A Borrowed Wife Not Returned 3

"... I don't ever recall having one" Rose replies in a rather soft and fragile tone - to Ken's smoothie quip; leaving me to then wonder how much she actually heard of Ken's and my own conversation. Ken himself is suppressing a chuckle, (he's acting a bit over-masculine and full of himself) so his smirk also tells Rose that she's been left out of some joke, that this isn't in reference to some blended fruit drink.

While this was still theoretically in fun, I also cringe a bit, as this was a bit closer to the cruel spectrum of loving friendship and fun, at least to me. The subject was after all my husband's physical masculinity, (his actual man-parts) but looking at him in the here and now he was a bit more Rose, and therefore less hubby; so "man-parts" is almost an oxymoron to me, and likely to Ken as well. So, Ken obviously sees this too, (it's hardly hidden) and this causes me to try to see this "man," his best friend, from Ken's own eyes, bra and all.

I then come to the epiphany that the more fem my husband presents himself, the less apparent respect Ken seems to have for him, or I suppose in this Rose persona, her. It's not "in your face" overt, but I know Ken quite well, and a man with non-working guy-parts, in chastity, and then dressing androgynously, doesn't necessarily earn Ken's respect. The first part might not be hubby's fault, and the second was truthfully a bit of a toss-up, but the last was an obvious hubby-choice, as was lending me to Ken in the first place.

So, Ken hasn't exactly came out and said this, (in regard to the respect-thing) but I get the subtle vibe he's projecting. It's one thing to hear about hubby and I playing dress-up maid's games, quite another to see that first hand, even this more tame version of that. They're also lifelong friends though, so at the same time Ken has literally watched this metamorphic change in hubby, (not to mention personally profited from it) but maybe it's just that now he's really seeing it. And yes, I realize that a bra isn't necessarily androgenous, but that part had been prompted by Ken, so Ken's doing, and maybe just a bit of Ken trying to put Rose into a more familiar fully-feminine identity box. Any kind of sex with Rose just isn't happening, not with me, and I think Ken gets that vibe too.

So, maybe for Ken at least, this was more of a new long-term life-identity for hubby, and dealing with that while Rose still partially resembles hubby was the challenge for him; hence the bra suggestion, and further separation from what was familiar to him. This of course further suggests this isn't a short-term game, and that this "in-between" stage is a bit uncomfortable for Ken as well. So maybe a new reality for all three of us, and maybe it's me that isn't keeping up; so little incremental steps, but steps to where exactly? Rose can't fully become a functional woman, but she can get a bit closer than she is now, and of course still further away from any kind of husbandly reconciliation with me...

... Then a crazy opportunistic idea pops into my mind: "I had made my wedding vows with a man, more recently, I told my husband, a man, that I'd never divorce him, nor leave him; but in this context Rose isn't really a man."

So, if this goes all the way to some form of surgical emasculation, for-real, it's "he" and not I that first vacated our agreement. And while obviously a bit more extreme than a vasectomy, Ken's threatened smoothie-option would render him even less physically a man, so maybe a technical loophole on that commitment, although one to challenge one's ethics to be sure...

So, if our previous adventures had Ken borrowing me from my husband for a bit of adult play time and mischief back in the day; this just has a different and more permanent feel than that. So, bearing all that in mind, some of the natural cuck-angst apparently just isn't there this time for hubby, or at least it's deeply suppressed and hiding while both self-deporting, and presenting in a more feminine way. Hubby himself married a member of the opposite sex after all, and that part, that line, is getting blurred a bit by the Rose persona.

Trying to see this from Ken's perspective, Ken isn't the better man in my life, he's presently the only "man" in my life, especially with hubby's "evolution," for lack of a better word. So, in a twisted kind of way, hubby's slavish cooperation here has maybe robbed Ken of something, and maybe Ken's "attitude" is him trying to reclaim a bit of that. So maybe not harsh words and open conflict between the two, but something that still pumps Ken's own healing-ego a bit by dominating this other "lesser" man.

So, with all this in mind I pretend not to notice Ken's evolving attitude, at least until I better understand it. At the same time, this gender nullification thing that Ken suggested is out-there for me, even conceptually, so much so that I'm still a bit off balance that Ken would suggest it, even as a dark joke. He put some time into researching this though, which is telling for me, lets me know it's been on his mind, as in what to do with hubby to make him fit into the box Ken maybe thinks "he" should be in. So the "nipped and snipped" jar option in some form or another, and never again sharing my bed in any husbandly way.

In my mind I go back to one husband-like companion, and another in a more submissive and serving role: so, a man and a spare, to put it bluntly. But, then I go back even further in my mind, to my own pet-like castration offer for hubby back at our camper. I'd meant that to shock him a bit, but if we actually did that to him, or more accurately, if he actually picked that option from the jar himself, would his remaining dysfunctional and shrunken "little-boy" parts be good for anything but the restroom anyway? Maybe in that case the smoothie nullification option would make more sense, make feminine clothes fit a bit more naturally. Then again, by that point with how things seem to be shrinking, would it matter either way?

"So, on the surface Ken might appear to still be playing here, but really he's playing for keeps" I tell myself. I then wonder if anybody at Ken's work, or elsewhere, was the true inspiration for this smoothie-thing. Ken didn't give me a clue about any of this before he went back to work, and having a curious mind myself I wonder if that wasn't more than just a coincident.

Maybe I'm wrong though, and Ken only brought up this outlandish smoothie-thing to poke me a bit, to get a feel for my own level of commitment. So maybe it's his own dismissive way of dealing with this particular "man" who won't show serious emotion, who won't fight back, one who obviously doesn't fit any traditional template of husbandly masculinity. So, to put it crudely, in Ken's eyes no longer really a member of the man-club, and therefore perhaps not deserving of man-parts at all...

Even back in the day hubby pretty much always had a slight submissive streak, (I truthfully found it charming) deferring to me to boost my own one-time fragile ego, to build me up into something better, more confident; ironically also traits that Ken himself might one day better appreciate. Hubby only fully grew into the near-slave he is now shortly after his other manly traits retreated though, but people change as they age, and I attributed this to hubby just selflessly giving even more of what he had to give; and really who doesn't like to be pampered? Really it was a bit like our chastity play, but without the unlock date.

So, looking at this from today's perspective, a testosterone crash, and then his estrogen-like passive characteristics took further control; submission, growing-boobs and all. He's always had man-boobs, or pecks as he'd playfully argued a thousand times before, but now you could almost make an argument for "needing" a bra. And then of course comes this perfect storm of Ken's second divorce, so his fresh availability coupled with hubby's total dysfunction, and of course my own sexual frustrations. If it had been planned, it was well planned, but if it was the fickle hand of fate herself, the stars themselves were obviously aligned for just such an outcome...

