Womanhood - Husband Feminized By His Wife - Part 2

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When we woke up on Saturday morning, I lay there in my t-shirt and pants and reflected on the changes that had happened in my life over the past few months. Today was going to be another big change. Jill instructed me to get up and have a shower and shave my legs and armpits again. After I had dried myself and moisturized, she then had me sit at the dressing table in my bra, panties, and tights while she blow-dried and brushed my hair, which I hadn't cut for ages due to my increasing reluctance to leave the house.

She then had me try on a whole load of her clothes and even sorted her wardrobe into clothes that would fit me and clothes that wouldn't. Eventually, she stuck on a dress that she felt suited me. As I stood there wearing it, she passed me a box. Opening it up I found a pair of shoes with a low heel.  "I know your feet are too big for my shoes, so I bought you some yesterday. I hope they fit."  Slipping my nylon-clad feet inside, they fit perfectly.

Jill then had me sit at the dressing table to do some light makeup and gave me a necklace and bracelet to wear. Looking in the mirror, I was impressed with the result. I did definitely look feminine. After lunch, Jill suggested we go out, but I was reluctant to go out in daylight as I wasn't used to this. Jill relented, understanding my reluctance, but as soon as it got dark she did persuade me to go out for a drive. I nervously scampered to and from the car, but the drive was uneventful even though the sense of risk was palpable. We fell into the house giggling like schoolchildren and had another night of passion.  On Sunday Jill dressed me again, and this time took the time to paint my nails, toes, and fingers!

She was really keen for me to go out in daylight and made every effort to make me look as feminine as possible, even having me practice sitting, walking, and even eating. After much protesting, I eventually relented and again we went for a drive, this time to a remote viewpoint. Despite the fact that we were miles from anywhere we knew, and I was wearing her big sunglasses to help disguise my face, I still felt nervous as I got out of the car.

The first thing I noticed was the breeze on my nylon-clad legs. As we walked to a bench where we could see the view she held my hand and we talked.  "Why are you doing this?" I asked.  "What do you mean?"  "Dressing me up and taking me out like this."  "Well, you told me yourself you were becoming increasingly self-conscious about going out with the breast growth. I thought if we dressed you up so you at least looked feminine and I came with you, you could get some fresh air and we could spend some time together.

The other option is surgery to remove the breast growth, but you remember what the doctor said, it is likely to go once the baby is born, something to do with my hormones. Let's just enjoy the moment."  "That's easy for you to say, you're not sitting there dressed in women's clothes, well you are, but that's not the point, you know what I mean."  "I do understand this is hard for you, but didn't I find you wearing my skirt and blouse the other day? Aren't you even a little bit curious?" I couldn't disagree. Although she had bought me the underwear, she hadn't asked me to dress in her clothes, to begin with. I started that.

We enjoyed the rest of the walk and had a lovely evening together. I had to agree it had been nice to get out of the house.  Jill was back at work the following day working her last few weeks before maternity leave started. Despite everything that had happened during the weekend, I was reluctant to continue dressing as a woman by myself, and, other than a bra to support my breasts, I spent the days inside wearing male clothes. It did look a bit ridiculous on the first day until I found the nail varnish remover. Whenever Jill returned from work to find me dressed in male mode, she tried to hide her disappointment but was always supportive in understanding my situation.

We made a couple more ventures outside, and each time it got a little easier, but it was still uncomfortable, despite Jill's efforts to encourage and support me.  Month Eight  As time passed, two things continued to grow, Jill's bump and my breasts so when we were invited to her work's Christmas Vicars and Tarts party, it was obvious who would be the vicar and who would be the tart. To put a medieval twist on things, Jill decided that we would go as Friar Tuck and Maid Marian.

I was understandably reluctant, after all, I had not met many of her work colleagues before. However, at least this time they would all know I was a man and wouldn't be expecting anything else. It did take a lot of persuasion, but eventually, I agreed. Jill sourced the costumes and on the evening of the party, she spent most of the time sorting me out.

The dress had a high neck so people wouldn't see my cleavage but she applied heavy stage makeup, overdoing it a little, and styled my hair to look a little medieval. Her outfit was much easier, a monk's robe and a tonsure wig. We looked at the right pair as we looked at ourselves in the bedroom mirror. I still felt very nervous about going out dressed as such, but at least it was a fancy dress party!

I tried to stay with Jill for most of the evening, particularly as she introduced me to her work colleagues as her partner, but there were times when we got separated, and on some of those occasions I did end up getting uncomfortably close to some of the men there. I found the disabled toilet which gave me an opt-out for choosing the male or female toilets and made the whole evening much more comfortable, and by the time Jill decided it was time to go, I had had an enjoyable, if the tiring evening. Back home, there was the unusual sight of a friar undressing a maiden, but we collapsed into bed, too tired for any hanky panky.

