A Borrowed Wife Not Returned Ch. 02

"What's the jar for?" Ken asks while perking up ever so slightly. We've just had some magnificent adult fun, with handcuffs out on the kitchen table, and to say that Ken took good care of me is so understating it. I specifically wanted that, I had brazenly chased him for sex, going so far as to "gift" myself to him for literally anything he might want. I'd never lower myself like that for any other man and Ken knows this, so a very special gift for a very special man. There are several things I might not really want to do with any man, but I'd actually let Ken do them if in a certain mood.

He's sated now though, and therefore a bit sleepy, but these few words of mine have him paying a bit more attention, stirring the analytical part of his brain; perhaps trying to use some of those skills that had failed him so miserably in the years before with two ex-wives. So as many times as Ken has fallen in love, he's also eventually fallen out of it as well, something I'm obviously mindful of myself. I don't believe his ex's cheated on him either, (seriously, why would they?) they just got tired of him for reasons that I don't pretend to fully understand.

So to me Ken's a great guy, but apparently only for the right woman, and as we all age, finding such a mate without a trunk-load of extra baggage gets exponentially more difficult. Not to be too self-lauding, but the good ones of both genders that somehow end up on the open market again likely get snatched up pretty quickly.

Hubby knows Ken's history too though, we've both watched it painfully unfold over the years, that's one possible explanation as to why hubby offered so much potential "skin" in this illicit game of ours. If it goes less than the full five years with Ken, by implication things go back to some version of "normal" for hubby and I, and as a couple we've selflessly helped a lifelong friend in dire need over a difficult life-hurdle. But after that time has passed, extraordinary, life altering things are potentially on the horizon; a snipped hubby in some form or another, and even a new common-law quasi-husband for myself.

So, if hubby stays the course himself and doesn't safe-word out, I can safely assume he's telling me, via his deeds, that he's good with the jar-consequences and whatever fate has him selecting for himself. However, if I myself allow this to go full term with Ken, I'm kind of sending my own message to hubby here as well, one of long-term choices and preferences.

I had initially thought hubby's offer back at the camper was a bit convoluted, a million miles away from rational reality, but the more I think about it, the more selflessly brilliant I think it was. Doing it this way, I can tell him exactly what I want for this next part of my life, all without the confrontation and pain of actually verbally telling him I've chosen another man over him; truthfully it would be a heartbreaking little scene for both of us. So, hubby is potentially making this easy on me, on us really, and he's maybe even willing to pay a heavy jar-chosen price for my long-term happiness. Ken's too though...

I now believe this is why my flippant tattoo suggestion twisted him up so much, as this was a right-now, can't ignore it kind of thing, so physically-real, as opposed to to five years from now conceptual. Hubby would have to look at whatever tattoo we decided for him for the rest of his life, so a physical alteration that hinted at a further one down the road. The actual date of his chastity-caged emasculation would be recorded directly on his skin, and that would be a daily count-down reminder that five years from that date something else profound was also to happen; and irony of ironies, he'd choose that fate with his own hand.

Then, seven years from that date something far more profound would occur, Ken would become my common-law husband, all as hubby watched Ken steal me away from him in slow motion, hour by hour and day by day. So the drip, drip, drip of Chinese water torture, the outcome almost a foregone conclusion if his safe-word goes unused. By that point hubby would not only be medically emasculated in some way, (I'm actually thinking a vasectomy here) but also a virtual owned-slave in our home. He'd also have Ken's and my own anniversary date permanently inked into his flesh, as a constant reminder of what he's given away, and when, so in my mind the ultimate mind-F for a cuck-husband.

So, if hubby actually wants this insanity to go full-term, all he has to do is passively cooperate, but so far he's done far more than just that, and therefore my conscience is mostly clear, at least at this early stage...

"Rose and I have a little wager on the outcome of something" I confess to Ken, downplaying the significance of the offer I accepted from hubby, aka Rose.

