My transition, the night I changed from girl to woman, continued under Edward’s tutelage. While our time together was limited, he insisted on "dressing" me all the time. In his mind, my attire, perfume, jewelry, and cosmetics were his domain. He was fascinated with my hair and ears and bought several hair clasps and earrings to adorn them to his satisfaction. He would take me to buy cosmetics, watch the sales girl test them on me, purchase what he liked and then apply them on me afterward at his apartment. An artist with me as the canvas.
About once a month, he insisted on re-dressing me in a new outfit, usually matched, semi-formal, dressy attire from shoes to accessories. His propensity was for pencil dresses.
He also was fond of mini-dresses and skirts, usually flared but also of pencil design because he could enjoy looking at my thighs when I got in, out or sat in his Porsche. Sitting in the bucket seat, he loved to look down as he shifted and glance at my thighs to catch a peek glimpse of a panty he bought.
He loved me in bright colors and lace and claimed my complexion made me one of few who could dress in the color violet. Material was very important to him and often the final selection was based on material texture.
On a Friday night date, I arrived in casual work clothes without makeup to provide Edward a clean slate but also to deflect hubby’s suspicions. Edward then fussed on re-dressing me in front of a wall mirror with an expanding wardrobe he kept in his apartment. After I stripped, he selected lingerie, a dress, blouse or skirt, and shoes but never pants or shorts for me to wear. We then applied makeup from lipstick to eye shadow and combed my hair. He then chose earrings and hair clasp to make my final presentation. "Dressed" we went out or sat about until he could no longer stand it and would take me, often still half-dressed. I loved the attention.
Edward wanted me to wear his outfits when not with him. Time was tight, at home and at work, so I wore what was comfortable. For dressy occasions, I did wear Edward’s branding outfits. Hubby loved to see me in them. He, too, got excited when I wore them and took me as I dressed or undressed. My wearing them for hubby was another level of infidelity.
Edward also tutored me on life perspective, mannerisms, goals, even the way I spoke. I was transposed not just sexually from girl to a woman but also to be self-assuredly feminine. With his guidance, I dressed for influence, not only for others but for me. I read the novels and listened to the music he suggested. After six months, he gave me a sapphire ring with diamonds. It was beautiful and too expensive.
He requested I wear it instead of my wedding ring but I refused and wore it on my right hand only when with him. I told my husband the gems were synthetic and I bought it from a girl at work cheaply. I never wore it around him.
Edward taught me to avoid vulgar words and use the proper term when talking about sex even when talking dirty to one another. I readily agreed as I never did swear. He explained how vulgar words demeaned the user, the listener and the object or person discussed. His favorite singer was Tom Jones and he got me the record, Say You Will Stay Until Tomorrow.
He wanted to visit my home. I knew he was not a friend to my family. He was trying to discover what my family life was like, which I kept from him. I didn’t want him to come. I was worried my husband, the children, neighbors or friends would see his Porsche in the driveway.
He became obsessed about visiting the house, often drove past it and asked detailed questions about its furniture and decor. Pertinacious in seeking to see the interior, I eventually gave in. Supposedly to see my decorating, I let him come for a quick walkthrough. Instead, as expected, he attempted sex.
I threw up my hand to cover my mouth to stop his kiss and walked outside. He was trying to violate my husband's home. Like taking off my wedding ring, it was a line I couldn’t cross. Relief swept me as his car drove off, with him in a bit of a jealous huff. Standing in the driveway as it popped into second gear with a squeal of tires, I felt stupid. I was stupid. I should never have let him in.
I’d violated our family home. My husband would never be able to live there if he knew Edward entered his house, even with the attempted kiss nixed. There are some infidelities that can’t be forgiven.
After his house tour, Edward bought a wine storage rack and a mirror for the house saying to think of him whenever I drank wine. He was in the mirror and every time I peered into it, he was admiring me. I did think of him if I drank wine from the wine rack but kept some wine separate to drink at dinner with my husband.
In a twist of depravity, the mirror ended up as part of my marriage water bed. After I told him about the girls at work's water bed stories, hubby made one and unknowingly used the mirror as part of the headboard. While lovemaking we could watch ourselves. Edward could too if what he said was true, but it wasn't.
Edward was never in my thoughts when with family, but he crept in during work hours. I closed my eyes and saw his face. A brush against my cheek felt like his caress. On occasion, he slipped out of my tongue despite attempts to keep his world secret.
No one, not even my close high school friend Julie, except my confidante, the older woman at work, knew I was having an affair. I helped the older woman meet her alignment quotas in exchange for being able to tell her about Edward and for her good advice on life. Telling the older woman was a way to verbalize what was happening yet keep my secret life.
Even a spy needs a handler. She provided the insight I needed and was nonjudgmental. She warned me about losing a long-time good husband for a short time good lover, advice she failed to heed when younger. I redoubled camouflage efforts.
My marriage underwent fundamental changes. No longer the submissive wife, we argued when we never did before. Hubby was constantly sexually aroused but in a state of anxiety over my affection. My attempts to assuage his anxiety, such as fobbing off Edward’s gifts and branded clothes as things I purchased, failed to quell his suspicions.
Despite my contrived lies and carefully covered tracks, he remained convinced something was amiss. His suspicions there was another were justified. There was another, not just Edward but another me. The woman he married was no longer the woman he was married to. The marriage of our original vows was over. We were in a new marriage that both of us were struggling to adjust to.
There was, however, a part of our original marriage intact. Only Squirt spewed semen in Vixen, even if sans sperm. Edward’s Sir Lancelot in its condom didn’t. This satisfied my perverted rationalization of faithfulness.
After Edward morphed me from girl to woman, sex eventually became routine, as if we were in quickie domestic bliss. It was kisses, pawing, oral introduction, then he was on top with Missionary to finish.
Start to finish was under fifteen minutes, if dress up time was excluded.
With hubby, it was hugs, he atop or rear entry, a rollover for my top finish and a rollover for his missionary finish.
It was another under fifteen minutes from start to withdrawal.
Adding both together, about an hour a week was consumed, roughly equally divided. It was insanity. An hour, of the 168 weeks hours, controlled so much of my life.
Foreplay for Edward was mostly my dressing in new attire he purchased, applying makeup or styling my hair. Like hubby with nighties and belly dancing costume, innate things appeared more enticing than me, my role to animate the inanimate desired.
Author Notes: The struggle of placating 2 men results in my betraying both.