Before she died, Gwen led a pretty thorough safari through the dim corners of her sexuality. The wasting disease she was suffering through forced her into a physically passive role, but her loving husband surrendered to her still dominant will. It was a gift, letting the weight of every frustration and indignity fall on him, a gift they both enjoyed and cherished. Being spoon fed was much more tolerable for her when he wore nothing but a frilly apron.
Often as she laid in bed she would have him stand at the foot, in front of the big mirrored screen and have him do things to himself, The things she would do herself if she could. Most times she could manage to hold onto her vibrator and bring herself to release while she watched him dress up, or play with the ropes and clamps and plugs that she loved. And when she couldn't, she would have him help her finish, before allowing him to have his climax. She grew to appreciate the taste of him more, particularly off his own lips and tongue.
As the months of her illness passed, they found Tim needed help caring for Gwen. As playful as they were with the dressing and the bathing and the toileting, the constant wear of care became apparent. They contracted in a hospice nurse to come a couple times a week. Enough for Tim to get out of the house for a bit, do some shopping, get some air.
Delphene had high humor and a sunny disposition and quickly made Gwen at ease. The personal nature of the care and the physical intimacy that that spawned created a strong bond between them. It wasn't long before Gwen was sharing the sordid details of their lives
Tim could tell when he returned from his excursions that Delphine knew what was going on. He could tell from a small smirk and a glint in the eye that she knew what he was wearing under his clothes. She would often make some sly joke as she left that clued him in on what to expect from Gwen later. A few times Gwen managed it so Delphine would arrive when they were engaged in some kind of play, letting Tim have some semi public humiliation.
It wasn't until after Gwen died that Tim learned that Delphine had shared secrets of her own.
* * *
Tim stared through the mirror over the sink as he shaved. After a week of having the mirrors covered seeing his own reflection was unnerving. Getting rid of a week's growth of beard was imperative however. It felt itchy and out of place, his entire adult life he'd not gone more than a day without shaving. Gwen liked a smooth cheek. Had liked, that is, and it had been re enforced into part of his character, his person. And it certainly made it easier when she had wanted to slut him up a bit.
The towel wrapped around his hips slid loose and fell to the floor as he fought through the growth of his beard. One thing he didn't have experience in was shaving off actual beard, just stubble. He kicked the damp towel into the corner and soldiered on with his task. He didn't end up tearing up his face quite so much. He cleaned up and walked naked back into their, his bedroom. His left thumb rubbed at the band on his ring finger as he walked, reminding him of Gwen, keeping her with him.
The sheet covering the mirror screen has slid off again. He'd had trouble keeping that mirror covered for some reason, but he didn't bother trying to recover. The custom didn't seem to bring any comfort, just irritation. He crossed in front of the screen as he walked to his dresser. He caught his reflection in his periphery, and stopped dead in his tracks, snapping to look. Eyes downcast, he didn't see his hairy legs or flaccid cock, but the shapely smooth legs he spent so much time caring for.
His eyes darted up to his reflection's eyes, and found not his own blue, but instead her gold flecked green. And Tim was no longer there and Gwen looked her reflection. And she smiled.
* * *
Tim stirred his coffee listlessly, staring off into the window of the microwave. The screen was circular holes punched into a solid sheet rather than over-wove wires, like mesh screen. It reflected the spot on top of the cabinets where he has the pretty bottles collected.
He picked up the cup and took a sip. Hot. He hadn't been dazed that long then. Everything after shaving was kind of a blur. Dissociative state. That's what Delphine had said at the memorial, ever the caretaker. Letting him know what he could expect, grieving. Anger, numbness, manic humor, bleakness, disassociation. She said he might just turn off and do things by rote. Turn his mind off. Feel kinda like losing time. Nothing to worry about, she said. Tim drank his coffee.
After a minute, he checked the time. Late. It was his first day back on the job. They'd understand, of course, but better to be on the up and up as much as possible. He put the cup in the sink and headed for the door. He was a little bunched up, and tried to adjust his shorts. Tim found he wasn't wearing his shorts, but a pair of Gwen's.
"What the hell was I thinking?" Tim muttered as he headed out the door. No time to change of course. He checked himself in the toilet stall shortly after he got there. He was wearing a stretchy black lace panty, with a little seam up the back. Give a little shape to his ass. Gwen had had him wear them from time to time. He went and spent his work day a little squirmy. His co-workers mostly thought he was fidgety and anxious. Expected reaction. Poor guy.
Tim ducked an invitation to go out after. A promised and honest raincheck. He would want to go out after, and soon probably, but not then. He was tired and uncomfortable, and had been distracted by personal nostalgia. Not all of it dirty.
When he got home he peeled off his clothes in a line to the bedroom, by the time he got to the bed he was in just those panties. He glanced in the mirror. His eyes slid quickly past his pert breasts on his not at all hairy chest to his eyes. Not blue, green. Gwen smiled