... So, Ken has this way about him, he'll just look at someone, and that look kind of clearly states, "tell me what your not telling me." I'm guessing some of his underlings at work get this look sometimes, and trust me, it's intimidating. Not that Ken would ever raise a hand to me, it's more that disappointing him is something I'd like to avoid. It's new for me to get this specific look myself though, but Ken is clearly dominating here, flexing those muscles, so the game is further changing, but I had also clearly asked for something like this. I could stop this right now with a few sharp words, but I won't because I love how it feels for this man to "man-up" like this with me.

... I don't know if hubby gets a feeling like this from submitting to Ken, or even to a lesser extent to myself, but if he did I can't blame him for wanting some more of it. It's a near-sexual thrill for me, and I can only assume for him as well...

So long story short, I get this look, and I'm not exactly hiding the fire in my eyes at Ken taking such liberties with me. I won't go so far as to call it a near-punishment, and to be sure I'm not wanting to be bent over Ken's lap and spanked like a naughty little girl, but some elements of that are on the fringes of my mind. Anyway, for me the mind-F is pretty hot, and I come clean in like three seconds on the concept of a tattoo for hubby, and even the jar that's to contain hubby's five year anniversary consequences. That's the way I present it too, not that hubby and I were wagering on Ken messing this thing up with us...

Come to think of it, I'm the only woman to date that hasn't dumped him in some way or another; we kind of drifted apart physically, but we've always remained close friends.

Some of hubby's crazy castration talk is on me though, not only because I had playfully suggested neutering him like a naughty pet dog back at the camper, but also because one of the eBooks that I had downloaded for him had some elements of this for the husband in that fictional tale. In that case the cuck-husband was to have a vasectomy, as a condition of remaining in the family home, so that the cohabitating boyfriend could be the only man possibly making babies with the adulterous young wife. That left the perpetually unemployed and snipped useless husband-character home as the nanny to raise them; so an economic prisoner in his own home I suppose. Then again though, good daycare is quite expensive and hard to find, so perhaps a lazy husband repurposed for a greater good.

So, potential food for thought, if of course hubby were the least bit lazy, or if the three of us were the slightest bit interested in making babies ourselves. Ken obviously could still make babies with a willing and fertile younger woman, (as my baby making factory was closed) but he'd still be pushing seventy by the time even the first child graduated high school. So at this point no kids in our future either way, and that meant that the three of us only had each other to ride the train to the end of the tracks with. In my particular case with two men, a skilled taboo lover, and another less masculine one that was also loved, to do all the things I didn't want to do myself. So for a woman who also doesn't want to end up alone one day herself, a wise human insurance policy.

It's really too good to be true from my perspective, and a pretty sweet deal for Ken as well; certainly a pretty wonderful rebound from the "my life sucks" low of his second divorce. Ken (acting so much like the old Ken) then takes charge of this potential little future hubby-ordeal, "carpe-diem" and all of that. He reminds me that Cathy from the plane was a graphic artist that did commercial work, that she could easily design a very unique tattoo for Rose; maybe with a duplicate on the jar with all of "our" suggestions for hubby's snip. He further suggests writing them on identical folded sticky notes, closed in on themselves, so there could be no cheating.

He's clearly caught up in the moment here, planning as if this is to actually happen; or perhaps just giving me my own mind-F while thinking he's serious. In my mind it's still more of a hollow threat, so for me maybe still just a mind-F to gauge hubby's commitment. I then remind myself that keeping Ken post vacation was initially just a naughty daydream too, until of course it wasn't.

Ken's also a take-charge man, and in some way he maybe sees hubby as a problem, and men just think like this, certain men anyway; problems demand solutions. I've also intentionally been a bit vague myself on the five year thing, but I have to be fair with him, level the playing field, and I also share the seven year common-law scenario hubby and I kind of stumbled into. I know Ken though, I see the wheels turning in his head. Maybe in his mind hubby had me for the first twenty-five years, and now it's finally his turn to have me for the next twenty-five; or at least try to. Not as a "walk down the isle" wife number three though, I had made that promise to hubby and I'll keep that one, but maybe a cohabitating near-husband, so everything but the shared last name and a new set of vows.

Whatever it eventually ends up being, by unwritten agreement it can't fully displace hubby; safe-word phrase or not I want him in my life. Maybe not as a traditional "same-bed" husband, but perhaps a redefined one; so maybe a social husband to go out to movies with, or dinner even. So kind of like a girlfriend I suppose.

