FACT
Side Story — Grant
I woke up alone.
That wasn’t particularly unusual. Kana had never been good at staying in bed once she was awake. Twenty-three years of marriage had taught me that if I opened my eyes after nine on a weekend, there was a good chance my wife had already worked out, showered, gone through her crazy long dressing ritual, and become irritated with me for sleeping in.
I reached across the mattress anyway. Cold.
“Morning to you too.”
My voice sounded terrible. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Sunlight pushed through the edges of the curtains. The house was quiet. No shower running. No footsteps downstairs. No Kana yelling at somebody on the phone. No Evan screaming at a football game.
Apparently everyone had abandoned me.
I should have gotten up. Instead, my fingers wandered lazily across my chest and stopped at one nipple. There was a tiny moment every morning now when I thought maybe they wouldn’t be sensitive anymore. They always were. I gave it a gentle pinch.
“Mm.”
Okay. That was nice. Really nice.
The other one deserved equal treatment. I pinched it too, rolled it lightly between my fingers, then immediately felt the familiar little rush run through me. My toes curled beneath the sheets.
“Jesus.”
I laughed at myself. Great start, Grant.
I let go before great start became another problem I had to deal with before breakfast and threw the covers aside.
I looked down at myself. The panties I’d changed into before bed were still perfectly comfortable. Better than comfortable, actually. The satin had stayed cool beneath the blankets, the black lace sitting softly against my hips. Women’s underwear felt great. One of the narrow sides had twisted sometime during the night, so I hooked a finger beneath it and straightened it.
There.
Walking around the house in women’s underwear should probably have been humiliating. It still was, a little. That was part of what made wearing them so exciting. But I didn’t feel any need to hide them here. This was my house. Kana knew. Evan knew. After last night, there wasn’t much left for either of them to discover about me.
I walked toward the bathroom in red satin panties and didn’t bother finding a robe. My reflection caught me on the way in. Forty-three years old. Hair flattened on one side. Stubble. Slight bags beneath my eyes. Red satin and black lace hugging my waist and slipping between my cheeks.
I looked ridiculous. I smiled.
“Morning, big man.”
That was what Evan called me. Usually right before saying something designed to make me feel about six inches tall.
Asshole.
I turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat. Kana’s things were everywhere. Bottles lined the counter. Skin products I wasn’t allowed to touch. Hair products I wouldn’t have known how to use. A small dish with earrings she’d taken off before bed. Even when she wasn’t physically in the room, Kana somehow occupied eighty percent of it.
That had been true since high school.
Kana had been gorgeous then. Not the kind of pretty you noticed only after getting to know somebody. Gorgeous. Immediately, unfairly gorgeous. I could still picture her as a teenager, turning toward me in a hallway and smiling when she realized it was me.
That smile.
God.
I ed what it had done to seventeen-year-old Grant. Everything else disappeared for a second. Whatever stupid thing I’d been worrying about suddenly didn’t matter because Kana was smiling at me. Somehow, out of every guy she could have noticed, I was the one who got that smile.
More than twenty years later, it could still get me.
She was even more beautiful now. She’d grown into herself without losing any of the things that had first pulled me toward her. Confident. Stubborn. Funny when she wasn’t trying to be. She was pretty vain and that gave her an entitled sense of self, but when you look like her you deserve it all. She also loved to spend money. Jesus Christ, that woman had expensive taste. Clothes, skincare, restaurants, hotels. Kana demanded and deserved the best. She was worth every cent.
More importantly, she was a great mother. Watching her with our daughter had given me an entirely different reason to fall in love with her. She could be demanding and impatient, but nobody fought harder for her family. For more than two decades she’d been my partner, my best friend, and my loyal wife.
Until last night. I stared at the running water. Well. That was new. I stepped into the shower.
Hot water hit my shoulders, and for the first time that morning there was nothing to distract me. That was dangerous, because there was one question I’d become very good at avoiding.
How the hell had my life become this?
I loved Kana.
That was the easiest part.
I’d loved her since I was sixteen years old. Back then, I couldn’t believe she’d chosen me. Sometimes I still couldn’t. By most reasonable measures, forty-three-year-old Grant had done pretty well. I had a career. A home. A daughter I was incredibly proud of. And somehow the gorgeous girl whose smile used to stop my brain in a high-school hallway was still the woman whose face I saw beside me when I woke up.
Sex had simply never been one of my accomplishments.
There was no point pretending otherwise when I was alone. I’d always been insecure about my size. High school locker rooms had been hell. My first time with Kana had been equal parts excitement and terror. Marriage hadn’t magically fixed any of that.
Neither had my other problem. I couldn’t hold it together around her. Never could.
