Ex-Husband Country Girl Part II

For story with images, see PDF below.

Chapter Four

The next day was Saturday, so Bronco didn’t have to go to work. He’d tossed and turned all night, haunted by dreams of Lacey and Annie– he was a woman in all of the dreams, which were filled with kissing and kisses, caresses and sighs. He’d felt things, needed things he’d never needed or wanted before, and the thought he was starting to think like a woman was growing stronger and scarier.

A little hung over, he’d thought to sleep in, but once more, his new biology betrayed him. He had to pee. Bad. With an annoyed groan, he got up and padded toward the bathroom down the hall, passing his daughter, Mary Kate. “Morning,” she said, bleary and half asleep.

“Morning, bean,” Bronco answered, using his nickname for her.

Bean’s face screwed up and she stopped, staring at her father. “Why do you sound like Mommy?”

Oh, shit. Bronco did not want his daughter to find out he was a girl now, too. His hand went to his throat. He’d totally betrayed himself. Well, what could he do? He’d found the night before he couldn’t hide his voice. “It’s nothing,” he said, heading on toward the bathroom. He closed the door, pushed down his pajama pants and panties, sat down. Once more, the sound of tinkling echoed around him. Damn, he thought. I guess I’m just going to have to get used to it.

Bronco began to think about what was happening and, more importantly, what he could do about it. The idea this was all some kind of hallucination didn’t hold water– other people had noticed his voice. It couldn’t all be in his head. Could it be some kind of new virus? Maybe cancer? He wished he’d paid better attention in Miss Light’s high-school biology class, but even with his limited understanding of science, he was pretty sure that what had happened could not be explained by any sort of scientific cogitation. He’d never heard of a guy just losing his dick.

The devil, he thought. It had to be the devil. Bronco was not a religious man, but he’d been raised religious by god-fearing parents. He knew the story of Job, how God had let the devil torment him as a test of faith. Could this be a test of his faith? Or, maybe God was punishing him. He’d been sleeping around even before the divorce had been finalized. Hell, adultery was one of the biggest sins you could do. Maybe God had taken away his Johnson as punishment? As he sat, Bronco wondered what he was supposed to do with his hands while he sat. His arms felt floppy and awkward.

Finished relieving himself, Bronco ruefully folded up some toilet paper and wiped himself, once more disgusted he had to do what only women were supposed to do. Pulling up his panties, he went to the sink to wash his hands. His face in the mirror didn’t look quite right, and after a moment of staring, he realized what had struck him as wrong: no stubble. He didn’t need to shave. His face was as smooth as any woman’s. Bronco made a decision.

Since this was clearly the work of the devil, he’d talk to the preacher about it. Reverend Tighe was a righteous man, if a little boring. Of course, Bronco wouldn’t get too specific just yet as to his new equipment. He’d just tell the old man he thought he was being punished by God and ask him what to do about it. There was only one problem. Bronco had no idea how to contact the preacher, but he knew who did. Suzy. She was big into the church. He would have to talk to her in this dumb ass woman’s voice and– scratch that. He grabbed his cellphone and sent her a text.

Suzy was cleaning up the dishes when the phone started to vibrate on the counter. Glancing, she saw the text from Bronco. So, he wanted the preacher’s number? Hoping God can help you? Suzy had been raised in the church, and she wanted the same for her kids, but over the years she’d also been drawn to a lot of New Agey kinds of things- meditation, crystals, stuff that would have sent her mother screaming. Her mother considered all that pagan stuff deviltry and would not have liked the notion of Susy getting involved in it, let alone with a mysterious wiccan who had real magic.

Suzy, though, saw no conflict. Nothing happens in this world that isn’t the will of God, she believed, and so she believed that Tatiana had been brought into her life, and that everything she was doing was right with the Almighty. Didn’t the Bible say an eye for an eye? Well, this time it was a dick for a vagina.

She ignored Bronco’s text. She wanted to hear Bronco talk in that voice. It was too sweet. The phone buzzed and buzzed, Bronco sending text after text. Poor thing. He was so ashamed, and she couldn’t blame him. Finished with the dishes, she took off her rubber gloves and picked up the phone. “Busy.” She texted back.

A few minutes later, a sheepish Bronco came into the kitchen. Suzy smiled, ready to hear her husband’s new voice, but he held out a note. It read, Preacher Tighe’s number! Sneaky girl! Suze thought, but I’m sneakier. “Oh, I don’t have my glasses,” she said. “What is it you need?”

“I need Preacher Tighe’s number!” Bronco finally said, his voice a feminine shriek. He immediately put a hand to his throat, ashamed.

