The Epidemic

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A woman sets her husband up with another crossdresser.
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Nils Huim
Nils Huim
185 Followers

Saturday

David and Karl were necking on Karl's six-cushion couch. Karl was wearing a pair of his wife Bridgette's lace panties but was otherwise naked. He had a somewhat stout middle-aged build with a barrel chest. His body was unshaved. Up top his dyed-brown hair was thinning. He hadn't shaved that morning, giving his tongue-in passion an outward scratchy quality.

David, by contrast, was full fem. Wig, makeup, lipstick—once bright-red but now smeared; black bra, matching panty, matching lace thigh-highs. Kicked off and on the carpet below lay a super-cute pair of strappy sandals. Flats. At 6'2" David—Darla—was tall enough as it was. Aside from what he'd worn under his street clothes, David hadn't arrived in this fem state. But he'd packed all his goodies in his backpack just in case. And just in case was now.

Karl broke the kiss off. He was somewhat winded. His eyes focused on the lovely Darla and he experienced jealousy. He was jealous of her slender build, jealous of her shaved body, jealous of her outré fem attire. He had a long way to go. He plunged his tongue back in.

Pulled out. Smiled.

"I'm not sure this is what Bridgette had in mind when she said we should talk."

They both laughed.

"I'd rather kiss," David said. "And do other things..."

"Like what?" Karl was caressing David's sideways erection in his panties. His—her—panties, the fabric, was creamier than any he had—Bridgette had, that is. Another point of jealousy. He'd have to find out the brand they were before Darla transformed back into a man and left the house.

"When will she be back?"

"Darla?"

"I'm Darla," Darla laughed. Karl's hand was inside David's panty now, clutching, stroking his cock. He gave his head a shake.

"Bridgette I mean! My wife!"

David had reciprocated. His hand now burrowing inside Karl's lacy microfiber. To be Frank, Karl's cock-size wan't anything to write home about. David was pretty sure Bridgette would much prefer his.

"How much time do we have?" he asked.

Karl shrugged rounded bear shoulders. "I don't know. She went shopping. And to get her nails done. Two hours? Three?"

They kissed again. They stroked each other's cocks. David pulled his lips away, finally, breathlessly.

"Let's do 69."

"Sixtynine?" Karl said it like the concept was something new to him. Foreign. Darla by contrast was smiling, eager. She put a hand to her platinum-blonde wig—as if to confirm it was still there.

"Yeah."

"Here?"

"Why not?"

Karl looked down as if surveying the width of the couch. Or as if comparing and contrasting that with the wide width of his pantied ass.

"No," he said, in a weak voice that suggested he was having to convince himself of something. Something unimaginable just moments before. "Let's get on the bed. There's more room."

The Previous Afternoon

"Excuse me. Excuse me!..."

David looked over his shoulder. A woman he didn't know was running across the grocery store parking lot holding her purse and a recycled grocery bag in one hand while reaching out at him with the other. Reflexively David felt the back pocket of his cargo pants. Had he left his wallet behind? It had happened before.

The woman touched his elbow. She was smiling, but her smile had a diffident, embarrassed quality. David had a second thought: she's about to ask me for money. People were always soliciting you for money when you left this goddamn grocery. On the other hand, she was hardly a Cub Scout...

"I'm sorry to bother you..."

She was an attractive woman in her forties. And she didn't look like she was short on cash. Her clothes were casual but stylish and expensive. Nordstrom's, David guessed. Her coiffed hair was the artistry of an expensive salon. Her flat-heeled sandals were minimalist but had probably set her back $150. She had pretty feet—cute toes, her nails painted red. David was jealous. But not much. He had pretty feet with cute toes as well. The woman wore nail-matching bright-red lipgloss. The kind David liked. Pastels were one thing; but the only dark shade of polish and lipstick David liked, on others or himself, was red. Bright cherry red.

"This is embarrassing but..."

The woman, cheeks dimpling, looked down at the asphalt. Or at her own feet. Or at David's bare and slender and only intermittently visible ones in a pair of clumsy synthetic sandals bought at Walmart. She looked up.

"I couldn't help noticing when you bent down to pick up that quarter the lady ahead of you in line dropped..."

David had a sinking feeling. Blood was rushing to his face. Or from it, he couldn't be sure. Whatever, it was tight, tingling feeling.

"It was very nice of you by the way..."

Somewhere, even at this compromised moment, a cynical little voice was saying in the back of his mind, "It was just a quarter, lady..."

