"I had one of those dreams again sweetheart" I heard from my perplexed husband, his words sounding like more of a confession than relating some horrific nightmare though. I called him my husband, and everybody in our circle of friends called him this too, but the truth of the matter was that we had never officially married, and for business purposes I therefore retained my family surname too.
"The one where I'm out with Rob from accounting at the restaurant, and you're our bumbling waiter?" I asked. It was a dream with a lot of suggestive promise, one that even turned me on as all the ladies at the office, to include myself, had a thing for the new guy Rob. But more importantly, the concept of my dating Rob apparently turned my husband on in some measure too; enough to even dream about it. Sometimes in these dreams of his I was dressed in my business attire, and other times something more tantalising and slinky that I didn't even own. In each of them though there was an apparent theme of incompetence in whatever my husband was doing for us, all as he served us - or attempted to - in his anonymous humility.
"No… ah… not exactly," my husband confessed sheepishly. "In this one you and he were out on his boat, with another older couple, it was impossibly vivid with details too…"
"Really? Well I don't think Rob even has a boat, but do go on sweetheart" I commanded, my curiosity now piqued, and I in my mind now determined to find out if he in fact did have a boat. We all ate lunch together at the office, as I, and some of the other ladies, shamelessly flirted with him, so I thought he having any kind of boat would have come up in conversation at some point. He was a nice guy and playfully flirted back, nothing to get us in trouble with HR or anything, but what we were doing was obviously welcome, and likely good for his ego too.
…I had read a book on prescient dreams for a psych class once, and some of the cases presented in that book were hard to explain rationally; if one believes the author's account. So, that being said, there was precedent for this kind of thing, but what to do if Rob actually had a boat; see if my husband's dream boat matched the real one?
"Oh, I didn't know that… but it gets even weirder from there, trust me" my husband tells me.
"Well anyway, this boat, the one in my dream, it had to be at least fifty feet long, with a big blue stripe down its side. The strangest part, well one of the strangest parts anyway, was the name on the boat, it in gold letter script across it's transom: "Jackie's toy."
"Now I know you're making this up, why would Rob put MY name on HIS boat, and where the hell would he get that kind of money? Something like that has to cost a fortune."
"Maybe some rich aunt of his kicked the bucket, and he wanted to impress the hottest woman in the office?" He complimented.
"It's just a dream, how should I know how he paid for his dream yacht, let alone how both you, and your name, got on it?"
"Good point, but please go on, or is that all there is?" I caught up in the nuance of his words and wondering at what point a "boat" was properly called a "yacht."
"There's way more, but it gets stranger yet. Rob and the other man there are wearing shorts and Hawaiian shirts like you might expect, the others wearing bikinis, specifically string bikinis. You looked awesome in yours by the way" my husband tells me with some measure of pride, "and the other woman looked very well put together in hers too, although she looks like she's older, maybe fiftyish or so, around the same age as the other man, so I assume those two are together, like husband and wife maybe. This man had very black hair that was grey-white around his ears, I remember it vividly because it looked very Perry White-ish to me… you know, the editor of the Daily Planet from the Superman comic book series."
"That's a pretty specific detail, but as to the other part, it's not a big stretch of imagination to have me and the other woman wearing a bikini on Rob's boat, certainly not in your kinky dreams at any rate. Did you recognize the other couple, I mean who they actually were? Or, for that matter, were YOU even there this time?" I asked.
"I didn't recognize them, and I got the feeling that they didn't know me either, or maybe they didn't care one way or the other who I really was to you, but most of these types of dreams seem to follow this pattern. But, to answer your specific question, yes, I was there too… kind of."
"Kind of? Now you're making me very curious" I told my suddenly tentative husband, my female intuition on full guard.
"I was serving all four of you as Rob drove his boat someplace, there was a definite destination we were heading to, not just joy riding around on the ocean… Well, this just occurred to me, but perhaps it wasn't the ocean at all, maybe it was just a large lake someplace? Well anyway, I was… well I told you this was strange" my husband stalled. "I was also wearing a string bikini, hot pink in my case, and all four of you were treating me as if this was the most normal thing in the world, as if I looked passable; dressed like a bikini waitress on some cruise ship or something."
"Wow, you're NOT making this up, are you?" I asked, he wearing my panties on a dare once to work not all that long ago, he even confessed that he was hard most of that day because of them. It was a playful and fun dare, and he was even open minded that way, but his dream - if true - told me that there might be more to this "interest" of his than meets the eye. In all fairness we had gone on a cruise once, and there had been several bikini waitresses on board, and yes, they did look quite good all tanned up and carrying their drink trays out to the pool and lounge area, so this could even be where that specific element of his dream came from.