“Oh, is your throat bothering you?” Suzy said, adopting a motherly tone, like she was talking to a child. “Let me get you a lozenge.”

“I don’t need a lozenge,” Bronco shouted. “I need the damn preacher’s…” Suzy, not caring for his aggressive attitude, decided to shut him up. Suddenly, his chest swelled, breasts once more stretching out his shirt, and he wrapped his arms around them, screeching in horror to have his wife see him with–

But they were gone again. Suzy, drawing on all her skills from drama class back in the day, feigned more motherly concern. “Are you okay, Bronny?” She said, though she’d never called him Bronny before.

“I’m– I’m fine–” Bronco said, patting his chest with his palms. Due to the magic, his mind reeled with confusion: he knew he’d had breasts again, and he was just as certain that he didn’t anymore. What the hell was happening to him?

“You just look like you’d seen a ghost there for second,” Suzy said. “Or, maybe twins?”

“Can I just get that number?” Bronco said, the hint of desperation in his tone just enough to sway Suzy to say yes.

“I’ll text it to you,” Suzy said. “Maybe you should see a doctor about your throat?” She wanted to make sure Bronco never suspected her, and she was loving playing these mind games on him after all the years he fucked with her.

“Yeah, probably,” Bronco said. And then, in true Bronco fashion, he couldn’t let it go. “Ya know,” he said. “Ya could have just texted me.”

“I-- Oh, hey, Brad,” Suzy said as Bradly came into the kitchen and froze. He thought he’d heard two women talking and guessed maybe Aunt Polly had stopped by, and he was shocked to see one of the voices belonged to his dad.

“Brad?” Bronco turned to see his shocked son looking at him with the same screwed up face he’d seen on his daughter. Sickened, Bronco just rushed from the room. As he hurried down the hall, he heard his son ask, “Why does Dad sound like a girl?”

A girl? The comment wounded Bronco deeply. He’d been, truth to tell, a bit of a shit father, and now whatever little respect his son had for him was probably going down the shitter. I don’t sound like a damn girl, Bronco insisted to himself. Even though, well, shit, technically, I am one.

The kids went out to the backyard to play, and Suzy went to her room and pulled out the scrying stone. The Bronco who would go meet the preacher later would be a very changed man.

Chapter 5

Back in his room, a shaken Bronco tapped the number Suzy had texted him. He had to find some way to stop what was happening. Losing his serpent was terrible, and he didn’t want to have to go through life as a squatter, but on top of that he was losing respect, power and everything that had made him, him. After four rings, a raspy, graying voice answered. “Hello?”

“Hey. Is this Reverend Tighe?”

“It sure is, young lady. And to whom am I speaking? If you’re some kind of telemarketer, I’m gonna hang up and pray for your soul.”

Young lady. Bronco clenched his fist. “This is actually Bronco. I know my voice sounds a little funny.”

“Bronco?” The Reverend said. “Why, I do apologize for mistaking you for a young lady. These old ears of mine don’t work so well. What can I do for you on this fine Saturday mornin’?”

“Well, I don’t mean to bother ya on a Saturday and all, but I’m havin’ a bit of, I guess you could say, a spiritual crisis, and I wonder if we can meet. Today, I mean.”

“Well, a servant of God does not turn his back on a man in need. I am, however, tasked this morning to assist my dear Mabel with some gardening work. How about later this afternoon? Say, four at the church hall?”

“That would be just fine,” Bronco said. “‘preciate it, Rev.”

***

Suzy, watching through the scrying stone, smiled. That was just fine. It would leave plenty of time for her next moves.

***

When Bronco went to disconnect the call, he found his fingers once again tipped with long, glossy nails. Damn the devil, he thought, using his long nail to tap END. He looked at his long, crimson nails. At first, he felt disgusted, but then– hmm, he suddenly reconsidered. They really did look pretty. He turned them side to side, admiring the way they sparkled in the light. Maybe having long nails wasn’t so bad, and he--

Just as suddenly as they’d appeared, the nails vanished.

Bronco felt a terrible sense of loss. No. His nails had looked so good! He stared in disgust at his short, chewed up nails, his messy cuticles. He couldn’t live with them. I need to get my nails done, he decided. Damn it all, I just do!

What the hell am I thinking? No. No way.