Anyway, the next day Ken and I go to work from home, my home that's also Ken's now, and it feels quite natural with Ken and I living together like this. I'd thought there would be a greater period of surreal adjustment, and maybe there would've been if hubby didn't take on that remote job, leave us "home" alone to further sort it out. Yes there's still a twenty plus year lingering echo of hubby within this home, within the very walls, but it's slowly being overwritten by Ken dominant character. I even smell his masculine presence, feel it too.

I've also been reminded of what's been missing in my life, as has Ken, and I have some mixed feeling about that. Ken having me on the kitchen table the night before was a step in this new direction for us though, so ownership of not only myself, but the surrounding structure and it's contents. That part's a bit surreal, but I'm also learning that Ken makes the places he inhabits somehow his own.

It's mid-morning that day when Ken tells me by text that he contacted Cathy, and asked about having her do some "art" for Rose, and the two apparently brainstormed some possible tattoo options; so more ownership and taking control, but I had also asked Ken to do this earlier, man-up a bit more. This is Ken expediting the process, so the tattoo seemed profound to him as well, a milestone; or so I assume. He's being manly and firm here, and goal oriented too I suppose, and I go back to hubby being the problem that requires a solution, with Ken as the invested natural problem-solver...

That same day Cathy shares some hand sketches with Ken in text form, which he then shares with me as well, and all I can say is Cathy can draw like I wish I could. In her words these are conceptual "rough" sketches for the tattoo, but already well in excess of what I could possibly hope to achieve on my own. The one that catches my eye is a pink rosebud on a thorny twig, so a play on Rose's new name while also hinting at her budding feminine nature too. That along with the date of our "lost" keys I think is about perfect, but I need to ponder that a bit more before I commit, as twenty years from now that tattoo will still be there on hubby's skin, no matter if Ken is still in the picture or not.

It's a bit surreal for me suddenly, as in this is really happening, and here I thought this little tattoo would only twist hubby up. I can't make him do something like this and then get all wishy-washy myself, so his level of commitment has to equal my own, at a bare minimum.

Towards the end of the day I text Cathy and thank her for the sketches, stalling on my own commitment though, so I make a gentle suggestion that hints at a few potential things in Rose's own long-term future. Cathy is quite perceptive on the changes though, so perhaps Ken has told her a bit more than I might have liked him to myself.

She loves the suggestions, texting me a devil's smiling face emoji, proving if nothing else that Cathy has a bit of a dark sense of humor herself. She revises her concept sketch and sends it to me as I'm driving home, and once home I study it, thinking it's about perfect; so really no excuses to stall any longer. Technically I don't know how much detail can be represented on human skin, without the tattoo getting obnoxiously large, and therefore hard to hide while dressed. Zero public humiliation is my goal here, and a billboard sized tattoo with this specific subject matter isn't that.

I show Ken the results of our collaborations, and he likes our revisions, they're quite playfully evil as this little picture tells quite the tale. Hubby can always safe-word out and refuse, but if he does the game stops here, although what to do with hubby then gets a bit unclear. In Ken's safe-word world he leaves, but in my world that isn't happening. Of these two men can be fully counted on to be there for life, but Ken just doesn't have that kind of track record himself, not yet anyway.

Anyway, Rose has some serious skills in the kitchen, perhaps to rival Cathy's own artistic ones, like when Rose has the time and wants to show off she can blow away most restaurants. So, in my mind I see inviting both Cathy and Henry into our humble home for an award-winning Rose-cooked meal, letting her show off a bit and flex her domestic muscles, as partial payment for Cathy's sketches. This way Rose gets to shine as well, pay her own way forward, and show what she brings to the table herself; quite literally. At the same time we can also demonstrate how much she's loved, that while a bit unique, it's actually still a consensual arrangement between us. Both Henry and Cathy could meet subby-hubby Rose in the flesh this way, see her in action in a comfortable environment, perhaps getting a feel for the evolving power dynamic in our three element family.

"Will they judge us harshly for our kink, or become so caught up in our crazy lifestyle that they wish to participate?" I wonder.

