Moon-Eyed Sissy

My family warned me not to marry Katie Haide. They said we were too young, that we needed to attend college, needed to explore our identities before making such a big commitment. I was stubborn, though, and I couldn't understand why they were trying to prevent me from being happy. We'd just graduated high-school, Katie and I, and we were full of hopes and ambitions and lusts. Two soft-faced, romantic, moon-eyed, complete fucking morons.

"What if Katie gets pregnant?" Mother would yell sternly, condescendingly at me. Katie and I were high-school sweethearts, and we'd kissed, but we'd never gone all the way. We were waiting until marriage, like we were taught, but we couldn't wait much longer. "How will you support a family? Without a job? A college degree?"

"We'll figure something out," is what I would respond. Why are you trying to ruin my life? Is what I would think. I had begun to resent my mother, the woman who birthed me, and her frustration with me was growing, as well. After a time, we could barely be in the same room together without bickering, without someone leaving in tears.

"I forbid you to marry that girl!" She screamed at me, once, and it was the last straw. Telling an eighteen-year-old that you "forbid" anything is a classic mistake. I resolved then to marry Katie, all misgivings pushed aside, and to never speak with Mom again.

Dad was less critical, but his words to me were not the type of encouragement I wanted or needed. He's a traditionalist, conservative kind of guy, and so was I at the time. He married young, not much older than Katie and I, but that was his first wife. I didn't want to end up anything like my Dad. I didn't want a "first wife". I just wanted Katie, my one-and-only, forever. I didn't want to wait forever, though.

I won't make the mistakes my Dad did, I told myself.

"Go for it, son." He would say in a "it's your funeral" sort of way, half-joke, half-warning, "But don't be surprised when things go south. Girls at that age, your age...well, they can be a bit wild, mighty unpredictable. Just don't knock her up."

I resented him, too, for his cynicism and for his apathy, but at least he wouldn't scream at a me.

Katie, on the other hand, her family didn't give a shit what she did. They weren't well-off, and her dad was a deadbeat, alcoholic maybe. I think they just wanted to be rid of her, honestly. I resented them, too, for the times that Katie would sob onto my shoulder, pleading with me to take her away from this town. Sometimes it was her dad's fault, other times her asshole brother, a guy with the word "Bully" literally tattooed on his forearm. I don't know where her mother was during all this, but I never asked. I didn't want to pry open old wounds, didn't want to be one of the reasons she was crying.

Eventually, in a moment of spontaneity, we finally did it. We drove a few miles out of town to a little baptist church where we figured nobody could possibly recognize us, and we eloped. The pastor took some convincing, but he was moved by our story, a tale as old as time, and agreed to marry us. We kissed in front of the altar, under the eyes of God, and it was done. We couldn't have been more elated, and we couldn't have known that the drive back into town was the happiest our marriage would ever be.

We searched high and low for an apartment, just a studio, something for a starter couple. But we barely had any money, and our part-time jobs, which we'd carried over from high-school, just weren't enough to support us. I wouldn't go back home. I refused, as a matter of principle. I don't know if my parents would even have had me. But Katie and I were facing the real threat of homelessness, so I came up with a plan. It was a stupid plan, a hail-Mary at best, but it worked. Unintended consequences notwithstanding.

"Mr. Haide?" I said, walking up the driveway toward Katie's father, steeling myself as I closed the distance between us. The man was lifting weights in his garage, door open, a thirty-something pound dumbbell in one fist, wife-beater tee drenched in sweat. I'd mostly avoided the man, as a rule, until then. He looked like a mugshot model, if there were such a thing, and my anxiety was spiking.

"Whadda ya want?" He asked, not stopping his workout, not looking at me. I wondered if he even remembered who I was. This might not work, I thought.

"I've married your daughter, Mr. Haide." I said, trying to keep my voice from shaking, "I've married Katie."

He stopped his workout, then, dropping the dumbbell with a grunt and rotating on his bench toward me, brow creased in irritation.

"Is that so?" He said, and mostly I saw confusion and maybe some amusement on his face, "Good. Was plannin' to kick the damn girl out. Now I ain't got to."

"About that..." I said, my plan seeming less concrete by the second, "...we need a place to stay."

He said nothing, just staring at me dumbly or expectantly, and when it was clear I wasn't going to elaborate without prompting, he said, "And?"

