but I suppose that'll mean I also have to keep shaving?"

"And so will I," she replied. "So what's new? Didn't you enjoy staying silky smooth for me, too? And it's not like you need to worry about folks seeing your hairless legs in shorts. You never wear shorts in even the hottest weather, and in all the time I've known you, I've never seen you once in a swimming pool."

That wasn't my problem with shaving, I told her. I was just terrible doing it. She argued that I needed practice, but I complained doing my cock and balls took what seemed to be forever. Plus, I was always nicking myself... "We have a deal," I offered, "if you'll agree to shave me."

"What is this turning into?" she demanded. "'Let's Make a Fucking Deal?' I'm still expected to keep myself smooth and now keep you smooth as well?"

I asked what happened to her original proposal to share the load. "I found it incredibly sexy submitting to your razor," I said. "How about you shave me if I shave you in return? We could make it a date night thing? Light some candles, turn on the music. Have a few drinks -- nothing like the combination of cold surgical steel and alcohol around reproductive organs! We could even check our work with our tongues."

"You're fucking nuts, Roni; you know that, don't you? But I gotta admit that sounds really hot," she agreed. "By the way, do you mind if I keep calling you 'Roni?' Like maybe all the time now?

"One of us should have kept notes during our haggling, Roni, but I think this is the deal we have so far: "Subject to pre-negotiation, naturally, we make boy-girl love unless we're doing... what do we call it? Vice versa? A lesbian thing? Well, shit, you know what I mean. You wear pretty girly panties 24-7 which I will set out each morning for you. On my request, you agree to be locked into a chastity device - both of us to hold a key. Finally, each party promises to keep the other party shaved and totally smooth.

"That about do it, Roni?" she asked. "Do we want contracts for this? Or do you just want to do it with a spit and a shake like Maureen O'Hara and Barry Fitzgerald in 'The Quiet Man?'"

"We didn't mention butt plugs," I said. "What about them?"

"I say we leave future negotiations open, and pick up the subject of butt plugs at a later date," she offered. "It's fun to be talking about all these subjects we once skirted, isn't it? I'm also finding all this wheeling-dealing pretty hot. We might welcome 'opportunities to re-negotiate' at a later date, if you know what I mean..."

"All right then," I said in a terribleJohn Wayne imitation and spitting into my right palm. "Let's shake on it!"

Our "deal" complete, she held her palm out for my tongue to clean, then placed it softly against my cheek. "I don't know how you feel about this, Roni dear, but I think we need to celebrate the best way we know how. Want to toss?"

Where was this headed, I wondered? I must have appeared puzzled...

"You know..." she said. "Like wrestling! Let's toss for who's up and who's down to begin Round 2! I know you really didn't want to work today."

She rummaged through the old jewelry box on the vanity for one of the 10 Morgan dollars a sweet old lady long dead had given her as a wedding present.

"Call it for us, 'Spider!'"

I couldn't remember her ever using my old wrestling nickname. "Tails," I said.

Stepping into the ensuite, she flipped the heavy coin. Century-old silver flashed through the sunlight and clattered on the tile floor, landing on edge, then skewing off into a lazy wobbling spiral. In eager anticipation to first know its result, our shoulders rubbed as we leaned in together.

I felt her squeeze my hand...

-30-