If they're accepting, I have a further thing in mind, something I've also read about in my research, not only to better understand the more intense flavors of this cuck lifestyle, but to provide some kinky reading materials for hubby while all alone at our camper.

Anyway, cuck-sitting is apparently a growing thing these days, (as is the cuck- lifestyle in general) as in what do you do with your cuck-husband when people not privy to your lifestyle come to visit? A secondary consideration is what do you do with your cuck-husband when you and your lover want a romantic weekend alone? If he were a mischievous cuck, or in our particular case if he couldn't be seen on his own at home for social reasons, a remote cuck-sitter might be a good option; so potentially Cathy and Henry, if of course they're willing. That's obviously several steps ahead of where we presently are, and another larger home with a special room that hubby could be secured within might negate the need for a short term cuck-sitter anyway.

All of these things are potentially hinting at the long-term thinking at work here, so little clues so that none of this is a surprise for hubby when the axe falls, if it actually goes all the way to jar-time, and the vague consequences contained within. We're planning for the full term like it's inevitable, laying the foundation, but if that doesn't happen we'll just have to adjust. To do it any other way just sends the message that I fully expect failure, and for Ken's sake I can't do that. For Ken's own mental best interest this has to work; for at least a few years anyway, hubby was dead-right about that part as well.

So Ken gets "home" first that night, and he's volunteered for the dinner duty, cooking burgers on hubby's grill. Our young next door neighbor sees Ken and waves, which Ken returns, or so Ken tells me once he walks back inside. Nobody uses hubby's grill, including me, not because he forbade it or anything, but it seemed disrespectful, as in it's his domain, just as there were ancient iron skillets that hubby loves, and I don't touch.

This is a bit "in your face" for our young neighbor too, but he's also seen hubby in his maid's persona, as well as Ken and I going at it on that very same deck like two horny rabbits in the middle of the night. Fair to say my neighbor has some dirt on me, really on all of us, so still another good reason to look for a larger new home someplace else.

Ken doesn't seem to mind using hubby's grill at all though, but if I look at it from his point of view; why should he? He's taken hubby's place in my bed, in a good part of my heart as well, in comparison a grill is nothing. It's a further taken-liberty though, just as is Ken and I doing-it on that same table we end up eating our burgers at. The burgers themselves, well hubby's were undeniably better in every way, but he isn't here to cook for us, and Ken is.

After dinner we look at Cathy's sketches still again, we're on the surface maybe pretending that this is no big deal, but this ink is a forever thing, and we do both care. We want to keep this tattoo no larger than a silver dollar, and at first Ken suggests centering it over his little man bits, but under his beltline. Hubby is shaved bald down there just like I am now, which in my case Ken prefers. But, if we all had a change of heart at some later date he could still grow his little bush in again, theoretically hiding his tattoo. It's a good plan, minimal future embarrassment, and more appropriate than putting it on his little ass cheek where I first thought to.

I offer a competing option though, practicing a bit of playful evil, placing the same tattoo at the left side of the same area, with the key-date under it. My reasoning is also sound, as in I now see a second tattoo in Rose's future, a second proverbial shoe to drop, and I prefer symmetry to mirror nature. If Cathy's work is centered there will be no prominent space for this second, and just as profound work on this human canvas.

So the first tattoo Cathy designed for Rose has a little pink rosebud, on a half-wilted thorny stalk, so not standing erect like it should be, or so is the implied message. The second tattoo, in five years, will be the same stalk with a new date on the right side, but with the pink bud either nipped off, or in full bloom, the symbolism obvious either way. Either fully Rose, as in almost fully feminine, or just an emasculated limp thorny twig that's pretty much useless.

This second tattoo would have hubby's snip date though, the day he gave up his masculinity and any possible claim to my bed in a permanent way. This signifies Ken being my near-husbandly replacement, cementing hubby's status as our quasi-servant going forward. Still loved, and still with us, "us" then meaning Ken and I as the forever couple though, and hubby as the tag along extra. Ken had been that extra many many times during our long history, so in a way maybe this was Ken's reward for never giving up on me.

"Why start on the left?" Ken asks, but I can tell that he's jazzed up to see me so into this. I hear the wonder in his tone, in this we're maybe a bit more equal.

