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Though it wasnever true of my cuckold, my one-woman man who was now my one womanwoman.

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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.

They never questioned him-- rather, they assumed he was his own somewhat provocative summerresearch assistant, and granted him all of his usual borrowingprivileges.

He'd chat cheerfully withother women shoppers, with shopgirls, with waitresses, on Saturdayswith Doreen's manicurist, anyone.

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

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Take control of these trannies, and tell them what they want to do - These tgirls are waiting for you now!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. 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.I later learnedthat he'd once gone mall-shopping dressed in those same scantyshorts and halter -- one of our local wives sent a letter to theeditor of the neighborhood newspaper deploring a hussy she'd seenparading herself in and out of stores dressed that way.He was no longer my mildly whimsical, lightly ironic, even-temperedhubby. Some mornings he'd awaken a littlesolemn, maybe mournful, maybe impatient, though he never saidanything.I could tell 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.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.

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