…Some might see their service as demeaning, and I was torn on this myself, but they were adults, using what they were born with to earn some money, and possibly even finance their education, so in the big scheme of things it didn't bother me. Did my husband, deep down, see this as demeaning though, and is this why he had dreamt that he was our feminized bikini waitress, onboard Rob's big boat, the one curiously with my name on it?
"No, I'm not, it was very hot, but obviously strange too though," he tells me, but even with this statement I don't know that I completely believe him. Maybe, maybe this dream isn't a real dream at all, but a dream he wishes to be real, so that he can try out more than just my panties, on more than just a simple lost bet dare just between us two? It takes courage to ask for such things though, and the fear of rejection must surely figure in there someplace too. I don't even know that I WANT to encourage such things, but what other man would confess that he has recurring dreams about his wife dating other men, all as he served them in bumbling humility; feminized, or otherwise?
"Is there more?" I asked, trying to keep the skepticism out of my tone. He was ordinarily impossibly honest though - about big things - it was in fact this character trait that had led me to him in the first place. His predecessor - a very handsome and charming man that I had been planning actual marriage with - cheated his way right out of my life one weekend with a close friend, and I was determined not to make that same mistake again with any man. I didn't want to necessarily be "actually married" as a result any longer, the whole episode soured me to the concept; although I had no problem with monogamy at all. It was predictable, and this way my "husband" would have to try hard to stay in my good graces every single day of his entire life; lest I toss him out one day and find another I joked in my mind silently, knowing I would never do such a thing in real life. He, of course, knew this too, we had a real bond with each other, just no rings and matching last names to go with it…
"No, I woke up" he tells me with some irritation, adding to the credibility of his story in my eyes.
"You know that with what I went through once, there is like no way on earth that I could ever cheat on you," I tell him quite sincerely, flirting with Rob at lunch aside. Fun and kinky erotic dreams were one thing, and Rob was an obvious catch, physically speaking at least, but my husband had to know that I wouldn't really do something with Rob - even if given the opportunity - that would ever threaten our happy life. My guy was a catch too, and impossibly loyal, and I had already decided to spend the rest of my life with him, in theory at least, although our bonds weren't necessarily legal ones.
"It didn't feel like cheating to me, in my dream I mean" he tells me more seriously.
"What did it feel like then?" I ask. In my husband's dreams there was never any sex either, romantic dinners and dancing, leading up to perhaps a night of passion by implication of a single shared and tender kiss at the end of the night, but not in steamy under the covers detail. I don't necessarily dream about actually having sex myself though, at least ordinarily, so this again adds credibility to his tale.
"It felt like a game, like a playful lost bet, or even a dare like the panty dare. It therefore wasn't real and serious, but more playful and fun. I was having fun as your waitress, and you guys were having fun too. One other thing though, and this got my attention, the registration numbers on the bow, they weren't in the ordinary sequence of numbers like on a normal boat, at least not one from around here."
He then tells me the numbers, and I repeat them back, and then write them down. They look familiar to me once on paper, not necessarily the numbers themselves, but the sequence of them. I then showed him what I had written, and he confirmed their accuracy, dream-wise. There is something in both his tone, and the specific rich details of his particular dream that tells me to do this, but I don't know exactly what it is just yet, just call it female intuition.
…I look at those numbers several times over the course of that day, and then play a hunch on the way home, buying those exact numbers on a mega lottery ticket when I buy my coffee… I end up doing this once a week for months, the routine so predictable that the clerk at my local convenience store almost knows them by heart too. It's an extra three dollars a week with the mega ball, and I can afford to lose that, so this is no hardship. In the dream book I had read, the numbers presented in your dreams sometimes had significance, but people didn't usually capitalize on them for any number of real world reasons, only realizing their folly well after the fact.
After the first few weeks I even stopped checking my tickets, just letting them build up in my glove box. I don't think I've missed too many weeks either, maybe one or two for various reasons over the course of several months. It seems a silly thing to keep doing so, this long after that dream of his, and I don't share my odd little habit with anybody for fear of ridicule, not even my own husband.