"Simple, we read left to right; so the start of this story, and then the end five years later" I tell Ken...

__________________________________

The next day while Ken and I are at work hubby texts me to tell me he'll be home around lunchtime, and that he'll take care of that little matter that we spoke of before we both get "home." He used that word himself, implying that in his mind this was Ken's home as well now; so welcoming like few other men would be under the circumstances. It's respectful and nice that he'd told me of his intentions, but reading into his message a bit it's almost like he didn't want to walk in on something, like maybe if Ken and I took the day off together, and Ken was busy chasing my naked ass all around our home like we were teenagers again. So an implied message of permission maybe, almost like his bedtime routine with Ken right before our vacation, giving me the option of telling him to catch a later flight and not to rush home.

Anyway, I tell him that I miss him and I'll see him when I get home myself, again in a nuanced way telling him it's fine to come home early (to his own home) if he'd like to, that he interrupt anything as we're both at work like we should be. This establishes a routine though, hubby will from this day forward ask permission to come home at any time that isn't normal "get out of work" time.

I get home before Ken's truck is back our the driveway, he making a plausible excuse for being late, but I suspect that it's just Ken magnanimously offering some private time for hubby and I to talk, if of course we want to. Not exactly the actions of a selfish brute, more so the actions of a friend that appreciates his good fortune, but one that can't come out and show over the top gratitude while being in the alpha head of household role. Hubby had arranged for Ken and I to be alone for a few additional days himself though, post-vacation, so maybe this is a quid-pro-quo of some kind, a sort of man to subby-hubby courtesy. So for me this is profound, Ken is actually sharing me with hubby now, but in a limited non-physical way. I also realize that the old Ken didn't like to share, and I wonder if this is a temporary kind of thing to get hubby over his own mid-life hurdle; if so, Ken would know how rotten that could feel first hand.

Hubby's little economy car is already in our driveway, and I find an androgynously dressed husband inside, wearing yoga pants and a pink V neck ladies' tee-shirt, and while he's braless, his man boobs in combination with the deep V neck give him a good B cup cleavage, nips and all. So it's not dress-wearing feminine, but there's really no pretense of masculine either. I give him a big hug and ask him how his job went, leaving the door open for any complaints, about anything really. I bite my tongue on actually asking if he's alright with this new life of ours so far, as that sort of implies that I expect him not to be. In TV courtroom dramas they call that leading the witness, and for purely selfish purposes I have no desire to do that.

Both his lips and his face tells me everything is just fine. I don't want any problems here obviously, but his apparent indifference isn't what I expected either. I hadn't realized it earlier, but twisting him up with inuendo and cuck-angst back in the day kind of did something for me too; made me feel worthy of him getting twisted up I suppose. All those other times with Ken though there was a fixed short-term end date to our mischief, a few hours for a date, visiting family, even a long weekend on the boat once or twice.

So long story short, this is almost too easy, and I quite naturally wonder why, other than an article that I had read once in a psychology magazine, suggesting losers at some point in a competition knew they were going to lose, and then started acting like it.

Then hubby tells me quite sincerely that I look wonderful, like really happy, that I'm glowing, and I maybe come to understand why a loving husband with the very best of intentions wouldn't want to spoil that for me. At one time he used to make me this happy himself, and not just in the bedroom either. Perhaps these days he's just happy with himself for doing this vicariously via Ken now, and his masculinity is the eventual price he's possibly willing to pay.

Anyway, perhaps looking for approval he shows me the reconfigured master closet, Ken's things hanging in perfect one inch gap symmetry, shoes and boots in perfect alignment, likewise Ken's clothing in what was only yesterday hubby's dresser. Everything is folded and tidy, like nobody else would ever bother to do. By doing this simple task in such an over the top way he shows both myself and Ken what he can actually do though, the level of deep selfless submission, the perfection in such a simple task that's actually possible. Some of this might still be chastity-cage driven, but I know from experience that such motivations have a useful duration, and after that, men (my husband anyway) just start to think that sex isn't for them, the habit and desire become suppressed.

