This is crazy, John thought. It was risky, too; if he went through with it, he would risk having to go to confession again, and maybe again and again. But could John’s idea, though crazy and risky, help Ben< with his problem of lack of female companionship — a problem he said was killing him?
John took a deep breath. He was going to find out. Maybe Ben would just laugh at him, and his idea would be no help at all—but he had to find out.
Already he had bought himself a curly wig arranged in twin ponytails, of the same dark color as his short dark hair. Now, on Saturday morning, he was standing in front of a full-length mirror wearing Bianca’s’s panties and her strapless B-cup bra, with the cups stuffed with hankies to fill them out. He had only to put on some more of Bianca’s’s clothes and her broad-brimmed straw hat, and he would be ready to go. Ordinary running shoes would complete his casual ladies’ outfit. And he had picked out a girly name for himself: Jeannette.
Jeannette put on the top she would wear for Ben, a cute skimpy yellow one with skinny straps like the straps of the nightie in which she had masturbated like a girl. Then she put on Bianca’s matching yellow >shorts. Vividly she remembered how she had stripped this outfit off Bianca and had intercourse with her, plunging her frantically from behind as Bianca loved to do, one fine summer day. Now that would never happen again—but maybe, just maybe, Jeannette could help Ben toward greater happiness by wearing the same cute, sexy outfit for him.
Perhaps, Jeannette thought, the outfit might even be a bit too cute and sexy—but she was going to wear it anyway. Bianca’s hat was on her head, her hips were swaying in memory of Bianca’s, and she was walking toward Ben’s front door.
She knocked and waited. “Just a minute,” he said. After a minute or so he opened the door and stared.
“Yes?” he said, at first not seeming to recognize the person before him. Then his eyes opened wide and he said, “John! Is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me,” Jeannette said—making no effort to disguise her male voice, which wouldn’t have worked well if she had tried. “You can call me Jeannette — if you like.”
“Jeannette,” Ben echoed. At least he wasn’t laughing at her.
“Yes,” Jeannette said. “When you said the lack of feminine companionship was killing you, I started to wonder if maybe some” Jeannette laughed, "some faux feminine companionship might be better than none, and it might help you not get killed."
“Really!” Ben said. “Jeannette, that’s very kind of you—and that may be true!” Now Ben was looking at Jeannette with evident admiration. “Yes, that may very well be true!”