…Several months later, after a perfectly ordinary Wednesday night dinner that we have both made together in the kitchen - possibly our last ever "normal" meal together - we sit in front of the TV to watch the last part of the local evening news, as is our custom. It seems the local convenience store that I always go to for my morning coffee had sold the single big prize multi-state winning lottery ticket weeks earlier, and the local news crew is interviewing the owner of the store who is quite happy, because not only will this bring in more business for him, but that he gets fifty thousand dollars for selling the winning ticket. I think it must have been a slow news day for them to run something like this, until I see the amount, some lone ticket winner is suddenly very rich, like life-ruining rich. I didn't know that the lottery people even did such a thing, but I think it's wonderful that they do, and I remarked to my guy about it.
I'm still not thinking about my own lottery tickets at this point, right up until the winning numbers scroll across the bottom of the TV picture, in what I now know they call a chyron. I feel my heart stop beating and I feel like I'm about to get sick, and my guy laughs at my expression.
"The funny part is that some of those look like the numbers from my boat dream, the ones on the bow" he tells me, as if my blank expression is telling him that I need the clarity of such a statement. I assume that he's forgotten all the numbers from that one strange dream, but I haven't, having written them down that morning and then playing them week after week… after week; they burned into my brain. I have a little card with those same numbers colored in with a pencil that I almost always use too, so I'm extra sure I know those numbers, I can even see that well worn card in my mind's eye, as if I'm holding it.
"All of those numbers match" I tell him much more calmly than I should be feeling on the inside, I'm still in a state of shock. "I didn't tell you because I thought you would tease me, but I've been playing those same numbers for months" I tell him, I'm still far more calm on the outside than I should be, as if this is some strange dream of my own.
"Really?"
"I think we've just won the big prize jackpot!"
"I think YOU'VE just won the big prize jackpot" he corrects…
"…What's mine is yours, you know that sweetheart" I correct gently, I don't have one selfish bone in my entire body, and he ordinarily knows this. We pool our salaries in a common checkbook, I don't hide money from him, and I doubt he does from me either. I haven't been a millionaire for three seconds and already money seems a problem - for him - and this blessing seems more a curse suddenly. I have heard people get weird with money, certainly Hollywood is full of such people, and I want no part of that for myself…
"Just hear me out please…"
…A year or so later I'm an unemployed multimillionaire with a new address, although I'm far closer to being an actual billionaire than a mere millionaire. But, before anonymously claiming my large prize I first hired a good accountant, who happens to be single and very handsome too, all at my husband's insistence. To my husband; Rob and my success go hand in hand, he was after all a major player in the dream that helped make me obscenely wealthy, but I would also find out a little later on that there is even more to this "dream" of his - and other subsequent ones as well - that necessitates Rob's particapition.
Rob in turn suggested a good lawyer he knows, there being legal ways to keep more of my winnings myself, as opposed to sharing them with the tax man, or others with even more nefarious intent. Rob knows all about growing one's assets too, and he has a vested personal interest now in growing mine, although that part gets a little complicated. I've had to spend a fair amount of time one on one with Rob, and we've grown quite close, but I can't go there with him just yet, although a part of me surely wants to.
He wants to as well, I can feel it, but he's pacing himself. This isn't just about sex, and with everything going on in my life recently I don't have all that much time, nor desire for such, but that's likely a short term thing. Good things happening can sexually excite you, but stress, even the stress of great fortune, can do just the opposite. I didn't think it would go this way at all, but here we are…
I can't honestly say that I ever dreamed of being rich, not like this anyway, it feels so unearned, undeserved too. They were my husband's dream numbers anyway, so this is doubly so for me, but he has a different dream of his own, one that I have trouble getting my head wrapped around to be honest; one in which he serves me like a slave for his entire life for no compensation at all. He yearns to do this with every fiber of his being, but there is even more to this "dream" of his, and I now have the material wealth to easily do this for "him," although I'm still reluctant. It really doesn't require all that much money in the big scheme of things, only courage, and unwavering commitment on his part, and risk too. By design I'll have no "skin" in this little adventure of his - that I truthfully still think is ill advised - but how can I possibly say no to the man who has made me rich beyond imagination, with nothing more than a detail rich kinky dream of implied adultery?
His service will include others too, it'll have to if things go as he apparently wants, and I've explained how I see this shaking out in the long term, from my perspective, and I've shared the perils that psychologists have shared with me. It's the steep one way price he's apparently still willing to pay for his own dream, although it takes me months to agree to it in concept. I wanted to be sure that this is no strange passing desire that he'll regret one day when it's too late to go back, reverting to the peril I fear. I don't even know what inside him compels him to be so self-sacrificing, but I'm trying to understand it in my own way, come to terms with it for my own conscience, all while still being supportive.