"And you're going to give us one." I said, putting as much bravado into my voice as I could manage, "Your rental. Katie told me the previous tenants left in a hurry..."

Mr. Haide got up from weight bench and came to stand in front of me, puffing out his chest a bit. He could have snapped me in half if it was even worth his time, my figure fairly slight, so I didn't bother grandstanding against him. But I was intimidated. The man was sizing me up, his eyes lingering strangely on me.

"Now why would I go and do a thing like that?" He said, towering over me, talking down to me.

"Because it's your daughter, Mr. Haide..." I started, knowing that this alone would not sway him, "...and because we can pay. Five-hundred a month."

"Five-hundred? The rent alone is fifteen." He said, waving a dismissive arm at me and emitting an ill-natured chuckle.

"You have no tenants. You'll lose money every day until you do. Just let us stay - for five-hundred - until you find a new tenant." I said, wondering how I had been so confident I could convince this man of anything. Katie's father, pensive, gave me another once-over for some reason, his eyes scanning from below my waist and up. Odd, but I ignored it, holding my breath.

"Alright, boy." He said, a devilish grin appearing and disappearing in an instant. He gave me a too-hard punch on the arm. "I like the balls on you. The rental's yours. But I want the full fifteen."

"I told you... -- ", I started, but he cut me off.

"We'll figure something out." He said, and I didn't know what he meant.

--

Katie and I subsisted in her father's rental "home" - a grimy cabin in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere - for over a year before things fell apart. Firstly, the cabin. The water-heater stopped heating water, the drains were clogging, there were multiple leaks in the roof. Mr. Haide was as terrible a landlord as he was a father. He rarely came, even to collect rent, much less to fix anything. Katie wouldn't speak to him, and I would have to call his "business line", which was just a burner phone he carried around, and complain. When I was persistent and irritating enough, he would come by, though never at a predictable time.

The second thing that fell apart was our marriage.

"Don't forget, my Dad is coming over around three." Katie said to me as she walked out the door, keys to our shared vehicle jingling in her hands, "Bug him about the shower drain again, please."

"I will." I replied. For all the good it will do. I doubted Mr. Haide would show up, and I felt mostly apathetic about that fact. I watched as Katie backed the car up, and then disappeared past the tree-line, leaving a cloud of dust in her wake. She had a long shift today and wouldn't be back until late. When I was sure she wouldn't be returning, wouldn't be barging in searching for some item forgotten in her rush, I let out a relieved sigh.

And then I began to rummage through her clothes.

At this point in the story, I must admit something - my parents were right, Mom especially. Their lesson was difficult to learn, I'm sorry to say, but by this time I'd learned it well. Katie and I weren't prepared for marriage. It was impossible to be happy with no real skills or prospects, only each other's company. It just wasn't enough. With barely any money, we couldn't go anywhere or do anything. Worst of all, after a year of marriage, we still hadn't had sex, and it was driving me mad. I was a married man and yet still a virgin. I felt like a complete loser. I thought she wanted it as much as I did, but I'd begun to wonder if I even knew Katie.

She had all sorts of excuses, and I'd tried all sorts of different ways to get her in the mood, but without fail she would deny me. She wouldn't even look at me naked, a snort of disgust escaping her lips if she happened to catch a glimpse of my penis, or her face would scrunch up. I'd never seen her naked, either, or touched her breasts, not even over her clothes. We didn't really kiss anymore. I was beyond frustrated, pent up, frenzied. I asked her for permission to watch porn and masturbate, if she wouldn't touch me, but she started crying the moment the I voiced the request.

"I can't believe you would ask me that!" She wailed. "I thought you loved me."

"I do, Katie." I pleaded, "But you won't even let me see you naked!"

"Is that all I am to you? Pornography? Something for you to look at while you touch your little thing?!" She screamed this, and insisted that I sleep on the futon that night. I did, and I jerked off onto that futon, stealthily, thinking of Katie's screaming face the whole time. I left a large stain on the fabric and Katie thought I'd pissed the bed, as if that was something I'd ever done. I didn't bother to argue with her.