So, I'm just talking with Rose out on our deck, (almost girlfriend-like small-talk really) trying to put some distance between Ken's smoothie-jab and everything else we have going on. It truthfully feels a bit surreal, and maybe she can even see the preoccupied look on my face, but I get the feeling she's having trouble reading it. I can't fault her in this though, as I'm not quite sure how I feel about all this myself. My mind is a raging storm of conflicting thoughts, but then I wonder about her own mind, what this must be like for her, as in is her servitude a necessary escape from this new sexless reality? I can't possibly imagine not having sex again, and here hubby is living this reality every day, and not just because of a plastic device.

I catch myself vacillating between being relieved that hubby is making this so easy for Ken and I as a couple, and being disappointed that the man part of my husband didn't do more to keep me initially; yes, I know, two concepts one-hundred eighty degrees apart. If I were to dwell on the latter too much it might be a bit crushing that I wasn't worth more of a fight, but such also suggests I'm going in the right direction with Ken in my life this way too.

So, maybe hubby vacated that part of my heart first, and then Ken simply moved in by invitation? If such a premise is true, it's like armor for my soul later on down the road if I have any second thoughts myself, and I also realize that this is something hubby would actually do for me, and really even for Ken as well.

Then my mind wanders off on a strange tangent, possibly brought about by the very faint smell of cigarettes... as if my life wasn't complicated enough already. I don't actually see our young next door neighbor John, but if he's somehow looking our way again, he'll see more of our "our" Rose, and way less of my husband, pink shirt, black bra and all. I don't know that I'm ashamed of this new Rose-look myself, but I don't know that I'm proud either; more non-judgmentally detached and trying to adjust I'd think. So fair to say that there's a growing distance between us; but really how could it be any other way? So not co-husbands sharing me, as I'd initially thought it might somehow go, because once again, Ken doesn't share, and hubby seems quite sexually disinterested himself.

So maybe Ken and I are both struggling with what "box" to put this new version of hubby into, even though we both still love him. It's surely not masculine, but not fully feminine either, kind of like some third "in the middle" gender-option, maybe like the eunuchs from another time and culture; which of course drags me back towards Ken's outlandish smoothie-option. So in either case not able to breed, nor obviously be bred, just able to facilitate others doing that in their stead, just watching and listening to others have all the fun, and not personally participating...

"Odd that I'm feeling so detached from that which I'm facilitating" I tell myself accusingly...

Back out on the deck though, if John were somehow listening to our intimate conversations, well that would also be hard to explain away too, and I suddenly find myself wondering if he has security cameras on his property that can see into ours, day or night. Everyone has them these days, (on that side, our two houses aren't all that far apart) and such would explain how he'd caught hubby in his maid's attire on the back deck too. He could have "reviewed" that footage a dozen times, or for that matter other footage of Ken and I going at it on this same deck. That was back during the heat wave, we in effect making a home-porno for my young neighbor's enjoyment, if of course said cameras exist.

John would have also noticed that Ken and I were home here without hubby for a few days right after "our" vacation, and that Ken and I were just moments earlier sitting close like lovers might, enjoying a romantic sunset, together, all while being served by my uniquely dressed husband. If he were even slightly observant, he'd read our body language too, not that Ken and I were hanging all over each other, but all the other obvious clues were there, the arm touches, the lingering smiles, nearly brushing up against each other when we walk by. There's a physical language to passionate desire after all, and Ken and I have it.

"Is this what Ken's folks noticed themselves?" I ask myself.

That feels different too now, at one time hubby and I muted our own "hands all over each other" desires, at least when "single" Ken was with us as the proverbial third-wheel. Now it's Ken and I muting our own passions when either hubby, or Rose is there, so a juxtaposition of roles...

Along those lines, our peeking neighbor also couldn't help but to notice that hubby was apparently good with Ken taking his rightful place, (he's for the most part a happily-caged serving-wench) literally serving us like our flippin maid. He's dressing differently too now, post-vacation, even taking that act out on our deck in plain view. Really, the biggest surprise is that my young neighbor John hasn't been terribly opportunistic with his new knowledge, yet, but his earlier interest in my maid can't be discounted either...

Anyway, I catch Ken screwing with his phone out of the corner of my eye, and I'm a bit put off by that electronic distraction. But, taking advantage of the opportunity I tell Rose softly that I'd like her to start using a feminine deodorant, suggesting that something floral "like" my Secret might be a good choice. Not mine specifically though, I'm clear about that too, as I'd like her to have her own unique persona, not merely some poorly duplicated version of my own.

We're staring into each other's eyes, and I see the love and devotion in her's, and I only hope she sees the genuine gratitude in mine; she could be making this literally impossible for us, ruining this "last chance" second part of my life, Ken's too really, but she's not. In my mind I come back to hubby being happy that I'm getting what I need, and implied here is that either hubby, or Rose, is willing to pay any price at all to keep me happy; even the eventual "jar-price."

Fair to say that I'm also a bit less physically needy after Ken and I had our honeymoon-like vacation, so my "inner-bitch" is perhaps dialed back a bit; life is flippin awesome, blah, blah, blah. There's no hiding my desire for Ken going forward though, therefore leaving zero residual desire for hubby. I think hubby gets that vibe too though, so while he knows he's still loved, (no matter how he or she is dressed) he's no longer desired as a lover.

I also find Ken's attitude to be a tiny bit brutish, (so maybe he's building a mental wall here) but it's nothing I'd feel comfortable calling out yet, maybe just a few private words to gauge where his head's at, so as not to cause a conflict there either. If I were to back Ken into a proverbial corner over this little detail, he'd likely take a defensive position, and I don't want that either. Ken's ego may no longer be as fragile and potentially self-destructive as it was right after his second divorce, but it's far from indestructible.

So fair to say that I still want Ken unconditionally, but this isn't fresh and new any longer, so maybe less "I need you now!" hot passion, and more of a logical "how do we make this continue to work for us, grow this love we have even more?" kinds of thoughts. At the same time I also feel obligated to do right by Rose too though, (she's given so much to get us even this far) and right or wrong I'm trying to strike some kind of lopsided balance.

So I'm walking an obvious line here, maybe for Ken, maybe even for myself and hubby too yet. Rose for her part looks naturally comfortable in her androgenous attire, I think more so than her tennis skirt on pick-up day, or dare I say her more masculine clothes for work even. That to me is telling, but it's also early in this adventure, so the final destination for Rose is still an unknown. I have my own ideas, just as Ken surely does, but what of Rose's? I can't discount what I see and hear either, Rose is a great name for this budding alter-ego, but logically I wonder how long until the hubby persona (necessary for both his work and outside the home social situations) becomes the alter-ego instead.