"Anyway," the pretty but somewhat harried-looking woman went on, dropping her voice to whisper, "...I couldn't help notice you were wearing women's panties."

The tingling feeling in David's face turned to a hard freeze. His whole body seized up. He was pretty sure if he dared open his mouth his entire face might crack apart and fall to the ground.

He'd been outed. All those years of secret crossdressing...Forget about the sex partners he'd been with, dressed for. Danced for. Had anyone ever called him out in public before? Not that he could recall. And he was pretty damn sure he'd remember...

David practically felt like holding his wrists out to the woman. For her to cuff them. Guilty as charged! Take me away...

"The reason I ask...," even though it had not been phrased as a question on her part, "is...," she hesitated, still at whisper level, "...is that my husband dresses in panties," the revelation flushing another smile out of her. "And...well, he's been doing it for some time now. Mine..."

Yours? David wondered. Your time or your panties? Or both?

"And I was thinking...This is presumptuous of me I know...But I was wondering...Maybe you two could get together? And discuss things?"

Discuss? Where had he parked? David was wondering if should just cut and run at this point. It wasn't like this was the only goddamn grocery in town.

"It would give him someone to talk to...about it," her face crumbling slightly, briefly, before recomposing as a brave smile. "He and I talk about it, of course...But it's not the same..."

David had a sudden thought. Realization. He was falling in love with this vulnerable, put-upon woman. Why couldn't he have a wife like this? Tolerant. Understanding—to a point. Willing to share her panties with her crazy husband...

"I..."

"I realize this is a lot to ask. And I know I hit you with this out of the..." An elderly couple passed by, pushing a cart. She lowered her voice. "But if you'd consider it...I could give you my number and..."

She pointed with her free hand, forward and to the left. "That's my car over there..."

It was a Jag. Late-model. Maybe brand-new. A bronzey kind of color. Pretty. Dual exhausts. David imagined himself driving it one day. Sitting behind the wheel in massaging leather. Whatshername sitting beside him in the other bucket seat. His hand on her slightly plump, half-bared thigh. Just inches, his fingers, from the nexus of her microfiber crotch. Chosen a short time ago from the panty drawer they shared. She was pointing again as they walked, side by side, crossing the asphalt. This was a sharper point—due west.

"We live right over in..."

Right over there in one of the area's toniest communities...? I'm THERE! David had to hold restrain himself from shouting. They'd reached the trunk of her car.

"I'd be so grateful if you'd..."

Pantywaist or no, David straightened his spine. He went full masculine on her. Even his voice sounded deeper, more authoritative than usual. To his own ears at least:

"I'd be glad to talk to your husband...I'm sorry, what's your name? I'm David."

"Bridgette," she replied, offering a limp hand.

The Next Afternoon, later (Though Not As Late As They Expected)

David saw only one way out of this, and it was a longshot. He was standing now, cock swollen still but dangling, and he'd been propelled off the bed, out of the top position, as if from the smoking mouth of a cannon.

Bridgette stood a few feet away sobbing.

"I can't believe you'd do this to me, Karl," she kept repeating. "I can't believe it..."

Karl, totally naked now and still on his back, albeit elevated up on elbows, had covered his privates with a pillow. As if his own wife had never seen the minimalist triad before.

"Darling, I...don't know what to say. It all...happened so fast," having the cowardly audacity to raise a right arm and direct it in David's direction.

"All the years I've put up with your nonsense and this...," Bridgette herself pointing now, "...this is how you repay me?"

"It all happened so fast. One minute we were...It was his idea!"

"Stop saying it was his idea! Stop saying...Everything! It wouldn't have happened if you didn't want it to, Karl. Are you gay?"

"No!"

"Tell me!"

"NO!"

"What then!"

"It was a mistake. One thing led to another. We were sitting talking and—"

"You call this sitting talking? You sucking his cock!"

Karl's head wagged as if it were trying to screw itself deeper into his bulbous shoulders. He looked constipated.

"It's not that big a deal, Darla..."

"Who's Darla!"

"Bridgette, I mean. Darling..."

"You were having gay sex with another man"—she said redundantly—"on OUR bed! That was my parents' bed at one time, remember?"

"I'm sorry, darling. It will never happen again. I..."

Bridgette blurted more tears. Literally they went flying from her reddened face. She swatted the air—grasped at it—as to catch them. She started to speak, waved the same empty hand at her cow of a husband and headed for the bedroom door she'd furtively walked through just moments earlier...

Monday

"Don't you work?"

"Don't you?"

"No."