Apparently, we were the talk of the party, and, despite our early departure, had won the prize for the best costumes, a meal for two at a fancy local hotel. All the positive feedback from Jill’s peers definitely made me feel more comfortable with going out dressed, and just in time.  Month Nine  As we moved into the last month of Jill’s pregnancy, we needed to start attending ante-natal sessions. There was no way I could go as a man because the breast growth was too obvious so the only solution was to attend as a woman, as Jill’s birthing partner.

Jill explained the situation to the doctor who was hosting the sessions, the same one who had seen me previously. He was surprised by our decision but on meeting me en femme and examining my breast growth he said he understood and agreed it made sense.  The sessions were nerve-wracking because of the other expecting mothers who were attending with their partners. Many of the partners were women. The few men present were lauded for the dedication and the absent fathers were derided. Jill did her best to defend me in my ‘absence’ but it was difficult.

The last few days we were on tenterhooks the whole time, not knowing when Jill would go into labor. This wasn’t so bad in that we had everything ready and we had decided that we would go with a home birth, partially as Jill didn’t really like hospitals, but she had also conceded that it would be less stressful for me.  At long last Jill went into labour. I called the midwife, filled the birthing pool, and put on my tightest t-shirt to restrain my breasts and then my baggiest jumper to cover them.

From my perspective the birth went well, Jill may not have agreed at the time, but after sharing stories with other mothers later, she realized it had gone well. After a surprisingly short labor, the midwife handed me our baby daughter as she cleaned Jill up. I was overjoyed that everything was going smoothly and tears filled my eyes as I welcomed Amelia into the world. However, as she started crying her first cries, I felt a surprising sensation down my front, dampness. I wondered if it was me crying or her making a mess of me, but that wasn’t it.

The dampness continued to grow but there wasn’t really anything I could do about it. Once the midwife was finished and gone, I passed Amelia to Jill for her first feed and stripped off my jumper. Underneath my t-shirt was soaking around the nipple area. I was lactating!  “Wow, that’s amazing,” Jill said. “Here, sit down and see if she will take it from you.”

So I sat down next to Jill and she handed me our daughter so I could breastfeed her. She took it!  “That’s interesting,” Jill said, “We’ll have to discuss that with the doctor tomorrow.”  “What do you mean,” I asked.  “Well, we have to go and register Amelia’s birth tomorrow and get her checked up. We can get the doctor to check you over as well.”  So, once again, the following day I had to get dressed up to see the doctor.

I wore some of Jill’s breastfeeding pads inside my bra to ensure there was no leakage. At least he was used to seeing me in this state by now and he always praised my dedication as a parent.  Amelia was absolutely fine and the birth was signed off. It seemed strange for me to undo my blouse and bra exposing my breasts to another man, but he had to check. He was able to confirm that indeed I was lactating. He got me to squeeze one of my breasts to ‘express’ some milk which he checked and then confirmed that there was no reason why I shouldn’t feed Amelia.

He reassured me that this, while unusual, was not without precedent. Medical advice suggested that breastfeeding should continue during the first six months of a baby’s life. He suggested to both of us that having both parents lactating would make it less stressful for one partner and that to encourage continued lactation we should take a supplement called Pregnacare which would ensure neither of us ‘dried up’ and that the quality of the milk was good.

Again he said that he advised against surgery at this stage and suggested continuing as we were for the next six months. Having been expecting today to be the end of the breast-growing process, it had just been extended six months.  As we left the doctor’s, Jill held my hand tightly. “Darling, if you are really desperate we can sort you out of the surgery, even though he advised against it.  “Much as I would like to say yes,” I responded, “I did promise to help out and he did strongly advise against it.”

“Thank you, my dear,” she said, turning to me and giving me a kiss. “As we need to pop to the shops to get some of this Pregnacare, perhaps we should also get you a couple of your own nursing bras.”  Month Ten  About a month after Amelia was born, we had settled into a bit of a routine, as both Jill and I were lactating, we took it in turns to feed her, with me tending to do the night shift. This was so that when she was ready it would be easier for my wife to return to work which she duly did. I was still shy about leaving the house and rarely went out without her.

It was always such a relief when she came home as it meant I had someone else to talk to. Amelia was lovely but wasn’t great company.  Jill went back to work on a part-time basis. She wanted to go back full-time straight away, but the company had a policy of a phased return to work. She was soon up to three days a week, but still had two days off during the week, and it was one of those that surprised me.  “I have a surprise for you, darling,” she said as I sat feeding Amelia, “A treat!”

