Pearson checked the lip gloss in the mirror. He looked perfect. Pearson knew he really didn't look like a woman, just a pudgy little man, chubbiness poking out of the hideous pink nightgown that he and Tatum had purchased through the tranny site.
But he liked this-he would go into the bedroom, and Tatum, gorgeous in her own lingerie, would make him suck her strap-on dildo, and maybe she'd fuck him in the ass, which might hurt, but was getting easier as they did it more often.
Of course, Tatum had been talking about getting bigger and bigger dildos, just so he'd learn to take it more and more.
As Tatum had decreed that they not make love until their wedding night, this sort of sex play was somewhat of a substitute, but at least it was an exciting one.
Dressing in drag was her idea, and Pearson hadn't enjoyed it at first, but he understood that if he was going to be impaled by a strap-on, he should play the part of a "little bitch."
Now, Pearson balanced on his high heels and came into the bedroom and...
Who the fuck is that?
Sitting with beautiful Tatum was a big, muscular guy. Look at those tats. Ugh.
"Who-who is this, Tatum?" Why the FUCK is he in our bedroom?
The guy looked at Pearson, sneering. "Jeez, he really is a sissy, ain't he?"
"Don't you remember Giancarlo, Pearson?" Tatum asked, smiling.
Giancarlo reached over and put his grimy fingers into Tatum's pale white cleavage.
"Giancarlo? The guy I told you about who used to bully me?"
"Aaw, we just roughhoused a little, Pearsie." Giancarlo said, before spitting tobacco on the Oriental rug.
"That's my mother's rug" Pearson said. "You'll ruin it."
"That's my mother's rug" Giancarlo and Tatum said in stereo, in a horrible falsetto.
Then they dissolved in helpless laughter. "See, that's why I hadda kick his ass now and then." Giancarlo said, shaking his head.
"Right." Tatum said, smiling. "You thought it would make him tough."
"Apparently not." Giancarlo said. "He's wearin' Seventies blue eye shadow. It's really gross. Look, rouge-"
"The modern name is blusher." Pearson said stuffily. "What the fuck is going on here, Tatum? This is our private time. And I told you, Giancarlo traumatized me."
"I know, honey, and I think this is a healthy way for you to deal with your fear."
Tatum rubbed Giancarlo's big broad chest with her small hand.
"See, if you expose your true self to Giancarlo, show him your sensitive side, here with your lip gloss and nail polish, and help him to understand that you really were a sissy, and it was just cruel of him to try to kick you into masculinity..."
"Yeah, it shows me how insensitive-" Giancarlo began laughing "Shit, Tatum, I don't think I can do this without laughing my ass off."
"Tatum, you're my fiancée." Pearson said, feeling angry tears coming into his eyes. He bunched his hands into fists, trying not to break his press-on nails.
"You told me once that you sometimes fantasized about Giancarlo taking you from behind after beating you up in the locker room and stuff." Tatum explained helpfully.
Giancarlo got up and swaggered over to Pearson, who shrank back in horror.