There was something almost insulting about it. Kana could walk into the bedroom wearing practically anything and my body would decide the evening was already over. Twenty-three years should have made me less reactive to my own wife.
It hadn’t.
Kana had spent years wanting more while I had spent years with absolutely nothing left to give her.
That knowledge had hurt.
She had never stopped loving me for it. That mattered. She’d teased me, certainly, because Kana teased everyone and marriage eventually turned every insecurity into material, but she’d never made our marriage conditional on what happened in bed. We’d built something much bigger than sex.
Then Evan had become part of the sex. I closed my eyes beneath the water. That was still complicated.
I hated how good he was at making me feel small. I hated watching his hands on my wife. I hated hearing Kana react to him in ways I’d never managed to draw from her. I hated knowing exactly what she meant when she looked at him and saw something she didn’t see in me.
And apparently I loved every fucking second of it. I loved the face Kana made when Evan penetrated her. I loved that big meaty cock pumping in and out of my wife, teaching her all the pleasures I never could. It made me… happy.
That was the part I still couldn’t think about without embarrassment crawling up my neck.
Because last night hadn’t felt like losing Kana. That would have destroyed me. She was still my wife. She still loved me. Twenty-three years hadn’t disappeared because she wanted something sexually that I couldn’t give her.
If anything, seeing how happy she was had made the distinction painfully clear.
I was her husband. Evan was just a lover. And watching them together had awakened something in me I hadn’t known how badly I wanted.
The jealousy mattered. The embarrassment mattered. Even the humiliation mattered. Standing there knowing exactly why Kana wanted him, knowing she loved me while desiring someone completely different from me, should have been unbearable. Instead, I’d been transfixed.
Then there had been afterward.
I ed the taste. His taste in her pussy. Her juices on his cock. Why did it taste so good? Why did the act of licking his shaft while my wife’s juices slid down it make my brain shut down in carnal need? Even licking her asshole had been just a highlight of my life, even if it was his cum leaking out mixed with some of her… stuff.
“Fuck.”
I reached for the shampoo.
The underwear was easier to understand.
Women’s underwear felt good. There. Simple.
I liked satin. I liked lace. I liked how delicate fabrics felt against my skin. I liked the snugness. I liked the way they held my little clitty in place when my body inevitably decided Kana existing nearby was enough reason to embarrass me again.
And yes, I liked that they were women’s underwear. That mattered.
Calling them comfortable briefs would have defeated half the point. I liked putting on something unmistakably intended for women and feeling that private little shock when I looked down. I liked being embarrassed by it. I liked not stopping.
That did not mean I suddenly wanted to be feminine. I was Grant. Same Grant I’d always been. A husband who had discovered that women’s underwear happened to feel fucking fantastic.
Maybe that distinction mattered only to me.
Still counted.
I turned off the shower, grabbed a towel, and dried myself. My phone sat on the counter.
I looked at it.
“No. Absolutely not.” I said to myself.
I picked it up.
Just checking messages.
Nothing from Kana. Nothing from Evan.
I unlocked it.
Photos.
“Grant.”
This was pathetic.
I opened them anyway. Finding Kana took approximately half a second because my phone contained several thousand pictures of her. Kana at dinner, glaring because I’d taken the picture before she was ready. Kana on vacation. Kana asleep on the couch. Kana laughing with our daughter.
Then Kana at the beach.
I stopped.
She stood with her back partly toward the camera, looking over her shoulder at me in a swimsuit, one hand raised against the sun.
I ed taking it. I ed the smile immediately afterward. Not the one she gave strangers. Not the polished smile for pictures. Mine. The same smile that had ruined seventeen-year-old Grant in a high-school hallway. Twenty-six years later, apparently nothing had changed. My body reacted before my brain caught up.
“Oh, come on.”
Of course.
One picture of my wife and my little clitty had already decided this was an emergency.
Some husband I was. Kana could spend half a lifetime frustrated because of me, while apparently my body had never once received the memo to conserve resources.
I stared at the picture. Gorgeous. My wife.
Then I thought about last night. That was enough.
A short while later I stared down at my phone, breathing hard, simultaneously satisfied and embarrassed by just how little resistance I’d managed. A white stain streaked across my phone screen.
“Seriously?”
Forty-three years old. A photograph of my own wife. I started laughing. There was nothing else to do. Then I looked toward the red satin panties lying outside the shower. Thank God I hadn’t put them back on yet.
I stared at them. Then something occurred to me. Those weren’t mine. None of them were. Every pair I’d worn belonged to Kana. My incredibly expensive, incredibly particular wife. I imagined ruining a pair she actually liked. My amusement disappeared.
“Oh, fuck no.”
Kana would kill me. I looked at the red satin again, then at my reflection. That settled it. If this was something I enjoyed, I needed my own. And apparently Grant was going lingerie shopping.
