Summary:
A young farm wife records her feelings as the Transposition Ritual approaches. She and her husband Mark will exchange places with his best friend Dave and Dave’s wife Megan for three months. The diary entries describe the ceremony, the first night with Dave, and the immediate changes that follow. The writer notes her nervousness, the physical intimacy, and the emotional confusion that arises when the new arrangement begins.
Here is your Story: My Best Friend Took Me After the Ritual
Dear Diary, Entry 750
Mark has decided that this year is the year. We’ve been married for two years, same as his best friend Dave. Mark turns twenty-four on his next birthday, and I’ll be twenty-one on mine. None of us is getting any younger. The next Transposition Festival is three months away, on the first day of summer. The other option is the Winter Solstice, which would give us six more months together, but the result stays the same. That’s why Mark decided now. He told me, “Sooner rather than later.”
I’ve only met Dave a couple of times, first at my wedding to Mark. I’ve never met Dave’s wife Megan. People tell me she’s very pretty, and the pictures Mark showed me back that up. I know this is normal for just about every bride, but I’m still nervous. The Transposition Ritual has come at last.
The Roots of the Ritual
Why Transposition? “When Theo was a young deity, perhaps just twenty-one, certainly not more than thirty, full of power, confidence, and wonder, he strode across the world he had made. Everything was new and pure. He gazed up at the stars he had called into being when he was confronted by the face and form of Aaron, his best friend among the gods.
Aaron had been assigned the task of minding the stars and planets for his closest friend. Aaron said, ‘You should see your world as I see it.’ They made a pact and traded lives for a thousand years. Aaron wore Theo’s robes, answered the prayers launched Theo’s way, loved Theo’s betrothed brides, performed all of Theo’s tasks while Theo measured the distances between the stars, set the planets in their orbits, tended to those who dwelt there, and made love to Aaron’s celestial princesses.
Theo filled Aaron’s shoes, and Aaron filled Theo’s shoes in every way imaginable. Afterwards, their friendship became even closer. Theo became a wiser, more loving god. Aaron caused the stars to multiply, making the heavens more beautiful and filling them with life from one end to the other.
This was the first Transposition Ritual.”
When we were dating, Mark talked about Dave so much that I got tired of it and tried to change the subject. They were best friends from youth, that much was clear. They grew up across the street from each other and stayed inseparable. In their reckless youth, each saved the other’s life more than once.
They went to school together, worked together in the fields, and built a friendship so close there was little room for anyone else. Then Dave felt a wanderlust that this small town could never quench and moved to the city. There he did very well and made a fortune, while Mark took over the reins of his grandparents’ farm after their near simultaneous deaths.
Mark has done well as a farmer, but there’s almost nothing left over for luxuries. I’m a good wife and don’t complain, but I won’t lie and say I didn’t want things easier. I love Mark without question. I pray that Theo and all the other gods will bless us with a good harvest this year and that we can sell our grain and livestock for high prices.
I’d like to live at least a little bit larger.
Although Mark and Dave haven’t gotten together very often since Dave left for the city, rarely does a day go by that they don’t exchange letters. For better or worse, the biggest shaper of my husband’s life was and is his best friend. Sometimes I wonder if there’s any room between them for me.
Ah, well. I can’t complain, even if I wanted to. Opting out of the Transposition Ritual makes a couple social pariahs. Banks won’t extend them credit, mortgages get foreclosed, and they get taken off the Temple charity list so that if they become ill or fall into difficult financial states, their spiritual and familial brothers and sisters extend them no charity and no mercy.
I know Transposition must happen. I don’t dislike Dave. I’m resolved to sleep with him. It is going to happen anyway, so why fight it? His wife is a complete unknown. So long as she remains unknown, I won’t be throwing up phantoms between her and my Mark. That is going to happen too.
To rage against it is to challenge the gods, and no sane person does that. Still, I will admit it makes me uncomfortable. To go from how things are now to three months as Dave’s wife is to go from ice water to boiling with no stages in between!
Dear Diary, Entry 992
All I’ve been able to think about for the last few days is Dave and Transposition. I know it is a rite that just about every married couple experiences, but I’m still ambivalent. Things are so nice between Mark and me. I’d hate to put sand in the gears. I mean, Dave will see all of me, bed me, rule me.