Despite her protest, I did masturbate and watch porn, in secret, and my appetites brought me places I did not expect. It was simple, in retrospect, getting from point A to point B. In the beginning, I would always think of Katie, imagine the women in the videos were her, and I would be the man. And then, it wasn't Katie. I would imagine it was anyone except for Katie as my resentment for her began to fertilize. Then it was Katie again, except I was Katie. I was the one in the video with a man inside of my mouth, or my ass, or my pussy. After a time, when I would watch porn, it didn't occur to me to imagine myself as anything other than the woman, and Katie was no longer a factor in the equation.

Other types of porn slipped in after a while, non-traditional, unorthodox. Training videos of a very specific variety. Hypnosis. Things like that. They were stupid, but I kept watching them, their appeal to me inexplicable. I didn't guard my thoughts, and the changes in me were almost imperceptible.

I started to wear my wife's clothes - her panties, her shoes, her jewelry, her makeup. I planned my work shifts opposite hers so I would rarely see her, and while she was working a cashier at the grocery, I was furiously pleasuring myself with a sundress dress flowing past my hips, or a pencil skirt hugging me tightly. I got quite good at applying makeup, and to be honest, at least to my eyes, I looked much cuter than Katie when I was all dolled up. Am I gay? I would ask myself sometimes, but it was an easy enough thought to dismiss. It didn't feel like the right question, and I was having too much fun to worry about the answer.

"Where are all these stains coming from?" Katie would whine sometimes, showing me a dress or a skirt or a blouse, her face red with frustration. She would pout or throw a hissy-fit for a few minutes, and then throw the supposedly damaged garment away. I always dug them out of the trash when she was asleep, washed them, added them to my growing collection. I know with confidence that most of Katie's panties were cum-stained as well, especially the lacier ones, but she never mentioned those. Any time I wanted an item of my wife's clothing for myself, I'd shoot my load into or onto it.

And this was just my pattern for a while, my way of surviving in a sexless marriage which was becoming a loveless one. When Katie left for her shift, I gleefully donned one of my favorite outfits - a too-short pleated skirt in peach, white thigh-high stockings, white blouse for the top, a pair of pointed beige flats, silver hoop earrings, flamingo-hued lip gloss. My hair, which I'd begun to grow out, I tied up loosely with one of Katie's favorite scrunchies, navy blue with polka-dots. It was a simple look, but effective. I didn't have any particular plans for it, but I felt cute and more like myself when the clothes were on.

--

Later that day, when the sun was fading, a knock at the door. Four angry raps. I was sitting in the living room, reading a book, and I froze. Katie shouldn't be home yet, I thought. It had to be her dad. Oh, fuck. I'd all but forgotten that he might come, and I never believed he actually would. I didn't answer the door, but rather slumped down on the futon, hoping to sneak out of the room. The lights were all on. He would know someone was home. He could and would peek through the window. I started crawling toward the bedroom, but I didn't make it far before he spotted me.

"Katie?" My father-in-law said, squinting through one of the living room windows, his voice muffled behind the glass. He thinks I'm his daughter, I realized, and felt a tinge of pride to have fooled him. Not the time, I chided myself.

"Uh...one moment, Dad!" I said, using my feminine voice. I'd been practicing, though I sounded nothing like Katie. He wouldn't notice, I decided. I bolted up.

"Ugh...think I...got a spare here..." Katie's dad was mumbling something as I pulled myself up from my crawl, but I didn't stop to listen or make sense of it. Instead, I dashed eagerly out of the living room, toward the bedroom and then into the bathroom, my skirt billowing from the motion. I heard the front door latch click and turn then, and an obnoxious creek as the door swung open. Shit. Hurriedly, I wiped at the lip gloss, but it wasn't coming off all the way. I realized with horror that, in my panic, I had forgotten to close the bathroom door.

I swung the door violently on its hinges, but a hand intercepted it, a swift grab before it could click shut. Slowly, it reopened, and my father-in-law was standing there, a menacing presence, staring me down.

"Katie, what in the hell, I -- " He stopped short, and a wicked smile spread across his face as realization dawned on him. I was a deer in headlights, still holding a lip-gloss-smeared wipe against my lips, my fight or flight response just giving me a shrug. "Well, what do we have here..."

"Mr. Haide, it's not what it looks like." It was the best I could come up with, apparently. I forgot to switch voices, and it came out girly. My instincts kicked in then, and I decided I should run, but Katie's dad was leaning against the door frame, blocking the way. He was devouring me with his eyes. Or murdering me with them. It was difficult to tell with him.