At the same time I don't know if Rob will actually turn out to be "the one" that second "intimate life companion," but my first will almost certainly always be there for me with the specific steps I have agreed to take on his behalf, so with this to anchor me I feel confident enough to take an emotional risk on Rob. If it doesn't work out I can always throw Rob to the proverbial curb, or retain him as an employee only, but this dream of my husband's requires a special man to see it through, and then live with it twenty-four-seven after that.
Rob has a character flaw after all, not one most people would mind though, it's just that he's as nice as pie, and my "husband" thinks he'll likely require a more heavy hand at some point in this adventure of his, and we just don't know if Rob can be that kind of a man. Rob will have to take on the role of the dominant alpha, at least between us three, again, this is in keeping with a second dream that my husband has had. We just don't know if he's up to it, but if he actually is, the rewards are potentially great. This in itself is complicated, because I have discovered that I like being the master of my own destiny, so while Rob will try out the family unit alpha male figure role, it's still my money, and my destiny. It's a tough act for any man, and I don't know if Rob can be that man, or if any man can be that man.
Not to be too selfish and self serving, but a woman has needs, physical needs, and my "husband" soon won't be able to meet those in any sort of traditional manner. He hasn't in months anyway, for a whole host of reasons, ever since we had his breasts done and the hormones started, but I just can't look at him with those perfect looking things on his hairless naked chest and feel anything even close to amourous. Rob on the other hand is one hundred percent all man, charming, handsome, and even available, but as of yet I haven't taken the plunge to invite him into my bed, and I don't intend to until my other little problem is taken care of, "nipped in the bud" one could even darkly say.
I don't think my newly breasted husband will back out at this late hour, but if he should I have it in my mind to still keep charming Rob in one role or another. He knows what's going on, and at least the general outline of what my husband really wants as an end game, but to his credit he hasn't pushed for this next step to happen, despite the self serving nature of such efforts for himself; the permanent removal of the only other rooster in the proverbial hen house. He gets points with me for this though, and I think he realizes this. He also gets a clear conscience, and that's a long term mature way of looking at such things, but this entire situation is new to the three of us.
… At some point Rob's going to have to "man up" just a little, but I think he, just like myself, is just waiting for the big day. Boobs and hormones are one thing, and even reversible, but this next thing my half-feminized husband is to have done isn't, it's a true one way trip into the unknown, although this has actually been done often enough as a criminal deterrent in third world countries that there is precedent for this "procedure." I had even entertained the thought of having it done in one of those places on the cheap, and had I the desire to see this through in a more budget friendly way I would have, but thanks to my husband's dream-supplied vast fortune, that just isn't necessary…
…The girls in the office would likely be both aghast and jealous if they knew what I had done, both with the men, and my winning lottery ticket. I didn't tell anybody what had happened, I just tendered my sudden resignation and thanked my employer for the opportunities. Rob did the same a month later, to keep up appearances, and I had asked him to keep quiet on the reasoning as well, but I had no actual way to be sure that he had.
Boat shopping had been fun, and my husband was charged with getting the one that most exactly fit his precise dream, down to the dual master staterooms, big blue stripe, and my name in gold on the transom. There were more humble accommodations for the captain and just a bunk for the mate, the latter role my husband to take on, again in keeping with his dream of feminized subservient service. He's fixated on these little details, almost insanely so, but he has also confided that he has had other dreams since, also very real and detail rich, and in those he isn't wearing a bikini while serving my guests and I. In those he's a male, equal and at my side, but terrible things happen, and by implication I believe that they're happening to me, and not necessarily to him. I want to ask him the specifics, but I am told that just talking about them gives him the fear that they will come to fruition. I've also told him that I'll take my chances, but he's made it clear that he won't.
I would ordinarily discount such things as mildly insane, or at the very least wealth driven accentrics, but I have become a true believer in his dream prescience, I have well over three quarters of a billion reasons to be one. And Rob is already growing that obscene sum further, my large ranch and home, and more humble second home in the mountains, and even my new yacht, purchased with just investment income on my original winnings. A woman in my position needs servants anyway logical reasoning tells me, and ones that work for free and desire to do so for life are just wonderful too. I'll still cook if I feel like it, but if I never scrubbed another toilet, or never did laundry one more time, that would be okay too. She'll watch out for my best interests like no other, getting something from this that on the surface still seems insane to me, but what's that old saying? "Never look a gift horse in the mouth."
