In the next few days, there was little time to think about what Doctor Spector had said. We were getting ready for the first formal party. It was like planning a wedding in minature—flowers, food, wine, after dinner drinks, glassware, silverware, what my wife would wear . . . I was afraid my wife would dress me in one of the ugly everyday uniforms, but she bought me a formal serving dress, black with white lace trim. It had a knee length skirt, fairly snug across my butt, and corset stays in the sides to slim my waist and shape my body. And it had a square neck collar that was modest when I stood up but fell away to deliver a discrete view of my breasts when I bent over to serve. Black stockings, plain black flats, and a white cap to disguise the fact that my hair was barely long enough for women’s hairstyles.

We were so busy that our sex life suffered a bit; she went to fisting me about every other night, which was still plenty for me. But as time went on and I became more feminine, she seemed less aroused. I wondered what would happen in the long run. Whatever else she was, my wife was not a lesbian. I didn’t worry unduly; it would only be a problem if I wanted to stay as a woman. If I took the opportunity after January to go back to being a man, things would be better. But as time went by, I wasn’t sure what I wanted. I liked being a woman, and the more I feminized the more I liked it. Being a woman might be an answer to my career problem. Joe Lohr had no future in Philadelphia. Susie Lohr was another matter. But there was nothing to decide till January.

The entertaining ran like a watch. Not just that first party—every one of them. Each party was more successful than the last. We entertained clients, lawyers, judges, Philadelphia politicians, businessmen—anyone who could help her. She invited her boss Gino to one of the early parties; we had spoken on the phone a few times, but I’d never met him. I was sure I’d fooled him along with everyone else. He wasn’t what I expected for a top level Center City lawyer—he was a big, dark Italian with a thick chest and heavy forearms that were covered in black hair. Very bright and a good dinner companion, but he was more earthy, more physical than I expected. His wife accompanied him, a very slender woman who scarcely looked up from her food the entire evening and didn’t say a word that I could recall afterwards.

The best part of the parties was afterwards. When the last guest was gone we let the dishes lie where they were and went to my room, where she fisted me like in the old days, not bothering to take off any part of my uniform except my panties and pantyhose. We both came so hard that some nights she fell asleep with me in my bed and was still there in the morning.

It was about ten in the morning on the first business day in January when she called me. She had made partner. And I should start packing—we were going to Key West the next morning to celebrate.

I had thought she might want to go out to dinner that night, but her first day as a partner was a long one, and she wasn’t home till nearly ten. She took her bath and went right to sleep.

On the plane the next morning, she was giddy with excitement. Every thought that occurred to her came out in a rush. Partnership was more rewarding than she had dreamed; when she mentioned her new income, my first thought was that, whether I worked or not, it would hardly matter. And then there were the benefits, including a car. We could sell both cars and put the money towards a new house—all I would need was a runabout for errands. She was assigned to Gino’s practice group and would continue to work with him, but now as an equal. The other partners were such great people, so welcoming. It turned out that only two other partnerships were offered, not five; so a there was a lot of jealousy towards her from associates who didn’t make it; but they would be leaving anyway. She hoped their attitude didn’t poison people who were staying. She had her eye on a house; she’d put in an offer contingent on the partnership and we would be settling at the end of the month. It was a beautiful place, with four bedrooms and a secluded back yard with a small pool. There was a formal servant’s quarters with its own cooking facilities and bath; there was a big yard, but—

“Wait a minute. You’ve already decided on a house?”

“It came up quickly. The real estate department got wind. It was going into foreclosure. I got a great price.”

“You mean ‘we’, don’t you?”

She seemed surprised. “Well, with your bankruptcy you have no credit. Our house is just in my name. There was no need for you to sign anything.”

“Bankruptcy?” I half-remembered our drunken conversation the night I realized I couldn’t find a job.

“Of course. Like I explained, we waited out the preference period after the transfer of your car and your pension and your half of the house, and then we filed. Or rather, you filed. About ten days ago, I think.”

“So the new house . . . won’t be mine at all.”

“Not unless you want to turn half of it over to the bankruptcy trustee, if won’t. But what are you worried about? We’re still married.” She took my hand, which drew a look from a passenger across the aisle at the sight of two women holding hands. “And we’re going to be rich.”

