3. Disguised
For the next several days, I walked funny and spoke with a raspy throat from the nightstick mouth-raping. Brittany didn't even notice. Or, if she did, she didn't care.
What was worse was that I couldn't get an erection without it bringing up the memory of the whole incident with the two abusive officers. Any time I touched myself, the feeling of that black cop's fingers plowing into my asshole shot to the forefront of my mind and ruined it for me. And, for some reason, any time I thought of the incident... Of the white female officer abusing me verbally and physically, of the black officer holding me down and finger-banging me with the full force of his thick, muscular, sweaty arms... I got hard. It was humiliating, and it kept re-humiliating me every time I relived it.
However, a couple weeks later, there was another development. Brittany had gone to her knitting club the night before and, as usual, had come back at some ungodly hour, looking a mess, and passed out on the bed.
She had left her knitting bag on the floor by the front door and it was laying there, open, the contents spilling out. I was up early, unable to sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, Markus was there. I had started having unwanted dreams about him and his invasive fingers... his muscular arms... that unseen, monstrous threat in his pants...
So, being up first, I started to pick it up put the yarn back in when I noticed it wasn't all yarn. There was something shiny and bright turquoise. Looking around to make sure Brittany wasn't looking, I took it out. To my utter shock, it was a spandex halter top, and judging by its small size, it wouldn't have covered much of my wife's ample bosom. It was stained, too, with lots of crusty white spots. I dug into the bag further and found a tight white latex skirt with what looked like dirty handprints on it, a white leather collar with a silver chain attached to a ring on the front... And a pink lace thong, also stained and torn to shreds.
What in God's name would Brittany be doing with these things?! Did it come from her social work? Had she volunteered to launder the street clothes of some prostitute who was trying to go straight? But why would she have brought them with her to the knitting club? Was it for laughs, to show the other ladies? For shock value? And the leash and collar... We didn't own a dog, why would she have those?
"You fucking snoop," I heard Brittany snap at me from behind. I was shocked as much by the surprise as from hearing her swear. I had *never* heard her use that word!
"O-oh!" I stammered, spinning around and dropping the clothes as if I hadn't seen them, "you dropped your bag last night, I was just tidying up-"
"Save it," Brittany sighed and rolled her eyes as she strutted past me, picked up the bag and dumped the contents on the table. There was the stained tube top, soiled skirt, torn panties, collar and chain and even a pair of 6-inch hot pink stilettos I hadn't seen.
"I suppose you have questions," she crossed her arms and stared at me with a look that made me extremely uncomfortable. How had this revelation led to ME feeling like the one being interrogated?
"Well..." I tried to be as diplomatic as possible. I could tell she'd been on edge for a while, very short on patience, and I didn't want to upset her, "I guess... I do have some questions... About all these clubs you've been signing up for..."
She seemed even more annoyed with me, "oh, just spit it out for Christ's sake!"
I literally gasped at hearing her take the Lord's name in vain!
"Brit!"
Again she rolled her eyes, "you want to know what I've been doing every night, where I've been going?"
"Well... Yes..." I admitted, "I mean, I know you need your space... 'You' time... And I respect that... It's just that we don't really see each other much anymore and I kinda miss-"
She cut me off, "okay, fine. You want the truth, you'll get it."
She paused and thought for a second. Usually if you're about to tell the truth, you don't have to think about it... Right?
She looked at the pile of trashy clothes on the table and suddenly a huge, evil-looking smirk spread across her face.
"I'm going to give you the truth, Nicholas," she said, turning back to me with a penetrating, predatory look in her eyes that made me shift uneasily, "but I can't describe it to you. You need to see it for yourself. That's the only way you'll really be able to understand."
"Alright..." I said, "let's go, then?"
"Not yet," she held up a hand, "we can only go at night. And there's one other catch. Only women are allowed. If a man were to show up, they would be PISSED. And you'd be in DEEP shit, Nicky." She smiled at this, which seemed a rather inappropriate time to smile...
Her foul language was really throwing me for a loop. I was simply flabbergasted. And she hadn't called me "Nicky" since we were first dating, in high school. She knew I didn't like it.
"BUT..." She continued, walking towards me and sizing me up, "yeah... This could work..." She strutted around me, circling me, poking me and tugging at my clothes, squeezing my butt cheeks lewdly, "yeah, we can do this."
"D-do what?" I asked nervously. I felt like a farm animal being inspected for evening dinner.
"You've always been a slim guy, Nicky," she stated matter-of-factly, "and, let's be honest... Kind of feminine."
I started to protest, but she waved her hand at me scornfully to preempt my rebuttal.
"You're an inch or two shorter than me... You've got very light, thin blonde body hair... Clean shaven..." She was right, I couldn't really grow a full beard.
"Okay, I have it all figured out," she suddenly blurted and snapped into action. She grabbed a pen and paper and started scribbling, "I'll make a list, take a quick shower, then we've got a busy day ahead of us!"
"I don't understand," I pleaded, "what are we doing?!"
She called out from out of sight as she stripped and headed into the master bathroom, "we're going to make a woman out of you!"
She slammed the bathroom door and left me standing there, dumbfounded. Was she really going to make me dress in drag and sneak me into her ladies' club, just to show me what she's been up to? It seemed like overkill. But there was no changing Brittany's mind once she made a decision to do something.