"Mm. Aren't you a pretty little picture." He said, not really a question. "Ya know, I always pegged you for one o' them...oh, what are they called...?"

"Sissy..." I muttered, eyes downcast. I knew the word he was looking for, and I think he did, too. Everyone knows what a sissy is. He just wanted to hear me say it. I thought the word would taste bitter rolling off my tongue, but it didn't. Salty, maybe, but not bitter.

"Ah, that's right. You're one o' them sissies." He said, and from his lips it sounded like a slur. I glanced up and he was grinning down at me, joy at the expense of my complete humiliation. I expected anger, but mirth was somehow worse. My eyes dropped and I was staring into space, wishing I were in space. "Now that's just perfect. Guess it ain't really a surprise. Never did believe that shit-for-brains daughter of mine could hitch herself to a real man. She's just gone and married another girl by accident..."

"Please don't tell her." I begged. I didn't really care if Katie knew I dressed in her clothes. She was incapable of understanding me. But Katie's friends were my friends, and I was sure she would tell the world. I wasn't ready for that. Not yet.

"I ain't gonna tell her shit." He said, laughing boisterous. "That would spoil the fun."

He really is a bad father, I thought, and then my flight response kicked in, late again. I took my chances and tried to slide past him out the bathroom door. There was a small space to his left, where he wasn't leaning on the frame. I'd hardly taken a full step before a muscled arm barred the path, deliberately preventing me from leaving.

"Mr. Haide, Katie will be here any minute," I lied, "and I need to change before she gets home."

He was silent, reading my expression with skepticism. He didn't buy it, and he didn't let me pass. His eyes drifted off of me and landed on something else, an item on the bathroom counter. He reached down and picked up my lip gloss, the flamingo one which I'd left partially open. He eyed it briefly, turning it in his hands, and then held it out to me. Reluctantly, I offered my palm, and he placed it there firmly.

"Looks like ya smeared a bit." He said suggestively, his smile reduced and tone become serious. "Maybe you oughta fix that."

He might have worded it like a suggestion, but it was delivered like a command. I did what he said, sliding the gloss brush across my lips, leaning forward into the mirror for reference. I pursed my lips to even the application out, and then instinctively made a kissy-face to myself to check the results. When I was satisfied, I turned back to the man.

"I bet you wish my daughter had a cock, don't ya?"

"Sure..." I said, humoring him, notes of sarcasm, though he wasn't wrong. She could have had a cock for all I knew, but I wasn't going to further my humiliation by admitting I'd never seen her naked. Never had relations with her, or anyone.

"Well, sissy girl, I got the next best thing for ya."

With little warning, my father-in-law's hand moved to slide his zipper down. He was deft, and before I could voice any real protest, a naked shaft emerged, soft and yet still so, so long. My mouth was hanging open, and I just stared in awe and horror at my wife's father's flaccid cock dangling loosely in front of me. How did this man even have a daughter? I thought. I didn't think anything that big would fit inside of a woman, certainly not comfortably.

"I..." I wanted to protest, but nothing came out. In my mind, a chasm opened, separating all of my fantasies about slipping a cock past my lips from the actual reality in front of me. I had always imagined, if something like this were to ever really happen, that my mind would go blank and some kind of cock-lust would overtake me. That's how all those videos said it would be, but the idea of touching this man's penis, much less putting it in my mouth, seemed massively unappealing.

I tried to take a step back from the man, from his exposed member, but a quick hand reached me first, his fingers enclosing in on the fistful of hair held in place by my wife's scrunchy.

"Ow!" I whined as his grip tightened, tugging on my hair follicles. I grabbed his wrist with both hands in an attempt to pry myself free, but it was useless, and the struggle just increased the tightness of his own grip. "Let me go!"

He forced me onto my knees and his flaccid cock brushed against my nose and cheek as I descended. My face scrunched up at the contact, much like Katie's would scrunch up whenever she saw me naked. Katie's dad grabbed his cock with his free hand and rubbed it against my face. I turned away in disgust, but he just kept rubbing, forcing my head back in place whenever I shied away. My nostrils were full of his scent, and he pressed the tip of his cock against my lips. I kept them pursed tight, feeling nauseous, and a disgusted "mmm" noise escaped from me in protest.