"So if or when the Rose/hubby persona becomes 51% Rose; do I then seriously think about letting Rose actually chose her own fate from the jar, even Ken's threatened smoothie option?" I ask myself...

Anyway, this little deodorant suggestion of mine (that's still phrased like a request) isn't really new, Rose had borrowed my deodorant before, and I actually liked the scent on her, way better than campfire smoke and sweaty hubby anyway. My nose is quite sensitive, and I may be unique in this, but smells trigger emotions, and even memories for me. So for me, it's a little reminder of how we all got started on this most recent adulterous adventure, back when Ken had forgotten hubby's clothes, and I then had to dress him in my gym clothes as a last resort option to get him home from our camper. So maybe an aroma-touchstone to that submissive milestone-event, the one that made all this possible for Ken and I...

I then notice Ken texting back and forth on his phone out of the corner of my eye, fully focused on the task; so big sausage-fingers, and little keys to somehow tap, so lots of mis-strokes. It's cruel, but the amusing mental image of a gorilla with a scientific calculator suddenly pops into my mind.

Anyway, I catch myself briefly thinking what else those fingers can do, with a slight unintentional smirk, but then my eyes turn back towards Rose, and the matter at hand, telling her that I'd like her to grow her hair out too, let it turn into an unruly mop. In my mind there was only one man on this deck with me, and still another loved person searching for a more fitting identity, and a proper place in this three-way relationship going forward.

"Did my warm and loving 'Ken-thoughts' face instantly change when my eyes turned back towards Rose?" I ask myself.

"Did she notice?" I further wonder, communication isn't just a verbal thing after all.

I realize that this hair-suggestion is a firm long-term goal, (suggesting that this may actually go the distance with Ken now) but five years from now (or likely sooner) she'll have enough volume for a good stylist (maybe even my own) to turn it into a passing feminine look for her. I'm thinking a bob of some kind, as a natural age- appropriate feminine hairstyle to match the wig we already own. So, still something feminine-looking, but something that stays with her 24/7, not something taken off and then put back on again, so at that point NOT part of an alter-ego costume.

I have a great many other ideas, little incremental things that step by step take Rose further along this path, but I remind myself to pace it out, there's time to get it all done long before the five year mark, without overwhelming her. This will allow Rose to either acclimate herself to this new life, (wherever it goes) or decide she doesn't want it any longer. If the latter, some difficult decisions would obviously follow, ones I'm not willing to make bearing in mind my own long-term goals here; call me a coward on that one.

... My phone then pings, and I look over at a smiling Ken, (it's his naughty-smile) and then back to my phone, the website link for a high-end tattoo "artist" pops up. So, Rose can't help but to notice that I've been rudely distracted in mid-sentence by something, so I hold my phone out so she can see it too. I watch her face though; I've just told her something quite unintentionally, that Ken's text was more important than the one-on-one conversation I was having with her.

It's all about choices and preferences, and here I just telegraphed mine quite clearly; Rose is here, but so is Ken, and he has the priority. In my mind the damage is already done though, so I press on to minimize the impact...

I'm personally not into ink, nothing against it for others, it's just not my thing. But if I ever were, this place looks like they do really nice work. So way back in high school, for all three of us, an eighteen year old boy's rite of passage (for some) was to get a tattoo, and it was usually something off the wall, like "#43 the black panther please." So cool for a bit maybe, (if you're into such things) but I'll bet the novelty wore off by the time they started having kids of their own.

Today's body-art is apparently a different kind of thing, if of course you can write the check for a quality job I suppose. Some of the examples on this site are truly art on a human canvas, and unlike high school, it seems as if this place caters to the ladies more so than the men. To be fair though, even to my feminine eye, the ladies pictured in their new-ink looked tan and fit, so it's a sexy eye-catching commercial for their services, not to mention a new demographic that theoretically doubles their customer base.

Ken then verbally reenters the conversation, telling us both that this place comes highly recommended by some of the "people" he works with. He specifically didn't say either guys or men, and I wonder about that, but thinking back to his interactions with hubby, I don't recall hearing him call hubby a man, or even more casually a guy, at least not recently. So maybe to Ken as well, no longer a true-man; it's a telling little bit of information really, but also confirmation of something I already suspect.

I see a look in Rose's eyes, despite Ken and I both wanting to go slow here, this tattoo-thing is coming at Rose very quickly; I feel it vicariously. Nothing here, so far, can't be physically undone, but this tattoo is different, permanent. Short of her safe-word phrase this tattoo is happening though, in my mind it's the bridge to everything else. I simply want it for reasons that are hard to explain, but for me it almost feels like signing the mortgage agreement; as in the long-term commitment isn't real until the ink is on the page. Or, in Rose's particular case, the ink is on her skin, a few scant inches from her defective manhood that made all this necessary in the first place.

In a rather non-courageous way, I'd still like Rose as a willing participant in this metamorphosis, no matter where it eventually led, so no blame for either Ken or myself later on down the road, (five long years later) if things ever go sideways. This tattoo was one thing, (a first permanent physical step) going all the way to the five-year mark and picking from the jar was another, but actually doing what was written on that little folded post-it note, that was the real-deal. So the tattoo has to happen first, as a daily reminder for hubby that other permanent things were potentially on the horizon.

"It looks like a nice place," I tell Rose consolingly, so verbally siding with Ken, officially two against one. I look back at my phone's screen while suddenly not wanting to make eye contact, and my tone dismissively says "don't fricken cry, this isn't a big deal, people do this every day." So, a little truth, and a little not, all rolled into one. Yes, all sorts of people get tattoos every day, but I doubt all that many cuck-husbands have the date of their emasculation permanently inked onto their skin. So, in hubby's particular case, the actual anniversary date he became a permanently locked-up cuck, in his "lost-keys" chastity device. Yes, I know, it's plastic and can be cut off, but the symbolism can't be discounted...

I feel the building tension here, so to diffuse it a bit I ask Rose if she wants to see what we've decided on for her, what Cathy specifically designed for her first tattoo. This is dominant control, choosing what is to be permanently imprinted on one's skin, and I think the "no-choices" aspect of this is the crux of the issue here. This is odd though, as hubby generally likes me to decide things for him these days, but both Ken and Cathy are also involved, and he hasn't even met Cathy yet, so maybe a bit too much of ganging up on him.

I'm also letting the "first" part hang in the air, but by implication this could be either Rose's first ever tattoo, which it was, or the first of two, as I now intend. This was also designed for her by others, so she's simply the human canvas, and I haven't even told her the best part yet, where specifically this human "art" will be displayed.