The first problem was deciding where the hell to go.
I sat in my car staring at my phone, feeling like the search history alone had already compromised my dignity. Department store? Easy. Anonymous. Walk in, grab something, pay, leave.
Except I knew what cheap underwear felt like.
Kana had cured me of that.
So, twenty minutes later, I was standing outside one of the boutiques Kana shopped at, wondering how I’d gone from borrowing my wife’s panties to voluntarily entering a lingerie store before lunch.
“Just underwear.”
I went inside.
Immediately, I understood this was going to be more complicated than that.
Bras covered one wall. Panties filled another. Lace, satin, silk, mesh, seamless fabrics, cuts I recognized and cuts I absolutely did not. Everything was organized by collection, material and style. The lighting was warm. The displays looked expensive.
So did the prices.
“Jesus Christ.”
A woman near the front smiled. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
“Shopping for someone?”
There it was. The escape route. My wife. Anniversary. Gift. Birthday. I could have picked anything.
“Myself.”
She didn’t react. That almost made it worse.
“Absolutely. Are you looking for anything in particular?”
Underwear that keeps my clitty contained and bras that stop my nipples from announcing themselves to the world.
“Basics.”
“Of course.”
I followed her farther inside, suddenly very aware that I was a forty-three-year-old man shopping for women’s lingerie. A woman ed carrying three bras toward the fitting rooms. Another stood comparing panties with absolutely no concern about my existence.
Nobody cared.
That helped.
I started with underwear because at least I had some experience there. The saleswoman showed me different cuts, asked what I’d worn before, and somehow I found myself having an actual conversation about it. Briefs offered more coverage. Hipsters sat differently. Boyshorts looked safe but defeated half the reason I was here.
Then she showed me thongs.
I stared.
I’d worn Kana’s before, obviously, but I’d never stopped to consider the engineering involved.
The front needed enough structure to keep everything where it belonged without extra fabric bunching around my clitty. The waistband needed to sit securely without digging into my hips. And the strip running between the cheeks changed dramatically depending on the material.
Apparently I had opinions about this. Strong ones.
I picked up one in black satin and rubbed the fabric between my fingers. Too stiff. Put it back. The next was softer, with a stretch-lace front and a much smoother back. Better. I froze. Why did I know that? I compared them again. No question. The second one.
“Huh.”
The saleswoman glanced over. “Something wrong?”
“No. Apparently I know what I like.”
She smiled. “Most people figure it out quickly.”
Apparently.
Once I stopped being embarrassed long enough to actually look, the entire store changed.
These weren’t all variations of the same thing. The fabrics mattered. The cuts mattered. The construction mattered. A cheap lace waistband could scratch after an hour. A good one stretched with the body and practically disappeared. Satin felt smooth but behaved differently depending on the blend. Seam placement mattered more than I had ever imagined.
And fit? Fit was everything. The first pair I tried on was wrong immediately. I stared at myself in the fitting-room mirror.
“Nope.”
Too loose in front. Too much room around my clitty, which somehow made the whole thing feel worse rather than better. The back wasn’t much better. The fabric sat between my cheeks, but instead of settling naturally it pulled whenever I moved.
Off.
The next pair was a completely different experience.
I pulled them up over my hips and adjusted the waistband.
“Oh.”
Soft.
That was the first thing.
The fabric hugged my body without squeezing. The front settled closely around my clitty instead of leaving it floating inside unnecessary space, and when I turned sideways, the narrow back rested comfortably between my cheeks without feeling like it was trying to saw me in half.
I took a few steps. Nothing shifted. I sat down. Still comfortable. Stood. Still there. Okay. I looked at the tag. Then at myself.
“Forty-eight dollars?”
Silence.
I looked down again.
“...Worth it.”
That was terrifying.
I tried another pair. Deep blue. Lace this time. More delicate than the satin, but somehow even softer. I expected the lace to itch. It didn’t. The waistband followed my hips, the front held everything securely, and the material between my cheeks was so light that after a minute I stopped noticing it was there.
Until I moved. Then I noticed.
Not sexually. Just physically. A little reminder of what I was wearing whenever I walked or bent down.
Women’s underwear.
On me.
I should have felt ridiculous.
I did feel ridiculous.
I also looked at the pile of things I had already decided to buy and realized embarrassment wasn’t going to save my wallet.
By the fourth fitting, I had developed standards.
Black was easy. Deep reds worked. Navy surprised me. White made me look like I was wearing someone else’s underwear, which, considering the last twenty-four hours, was probably an unfair criticism.
Patterns were mostly out.
Tiny bows...
I stared at one.
“No.”
Put it back.
Then picked it up again.
“Maybe.”
I hated this.