She was going to be rich, I thought, but I kept it to myself. But as long as we were together, what did it matter? And on the off chance something happened to her, I would inherit. She was right. It was time to celebrate her partnership and move on.

We celebrated in style. We did what every tourist does in Key West. We checked into a beautiful bed and breakfast just off Duvall Street, rode the Conch Train, ate seafood, watched the other tourists, and drank. And drank. We started at one end of Duvall and had a drink at every bar we saw. By the time we were halfway to the other shore we were too drunk to walk.

There were things about the evening I don’t remember, parts that seem vague, and there are parts I remember that couldn’t have happened in the order I recall. But in the last bar we met two young Hispanic men, Cubans in from Miami for the weekend. The one I talked to was Juan; I can’t remember the other’s name. I remember they both seemed very nice and very interested in us. Juan had an athletic build and was just about my height when I stood straight up. I remember thinking that most of the time he was taller than me. I must have been slouching at the bar. I remember thinking that the front of my sun dress was cut low, and then thinking, what the heck, give the fellow a view . . . The room was spinning around and I was too far gone to pay attention to my surroundings. If he could, more power to him. Then somehow the four of us wound up back at our bed and breakfast. They must have walked us home. It was very nice of them; we would have had trouble finding our own way home. There was a huge king size bed, plenty big for the four of us. I remember Juan saying it was late and could they sleep over? We must have told them, sure; I think I would remember if we had argued. I think we had one last round of drinks from the room bar. I don’t remember it at the time, but there were empty little airline bottles on the floor in the morning.

I don’t remember taking off my dress or getting into bed, but the next thing I knew I was in my bra and panties, lying on my side, with Juan snuggled up to my back. He gave off a wonderful, manly smell. I drifted off to sleep with his breath on my neck.

A little later, I woke up. Juan’s hands were wandering up and down my back. Every so often they would dip into the back of my panties. It felt nice. I almost fell asleep again. But soon he was concentrating all his efforts on rubbing my ass. I reached around and grabbed his hand and pulled it out. Nothing was said and there was no struggle. For a while he was quiet. Then the massage started again, and again his hand wandered into my panties. Again I pulled it out. It felt so nice but there was a part of my brain that said this wasn’t a good idea. I don’t remember how long it went on, or what my wife and the other man were doing, or if anything was said. I just know that each time I grew more accustomed to his hand on my ass, and each time I let it there a little longer. The more he stroked my ass, the more I liked it. And then I started wondering what he would do if I didn’t move his hand. I found out. When he realized I’d stopped pulling his hand away, he began to gently ease my panties down. I grabbed his hand again and pulled my panties up. But I was curious now, and hot. The next time he tried I didn’t stop him. In a few moments they were around my ankles. He eased them completely off and then undid the clasp of my bra. I remember sitting up, thinking this was going too far, but forgetting to hold the bra to my chest; it fell away. The next thing I felt was his lips on my nipple. It felt like heaven. I lost all control. I forgot two other people were in the bed, that this man was a stranger, that I didn’t have a vagina. All I could think of was sex, sex now and fast and hard. I pushed him down on the bed and took his cock in my mouth.

I remember, at that moment, that I wanted his cock in my mouth as badly as I’d ever wanted anything, and how wonderful it felt. But from there the rest of the evening is an alcoholic blank. What we did from there, where he came, how many times, whether I came, what he did when he found I had a cock and not a pussy—I do not know. And I don’t know what happened in the other half of the bed, though I suspect. It is simply a blank from that point forward till late morning, when my wife and I woke up alone.

I looked up at the ceiling and thought about the night before. My thoughts surprised me. On paper, a husband had commited an act of gay sex while his wife committed adultery right next to him. In reality, it didn’t feel that way at all. I didn’t feel gay. I felt like a woman. Not just in appearance. It was not a matter of fooling people. I felt like a woman. Even without a vagina, with implants rather than breasts of my own, with short hair—I felt feminine at my core. I welcomed penetration by a man. And my wife? It was getting harder to think of her as my wife. It had been a long time since we’d had sex like a man and a woman. She hadn’t had a man in nearly a year. I couldn’t perform. She was entitled to get what I could not give her, once in a while.

When Marilyn woke up, her first words were about getting some coffee ordered in because she had too bad a headache to go outside. We never talked about what had happened.

For our remaining three days in Key West we stuck to sunbathing, snorkeling, and moderate drinking.