I get a bit of an overwhelmed blank stare back from her, Rose likely trying to figure out the "first" thing herself, so to push past that little foreboding overreach of mine I ask if she wants to be surprised instead; so maybe offering a bit of control back to her. A third option would obviously be for her to safe-word out at this early stage of the game, thereby taking full control back from both Ken and I. She knows that I know Ken gave her a safe-word, but perhaps not that I know what that specific phrase is.

Rose just looks at Ken, maybe searching for some "higher authority" mercy here, (short of the safe-word phrase) but Ken returns it with a firm and impassive face, almost daring Rose to safe-word out. So, fair to say there's no mercy from Ken, no empathy and therefore no last-minute pardon from the Governor, but the nuanced submission in that little act is telling, and Ken isn't the kind of man to miss a little detail like that either. Ken is the final authority in this family unit now, it's established.

... I force myself to think back to all the heartache Ken's been through in life, and I realize that such hardens a man, squelches some of his natural empathy. We're all a product of our experiences after all, good and bad, and both hubby and Ken didn't turn into the dramatically different men they are today all on their own either. I realize that I need to eventually help Ken find a bit of empathy too, find a warmer and more loving side to his sometimes hard and unyielding character; and yes, I can think all this while being a bit numb to my own obvious faults too.

So, while Ken is quite the package, he's not the total package in my eyes, as in hubby has the humanity advantage here. Hubby's soft too though, (I'd unintentionally made him that way) and soft men are easily manipulated, and I think I've had enough of that for a bit. So in my mind Ken for sure isn't turning into a slightly different version of hubby with working guy-parts, not if I can help it.

... After a long three seconds impasse Rose tells me (less than sincerely) that "no, I'd love to be surprised." Hubby is so into the reality of this little scene that Ken's safe-word phrase is like hubby's kryptonite, so the threat of using it and being forced to leave overwhelms. In other words, we haven't hit hubby's "cry-uncle" breaking point yet, he's still doing this for both Ken and I; the human gift that selflessly keeps on giving.

So, hubby packing up and exiting my life isn't the way I see it gong in my mind, he'd leave a huge hole that nobody could fill, as in we've had a wonderful life together. He's also still technically my husband, we even share his last name, but it's also hard to see the husband part while dressed as Rose. I married a man after all, and I far prefer men. But Rose is just so caught up in the moment that I find myself curious as to where the actual breaking point is for her. It also occurs to me that everything, so far, was either hubby's actual kinky desires at some point, (back in the day he so got off on all this cuck-stuff) or more recently by his own words, things he anticipated happening, with the exception of this tattoo.

So maybe this is the first physically step in making this "really real" for Rose, a physical reminder that will be seen several times a day. If she can't do the tattoo though, the jar just isn't happening either, but "do I actually want that kind of a 'no way back' finality?" I ask myself.

... Later that night in bed Ken and I are talking quietly, trying not to be overheard while reviewing that little intense scene on the deck with Rose; "I think that was a bit much for you know who" I tell Ken.

"Remind me never to piss you off sweetheart" he tells me playfully with a kiss.

"I just felt so... I guess it's like a drug for me," I further explain. I'm not looking for him to excuse my behavior, maybe just help me get my head wrapped around how I feel. I generally speaking have a fair amount of empathy, but less and less where hubby, or Rose for that matter, is concerned these days. I suspect I know why, but I kind of want Ken to tell me that I'm wrong, that maybe my character isn't lacking here.

"Shock, anger, acceptance, or embracing a new reality to make something better out of it; which stage are you at?" Ken asks.

... It's times like this that I forget that Ken has been through relationship changes far more than hubby and I have. He unfortunately has vast experience with this, but I see a wisdom in that, one I don't aways think I appreciate. Hubby's intelligent, no argument there from anybody who's ever seriously interacted with him, but Ken has some masculine "street-smarts" to rival that too, and real-world experiences that I simply don't, something he's just reminded me of.

"His street-smarts didn't save either of his marriages though," the little snarky voice in my head reminds me.

"Did he really want them to, with me there to one day potentially fill the void?" I further wonder.

"Did Ken hold out hope that one day I'd be back out on the open market in some form or another, biding his time, and the other ladies in his life were mere placeholders, until the one he really wanted was once again available?" I ask myself. Such not only inflates my own ego, but hints at some extraordinary patience, and a commitment bordering on hubby's too obviously.

"Is this what Ken's folks were hinting at themselves?" I further wonder...

"Can you keep a secret?" Ken asks in a sexy conspiratorial tone, interrupting my wandering thoughts.

"Maybe," I tell him. Ken just being there was quite comforting for me, he was here for me in ways that hubby no longer was, it's once again a nice feeling. I can't imagine doing this Rose-thing on my own, like if I had to, I'd lose my flippin mind thinking I was the problem. In that case I'd be both the queen of the gym, and the queen of sexual frustration too though; and trust me, I can be a bitter bitch when I'm not getting what I need! So as much as I'm there for Ken, he's there for me as well during my own difficult times. He's also getting something for his investment in us as a couple, so really a win-win for both of us.

I'm also probably like most women, in that if the little things are attended to, I'm maybe free to think about other things, in other words, fun things. Hubby had done that for me at one time; he took care of all the little things to get me in the mood more often. So, I was both pampered and entitled, to the point that I truthfully didn't have to do anything I didn't feel like doing. And by that I also mean taking care of his manly needs when I wasn't in the mood to, so a bit of irony there. Still, it worked for a long time, I was living the dream, and there had even been some vacations from that marital obligation to reinvigorate my desires, so fun things with others outside of our marriage on rare occasions, when everything clicked into place...

"He gets off on this shit" Ken tells me, either intentionally releasing me from any short-term guilt over my past mistakes here, or perhaps actually telling me a truth that he sees for himself. Hubby's still my husband, so I should know him best, but I have to also admit that guys see things from a slightly different perspective, and perhaps Ken is on to something here. Then again, maybe Ken is being a bit self-serving, and five-years down the road a surgically emasculated hubby is just better for Ken, as in such fits in with his own long-term goals of not being alone with his own right hand when he's old.

So, I have a dilemma when Ken tells me that he can't sleep, and I can kind of feel why as it's poking me in the butt while we spoon. So, to read into this a bit, I'm maybe a bit twisted up by our exchange out on the deck, but Ken is all horned up by the same.