The saleswoman returned with several more options based on what I’d liked.
And every single one was better.
I ended up with enough underwear to get through more than a week without repeating anything: practical pairs for everyday wear, several seamless ones that would disappear under clothes, satin for when I wanted the fabric against my skin, and lace because apparently I was a person who owned lace underwear now.
I even bought the one with the bow.
Nobody needed to know.
Then came the bras.
That was supposed to be practical.
My nipples had become absurdly sensitive, and worse, they seemed determined to stay erect whenever anything brushed them. A T-shirt wasn’t enough anymore. Half the time I could look down and see them pushing visibly against the fabric.
I needed coverage.
That was all.
The saleswoman measured me without ceremony and started bringing options.
I immediately rejected anything heavily padded.
“I don’t need more chest.”
“Then you’re probably looking for smoothing and coverage.”
“Yes. Exactly.”
Simple.
Functional.
I tried a seamless bralette first.
The difference was immediate. The soft fabric settled across my chest and held everything close enough that when I pulled my shirt over it, my nipples disappeared.
I looked in the mirror.
Normal.
Thank God.
I moved my shoulders.
Still normal.
Raised my arms.
Nothing visible.
“Okay. This works.”
Then I noticed how comfortable it was.
That complicated things.
The band sat flat against my torso. The fabric was soft enough that it didn’t irritate my nipples, and instead of my shirt dragging directly across them every time I moved, there was a stable layer between my skin and everything else.
I hadn’t realized how irritating that constant had become until it stopped.
I bought four.
Then six.
Black. Gray. A couple close enough to my skin tone to disappear beneath lighter shirts. One navy because apparently I had a color palette now.
I tried a more structured bra out of curiosity.
No.
Absolutely not.
I took one look at myself.
“Nope.”
That felt like a line.
The bralettes solved a problem. They were comfortable. They disappeared under my clothes.
Good enough.
I changed back into what I’d worn into the store and stared at the mountain of merchandise waiting beside me.
This had gotten out of hand.
At the , the saleswoman began folding everything carefully into tissue paper.
The total appeared.
I stared at it.
Then at the bags.
Then back at the total.
For years, I’d watched Kana spend ridiculous amounts of money on clothes and wondered how any piece of fabric could possibly justify the price. She’d come home carrying beautiful little bags, tell me something had been on sale, and then reveal a number that suggested her definition of sale required federal investigation.
I understood now.
Not completely.
Kana could still spend more on one bra than I’d spent on my first television.
But I understood.
The good stuff felt better.
A lot better.
The fabrics were softer. The fit was better. Nothing scratched, bunched, pinched or shifted. Something that looked impossibly delicate could somehow be more comfortable than the boxers I’d worn most of my adult life.
And if I was going to wear women’s underwear...
I looked down at the expensive bag in my hand.
Why would I deliberately buy shitty women’s underwear?
“Oh, God.”
I was becoming my wife.
The saleswoman smiled. “Everything okay?”
“Just finally understanding twenty-three years of credit-card statements.”
She laughed.
I took the bags and headed for the door.
By the time I reached the car, the embarrassment hadn’t disappeared. I was still very aware that I had just spent a stupid amount of money on panties and bras for myself.
But underneath the embarrassment was something much simpler.
I couldn’t wait to wear them.
I put the bags carefully in the enger seat. Carefully. Jesus. I started the car. Kana was going to laugh her ass off. For once, I didn’t really care.
I had enough underwear for more than a week, bras that would keep my nipples from announcing themselves through every shirt I owned, and the deeply uncomfortable realization that my wife’s shopping habits suddenly made considerably more sense.
Time to go home.
I pulled into the driveway with several hundred dollars of women’s underwear sitting in the enger seat. That was a sentence.
I killed the engine and reached for the bags, then stopped when sunlight caught my hand against the steering wheel. My nails looked terrible. “Ugh.” I turned my hand over, examining them. Uneven edges. Dry cuticles. One nail I’d apparently chewed without noticing. Honestly. I’d have to fix those later. Maybe file them properly. Clean up the cuticles. Kana probably had something upstairs I could use, although touching anything from her collection without permission was generally an excellent way to shorten my life expectancy.
I opened the door, then stopped with one foot outside. Why the hell did I suddenly care about my nails? I looked at them again. They did look awful. “Whatever.” I grabbed my bags and headed inside.
The house was quiet when I opened the door. “Hello?”
“In here.”
Evan.
I stepped into the living room and found him sitting on the couch in his boxers. Last night returned immediately, and this time I didn’t recoil from it. The memory produced an embarrassing little rush instead. Evan. Kana. Everything I’d discovered about myself afterward. Even the ed taste of their mixed juices was enough to make my clitty hum beneath my clothes.