The desire was strong, but he would fight it. He needed a shower, so he put on a baggy, terrycloth robe and headed to the bathroom, pausing when he saw himself in the mirror. Gross. His body. It was covered in wiry, black hairs. Of course, it was, he reminded himself. It always had been, but—yuck. It looked so disgusting. Looking in the shower, he saw a bottle of that stuff Suzy used to melt off her hair: Smooth Girl. Nah, he decided. Just another one of these weird impulses he’s suffered from since the devil had taken his sausage. He needed his body hair to remind him he was really a man. Turning on the shower, he waited until it got good and hot, climbed in got clean, singing one of his favorite country sons to himself as he did so, his feminine voice echoing around the shower stall:

Got a pick truck and a big old dog

Got me a Smith and Wesson

Even got me a hog

Just one thing this girl is missin’

A real fine man to give me some kissin’

Climbing out of the shower, Bronco couldn’t help but appreciate just how good he smelled. What is that? Strawberries and coconut? Hmmn, yum! Then, he froze. Strawberries and coconut?

The hell? He looked in the mirror. He had a smooth, hairless body, and his skin, it seemed to almost glow. Oh, shit. He remembered now. Without even thinking, he’d just gone right ahead and lathered up with that Smooth Girl crap! Damn the devil!

Taking some solace in the fact his clothes would hide his smooth shame, well, at least other than his face, Bronco dressed, then looked at the time, then at his ugly fingernails. The urge to get a manicure was still there, pulsing in his brain, calling to him.

He had hours to kill before his meeting. He needed to busy himself, distract himself, doing– what? He decided he would go for a drive on some old country backroads, listen to some Shania Twain, maybe have a beer. He would be safe in his truck, wouldn’t have to interact with anyone who might make some impolite comment about his voice, and if he suddenly popped out a pair of boobs again no one would see.

He got up and went to the closet to get his cowboy hat. It wasn’t there. Instead, there was a cutesy little straw cowgirl hat like the ones some girls wore. It looked like the same one he’d imagined himself wearing in his truck. Once more, he felt a sense of revulsion instantly replaced with a new and horrible thought: I would look damn cute in that hat!

Hands trembling, he struggled with all his will, but he couldn’t stop himself from lifting the hat and plopping it on his head. No one would see him in it, he decided, heading toward the door. It didn’t matter.

Suzy, of course, made a point to position herself at the front door, so someone would see him in it. “Hey, Bronny,” she said. “I love your hat!”

Bronco froze as he felt a flush of feminine pleasure. “Why, thank you, kindly!” He said, proud his cute little hat had been noticed and remarked upon. “I don’t even know where it came from, but it’s cute, right?”

“So cute. It suits a man like you.”

“Your outfit looks great, too,” Bronc said, then suddenly caught himself, realizing he was acting like a woman. He gasped. “I gotta go,” he said, plunging out the door.

“Bye, bye,” Suzy called after him. “Have fun!” The poor thing. He had no idea what she had planned for him.

Bronco jumped in his truck, floored it and peeled out, reveling in the manly roar of the engines, the feeling of power. He linked up his phone on Bluetooth. “Play Country Playlist,” he said, and started to drive. Deanna Carter came on, and he found himself singing along, matching her voice:

I bought these new heels, did my nails

Had my hair done just right

I thought this new dress was a sure bet

For romance tonight

Well it's perfectly clear, between the TV and beer

I won't get so much as a kiss

As I head for the door, I turn around to be sure

Did I shave my legs for this?

Bronco bobbed his head side to side and tapped his hand on the steering wheel as he drove, lost in the song, thinking, I never noticed how awesome this song is before! He got lost in the music, the drive, his mind seemed more clear than it had in days, and he got in the zone, windows down, wind blowing through the cab.

***

“What the hell?” Bronco found himself standing on the sidewalk downtown, staring up at the sign that read “Nails.” He had no recollection of driving here. Parking. One minute he’d been in his truck, singing about shaving his legs, and then he just suddenly found himself standing in front of the nail salon, consumed with longing. He looked down at his gross nails. Bro, he thought to himself. Do not do this. Everyone in town will know in a day, tops.

And yet? I’m here anyway, and I need this so badly. He decided he would just get a manicure. No extensions. Some guys got manicures. Like, rich guys. He saw it in a movie once. He’d control himself, go half way with these new feelings.

As he struggled to fight his urges, a couple women walked by. “Love your hat!” One of them said, sarcastic-like.

“Omigod, thanks!” Bronco said, feeling that same feminine thrill at the compliment, but when they started laughing, he realized his mistake. They were making fun of him? Suddenly, staying out on the sidewalk did not seem like the safer choice.

He pulled open the door and stepped into the nail parlor. It was all women– the beauticians, the customers. They all glanced over as the bell chimed over the door. It was unheard of in this little town for a man to get a manicure, and they all wondered if he was here running some errand for his wife, though half of them had already heard about his voice. Bronco felt like an invader, sneaking into a woman’s world, but he also felt the same sneaky satisfaction he’d felt at the bar. No one knows I’m wearing panties, he thought, amused. Or that I have a cooter. I wonder what they’d think if they knew I was wearing panties under these jeans?

