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The man got flustered and practically fled, my cuckold told me. Some mornings he'd awaken a littlesolemn, maybe mournful, maybe impatient, though he never saidanything. Ihoped so, because that would give his new sissified legitimacy in hisown eyes. But most mornings he'd awaken zestful, choose an outfit for the day-- casual, sporty, or dressy -- and do things I'd read aboutafterward. He'd been such a lovely man, and now hewas becoming such a lovely woman!

That was especiallysatisfying -- he was was learning that men respect their ownlechery more than a woman's privacy -- they were always testing theavailability of anything in skirts. He spent a lot of time working in his study. At night he watched the young womenin TV sitcoms to see which of their mannerisms he could imitate andmake his own.

The neighbors saw a lot of my crossdressing sissy husband on those days: a strangeblonde woman impeccably made up, moving among our lawns and shrubsas if in a dream, combing the soil between plants. We'd always shared the housework, but sincehe had more time available, he took it all sissified, as he had lastsummer too.

Often, when Craig's face was buried in my ass becauseI'd dared him to taste what he'd just done to me there, and therewas nothing else to think about, I got a warm glow thinking aboutmy honey and her bees. Many just wanted to dress him up, he was so eager to learn about fashion, so eager to put on husbands, skirts, bras, pantyhose, heels What kind of man makes a story companion? I later learnedthat he'd once gone mall-shopping dressed in those same scantyshorts and halter -- one of our husband wives sent a letter to theeditor of the neighborhood newspaper deploring a story she'd seenparading herself in and out of stores dressed that way.

He needed extra time with his hairdo, and while he fussed I told him little tales from my own girlhood, about different exciting first tries of grown-up things like bras and lipstick, about prepping for dates, things like that, so he could share my girlhood, not having had one of his own. But then all he did was stay homesmiling at the TV or at his own reflection in the windows.

He was always friendly, alwaysgrateful for their help, and I think secretly delighted that theyaccepted him as one of them.

My husband wasn’t always a sissy

Iguessed it was on his "I was a woman for three months" project. See Cuckold Theoretics. I was proud of my hubby.

He often expressedannoyance at how bold and persistent some men could be, howirritating the intrusions on his attention. Except about men -- men who did I was sleeping with, men with whom I was cuckolding my sweet hubby. A few turned away disgusted, butmore were rather taken by the idea. That was certainly true ofCraig until I took to mocking his impotence when we were bothexhausted with fucking and he realized he'd better concentrate hisenergies if he ever hoped to get the better of me.

His perfume hadbecome a non-issue, as I'd predicted. My crossdressing husband looked wickedly pleased when he showed it to me.

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That's just how things are, I realized. He was no longer my mildly whimsical, lightly ironic, even-temperedhubby. He'd been unable to accept, that particular time, but he did offerher a rain check. It was so lovely! I'm sure it brightened the moods of others whocaught his scent as he passed them, but of course now it raised noquestions at all. Some women realized after a while that they were really dealingwith a beautifully disguised man. Some women told him their most intimatesecrets, knowing he'd understand.

It wasinevitable. He did everything as usual, but as a woman.

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Note: In evolutionary biology, the term cuckold is also applied to males who unwittingly invest parental effort in offspring that are not genetically their own. We had a lovely time, chatting together like two girls or perhaps one girl and one crossdressing sissy anywhere about almost everything. Once while crossing the quad one of his colleagues in Mathematicsmade a pass at him, inviting him to pass some time in his office,where my crossdressing cuckold husband knew sissified was a couch.

He awoke each morning already quite pretty, thanks to Doreen's facial dyes, but we performed our half-hour beauty routines together anyhow. These women found him as attractive as I did, but asa man who had husband to live their lives, not just as a femalefriend. He did. Iliked that. He'd listen to them the way women listen to each other,sympathetically, not like a man who wants to identify a problem,find a quick solution, and then move on. And he wasenjoying himself, while remaining as husband to me as ever.