Anyway, I really enjoy sex, and I really, really enjoy sex with Ken as with him it's like the sex-Olympics, but with all this turmoil I'm just not into it at the moment. I'm also mindful of the rejections that I'd given hubby myself over the years when I wasn't in the mood, the cheerful way he took that, despite him doing everything perfectly. Truthfully that had happened more times than I'd like to admit, despite his slavish service to me; bad day at work, somebody cut me off on the way home, spilled coffee in my car, almost anything could ruin the mood for me. So, not wanting to repeat my past mistakes with hubby, I ponder my options in the here and now with Ken, as my body just isn't into it...

We're talking quietly, and while our voices maybe can't be clearly heard in the shared-wall guest room, hubby can likely here the murmur of muted conversations and tell we're talking about something. I'm also assuming he'd either think we were talking about him, (which we were) or about sex, (which we're also kind of doing too.)

So, I tell Ken quietly that I'll get him off so he can sleep, and I can see the look on his face, expecting to maybe get a "pity" hand-job from me instead. So maybe slightly better than doing it himself, but not what a man like Ken deserves either. Then my mind wanders into that other room, the one with my husband in it, as in what he would have given just a year ago to be able to get off with a simple hand-job like a normal man might. So not even real-sex, (that's a bar too high for hubby to get over) just self-sex and a stress-relieving real orgasm.

So, with that lost-key tiny-cage locked on that obviously isn't happening, well not in any natural way, but even if the keys hadn't been tossed into the ocean, it almost certainly still wouldn't be happening with his present disfunction. But it still has to be maddening just to listen and not participate, especially to one's own wife as the center of attention. I come back around to this being one colossal mind-F for him, (perhaps the only kind of F that he can consistently have now) and of course that Ken's implication might be right, that if hubby really didn't want all this happening, he'd never have let it start in the first place. Being passive was one thing after all, but hubby still had the physical ability to say no...

So, I get all the way onto my back and scootch over Ken's way a bit more, (yes, in my mind it's Ken's side of the bed now) kicking my panties across the room and hiking my sleepshirt to free my boobs. Ken just loves my boobs, as his previous tastes were for women a bit leaner that I am, more along the lines of Cathy's build. Anyway, Ken maybe thinks that we're having sex anyway, but instead I lock my knees and raise my legs vertical, crossing my ankles. He's shed his own clothes almost instantly, and in seconds little Ken is pushing in between my clamped-shut thighs, and with just a few softly spoken stage directions he gets what I have in mind; it's maybe not real-sex, but it's a close second, and it will get him off.

He ends up with both of my ankles in his single left hand, holding them deliciously to the side and making me feel as if I'm bound, so very good for me. It might not be penetrative sex, but it surely sounds like that as Ken's heavy thrusts make the bed creak with sex-like noises. He's lightly grunting too as our legs slap together, really getting into it, so back on the other side of that thin wall in our guest room, our audience of one must surely think it's the real-deal, and Ken is still again getting something he can't... after adroitly dominating hubby out on his own deck.

I find myself holding my sleepshirt up with my teeth, hands clenching the headboard to keep my head from being driven into it, so a hot little non-sex sex scene. I'm also watching my boobs freely riding the waves Ken is making in them with his thrusting, so some odd sex-like sensations to be sure. It's also a bit odd to watch little Ken doing his thing from this perspective, and I'm reminded of Ken's first ever boob-sex with me in a tent, way back when we were teens, and how wild that was. My husband had been listening too back then, long before he was ever my husband though...

So, all this stimulation down there has me finally getting into it, and I'm getting a bit juicy, forgetting all about that nonsense earlier with Rose. So little Ken ends up a bit lower, sliding up and down the length of my now juicy box, bumping that special spot without going inside. I'm perhaps a bit late to the party, but this starts to feel very, very good; but by the time I'm wanting to properly invite little Ken in to play, he pops off instead. His first squirt hits me hard, right under my right boob, and each additional one falls just a bit shorter than the last as his masculine pressure dissipates. So, while it was still kind of hot visually for me, it's Ken who's sated, drained, and rolling over and going to sleep, and me staring at the ceiling with fresh hot cum all over my boobs and belly... thinking about things.

____________________________________________________

The morning finds me a bit distressed, I didn't sleep well, and I can't exactly blame Ken either. Hubby and I have a date though, I haven't told him the specifics yet, but I want to talk with the people at the tattoo place Ken had recommended, face to face, to see what their schedule is, and to enquire if this intricate little design of Cathy's is something they can do. I also haven't had any real one on one time with hubby outside of our home, since long before vacation anyway, and I want to get out with him to get a feel for his mood. I find myself still taking his sanity for granted here, (focusing on Ken's as we've both been doing) and I want to make sure he's good with things in a non-confrontational setting; maybe without coming right out and asking though.

Ken is still my primary focus, his divorce isn't even three months behind us, but hubby matters too, and this little dual-purpose outing will show him that. Does this make up for that little scene out on our deck? Maybe not, but I can't undo that either. With my hubby-made coffee in hand I tell him that I'd like he and I to get out for a bit, that the tattoo studio is one of our stops. I don't even know if they do "walk-ins," but I kind of assume not; so more of a meet and greet, to see if this is within their skillset, see if we get a good vibe there.

Ken is upbeat and just having a wonderful morning, but he also slept well, and got off right before rolling over to go to sleep, not to mention that this tattoo is hubby taking another little incremental step away from me. Ken's attitude tells me a lot, it's not evil, Ken couldn't be evil if he tried, but he could gently nudge things in the general direction he'd like them to go in a situation like this. So fair to say that his actions tell me something, (he gets off on besting this "lesser" man) as do hubby's is allowing all this; Ken was right on that one too...

Without being specifically asked hubby has dressed in a more passing masculine way, so an "outside the home" casual outfit of shorts and a three-button short sleeve shirt, the shorts specifically showing off his tan and shaved legs. They're denim and short enough that I could wear them myself, and they also fit him quite well, so form-fitting. He has a tiny little ass anyway, and claims "guy" shorts fall off of him without synching his belt tight, (which looks ridiculous) but to be honest his body shape has changed enough lately that this is likely at least partially true.

Now guy shorts and girl shorts obviously fit differently, but the latter lacks a pouch area for his man package, so much so that had he worn something like this even two years ago he'd likely have castrated himself for Ken and I just by walking around in them. These days though his guy parts are shrunken from non-use, and likely from low T as well, but the device he's locked in is rigid, and it does take up some room down there, so his solution seems to be tucking that little package of his back and under, presenting a smooth front like the shorts were cut for anyway. So, while it's obviously not a fully masculine outfit, it's not anything anybody might call out socially either. I then catch myself half-seriously pondering Ken's smoothie-option with a tiny bit of underlying sarcasm, as in would anybody really notice the difference?