I must, under penalty of excommunication, give him everything he asks. I must be open to every possibility. I can’t use protection because that offends the gods. Mark and I have been trying for a child without much luck, but what if Dave succeeds where Mark has so far failed? How would I feel about that?
Could I love the child just the same?
I’m insecure and shy, as you well know, diary. Dave is a man of large personality and vigorous appetites. He is a sleek city guy, and I am a drab, ordinary country girl. He is also, and this may be the worst part, almost lethally attractive. The few times I’ve met Dave, I found myself falling for him. Mark is a handsome man. Dave is handsomer. Maybe all of this would be easier if my husband had a best friend who was bald and paunchy. Then I could just close my eyes, think of Mark, and endure.
I’m not sure how to act. Apathy is wrong. Anticipation is worse. I remember a conversation with my mom about Transposition. She said it strengthens a marriage. “It makes you appreciate what you have and causes you to strive to improve in all the areas you can.” My father’s best friend is Uncle Milo.
He’s not my uncle by blood. It’s an honorary title. Aunt Donna, Uncle Milo’s wife, looks a great deal like my mother. “Some men have very similar tastes,” mother said to me once. They interact when they get together, which is often, as if the three months they were in each other’s beds were just so much water over the dam.
Although looking back on it, I realize that Father and Milo often trade sly barbs about my mother’s wine stain birthmark, which is located just above and to the right of her feminine triangle. Mother’s skin is very fair, and the scarlet birthmark stands out like a red rose in a field of lilies.
I suppose men will always be men. How will Mark and Dave joke about me when all of this is over? Do I want to know? Absolutely not!
Dear Diary, Entry 1005
Dave and Megan (it’s definitely Megan) are coming for dinner tonight. It was short notice, and I had to rearrange all my shopping, but I agree with Mark that I should at least meet the other half of our sacred ritual before the actual ceremony. I’m pulling out all the stops to impress, and I don’t have time to write now. Much more later.
Dear Diary, Entry 1006
Megan is the single most beautiful woman I have ever met. Petite and shapely, with crimson red hair that hangs halfway down her back and a face worthy of a magazine cover, she makes me feel inadequate in every way except height. I tower over her. A sophisticated city girl, she’s so poised and cultured.
I used to think there wasn’t much difference between city folk and us country folk, but that was before tonight. Megan was polite to a fault. Still, her glance pared me down to my underwear far more than Dave’s gazes did. How am I supposed to take this sentence from Megan: “Dave will enjoy the meals, at least.”
I sense not hostility behind her smiles but amusement. I know this is one of the oldest traditions, but I thought it would be easier.
Dave is a sweetheart. I imagine sharing a bed with him will be pleasurable. He’s taller than my tall Mark. I can tell from the cut of his tailored shirts that city life has not caused his farm boy muscles to atrophy. He’s a supervisor of personnel for one of the city’s largest employers.
He said they laid things out so that Mark could fill his shoes. “When in doubt, consult with my secretary,” he said confidently. “Managing people isn’t different from managing a farm. I doubt you can wreck the corporation in three months!” They both laughed about it. One thing Mark has never lacked is confidence and belief in himself.
The First Night
The Transposition is total. At the conclusion of the rites, Megan and I step over the gap. I accept Dave’s kiss, and I exit the Temple on his arm, having walked in on my husband’s. As far as the law, the Temple, and society are concerned, I am Dave’s spouse for the next three months.
His to provide for, his to protect, his to love. We will return to this house. Mark will escort Megan back to the apartment she shared with Dave, and for the same three months she will be Mark’s. What will my husband get between the sheets? How can sophisticated city guy Dave be enticed or even interested in me, shy, plain country girl?
I’m told all come away from the transposition ritual changed. I don’t doubt it. Can we have the lesson without the experience? Please!
It is late. Mark expects me to provide for him tonight. I have no complaints about that!
Dear Diary, Entry 1036
Tonight’s the night. Mark took me very tenderly last night. For a long time afterwards we held each other and just listened to each other breathe. We kissed. I laid my head on his chest. He stroked my mousy brown hair. “Obey Dave as you would me, sweetness. Give him whatever he wants.
He is a good man without an evil bone in his body. He’ll be easy for you to love.” I wanted to respond, but he pressed his finger to my lips and refused to let me say a single word. When Mark decides that he has said enough and that he is finished talking, I know better than to try to continue.