"I'm between jobs right now," David claimed. Bridgette raised up on an elbow. Her breasts were a little saggy, but nice. David wished he could have seen them—squeezed them—when she was 18. Or even 25. "I'm a little short on cash right now," David decided to throw in. It couldn't hurt. Bridgette smiled. She was a lot more fun, in and out of bed, than he ever would have thought.

"Well there's no charge for this afternoon," she said. They laughed. David had been thinking the obverse of this, however. As in maybe she could help him out? A little? In return for his services?

David lay opposite his new lover on his own bed, the wetspot between them. At the foot, on his side, lay David's dog Sparks. Sparks was a male, so there wasn't a jealousy issue. Not much of one anyway. David wondered if his unwashed sheets smelled, well, doggy.

"So what do you do for income?" Bridgette asked. David liked the direction this was heading.

"I dance a couple nights a week at a club downtown."

"Dance? Like in the little outfit you wore for my stupid husband?"

"Exactly like that," a nearly naked David smiled.

"You can make a living doing that?"

He shrugged. "I guess you could. But it's just a part-time thing for me. Salary and tips."

"You get lots of tips?"

"Some nights," David hedged.

Bridgette yawned. It was three o'clock in the afternoon. "I'm confused."

"Join the club."

"Sometimes you like men, sometimes you like women..."

"It's called being bi, Bridgette."

"I get that but— Oh christ," she said, "I never should have let you cum in me. What was I thinking?"

"I came in you Saturday," David said, as if that explained everything away.

"That too."

"The wrong time of the month?"

"I'm over that. I had my tubes tied after Everly was born."

"Who's Everly?"

"Our youngest."

"How young?"

"She's a sophomore in college."

"As pretty as you?"

Bridgette showed her dimples. "Prettier. When I was her age? Prettier than me."

"I doubt that," David said.

"You're a flirt."

"I try."

"But I mean you with other men. Letting you cum in me, I mean." She was looking down at the ragged wetspot just forward of the mostly shaved dark V between her thigh rolls. David guessed she still wore a bikini when she swam in their pool. Even at her age.

"I'm healthy."

"That's what they all say."

"No, really. I have oral with other guys from time to time, but that's about it."

"At the club?"

David grinned. "Not at the club, but sometimes afterwards."

"And with my husband don't forget."

"That got cut short as you'll recall."

"Short being the operative word."

They both laughed. David reached a caressing hand out. She really was pretty, Bridgette. A fading beauty. He wished he had it in him to fuck her again. Ah to be 20 again. Or even 30.

"So I'm still confused," his lover said. "Men or women. Which do you prefer?"

David was leaning over to kiss her on the red lips. His too were painted red. His stockinged thigh touched the wetspot. "You."

The Previous Saturday, Later

As mentioned earlier David/Darla could see only one way out of this compromising situation. He ran after Bridgette, dick wagging, and touched her elbow in bedroom's doorway much as she had touched his in the parking lot the previous afternoon.

"Wait!"

She turned back. David considered this an encouraging sign.

"WHAT! Let go of me!"

"I'm not holding you."

"Let me out of this...sordid place! I'm leaving! Leaving this bedroom, leaving this...house. Goodbye!"

"Hold on a minute!" This time David really was restraining her, gently, by the fleshy arm.

"Let me go!" her tone pleading this time, more tears escaping. "I need to...get out of here..."

"Why?"

"Because. It's disgusting..."

"No it's not. What do you think two pantywaists do when they get together?"

David/Darla was smiling. Bridgette sniffed, thickly. "I wanted you...I wanted you...to talk to him. Be his friend."

"I am his friend. We dressed together, we talked, we went to bed. What do you expect?"

"You...You're..." Bridgette yanked her arm away. "You're confusing me!"

"We're all confused. Let's get over it and have some fun."

"I don't consider this...fun, David." She looked up. At his wig. "Or whatever your name is."

He had his opening. He decided to go for it. What did he have to lose? It wasn't his fucking marriage. He was just a sideshow. An invitee. If she stormed out of the house then he'd climb back in bed with his new panty friend. If she stayed...

"Why don't you join us?"

Bridgette dropped her shopping bag. And used that same reddened hand to push dark hair from her face. It was obvious she'd been to the salon today, gotten a manicure and pedicure. Tears aside, she positively sparkled. Like holly after a sudden frost.

"What're you talking about?"

"Join us in bed."

Bridgette stared at him/her. Whatever. She was speechless.

"Join us in bed, we'll have a threesome."

Another hand comb. "You're crazy. I'm..."