“Hey.” I lifted the bags. “Thanks again for telling me about the research for my, ahem... condition. You were so right. So I went out and bought some really cute underwear to keep it under control.” I smiled despite myself. “Plus some other things.”
Evan looked at the bags, then me.
“Cute?”
I paused.
Had I actually said cute?
“Comfortable.”
Evan laughed. I didn’t even particularly mind. The trip had been fun. Embarrassing, definitely, but fun. I’d learned things. Apparently I had opinions about lace now.
“Where’s Kana?”
“Upstairs.”
My stomach fluttered. Good. Evan reached toward the coffee table. The coin sat there.
“What is that thing? I saw you toying with it last night.”
“This?” He picked it up.
“Yeah.”
“You really want to know?”
Something about his expression changed. “Sure.”
Evan closed his fingers around it.
“Fact. Grant re his original life and every change made to him and his family.”
The coin warmed. And my life split in two. I stumbled backward into the wall as the years duplicated themselves inside my head.
My body came first. I ed the penis I’d had my entire adult life, completely ordinary, completely mine. Then I ed my clitty, so tiny that the old version of me couldn’t comprehend how I’d ever accepted it. I ed a chest that had been just a chest, nipples no more significant to me than my elbows. Then came the body I had now, those same nipples so sensitive and persistently erect I’d just spent hundreds of dollars partly because I needed bras to keep them under control.
Men’s underwear became lace and satin. Ordinary sex became everything that had happened last night. My marriage became two marriages. And Kana became two Kanas. One my Japanese princess and the other my sex goddess. Both my wife. Both absolutely real.
I understood everything. The coin. The changes. The contradictions. Evan. “You did this.”
He didn’t answer immediately. He didn’t need to. Something inside me broke. I crossed the room and shoved him. “You fucking bastard!”
Evan barely moved. Then he stood.
“Oh, fuck you, Grant.”
I stared at him.
“No. You want to know why? Fine. You got everything I was owed.”
His voice had changed completely.
“You got Kana, who you knew I wanted. You got the marriage. You got the kid. Then you got the job, the money, the house, the comfortable fucking life. Every box checked. Everything worked out for Grant.”
I stared at him, breathing hard.
“I watched you get everything I wanted. Kana most of all. And every time I looked at your life, I had the same thought.” He stepped closer. “Why him?”
My fists tightened. “You didn’t want her for more than status.” I snarled.
“Why does Grant get everything? Why does he get the girl? Why does he get the career? Why does he get to wake up one day and realize somehow his whole fucking life worked?”
“You think you deserved my life?”
“I know I did. Look at me. I was the king of that school. There is no way Kana should have ever said no to me.”
“You changed my family because you were jealous of me?”
Evan laughed without humor.
“Jealous? Sure. Let’s call it jealous. I spent years looking at you and thinking the universe had made some cosmic clerical error.”
“You’re fucking insane.”
“Maybe.” His expression settled. “But I got the coin.”
I wanted to hit him again. Instead, Evan picked it up. Then tossed it to me. I caught it.
“Go ahead.”
I stared at him.
“You everything now. So choose.”
The coin felt impossibly heavy in my hand.
“Old Kana. Old Grant. Old marriage. Your old body. Your old life. You want it back?”
Of course I did.
Yes.
The answer came instantly.
Then another voice answered from somewhere inside me.
Wait.
No.
There was nothing to consider. Evan had rewritten me. Humiliated me. Changed my body. Changed Kana. Changed things inside my own head so profoundly that I’d walked into this house moments ago excited to tell him about the cute panties I’d bought. Cute. Jesus Christ.
But they are cute.
“Shut up.”
Evan smiled. I hated him. Old Grant wanted to crush the coin in his fist and demand everything back. New Grant ed the lingerie store. ed enjoying himself. ed the excitement of watching Kana take all of Evan inside her. My clitty tingled.
“Stop.”
Evan watched the conflict playing across my face. Then, because apparently he hadn’t tormented me enough, he decided to make it worse. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and lowered them. My thoughts stopped.
Old Grant recoiled immediately. New Grant didn’t.
My attention betrayed me, fixing on Evan before I could force it elsewhere. New Grant saw all twelve inches of him, thick and heavy, the skin pulled taut over the shaft and darkening toward the head. Thick blue veins bulged beneath the surface, one running almost the entire length from the dark hair at his base toward the crown. My eyes followed it. Of course they fucking did. I ed running my tongue from the base, along the shaft, to the tip. The taste, the smell. The thing was enormous, intimidating, and somehow new Grant thought it was beautiful. My mouth actually watered. My little clitty tingled. Old Grant saw the bastard who’d stolen his life. New Grant could only think, God, look at that fucking thing, everything I can never be, a real man.