So anyway, I've noticed all this because I specifically know what's going on down there, but I kind of doubt anybody else will, unless they're somehow drawn to stare at my husband's crotch, looking for what should be there and isn't. Tucked as he is his steps have a nice little feminine ass-wiggle, and they're soft too, more like my own and less of a "guy-stomp" like Ken does walking around. All that being said, I catch myself comparing one "man" to the other, and truthfully one comes up a bit short in most things.

It's also fair to say that a tighter shirt would have presented hubby's growing man-boobs in a way that's harder to ignore; something he specifically didn't do. So not fully masculine, but not competing femininely with me ether. I myself am wearing a dress, because Ken's made it clear that he likes me in dresses, and I'm also not wanting to wear the exact same things that hubby does, so each of us are kind of in our own style.

I'm driving, my car is nicer anyway, (thanks to hubby) and there's a message of power and control in my driving as well. We're silent in the car, both of us waiting for the other to start speaking, which is out of character from the way things used to be. At one time we'd never run out of things to say to each other, but this feels strained now, which I just don't like.

"... I need the passion" I tell hubby out of the blue as I look out at the road, not wanting to make eye contact. It's a painful truth, and it feels like a quasi-confession too.

"I wish I had some to give" hubby replies just as honestly. It's all there; I need something that he can't give, so another is giving that in his place. It's so simple, if of course you somehow take the emotions out of it. He's doing his best to do that too, to act like a girlfriend that's happy for me, or even the family maid, but it seems as if Ken is almost wanting to inject emotions back in, to make this more exciting maybe, or perhaps just familiar.

"Me too" I tell hubby, but this conversation is getting too dark for me, and I've already made that decision. I then think about Ken's four stages of change, finding myself moving from acceptance, to embracing this new reality, although a reality I didn't necessarily want at first. It, just like Ken, sort of fell into my lap by accident, a playful naughty little vacation-idea that has taken on a life of it's own now. It's also a happy accident though, bearing in mind my "queen of the gym" celibate alternative.

I might not have too many candid-hubby opportunities like this one going forward, so I press on; something I'd noticed, plus what Ken has, is drawing me towards a further revelation.

"From a certain point of view, this is going pretty much as you want; isn't it?" I ask. I'm trying to keep my tone neutral, but even to my ear there is a hint of accusation in it.

I get a bit of silence as my answer, realizing that Ken was on to something himself. I think I sometimes underestimate Ken's intellect, but there's nothing deficient in that at all, it's just that he's different than hubby, his mind functions differently, and he's less sensitive too. He also has experiences that differ from both my own, and hubby's too, so he sees things through a slightly different lens.

Now it's hubby's turn for his own confession, and he tells me that he saw this as one possibile future for us. He says Ken's perfect for this, (really we both agree on that part) and more than once now Ken has let me know, with little unscripted spoken thoughts, that he's not giving me back, that ship has sailed. It feels good to be wanted like this again, so good in fact that I recently gave myself to Ken as a human-gift, all cuffed up and helpless in a "do as you please" moment. To his credit he didn't take that where I thought he might, but had he, I'd have given him the best oral sex of my life in gratitude.

In a certain kind of way though, hubby is both Ken's and my own human gift, and I'm wondering if I have the right to deprive hubby giving that gift. I know how I felt that night with Ken, unconditionally loved and wanted... and yes, owned too, it's a magnificent feeling, if of course one has the right submissive mindset.

I go back to each of us playing our parts here, and how unfair to Ken this could be if both hubby and I didn't allow him to become the dominant master of our home. He needs this, possibly this is even some of what was missing in those little private moments with either of his ex-wives. It's simply who he is, the hunter needs to hunt, and for us to get him almost all the way there, and then pull back, is like teasing a hungry dog with a juicy bone; in other words it's both cruel and unwise.

Taking control of this interaction I ask if hubby heard what Ken and I were talking about on the deck, and he clarifies a heartbeat later; "the smoothie-thing?" I nod my head, traffic is getting busy in this more urban part of town, and my attention is on driving. He tells me he heard it, but that he didn't know what it was, so he looked it up. He tells me it's fair to say it's a one way trip, and likely something that would mandate some counseling before any cutting took place.

He's said this super reasonably, apparently already somewhat emotionally detached from his "man" parts, so perhaps a mental first step to possibly being physically detached from them as well at some later date. It sounded straight-up barbaric to me when Ken had first suggested it, but to be fair I had floated the castration concept myself back at our camper, so really just an additional step or two from there. Yes, I know, that's an oversimplification where medical things are considered...

Getting back to hubby's frighteningly practical approach to all this, he's obviously right, no doctor in this country is going to do something like this without a fair bit of legal CYA, as the internet is also full of people who've had second thoughts after far less intrusive procedures. I'm also thinking there must be some sort of different protocol for removing things that don't work properly, like an appendix, or wisdom teeth maybe.

Hubby's also past the age that most people start families, so this may be a positive factor should fate have him choose that option from the jar. He's also impossibly stable, so I'd think if he told a doctor that he just didn't want those parts any longer, it might be different than a much younger person trying to explain suddenly wishing for a full gender swap...

We eventually pull into the tattoo shop parking lot that my GPS took us to, and we're sitting there for a moment to decompress, as this was a very urban part of the city we live near. I sense something profound is coming, and out of respect I allow him a few moments to order his thoughts...

"If you guys are still happy five years from now, I want to retire early to take care of the house, be the proverbial housewife." Hubby goes on to tell me that he's still good at what he does, but he's bored with it, and there is no "up" for him with the present management structure. He also realizes it has to be a different home, but he offers to serve both of us in that one too, until he can't, so he suggests "we" choose a home that both of us can afford, with just a bit of help from him.

"And the jar?" I ask, knowing hubby is being straight-up sincere with me by his tone alone; if after all I have a dream, it's only fair that hubby has one too. So, in a few breaths he's told me how he sees the rest of his life going, perhaps this is even hubby's own "embracing this new reality" stage.

"I wish I'd thought of that one myself, it's pure genius!" hubby tells me. He says it's all him this way, that he loves the chance aspect, the irony of choosing his own fate. So more acceptance, more trying to make something wonderful out of this dysfunction, which is ten-thousand times better to me than being miserable for the rest of his life. He wants me happy, and I want him happy, it's just that this happiness has a slightly different path for each of us.

So fair to say that hubby's obviously already thinking past the five year mark to some kind of emasculation surgery, like this "little-detail" has already happened. First things first though, we need to speak with one of the artists inside, see if this intricate little rosebud is something that they can do on hubby's human canvas...

So long story short we walk in together, and find that this is a very welcoming place, I kind of had this movie "biker bar" kind of smoke-filled atmosphere in my head, and this just isn't that. Maybe at one time it was, or maybe there are still places like that, but so far, so good on this one.