“May I help you?” A girl at the front desk said. Even the younger generation knew all about the legend of The Bronc. She was curious why he’d come to the nail salon. Maybe to make an appointment for his wife?

Bronco went up to the counter, and in a whisper, said, “I’d like to get my nails done.”

The girl laughed. The combination of that voice coming from that face and the request? She was sure he was joking.

Bronco dropped his head in shame, and she realized her mistake. “Really?”

“Yeah, and I know it may seem a bit out of the ordinary,” Bronco said. “I want a manicure. And, just so’s you know, I got punched in the throat. That’s why I sound like– this. So, I hope you feel proud of yerself making fun of a injured man.” These young people, he thought in a snit. They have no manners whatsoever. He looked back toward the front door, thinking, I can still make a run for it. “Say, if you’re too busy I can always–”

“Nope. Come on back,” the girl said. “Willow will take care of you.”

Oh, fuck. He knew Willow. They went to the same church, had hooked up once. Mortified, Bronco followed the girl back, sat down across from Willow, who was looking at him with an amused smile. “Bronco,” she said. “How’s that throat of yours?”

“What?” Bronco said.

“Oh, my God. You do sound like a woman now. I’d heard about it from someone, but lordy.”

Lacey! Bronco knew he never should have trusted her. “You should have seen the other guy,” he said, trying to save face, but when he laughed at his own comment, his laughter sounded high-pitched and feminine.

“Well, I am sure he got a beating,” Willow said, knowing how fragile the male ego. She pushed a couple dishes over. “Start soaking. What can I do you for?”

Bronco dipped his fingers into the warm, soapy water. “Oh, you know. Clean up the cuticles, file, nail extensions.” Bronco’s eyes went wide. He had not meant to say that. He shook his head. “I’m kidding. Of course, I want nail extensions.”

“Are you joking?” Willow said, not sure what to make of this. She knew Bronco. Had slept with Bronco. He was, she’d thought, all man. A real-life cowboy and rodeo champ. He didn’t seem the nail extension type, and he seemed to want them and not want them?

“Yes. I am,” Bronco said, meaning to correct himself, but instead he heard himself repeat, “I want nail extensions.”

The women around him struggled not to laugh. Willow shrugged. “Okay, then.”

“It’s a joke,” Bronco said, trying to save face. “You know, on Suzy.”

“I am sure she’ll find it hilarious,” Willow said. She could tell Bronco was lying, but, as that thing the French said, such is life. It seemed to her Bronco was having a crisis, probably because of his impending divorce. Poor thing.

Normally, Willow and the other girls got into small talk with their clients. It was part of the service. What to say to get a man talking? “How ‘bout them Generals?” She said, bringing up the local professional football team.

Bronc nodded, glad to have something manly to talk about. “We’re going all the way this year. Our quarterback…”

Suzy, who was watching, made a change.

“Our quarterback…” Bronco couldn’t remember his name. He suddenly couldn’t remember any of the player’s name, or the coaches or, really, anything about the team or the season except for one thing– “Did you hear about how that one player got caught cheating on his wife with three different women?”

“His name is Washington!” Willow hissed along with three other women, who’d overheard the conversation.

“What a jerk!” Bronco went on, feeling a swell of feminine fury. “His wife’s at home running the house, taking care of three kids, and he’s sleeping around! I don’t blame her for divorcing him.”

“Preach,” Willow said. “What an asshole.”

“Men are such shit heads!” Bronco said, his voice rising to a higher pitch. When Willow and the other women laughed, he caught himself, slouching down in his chair, cheeks burning. He was reminded that he was a woman now, and it disturbed him that he’d been so quick to identify with the wife in the story. “I mean, you know?”

“I know,” Willow said. “Okay. Done soaking.” Based on what had just happened, she decided to turn the conversation to a tried-and-true subject as she began to work on his woeful cuticles. “How are the kids?”

“They’re getting so big!” Bronco began to gush about his children, his voice taking on a warm, maternal lilt. To every single woman in the room, he sounded like a proud mother and not a father at all.

As Willow applied the nail extensions, Bronco calmed himself by insisting he would chop them off as soon as he got out of this place. As it was, he was thinking he might just have to let Suzy have the house, move to a new town. After this trip to the nail salon and on top of how he’d been acting, he didn’t know how he’d ever show his face in town again, even if he did get back to normal.