I was curious and asked for more details.  “Well, the last few months have been a bit stressful for you but you have responded so well and worked so hard to make everything work for Amelia and me despite the changes that you’ve gone through, that I thought you could do with some ‘me time’. I’ve booked you in for a spa day, a day of pampering.”  “Are you sure,” I asked, “I mean, it’s not like I fit into any version of ordinary at the moment.”

“Don’t worry, darling,” she said, reassuring me. “The venue is high class and very discrete, all you need to do is turn up and relax, and everything will be laid on for you. I have packed a bag for you with some of the stuff you will need, including a swimming costume, all you need to do once you’ve finished feeding Amelia is get dressed. I suggest something simple like a blouse and skirt.”  “Are you going to send me out by myself?” I said, concerned, “You know how I feel about that.”  “Don’t worry, I will drop you off and pick you up. It will be fine.”

I tried to protest, but as soon as I finished feeding Amelia and put her down, Jill fussed around me making sure I had matching bra and panties on, tights, a skirt, a blouse, and some simple makeup. She quickly combed out my hair and put it into a ponytail, then handed me my pumps and a small hold-all. We had been out together before with me en femme, but it still felt weird, in fact despite the fact that it was several months since she had first bought me feminine clothing, the whole thing was still strange.  After a short-ish drive, we drove up a long drive and pulled up outside a large house.

Amelia was still asleep in the car so Jill suggested we got out quietly and left her in there while she dropped me off. Inside, we were greeted at Reception and Jill announced that she was dropping off ‘Samantha’ for her pre-booked spa day. The Receptionist smiled and asked me to sign in. Then Jill kissed me goodbye.  “See you later darling,” she said. “Have a nice day. Enjoy yourself.” Then she was gone.

I turned sheepishly to the Receptionist, truly nervous.  “Here’s your program for the day,” she said, handing me a pamphlet. “You will have a room at your disposal throughout your stay with us to use as you will. Your room is number 24. Your appointment is with the beautician in about five minutes. Let me show you where to go.”  As we walked along the corridor, she showed me where the beautician was and then where my room was.  “Do you think you can find your way back to the beautician easily enough?” When I responded affirmatively, she continued, “In that case, I will leave you to your own devices.

Usually, they prefer it if you turn up in a bathrobe with just your panties on underneath,” she continued, opening the door for me, “You will find the bathrobe on the end of the bed with a pair of mules,” she said, pointing, “Do you need anything else?”  “I don’t think so,” I responded and she left me, smiling.  As the door closed behind her I felt really odd. Had my wife known what was in store for me? I decided to trust her and stripping off down to my panties, I slipped on the bathrobe, grateful that I had chosen panties with a firming front. Tying the bathrobe around my waist, I slipped my feet into the mules, put the room key in my pocket, and found my way back to the beautician.

My appointment with the beautician was for a full body wax; legs, arms, back, and armpits, she even shaped my eyebrows which was new to me. By the time she had finished, I was in pain all over and was somewhat relieved when she said that next on my program was some time in the pool. As I walked back to my room I wondered if she had noticed what was inside my panties. If she had, she hadn’t said. Back in the room, I opened the bag.

There were a few packages and an envelope in there alongside a swimsuit. I picked out the envelope and noticed that on the front it read ‘Do not open this or the packages until after you have had lunch.’ Trusting to my wife’s plans, I took off my panties and popped the swimsuit on, grateful for the way in which the little skirt around the waist disguised my manhood while the padding supported my breasts. Slipping the bathrobe back over, I headed for the pool.  While I was in the pool I was largely left to my own devices. I swam a bit and spent some time in the sauna and the Jacuzzi.

There were a couple of other ladies there and I wondered whether they spotted anything different about me. I tried to spot if there was anything different about them but I couldn’t. We chatted briefly and it was all quite relaxing. Before long, my time in the pool was up, and the assistant directed me straight to the masseuse for my next treatment. It felt strange to still be wearing the swimming costume, but the masseuse said I was going to need a shower afterward anyway.

I had the most thorough massage imaginable; legs, arms, shoulders (which involved slipping the straps of my swimsuit down my shoulders), and even a head massage. By the time I had finished, I felt utterly relaxed. I thanked the masseuse who suggested that if I went back to my room, I would just about have time for a shower before my lunch arrived. In fact, I was in the shower when I heard room service come in, but by the time I had finished rinsing my hair before getting out of the shower, they had gone, leaving a chilled half bottle of medium white wine and a Caesar salad. As I sat down to eat my lunch with the bathrobe wrapped around me, I opened the letter from my wife.

‘I do hope you are enjoying your treat. It’s just a little something to thank you for everything you have done and are doing. I know you might not have chosen the last few months to turn out the way they have, but I do value everything you are sacrificing at the moment. I realize this might not necessarily be the way you would choose to spend a day, but I really do encourage you to relax and not worry. Everything about today is to thank you in a way that I believe is going to help you through this situation.’