We have met together with the doctors to discuss this next procedure, and then the psychologists to make extra sure that this is something "he" really wants to do. There are forms to sign too, removing all involved from any liability associated with this procedure. Such wouldn't prevent a determined lawyer from taking the case anyway, should "he" change his mind at some later date, but I have agreed to post a bond to cover the liability, or in this case the perceived liability, as I know this to be a one way trip into the unknown. I have chosen the doctor well though, a female urologist on her third marriage, this procedure not necessarily without precedent, but uncommon enough outside of a third world country's legal system's punishment for sexual crimes.
While maybe considered barbaric in "modern" countries, such procedures certainly "cut down," if you'll pardon the dark pun, on that kind of offender, and certainly eliminates repeat offenders completely. As I had said, this was to be a one way trip, and my stated preference was to have him continue to tuck and tape his guy stuff for a bit longer after his boob job, or perhaps even lock it up in a quality chastity device first, just to be sure this is what he wanted as an end game.
That wouldn't be in keeping with his dream though, and there was an obvious difference between having something and not using it, and not having it at all, or so he had argued. Time was a consideration here as well, although he was just a little vague on the exact reasoning for that, but there was a definite deadline in his mind for this "procedure" to be completed by.
…I couldn't dissuade him from this desire though, and Rob wasn't exactly trying to help either; for obvious reasons of his own he was neutral in all this. In my mind I still had a husband though - even though legally he wasn't - and would continue to, right up until he got chopped. Then Rob and I would have to perhaps reevaluate our relationship…
…Our female urologist on her third husband didn't think my request was any more odd than my husband's first; that of course being a full removal of his male organs, leaving him smoothly flat fronted and anything but masculine looking. If this had been a more traditional gender reassignment, there were other things that would be done with the organs in question, but this wasn't my husband's ultimate dream. He didn't want to be a functioning woman, just have the vague flat-fronted appearance of one in a bikini. Form without function, as it were.
"Sit to pee" would be his new nickname, and his former man hardware would adorn my ornate desk in a jar of embalming fluid for the rest of his life, or is that her life? It might sound cruel, but that was part of his dream too.
the psychologists had also told us that at some point after her surgery she would be looking for something, some sexual relief that just wouldn't be possible any longer, at least in any traditional manner. Her new chemistry would have her looking elsewhere for this in all likelihood, as the mind would still crave something, and a sexual response of some kind was still possible, but how exactly that would be achieved varied subject to subject.
"Other" men would almost certainly be involved though, even though she hadn't expressed even the slightest interest in any to date. With his new boobs and longer hair she was already attracting that kind of attention, her closet entirely feminine now, but how much of this was wanted, or how much of this was due to hormones was unclear to me. I don't know if she had thought this through to its logical conclusion, or if the presence of so much money had affected her reasoning, even though she insisted from the start that it was mine. I would have even given him half and told him to have a good life that night, if that was what he really wanted, but it wasn't.
He wanted to instead serve me like a feminized slave for the rest of his life, and I was about to let him. He was wearing me down with his endless pleading requests until I finally gave in. I was actually angry with him when I had scheduled his breast augmentation, and I was feeling that way again, on his very last day as a man, I'm ashamed to also say. He, or is that she, had a deadline though, one she didn't share, but one she was working towards like it was her only thing in life.
…Six months or so later we're all healed up and taking a little trip on my yacht, it's Rob and I, and our lawyer Avery, and his wife Nadeen. She's a former model oddly enough, but Avery is a very good lawyer, and she's his trophy wife. This trip is both business, and pleasure, there being some documents to sign for a new venture of mine, and a posh dinner to attend later that night. My boat is more properly called a yacht, it's luxurious, and it was expensive too, but well within my means now.
According to our brand new serving girl Kathy, it's as exact a representation of what was at one time only a dream as can be had, but the registration numbers are not my winning numbers either. It would have been fun to work that part out, but the government people were firm on the format of the numbers they issued, no exceptions. It didn't necessarily make sense to advertise that somebody was on board with that kind of wealth either, less somebody have kidnapping and ransom on their minds.
"Kathy" is a new addition to our little group, but not really, she's just a new version of something near and dear to my heart, the initial source of my vast and growing wealth. The only reason we chose Kathy as her new name was that we didn't know any between us, her old male name printed on a jar in my office and never to be used again. That might sound needlessly cruel, but it was also part of the dream.
And Avery does look strikingly like Clark Kent's editor, not that I need any confirmation at this late hour; after all, everybody has a dream…