I showed one of the girls, Jewel, what I was after from my phone, and this was the first time hubby had seen what Cathy had designed. She initially thinks this little pink rosebud is for me, which was natural as I'm doing all the talking. So this was all nice-nice, girl to girl, right up until I clarify that this is for hubby, and not myself. I see her taking all this in, there's an abrupt attitude shift; suddenly I'm not the customer. I can almost see her wondering about the psychology of my choosing hubby's first tattoo, specifically this one, as in "what's going on here?" It's also clear that she's not doing this job without hubby's willing consent, so now she's talking to him, asking what he wants.

There are just a few people in this place, but everybody else has some ink on themselves, except of course us. We perhaps stands out a bit, but not in an unwelcoming way, more so "how did these folks go through half their lives without body art?"

Hubby asks if it hurts, and Jewel tells him it depends where you get it, that fleshy areas aren't bad at all, but anything close to the bone isn't for the faint of heart. Jewel can see that hubby doesn't know where this little tattoo is going yet, and here I give her more mysteries by backing hubby from the glass counter and touching just to the right of his zipper from behind.

Jewel is observant, her expression almost matches hubby's, so an obvious surprise for both of them. This is also an invitation to stare at hubby's crotch, and she surely notices that there's no telltale "man-bump" in his quasi-feminine tight blue jean shorts. Now maybe this feminine little rosebud makes a bit more sense, but at this point hubby is just tucked in his device, not permanently snipped and emasculated... yet!

So Jewel maybe has a bit of a mental picture here now, and I tell her the size that I had in mind, and that this rose was drawn by a friend. She shows us a tattoo on her own right arm, demonstrating that the detail isn't a challenge at all, even at the size I suggested. She sketches out what she can do on a pad with colored fine pencils, to scale, and it's clear that Jewel has both a steady hand, and some serious artistic ability. By asking IF she can do this, I think I may have insulted her a bit though, and she offers a suggestion, likely to show off her skills; "how about some initials on the leaves?"

She tells us both that she can do them in negative fashion, explaining that she can avoid green ink in the form of the initials, (letting hubby's natural skin tones bleed through) and this way if hubby changes his mind later on they could easily be shaded over.

Jewel is catching on quick here, no judgements or anything, but I sense her curiosity, wanting to know the entire story. In my mind hubby's dysfunction won't be shared, I just can't do that, but going almost all the way there I explain that I'd like three sets of initials, Ken's and my own on the more prominent leaf, and hubby's masculine ones all alone on the lesser one. I also remember to mention the date that must be incorporated into the first rosebud tattoo, the formal "lost-key" date that really set the proverbial ball in motion.

Jewel sketches the revisions, and I see hubby swallow hard, in a "this is really happening" kind of moment. When she can actually do the job is the only question for me now, but I intuitively know that sooner is better. She tells us she had a cancellation, which is why she was here so early without a client in the first place. So that means she can do it right now, and I'm not really thinking about what hubby is locked in, as in how will that play out with her working on him down there. I've kind of half-forgotten that he's wearing that little device, which kind of says a lot about where my own mind is at; as in hubby's man parts are pretty much irrelevant to me these days.

Release forms are signed, and the final sketch is initialed, and hubby is on his way back to one of the chairs while following Jewel, myself behind both. Jewel has both a chair and a table, and I'm curious as to which she'll use, so this is a bit of an education for me. Once there Jewel tell hubby that if he's feeling modest he can leave his shorts on, and just wiggle them down a bit, but to me that sounds like a pain for Jewel, (as well as a lost opportunity for this "first-ever" event) so I jump in and ask what's easiest for her...

I may be mistaken, but I think Jewel's a bit curious as to what hubby's packing down there, at least ever since she first looked at his crotch, and for whatever reason I want her to see it. Hubby and I share a look, I know what turns him on, or at least what used to, and I ask if she has some sort of paper gown like they do at the doctor's office. Jewel is really picking up on the dynamic here, and to her credit she plays along a bit, now knowing neither of us are easily offended.

"You're not getting a woodie on me if I make you strip down; are you?" Jewel asks playfully. I was thinking Jewel had a bit of the scent of hubby's submissive character already, and her words kind of confirm that for me. Hubby's blushing, but also smiling, and while I haven't mentioned it yet, Jewel is a very fit almost thirty year old, and if I've noticed her full ass filling out her tight blue jeans as she walked before us, hubby has too. He's behaving himself because he has manners, and likely that his dysfunction has him disinterested, in a manly way, but old dogs and remembered old tricks and all of that...

I see a tip jar on her table, and with a bit of playful inspiration I fish my wallet out of my bag and place a fifty on her table, telling her that I bet he doesn't get one. So if Jewel takes the bet she's betting ON hubby's masculinity, and I'm kind of betting against it, but I also have some inside information. Still, if I see him trying to get hard in that little device I'll have some soul-searching to do, crashing my own ego and making me once again think that hubby's problem is also my own, that I no longer "do-it" for him.

There's a curtain on a track reminiscent of a doctor's office, and Jewel pulls this to separate her work station from the others, but it's open in front, and on the other side as well; so not really private. I myself would be impossibly self-conscious getting undressed under these circumstances, but hubby's also a closet nature-boy, he loves being made to strip.

"Strip bitch!" I tell hubby playfully. Jewel is just watching with raised eyebrows, perhaps her own paradigms has her thinking that "older" people can't be kinky like this.

"Just wait until those little shorts come off" I tell myself with a laugh.

Hubby's loving this, (all while simultaneously hating it too) as it's pushing the boundaries of my own "no-humiliation" intentions just a bit. But, interacting with Jewel outside of this setting was remote at best, so it's not quite like "public" humiliation, to me at least. He hands me his shirt, and he's shaved smooth, and with just the tiniest bit of a triangle bikini tan line still around his man boobs, more hints are there for observant Jewel. Bodybuilders shave their bodies, as do men with serious ink, but hubby is neither, and this third gender option is therefore the most likely.

The shorts are next, and Jewel tells him to leave his underwear on for a moment, and I'm almost disappointed as I was wanting hubby to give the whole show. We're both watching, and the way he wiggles his hips to get out of his little shorts (while leaving his undershorts in place) strikes me as quite feminine, but then again, this could be what I bring to the table myself.

This turns into a surprise for both of us, as hubby isn't wearing "guy" shorts, but instead panties, although rather utilitarian blue ones without any bows or lace. He had to kick off his sneakers to get the shorts off, so there he stands in white socks and blue panties, his face and upper chest almost bright red, so a near-patriotic display. He's standing there, hands at his sides, on display, for both of us, but Jewel is being impossibly professional, hubby's the human canvas, and the paying customer, and also the entertainment too apparently.