So feeling a mountain of conflicting emotions myself I tell him that it should always look like this going forward, but I get a half-feeling that I've been baited into this statement too, so maybe more topping from the bottom from hubby. He's not the slightest bit unintelligent, he didn't do this as a one-time show-off, but to invite further domination and service. This therefore isn't the destination, but instead just the starting point.

There is no follow up "or-else" from me, it's just that I like the symmetry and tidiness of this new look; who wouldn't? It's like something out of a home decorating magazine, and focusing on menial things like this is likely a good mental distraction to the more obvious things that are changing in our home.

"Mine too" I add a moment later, bumping the bar even higher, wondering at the mind F of not only washing my lingerie on the delicate cycle, but folding it neatly in my own drawers so that I can wear it once again... all for Ken to take off of me in a fit of passion.

"Would hubby laundering my intimate clothing with lingering scent of my desire further remind him what he's given away?" I wonder.

So Ken gets home a half-hour later and we eat our hubby-cooked meal, also prepared on hubby's grill, so unless Ken had cleaned it that well, (I'm certain he hadn't) hubby will realize that somebody had used it, taken this further liberty. So without a word of complaint we eat our dinner, and I'm sitting at the exact spot on the table that Ken had me in handcuffs just a few night earlier, and I can't help but to catch Ken's eye when hubby isn't looking; my resulting smirk reflexive. Hubby catches this and asks about it, and I lie and tell him this is far better than the take-out we had the other night. It's still a truth, but not necessarily the truth he was seeking.

Ken also seems okay with hubby's unofficial uniform of service, and I realize that hubby had possibly dressed this specific way to softly appease Ken, realizing that he'd be a bit overwhelmed with something more fully feminine. Ken even teases hubby, just like old times, telling him he has nice little "man-boobs" while talking directly to hubby on-display chest.

"Pecks!" hubby tells him in feigned exasperation; it's an old ongoing joke between them, and sometimes in the spirt of fun I even jumped in. Bearing in mind how he's dressed now, that his chosen housework outfit kind of shows off his firm little "boobs," it's hard for me to see them as pecks any longer. Men have pecks, and working guy-parts too, and in my mind hubby has neither. So maybe not a natural woman, but not really a man either, it's almost like he's slowly evolving into some third gender, so a mix of both with the exact ratio in constant flux. He'd chosen these clothes though, so "message received."

I then jump in, "man-boobs" I tell both with a somehow straight face. It's two against one and I'm the tie breaker, but the love and playfulness are also on full display. This relationship feels doable now, it's such a small thing, just a few playful words, but we've somehow turned the corner.

"Don't you have a bra that fits those?" Ken asks, all while I'm nodding my head ever so slightly in agreement. Where hubby upped the ante with his selfless moving of Ken into our bedroom, (and therefore moving himself out) Ken himself has suggested a further level of both emasculation and feminization, humoring hubby yes, but also letting me see the stark difference between both "men" in my life.

Hubby excuses himself to do Ken's bidding, even though Ken hadn't said to do so right now, Ken and I sharing a look, but also while not stopping him either. Once "Rose" is out of earshot I mouth a "what are you doing?" Ken smiles and tells me he's establishing a proper workweek uniform. So maybe not dressed as our French maid yet, maybe never for all I know, but this way there would only be one obvious man in the house, so no confusion was possible.

So maybe a good intermediate step for hubby, getting used to some of the feminine trappings in life in a long-term way, but while avoiding the full commitment of a daily shaving routine that he's already told me he doesn't like. "Had he shared this with Ken as well though, or for that matter had I mentioned it myself and forgotten I had done so?" I wondered.

Hubby comes back out as Ken and I are finishing our meal, and he went with a black bra, so nothing subtle there at all while wearing a pink shirt. He's smiling, but he should be as the bra is padded and gives him maybe an additional half a cup size, so it's femininely flattering. Something further clicks in my head, I smell two men, where I should really only be smelling one at this point. It's not necessarily the masculine dominant vibe Ken was projecting, nor visually suggested by what hubby, in her Rose persona, was wearing herself. I smell hubby first as he's sitting closer to me, and hubby's Old Spice deodorant too, so further confusing signals here; but also ones easy to correct too.