Look away.
I couldn’t.
“Oh, fuck me.”
Evan laughed. “There he is.”
I tore my eyes upward. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Obviously.”
My clitty buzzed again, impossible to ignore.
Don’t look.
I looked.
He’s fucking with you.
I knew.
Then stop.
I couldn’t.
“Still want the old Grant? You’d never see this again.” As he gestured along his glorious manhood.
“Yes.” The answer came from my mouth. The other Grant immediately objected.
Do we?
“Yes!”
Evan laughed.
“Having an argument with yourself?”
“Fuck you.”
“Think carefully. You only get to be one of them when this is over.”
I looked down at the coin. Old Grant saw salvation, a return. New Grant saw execution, endless pleasure. That realization terrified me. Because this wasn’t merely about choosing which memories were true anymore. One of us was going to disappear.
Old Grant ed Kana before any of this. The girl from high school. The woman I’d married. The mother of my daughter. The modest woman who had never needed an audience. The woman who loved me.
New Grant ed that same woman.
Except his Kana loved him too. That was the problem.
She’s still ours.
“She isn’t.”
She loves us.
“She loves Evan.”
And us.
My grip tightened.
Evan picked up his phone. “One more thing.” He turned it toward me.
There she was, Kana. My argument with myself stopped. The photograph had been taken earlier that day. My wife stood looking directly into the camera with absolute confidence, and the transformation was so complete that for a moment all I could do was stare.
I knew the old body by heart. Of course I did. Twenty-three years. Kana had always been slim and athletic, beautifully proportioned without being particularly curvy. Everything about her had been understated.
The woman on Evan’s phone was anything but.
Her chest transformed her entire silhouette. The proportions were dramatic now, her figure sweeping outward above a narrow waist in a way old Kana’s never had. The fitted top seemed chosen specifically to emphasize the change, and Kana’s posture made it even more blatant: shoulders back, chin lifted, completely comfortable commanding the frame.
Then my eyes moved lower. Her waist. Her hips. Her ass. Jesus Christ.
Old Kana’s had been compact and athletic, something I’d loved because I’d loved every part of her. This was something else entirely.
The curve dominated her lower silhouette, dramatically fuller and rounder against the narrowness of her waist. She’d turned just enough that the camera caught the sweep of her hips and the exaggerated fullness behind her. Even the pose was different. This wasn’t Evan catching Kana at a flattering angle.
Kana had given him the angle. She knew exactly what she looked like. That might have been the biggest change of all. Old Kana was humble and beautiful. Current Kana seemed to consider being beautiful as important as breathing.
Same dark eyes. Same mouth. Same smile. My Japanese princess. My sex goddess. My wife. My clitty tingled. Then I realized something. I wasn’t wearing the underwear. “Oh no.”
The first wave hit before I could do anything about it. My knees nearly buckled. “Fuck!”
Evan started laughing. I grabbed the edge of the couch, still holding the coin in my other hand. Kana’s photograph remained on his phone. I looked again. Another overwhelming reaction tore through me. “Stop showing me that!”
“I’m not making you look.”
He was right. I couldn’t stop. Old Grant screamed inside me. Fix it! New Grant stared at Kana. Look at her.
Another wave. My thoughts scattered. Old Grant tried to his wife. New Grant ed his. Old Grant wanted dignity. New Grant wanted lace. Old Grant wanted Evan out of the house. New Grant ed Evan standing over him.
My clitty tingled again.
Old Grant wanted normal. New Grant wanted everything. And every time my body overwhelmed me, old Grant seemed a little farther away. Do it now.
The coin was warm. Wish us back. I tried. “I wish...”
Kana smiled from Evan’s phone. My Kana. Evan sat across from me. My life. My humiliating, impossible, exciting life. Old Grant reached for the words. New Grant stole them.
“I wish I could live with Kana and Evan like this forever.”
My breath caught.
“Their little sissy cuck.”
The coin burned hot. Old Grant screamed. Then there was only me. I blinked. Evan was sitting across from me. His monster snake of a penis hanging out.
I looked down at the coin in my hand. Weird. Then back at Evan. My eyes lingered. Of course they did. My clitty gave another little happy tingle.
Evan noticed me staring. “If you want to see more, you better go upstairs and put your new purchases on.”
My face warmed.
He nodded toward the stairs. “Careful, though. Kana’s up there, and we know you can’t control yourself around her without your underwear.”
I looked toward the bags. Then upstairs. Kana. Shit. He had a point.
I grabbed everything and started climbing, already wondering what I should put on first. Black lace? The deep blue? Maybe one of the bralettes. Kana knew more about this stuff than I did.
Behind me, Evan said something.