We made love once more and slept like the dead.
I pulled out all the stops at breakfast today. If that redheaded woman completely subsumed my Mark, she would never be able to remove the memory of my cooking from his soul. The day moved both too quickly and too slowly. At four o’clock Mark dressed me from skin out in my blue ceremonial gown.
The gown had been delivered the other day by one of the Temple acolytes. We didn’t open the package until now, however. It’s bad luck to see your wife in the gown before the day of the Rites. Tradition all the way: cotton stockings, garters, panties, a bra, all midnight blue. The floor-length midnight blue gown, and on top of all a gossamer-thin white veil.
On my feet, wooden clogs decorated with yellow flowers, the only splash of contrasting color. I helped him into his best suit, and we exited our house kissing for a final time on the front steps before I lowered my veil and we made our way to Mark’s truck.
The drive to the Temple was not long. I’ve never seen so many veiled women in one place before. Must stop writing now. The ceremony starts soon.
Dear Diary, Entry 1037
As I write this, Dave sleeps next to me. I work slowly by candlelight. I cannot ignore the wet spot on the sheets or my response to Dave. I need to get this down before it fades. Our rites came sixth in the order, so our wait was not so long as to be excessively nerve-wracking. The priestess invoked Theo’s prayer.
The priest had Mark and Dave recite the rites. There was little for Megan or me to do but acquiesce at certain points. Then came our moment. Megan and I stepped across the symbolic gap simultaneously. For a fraction of a moment my left hand touched Mark’s right hand while my right hand touched Dave’s.
For Megan it was the opposite. The priest said simply, “It is done. As you came loved, may you go blessed.” Dave raised my veil. I raised my chin so that our lips could meet. Despite my nervousness, it was a mighty fine kiss. We left the Temple three paces in front of Mark and Megan.
I so wanted to turn my head but knew that I could not, because doing so brings disfavor from the gods.
Man, are they organized. The Temple attendants had my husband’s truck at the bottom of the entranceway stairs. One held a door open for me. One held a door open for Dave, and we were in the running truck and off. It was so well choreographed that when I turned my head to try to spy on Mark and Megan, they were already in Dave’s truck and out of view.
Dave squeezed my thigh. “Relax. They are fine.” “I’m nervous, Dave.” “As well you should be.” He leaned in and kissed me for the second time. “Let’s get you home,” he said with a wink. Right then I wished my house were a million miles away. But all too quickly was our familiar driveway.
The truck came to a stop. Dave and I gazed at each other. Dave didn’t have to say anything. He just nodded and withdrew from his breast pocket the key to our house that Mark had sent him a week or so ago. It was his house now. I was his wife now. A lump formed in my throat. He exited the truck and held the passenger door open for me.
I accepted his hand and stepped out. The moon had risen, and the crickets were singing. The weather was lovely. I chose to take that as a good omen. Dave refused to let me walk. He swept me up in his powerful arms and carried me to the front door. Supporting me with one arm, he manipulated the lock and turned the knob.
We were in my familiar yet permanently transformed home. He set me down. We traded our third kiss. He loomed above me. “Your bathroom is through that door, right?” I nodded. We both knew the ritual. The first thing the transposed husband did was give his new wife a bath. He grasped my hand and led me.
I stood and shivered even though the house was warm. Silently, insistently, slowly, he undressed me completely. Off came the veil. Off came the blue gown. At his urging I stepped out of the clogs, making me that much shorter in his presence. The stockings were unclipped and rolled off my legs.
He began to fill the tub. He tugged away my bra. I made no effort to conceal myself. For some reason my only thought was that I have more here than Megan. He tugged away the garters. He smiled and tugged down my panties. I was birth-bare before him. For some reason I was less embarrassed than I imagined I would be.
He encouraged me to enter the tub. He washed me everywhere, sweetly, gently, thoroughly. At one point he fetched a bottle of wine from the kitchen and encouraged me to drink. He imbibed as well. The traditional toasts were exchanged. My bath cooled. Dave had me step out. He dried me off as gently and thoroughly as he had bathed me.