"What's crazy about it?"

"It's perverse. Even more perverse than you two together in my...in my...in my parents' bed," she finally got out.

"It's not perverse. It's just three people having fun. Pleasuring each other. What're you, a Mormon?"

"You don't have to be a Mormon, David, to..."

David was no psychologist, but he found it encouraging that Bridgette, this pretty woman, kept referring to him by the name he'd given her yesterday at the trunk of her $85,000 Jag sedan. He also found it encouraging that her bleary eyes kept falling to his dangling cock. Even half-limp and bowed it was still longer than her husband's.

"Darling, look at me..."

"Don't call me darling in front of...him, please."

"I'm in the room you two, you know," still on his back with a pillow covering his genitals.

David threw out a non sequitur. Keep her off balance: "Do you think I'm sexy?"

Bridgette looked away. It was really time, past time, to paint the bedroom a different shade. It was still the same tired paint on the walls as when her parents owned the house—before she inherited it. She along with dickhead. Mr. Pantywaist. The man who'd had another man's cock in his raised mouth when she entered the bedroom.

"I'm really not into other women."

"I'm not a woman!" David exulted. Drawing Bridgette's eyes, via his, to his stiffening, rising cock.

Bridgette spoke it as a sigh, cracked a smile: "No shit."

David laughed. He had her. Pulled her forward. Until the head of his long cock nearly touched the front of her expensive slacks. He didn't speak. She did.

"How would it work?"

"What's going on over there, Bridgette?" from the bed. She ignored him. She had taken hold of David's cock.

"Well that's a start," David grinned.

"What's next?"

"Well you get on your bed...first you take your clothes off of course. You get on the bed on your hands and knees...and then I get behind you and...," David cleared his throat. "...and while I make love to you you suck your husband's..."

"Oh god."

"What?"

"No way."

"Why?"

"That sounds...difficult. Like juggling three balls."

"He only has two," David again grinned. "And they're small, believe me."

"Like I don't know?" his future lover said.

"Or...if it's more comfortable for you..."

From the bed: "Would someone PLEASE tell me what's going on over there?"

"...he could fuck you while you suck my—"

"No. No way. I've had a lifetime of that puny little cock. I want yours. I want this in me," Bridgette said, holding David's erect seven-incher.

"You got it, baby."

The Following Thursday Night (Trans Night)

Darla hadn't lied. There were quite a few women at the club. Real women. Most of them were with men, but she—Bridgette—wasn't the only one who was solo. She sat at the bar facing outwards, toward the small circular stage.

She applauded as Darla stepped down, after finishing her set. She went back to her sweet, $10 drink, sipping it through a red cocktail straw while Darla made the bar rounds, collecting tips in the lace tops of her thigh-highs. Bridgette had a secret wish: she would kill for those slender model's legs of Darla's.

By the time Darla reached Bridgette her thigh-tops positively bristled with folded cash—though most of it was ones. She leaned in close, put hands on Bridgette's thickish waist and kissed her red lips, tenderly.

"Hm. I never thought I was a lesbian before."

She and her crossdressed lover laughed.

"Nice set," Bridgette said.

"Thanks for coming."

"You're quite a little dancer."

"I try."

"Most of them just stand up there and...you know."

Darla glanced over her bra-strapped shoulder at the stage. "I try harder, baby."

"I like it when you're hard."

"I know you do."

Bridgette had come a long way in a week's time. Understatement of the year. Tonight she'd shown up in a short, short dark skirt; cleavage-bearing clingy top, silver and sparkly; high-heeled cork-filled sandals that wove leather straps halfway up her calves; dark hair gelled; an excess of makeup and jewelry...David couldn't decide if he liked the "harlot" look or not. On the other hand it seemed to fit the raucous, drunken, decadent occasion. Trans night at the fancifully named Club Americain.

"How's whatshisname?"

"Karl?" Bridgette waved a hand. "He's out of intensive care. He'll survive."

"That's good."

Bridgette raised heavily painted brown eyes. "Is it?"

The Previous Saturday Afternoon, Still Later

Karl waited for his wife to spit out his stubby cock again and give herself over to sighs to say, "Let's switch."

Everything stopped.

It was just as David had blueprinted it. Bridgette, still in her bra for some reason but otherwise naked, was on her hands and knees; a still-wigged David, also wearing his bra along with thigh-highs, was banging her from behind; while Karl lay on his back against a stack of pillows on the receiving end of the first blow job his wife had given him in four years.

Nils Huim
Nils Huim
185 Followers
12