“Fact. Grant has always been a huge pervert. He loves watching, loves being their sissy cuck, and has absolutely no filter when he gets worked up. The dirtier his thoughts get, the dirtier his mouth gets. And when he’s talking about it, he can barely keep his hands off his nipples or his little clitty.”
I stopped halfway up the stairs. “What?”
“Nothing.”
I stared down at him and Evan smiled. Weird. I turned back toward the stairs. Kana was waiting. My fingers brushed absently across my chest. Then pinched.
“Oh.”
That felt good. I kept climbing. I had a fashion show to put on.
By the time I reached the bedroom, I was genuinely excited. Not nervous. Excited. I pushed the door open with the bags hanging from my hands. “Kana?” She turned. And every intelligent thought I had disappeared.
She was standing near the dresser in what looked like a new outfit, apparently halfway through deciding what came next. Her eyes found the bags first. Then me. A smile spread across her face.
“Oh. Grant.”
Jesus fucking Christ. My hand instinctively drifted toward my chest.
Kana’s eyes narrowed. “What?”
“Nothing.” I pinched one nipple through my shirt. Her eyebrow rose. “Okay, not nothing. Your titties are fucking enormous.”
Silence. I blinked. Kana looked down at herself. Then back at me.
“Nani?”
“I said your...” I hesitated for approximately half a second. “Your titties. Holy shit, Kana. Look at those things. They look absolutely delicious.”
Kana recoiled a bit, a look of confusion but also acceptance. I pointed at her. “And don’t fucking laugh. You know exactly what you’re doing standing there with those things pushed out.”
“Those things?”
“Yes!”
She folded her arms beneath them. My brain short-circuited and a damp spot appeared through my pants. “Your body is just a cream dream, look. I’m never empty for you.”
Kana giggled that soft cute Japanese giggle, and I almost spent another load. God, I loved that giggle.
I held up the bags. “Anyway. I bought things.”
Her expression changed immediately.
“For you?”
“Obviously.”
She looked delighted. That made me weirdly proud.
I emptied everything across the bed while Kana sat nearby watching. What had seemed like an absurd amount in the store somehow looked even more impressive spread across the comforter: lace, satin, softer everyday pieces, bras, several colors I’d never imagined myself caring about before today.
“This one first.”
I picked up a black pair.
Kana tilted her head. “Why?”
“The cut.”
That came out immediately.
I stretched the waistband lightly between my fingers. “See? Higher on the hip. Makes the legs look longer. And this part...” I indicated the back. “Not too much fabric.”
Kana stared at me.
“What?”
“You know underwear.”
“Yeah.”
Since when? I looked down at the collection. Apparently since always. “Wait here.” I disappeared into the bathroom.
Changing felt different when someone was waiting to see the result.
I adjusted the black pair carefully, smoothing the waistband until it sat evenly across my hips. Then I looked at myself.
Huh. I shifted my weight. Better. One foot slightly forward. Knee relaxed. Hip outward. Where the hell had that come from? I tried the other side. Definitely the first one.
Then I straightened my shoulders, angled my body toward the mirror and placed one hand lightly against my hip.
“Oh.”
That looked...
Cute. Really cute.
I turned around to inspect the back. Maybe I needed to shave.
The thought arrived with startling certainty. Legs first. Probably chest too. Maybe everything. The underwear looked good already, but smoother skin would make the whole presentation cleaner.
And heels.
Why the fuck was I thinking about heels? I looked down at my legs. Actually...
“Grant?”
“Coming!”
I opened the door. Kana looked up.
I stopped in the doorway without meaning to, one hand resting against the frame. Then my weight shifted onto one leg and my other knee bent slightly inward.
Kana’s smile slowly widened.
I liked that. More than liked it.
I walked toward her, and halfway across the room something happened to my stride. Smaller steps. More movement through my hips. Nothing exaggerated enough to feel ridiculous, just an awareness of how the garment looked when I moved in it.
I stopped in front of her and turned. Not simply around. I actually fucking modeled it.
Three-quarter angle first. Weight onto my back leg. Hip out. A glance over my shoulder toward Kana. Then I turned through the other side, one hand briefly settling at my waist as though I’d practiced this a thousand times.
Kana’s mouth opened.
“What?”
She shook her head. “Just happy for you.”
I looked over my shoulder at myself.
“Shows off the ass pretty good, right?”
Kana smiled warmly again.
“What?!” I looked at my backside again.
“Grant...”
I turned toward her. My hand had returned to my nipple. I flicked and then pinched. “Mmm.”
Kana stared.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Then stop looking at me like that.”
“You are doing it.”
“Doing what?”
She gestured vaguely at all of me.
I smiled. Then, without thinking, I shifted my hips and posed again. Kana’s expression changed. That was approval. Oh, I liked approval.