Willow finished. “What do you think?” She asked,

The women in the parlor all watched as Bronco held his hands out in front of him, examining his freshly manicured nails just like any woman. His mouth dropping open with a soft sigh. He’d been slouching, manspreading, but as he drooled over his pretty nails, he straightened his back and crossed his legs at the knee, sitting like a woman, which came easily now that he didn’t have any male junk between his legs. He held his hands up, nails out, so the other women could admire them. “They’re so pretty!” He gushed, unable to help himself. All thoughts of chopping off these beautiful nails vanished. “I’ll never let my nails go so wrong again.”

Now, Willow and the rest of the women couldn’t help but laugh, and loud. It was so funny for them to see a big, hunky guy like Bronco freaking about his pretty nails. Bronco blushed. “Oh, hell. What’s wrong with me?”

“Oh, don’t take it the wrong way,” Willow said, wanting to make the suddenly sensitive and self-conscious Bronc feel a little better. “It’s just fun to see– someone– get so excited about– um, his– nails. We don’t mean nothing, do we girls?”

No. No. No, the woman all insisted, before showering Bronc with compliments on how good his nails looked. Having a bunch of hens clucking about his nails only made it worse, but Bronco didn’t want to seem rude, so he smiled and pretended to enjoy the embarrassing female gushing.

“Okay,” Bronco said, once he’d endured all he could. “I better go.” He got up and started toward the register.

“Oh, Bronc?” Willow called.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget your purse.”

“My what?” He said, horrified as he looked over and saw a woman’s bag. It looked just like one of Suzy’s, propped next to the chair he’d been sitting on. “I don’t have a–” and yet, even as he was about to explain he didn’t have a purse, he realized that was his purse. He didhave a purse. He needed a purse. All his stuff was in there– keys, wallet, credit cards, tampons…

He had no choice. He couldn’t very well leave the salon without his keys and cards. Chagrined, he walked over and picked up the woman’s bag. Consumed with shame at this act of drag accessorizing, he slung his purse over his shoulder, seething as he thought about all these dang women and what they would be saying about him when he left the room.

One didn’t wait as he heard old lady Erickson whisper, “And here I thought he was so rugged.”

Leaving the nail parlor, Bronc fought back tears as he walked down the sidewalk, purse over his shoulder, clinging to the strap with one glossy nailed hand while he tried to hide the nails on the other, keeping it clenched in a fist. He got looks. He heard comments. Bronco was walking around town with a purse? It was over. He would have to leave town, but before he fled for the hills, he would see the Reverend and hope that God would have mercy and remove this curse.

“Now,” he wondered. “Where did a park? It must be…Oh. My. God.” Bronco pressed his nose against the glass to Western Boots and stared. There in the window, was a pair of high-heeled cowgirl boots. He adored them. He did! They were to die for! The boots were slender, shaped like a woman’s calf. They would never fit. Never. Oh, but he had to at least try! He would never forgive himself if he didn’t even try to fit onto those – perfections.

We know what happened next, don’t we?

Bronco struggled. Bronco lost. As he entered the store, Suzy made a change and Bronco’s legs grew longer, rounder, slender and coltish. The boots fit perfectly, and moments later a wobbly Bronco minced out of the store, high heels clicking on the sidewalk. He had his arms out to the sides, struggling to maintain his balance, propped up on his toes and feeling like he was going to fall forward on his face. People snickered. “I didn’t want these,” he shrieked. “I just can’t help myself!”

Suzy roared with laughter, seeing Bronco struggling in his heels. He looked so ridiculous, face screwed up in concentration, his cute little cowgirl hat on his head, arms out to the sides, wrists bent. Maybe later she would grant him heel mastery, but for now the sight of the stupid idiot trying and failing to do something she could do with ease pleased her to no end. His legs did look good, though, now squeezed into a pair of tight, women’s jeans. Oh, why not? She thought as Bronc’s hips rounded and his ass plumped and took on a sweet, feminine heart-shape. Lifted by those heels, his ass was extra inviting, and he looked sexy as hell from the waist down. Suzy actually felt a little jealous, wishing she could use the stone to give herself a booty like that.

Bronco just wanted to get away, get back in his truck, hide. As awkwardly as he was walking, his purse kept slipping off his shoulder, so he found himself struggling with the purse and the heels he shouldn’t even be wearing. How do women manage? He wondered. It was hell.

His purse slipped off his shoulder and dangled from his forearm as he tottered along in his heels. He heard more whispers. More laughter. His whole life, Bronco had been the guy women wanted and men wanted to be. Not anymore. Suzy smiled.

To be continued…