My first real sentence was, “You know where the bedroom is.” He led me to my marital bed, tugged down the sheets and the comforter. I watched him strip off. He is big everywhere. I’d never even seen him without his shirt on. Now he was as naked as I was. His body was taller and thicker than my Mark’s, but in no way was Dave fat.
I studied his aroused manhood. He was bigger there as well, but not by too much. I could tell by his emotional state and gazes of frank appreciation that he was not disappointed or believed he was getting a raw deal. Everything was ready. His expression changed. We had forgotten something, a crucial detail.
He ventured to the bathroom. I heard him opening cabinets until he found what he was looking for. He returned with a shaving mug full of suds and warm water and Mark’s straight razor. I took a deep breath and held it for a moment. Of course he had to have a view of me that Mark did not.
The tradition was clear on this. I chewed my lips and held my breath for long periods of time as the shaving cream was applied and the razor gently tugged and tugged. I recalled Mark paying particular attention to how honed the edge was after his morning shave, sharpening it extra carefully.
I wondered if Megan was already bald there before forcing my mind to the here and now. With a towel Dave wiped away the residue. He ran his fingers over his handiwork. He clambered onto the bed and began kissing the area he had just denuded. Dave’s skilled lips, tongue, and teeth began working on my nether regions.
Dave was doing things Mark never did. Before long all I could focus on was Dave’s expertise. He was bringing me to that precipice far faster and more deeply than Mark did, with precious few exceptions. I gasped and cried out. I squirted all over the sheets, something I had never done before.
Dave rose up, an ecstatic look upon his face. Without any fuss or resistance he was deep within me, pumping with force and precision that I adored. I edged along the precipice a second time before tumbling off. I screamed “Dave!” and fainted dead away. The last thing I heard before oblivion overtook me was Dave’s triumphant laughter.
I look at the clock. It is three A.M., and the genie is out of the bottle. Please forgive me, Mark!
Dear Diary, Entry 1038
Dave’s old farm instincts kicked in immediately. His years in the city fell away in an instant. I realized how much easier this transposition would be for Dave than it would be for my Mark. One was coming home. The other was entering an entirely alien world. Dave was awake before the rooster had even crowed.
He shook me awake, smiled, took me forcefully before spanking my butt and ordering me to make breakfast. I took it as playful, but I cannot deny the hint of malice in his tone. I’d recalled that in nearly all of Mark’s stories about his and Dave’s many adventures, Dave was usually the instigator and chief protagonist.
Mark had always known that his best friend was going places. If anything, he was grateful for Dave’s friendship. I hustled into my robe in a daze. So far none of this was going as I expected. Mark’s clothes fit Dave poorly. He looked like a man who had somehow managed to shrink every article of clothing he owned.
He just laughed about it and headed over to the barn to take care of the milking.
As I worked on breakfast, my left hand kept entering my robe and stroking my shaven sex. It felt strange. It looked strange. The passions from the night before clouded my mind. Why had I opened like that to Dave? Shouldn’t I have been resistant, closed, and fearful? The priests teach that there is no shame in enjoying transposition, but I wonder what it says about me.
Am I a good wife or a flawed, perverted one? I was still mulling these things when Dave entered the kitchen for breakfast. He took, and that is the word I will use, a long, lingering kiss while his free hand explored my body. “Mark’s got himself a fine wife. I’ll make sure he gets a better one back,” he stated while his eyes flashed.
It was as if I were irrelevant, as if my desires held no purchase. “Excuse me?” I replied. He laughed and said, “Theo was not the same god afterward, and neither were his goddesses. It is a sacred duty I perform.” “Well, aren’t you full of yourself!” “Truth is rarely bragging when it is as obvious as sunrise.
Dish up breakfast, fill the coffee mug. I think we have enough time before the afternoon chores for you to put on a fashion show. I want to see you in every dress you own so that I can decide which you will be permitted to wear. I’ll have to see you in all your underwear and lingerie as well.
Everything ratty, out of fashion, or dowdy is being committed to the flames during the ritual incineration of your Transposition gown and my suit. Since we have to build a bonfire anyway, we may as well make it a large one.” I looked at him. He was so presumptuous. He grinned, turned me around so that I was facing the wall behind the counter.
He bent me over the counter, hiked up my robe, and took me right there on the spot. It was infuriating. It was exhilarating. His only words after? “Nice ass!” I wanted to slug him. I wanted to hug him.