They liked it that he could share their specialconcerns and appreciate even their trivial frustrations, and manyregretted that their own cuckold husbands lacked his sensitivity as well as hiscourage. Most sissified he'd report that there were no problems, people seemed to assume that's what he was. I could story because in that mood he'd never volunteerto share stories about his day, only answer me listlessly, and he'dapply his make-up as if it were a boring routine, not an artfulhonor. I wondered about that, and was tempted to increase histranquillizer dosage to keep his penis soft, and I confess I didjust that for a few days.

Or, they thought him a man perhaps so exuberantly confident of hismasculinity that he wanted to try anything life stories, even livinglike a woman. He started a journal and left it open on his desk. All true enough.

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Those mornings he'd always get a pill before I left forwork, if it wasn't a Saturday when I knew Doreen would be feedinghim one anyhow. When he went in to use his college's library, heshowed the librarians his faculty ID card and then proceeded as ifhe were the person pictured on the card.

I'd tell him to relax by gardening, to put on hisflared shorts and a halter and get into the sunshine and fresh airand cultivate our flower beds. As ahot looking woman, or as a man who was dressed as a woman, he was going toattract various kinds of people, women as well as men. My crossdressing cuckold talked about everything with them except his ownboyfriends and he gave them excellent advice abouttheirs.

F or the next few weeks I encouraged my crossdressing husband to think of our new arrangement as normal.

The cuckold's story

He always wore a light spraywhen dressed casually and a heavier scent in the evening, but evenwhen sissified, his oil treatments infused his skin with a faint aroma. The term cuckold is derived from a bird's mis-directed parental investment of effort to the eggs that story birds have laid in their nests. My cuckold told him primly thathe never dated men, that he lived with another woman and dressedthis way only to please her, and that she was his husband for life.

That he had nice legs, especiallynow that they were waxed smooth and Doreen's treatments had madetheir skin so soft, that he should show them off more. So I returned him to his usual dosage, enough to leave himhis mind and energy intact yet keep him moderately content. He cultivated an impudent personality to go with the look Doreenhad given him, a lightly sardonic, liberated manner, and he enjoyedwhat then followed.

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What kind might make abetter lover? Some offered to find him dates,and never understood why he always turned them down. When I looked into it, as I did regularly, it became obvious thathe was now actively seeking out womanly experiences and enjoyingthem, diligently doing his research for his book. The genial professor was nowhere visiblein the tallish, brassy, flashily dressed blonde. He developed the cutest ways of asking questions, orof indicating surprise, as if he too were a sprightly actress. He'd chat cheerfully withother women shoppers, with shopgirls, with waitresses, on Saturdayswith Doreen's manicurist, anyone.

Andthat was unfair -- I didn't want him merely warehoused for thesummer! But that wasn't the only time he was hit on.

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Sometimes he went downtown to lookabout in upscale stores, as he put it to "simulate shopping,"trying to feel his way into women's thoughts and rhythms as theyengaged that recreational activity. As a sissy crossdresser maid, his moods varied.

They were fascinated by theidea of a man who crossdressed because he wanted to be what they already were, perhaps atranssexual who believed he really was a woman despite his body --that gave them a sense of privilege, that what they were wasdesirable. He ran errands in the neighborhood secure in the knowledge that noone would recognize him.

This wasn't what I wanted for him. Then we'd have breakfast and I'd be off for the office, leaving my sissy crossdresserto do his own things.

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They never questioned him-- rather, they assumed he was his own somewhat provocative summerresearch assistant, and granted him all of his usual borrowingprivileges. Though it wasnever true of my cuckold, my one-woman man who was now my one womanwoman. I especially began toworry when I read in his journal that the salesgirl in a darlinglittle boutique where he'd already bought a few dresses and abustier for me had invited him back to her place after closinghours for what she obviously hoped would be some private fittings.