“Wait. I have even better.”
I disappeared into the bathroom again. The next pair was satin. Those required a different presentation. I knew that somehow.
The black lace had been playful. This felt sleeker, so when I came back out I stood straighter, crossed one leg lightly in front of the other, and let one hand rest along my hip.
Kana’s eyebrows rose.
“Dō?”
“You ask me?”
“Obviously. You’re the expert.”
She looked me over.
“Cute.”
A ridiculous little burst of happiness hit me.
“Yeah?”
“Hai.”
I turned sideways.
“How about this?”
“Very cute.”
I turned farther.
“And the ass meat?”
“Grant!”
“What? You married it.”
She cringed at my language.
I grinned. This was fun. Actually, this was fucking great.
By the fourth outfit, I had stopped questioning where any of it came from. I knew how to stand. How to turn. How extending one leg changed the line of my body. How putting my weight onto one hip changed the silhouette. How a hand at the waist emphasized the pose while folding my arms ruined it.
I knew which pieces needed confidence and which looked better with something softer. I knew I wanted heels. Definitely heels. Maybe painted nails. Shaved legs. I pictured the whole thing and felt an excited little flutter.
Something about all of this should have embarrassed me. Instead, I felt fantastic.
I disappeared for the next outfit, then heard the bedroom door open while I was changing.
Evan.
“What’s going on?”
Kana answered. “Fashion show. Has Grant be acting weird today?”
I emerged. Evan stopped. Kana looked at him. Evan looked at me. I gave him a little turn.
“You like seeing your little cuck like this?”
He stared. Evan burst out laughing. “That is exactly how I like seeing my little cuck.”
My fingers found my nipple again. His words gave me pride. Evan noticed. His laughter got worse.
“What?”
“Nothing, Grant.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. Then Evan looked toward Kana. Something ed across his expression. He reached into his pocket. The coin. I didn’t notice. Kana did.
“Fact. Grant has always been this way. Kana doesn’t know why she fell in love with the pervert, but she did. She still loves him.”
Kana blinked. For half a second, something seemed to behind her eyes. Then she looked at me.
I was standing in women’s underwear with one hand on my hip and the other absentmindedly playing with my chest.
Her husband. Her ridiculous husband. Her filthy, nasty pervert. The man she’d fallen in love with anyway. Kana smiled. Not the hungry smile she gave Evan. Not the amused smile she’d been giving my fashion show. The other one. My smile. The same one I’d been chasing since high school. Something tightened in my chest. “What?”
She shook her head.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
“Grant daisuki yo, baka.”
I smiled.
“Yeah?”
“Hai.”
I walked over and kissed her forehead.
“I love you too.”
Then my eyes betrayed me and dropped.
“Also, your titties look fucking incredible from up here.” I reached down and gave one a squeeze.
Kana shoved me away. “Grant! You look only. No touch. vows!” She looked exasperated.
I understood. Right. The vows. No boobs, no ass. Twenty-three years and apparently I still needed reminding, but you can’t blame a guy for trying. I stumbled backward laughing.
Evan shook his head. “Unbelievable,” as he wrapped his arm around Kana, resting one hand on her tit with a little squeeze.
For a moment, it felt strangely normal. Whatever normal meant in this house anymore. Then Kana looked at Evan. And the atmosphere changed. I recognized that look immediately. Yesterday, I might have waited to be told what came next. Tonight, I didn’t need instructions.
I gathered the discarded clothes from the bed, carried them toward the chair, and settled into my place nearby with considerably more enthusiasm than dignity.
Kana noticed.
“So excited.”
“Hell yeah.”
She shook her head. “Pervert. Keep panties on. No cumming until told to.”
“I’m YOUR pervert.”
That earned another laugh. I leaned back, comfortable. Happy, even.
Kana and Evan moved closer together while the bedroom settled into the warm dimness of evening. Their voices softened. Kana laughed at something he whispered. I watched the familiar chemistry take over and felt the old cocktail of emotions stirring inside me: love, jealousy, fascination, embarrassment, excitement.
Except tonight I wasn’t fighting any of it. My fingers drifted toward my chest and clitty. I caught myself. Paused. Then shrugged and let them continue. Evan glanced toward me. I grinned.
“Hey. Before we start. I need a fluff.”
Kana looked over too, demanding that I fulfill my role.
I blew her a kiss and licked my lips suggestively before hopping on the bed and starting to suck and lick Evan’s glorious penis to full erection.
She smiled. There it was again. My smile.
Whatever else had changed, whatever bizarre shape our marriage had taken, I still knew that smile.
I settled back into my corner after Evan shoved me off the bed. He was so strong. I was envious. Then I rubbed my clitty hard.
Tomorrow I was going shopping… again.