Jewel takes to her knees before hubby, but with a sharpie in her hands, adjusting his panties for a natural ride height before making little dots on his skin, she explaining that this is her top line. If the tattoo is just under the waist band of either his pants, or panties, they'll grind on her work, and potentially be visible too.

... So, back in the day hubby didn't ask for oral from me more than a few times early on, because he knew it wasn't my thing, but seeing Jewel on her knees before him I think to myself that if he was ever going to get a woodie again, that would be the time.

Anyway, best as I can tell, dressed as he was, that didn't happen, and with the line made, this time Jewel's the one to tell him to strip, Jewel getting a good look at hubby's holy trainer nub for the first time. She smiles at me while hubby is looking at the floor, saying under her breath "I should have known." Full disclosure here, I had every intention of leaving that bill on her table, and with her so naturally playing along I may well have hubby leave his own tip as well, to properly thank her for being such a good sport with two "old" people.

She asks hubby if it hurts, and how long it's been on, and who has the keys, all logical questions, but ones that also hint at a personal interest too. Hubby tells her it doesn't hurt at all, and that it's been on for almost three weeks now, but he's mute on the key subject, deferring to me with his eyes.

"Ken is the third 'man' in this little adventure with us, and while he and I were on vacation together down in the islands we tossed both keys into the ocean" I tell Jewel. I don't exactly know why, but it feels good to share like this with Jewel, perhaps only to elevate myself in her eyes.

"Oh, that's hot! I've read about things like this" Jewel tells both of us, so surely not judgmental at all, more intrigued I'd say. I can't say that I've been on the receiving end of watching another woman get excited like this all that often, but it's clear to me that this situation is pushing some dominant-buttons for her. To be fair, she couldn't work in an environment like this and be a "go along to get along" push-over, it simply wouldn't work...

Anyway, she clarifies that we don't want hubby's little rosebud tattoo centered, and I confide in her that there is a potential second work, but five years from now and on the other side. Hubby's eyes perk up with that, so a surprise for both him, and Jewel as well. She then asks about the significance of the date, and I tell her that's the actual date the keys were lost, and therefore the official birthdate of Rose, hubby's playful alter-ego name when he's serving Ken and I at home.

After a few seconds digesting all that (with a playful smile of her own) she suggests turning the little rosebud's bud in towards the device, and that which it contains, and I think this is both fittingly-symbolic, and logical, so I give the go-ahead. Hubby nods his consent, but he's up is in her chair now, and I'm reminded of a gynecological office, and those chairs with stirrups and straps.

Now for me, going to my own female gynecologist isn't the least bit sexy, nothing in that for me at all; but seeing hubby all naked and helpless like this, and seeing some straps on that chair as well, gives me a naughty idea. I ask about the straps, and Jewel confirms they're there to hold clients in, to stop them from moving around and ruining her work. She also says they're just a threat, something mostly unused, but also that a few of her clients get a little something from being strapped down while she works.

Jewel asks hubby if he needs to use the restroom before we get started, and my look tells hubby that he does, even if he thinks he doesn't. The bathroom is on Jewel's side of the studio, so he doesn't have to go walking all the way to the other side of the place and past the other artists and their clients in just his socks. I'm thinking that there must be some paper smocks for just such occurrences, but Jewel hasn't offered one, and I'm not asking again. By design the studio is separated from the front of the store, so even this potential "show" isn't really a public one, soothing my conscience a bit.

We both watch him make his way to the restroom, but I'm also channeling a bit of hubby's dual-purpose logic here, and I thought this might be a good opportunity to talk privately with Jewel a bit...

"He's always had a cute little ass like that, ever since he was a teenager" I tell Jewel; telling her by implication that it's okay to look at my unique husband.

She tells me she ordinarily reads people pretty well, but she didn't want to be presumptuous and push to the point of being offensive. She has an educated way of speaking, not every third word is a cuss word, which is kind of what I expected here. Then again, maybe Jewel is a bit of a chameleon, adjusting her behavior depending on the audience.

I tell her that if she's a bit bossy and domineering with "Rose" it will be easier for everybody. I also tell her she can have a bit of fun with this, that I had all I could do not to burst out laughing when she told him to strip.

"You guys have been together since high school?" she asks. What she doesn't say is "you've been together since high school, but now you have a boyfriend?" or so her tone suggests.

I tell her it's complicated, but that Ken's been there, on and off, since high school as well, that we three have a history together. I can tell that she sees the incomplete logic here, that there must be some other factor leading to this particular outcome, I married one man after all, not the other. Jewel is curious in a very base human way, and woman to woman I think I owe her some sort of explanation, less I seem like a monster to her...

"Imaging that you still had your first car, the very first one you ever drove, way back when you were a teen. Now you've taken very good care of that car, and it's taken very good care of you in return, but through no fault of your own it's now older, and broken too, so it doesn't run any longer; not that it doesn't run well, but that it doesn't run at all. So not good for it's intended purpose any longer, but you still love it, so you park it in your driveway, wondering what to do with it next. But you also need a dependable car, can't live without one, so you get one given to you by a very good friend, one you've also driven a bunch of times, you love how that one feels and rides too, and that's the one that now goes into your garage."

So with that little "car" story I've told Jewel, without actually telling her, and the fact that hubby didn't even try to get a woodie, with the rather fit and attractive Jewel kneeling in front of him a few minutes earlier, kind of confirms that hubby's engine will likely never run again...

So just for fun we strap hubby into Jewel's chair when he comes back, he can see that Jewel and I have been talking, and maybe a slightly different look in Jewel's eyes, as in "you poor thing." We even strap his arms to the armrests, but to hubby this isn't an imposition. The only thing a bit off here is the venue, and the fact that Jewel is involved.

So Jewel starts on hubby and I watch for a bit, and judging from his expressions it doesn't hurt all that much. She bumps his little H. T. a few times with her forearm, but I get the feeling she's only doing this for fun, again, Jewel has a rather playful demeanor. Then I drop my bomb on both of them, telling them that I'm going out for a bit to do something, asking when I should come back to pick him up.

Hubby looks at me like "you're abandoning me?"

Jewel actually stops her machine and turns to look too, but I don't get the look she's giving me, other than "this is a surprise." I still have hubby's clothes in my hands, and I pick up his sneakers and make my way towards the door, Jewel looking at the clothes in my hand, and then into my eyes...

"This way I know he won't be wandering off" I offer by way of an explanation, shaking hubby's clothing so she knows exactly what I doing...

"I have my next client after three, so if you don't pick him up by then I'll boot his naked ass out on the sidewalk" Jewel threatens...