"So, ahhhh, color coordinated?" I ask Rose playfully. She smiles her response, but also blushing a bit too, which I found innocently charming. It's a thing between hubby and I, the old adage that a woman makes sure she's all matchy-matchy in her undergarments when she expects somebody else to be seeing them. So implying that not only was she was obviously leaning fem here, but that Ken or I might be seeing a bit more of her.

Ken is just watching this little interaction, letting Rose and I have this time, maybe even learning something about me as well, thinking back on the times when he's been the recipient of my own color coordinated "show." I appreciate this, and I think it kind of makes a special loved place for Rose as well.

So as hubby, AKA Rose, finishes her dinner we all just talk and interact, it's like the most natural thing in the world. Zero conflict, and I think I understand our friends with a similar lifestyle just a bit better now, other people outside of this relationship maybe not so much though, Ken's folks the obvious outlier there.

"Would they be happy simply knowing I was in Ken's life like this, or would they want to know some details, to put their minds at ease?" I wondered.

I offer to clean up after dinner, and Rose won't have it, but to be fair I didn't ask twice, and my tone was more perfunctory than sincere. Fall is in the air, and while it's still nice enough out Ken and I decide to take advantage of our free time to sit on the deck together, Rose then asking if either of us want anything. I know I should feel guilty, or perhaps laze even, but I ask for a glass of wine, and Ken follows my lead and askes for a Manhattan, our barmaid serving us in genteel fashion out on our deck minutes later.

It's an easy life to become accustomed to, so long as all the players are on the same page, Ken and I discussing a slower pace of hubby acclimation to this new life. Slow enough for it to become comfortable, a learned habit, as in eventually none of us could imagine it being any other way. By the terms of our wager we have almost five years to firmly set the hook, both for hubby to become Rose, and for Ken and I to see if this can be a "forever" thing for us as well. We'll still be friends either way, but neither of us wants "just friend" anymore.

"What's next?" Ken asks softly, perhaps surprised himself at how seamlessly this is going. He's not asking permission, we're just coordinating our actions, so one of us doesn't contradict the other. Presented like this it's two against one, neither hubby, nor Rose has a chance.

"Rose's tattoo, well Cathy's design for Rose anyway. We just have to find the right shop, but it should be sooner than later. Next, or maybe at the same time should be the jar, although what exactly to put in there is the real trick. I had teased him about getting him neutered like a naughty pet dog, but that's a bit extreme for me personally. Maybe just a vasectomy; all things considered that would be really amusing."

"So, since you first mentioned this to me I've done a bit of internet surfing, do you know what a smoothie is?" Ken asks.

"Not the milkshake, I assume."

So it's not the milkshake-like fruit thing, but Ken also proves to me that he isn't making this up either. He shows me a website on his phone, and it offers something called a smooth bottom surgery option, or also called nulloplasty. I had initially thought this was a very fringe kind of thing, but this doctor is one of many that offer this. Ken is being serious here, or at least his delivery is that Hollywood-good.

"So like a little plastic Ken doll?" I ask, cracking an obvious joke to lighten the mood, but Ken just gives me a look.

"Here me out" Ken says.

"You told me he can't get off any longer, hell he even told me it himself. So he'd not really be losing anything, and one of the options is to leave a nerve bundle near the surface down there, so he could still possibly rub one off if he, or I suppose she at that point, wanted to. Panties, and really everything feminine would fit even better, and chopped her testosterone would be quite low, so bigger more sensitive boobs, and maybe even not so much shaving. And like zero aggression too, not that he's aggressive anyway. Works for dogs you know" Ken opines.

"So are you F-ing with me, or are you actually serious about putting that smoothie thing in Rose's jar?" I ask.

"In a little under five years maybe you'll see" Ken tells me ominously. He simply can't be serious, but I have bigger concerns...

I suddenly feel Rose's presence behind me, we had our back to the door and were looking out at the very last of a magnificent sunset, but there she is. She asks respectfully if she's intruding, and I tell her no, and she pulls up a chair and sits with us, a glass of wine in hand, legs crossed demurely at the thigh. It's a fairly feminine way of sitting, mirroring my own in my dress, where Ken is spread-legged and taking up about all the room he possibly could. I'm left wondering at how much she heard...

"Do you like smoothies?" Ken asks deadpan...