I never thought that I would find anyone who would be willing to do it. It was what I had wanted for such a very long time, but then, I thought that I was just crazy. I mean, who would actually want to give up so much independence. It was one thing to be born that way, but, to actually want to be that way? Ridiculous. So much medical technology had gone into trying to separate twins born that way. In fact, in the not-too-distant past, twin babies had to endure extensive and risky surgery just to be separated. Of course, nowadays, with the transformative technologies, separation was simple.
I couldn’t help but feel bad for those twins. I mean, their parents just made the separation decision for them on the assumption that they would want to be separated. Given the odd manner in which some such conjoined twins were attached, that decision is probably sometimes a safe one. But what about the less weird and cumbersome conjoinments? The assumption that separation is wanted is then based not on preventing a life of disability, but on the assumption that the twins will want to be normal. That assumption was seen as obvious to some. The general notion was that no one would want to grow up joined for life, when a simple dip in some transformative solution could create two normal bodies for each. It didn’t matter how closely connected the twins were or how many body parts they shared. A dip in the transformative solution could produce two completely normal bodies for each of the twins. The proper mixture of the various ingredients of the genetic soup that made up the transformative solution could produce just about any human look.
Why would I feel sorry for them then? Well, as you well know, the transformative solution can only be used once in a lifetime. We all know that “double-dipping” results in genetic breakdown leading to a collapse of the immune and nervous systems and the eventual death of the subject. What if these young conjoined twins would have been happy growing up connected? Because the transformative juice was used on them as babies, they are precluded from ever altering their appearance again. I always felt that if the conjoinment was not too disabling, these twins should have the opportunity to decide for themselves whether they want to be separated. I always felt that the parents should eschew the separation decision until such time as these children were old enough to make the decision for themselves.
I had never taken the “dip in the genetic soup” so as to alter my appearance. I had been tempted of course, but I had always held out just on the unlikely chance that someone would be willing to join me in the transformation. Many of my contemporaries had already transformed themselves. Teenagers and people in their twenties were the most likely to take the transformative plunge. A few elected to wait until they were older, so they could use the transformation to make themselves look younger. I never saw the point in waiting. The transformative solution only made you appear younger. It had no effect on your life expectancy. Refraining until you were retirement age to use the transformative solution seemed like a bit of a waste to me. Perhaps those who feared looking older did not view it as such a waste.
The majority of alterations were quite simple: smaller ears or a smaller nose or a larger cock or larger breasts or a tighter butt or different color eyes or a longer neck or longer legs or a thinner frame, or, most often, a combination of several of those changes were selected. The transformation was a one shot deal, but that one shot could create some major changes. It could make a short, scrawny kid a muscle-bound giant. Of course, whether his body would remain muscle-bound would depend on whether he worked out after the change. He could remain tall, but the if he didn’t exercise, he would soon find himself a tall, scrawny kid.
The changes did not have to be normal. The transformative soup could create odd changes as well. Transsexuals enjoyed it of course. Male transsexuals could become the lovely woman they always wanted to be, and female transsexuals could finally have that cock and masculine chest of which they always dreamed. It no longer required them to undergo psychological evaluations or painful surgery. It only required a quick dip in the transformative bath and a couple hours of not-too-painful alterations commenced by the body itself. Even for those who changed sex, the end result was a normal body.
Yet, not-so-normal bodies were possible too. One could change into something more exotic. Although not as popular as the quest for the normal-yet-beautiful appearance, a large subculture of those who desired something different from the norm developed too. The most common example was the extra-armed people. Many people thought them weird, but it made sense to me. Four arms seemed to be quite. . . handy, pardon the pun. I had thought about such a transformation myself, but I wasn’t going to waste it on that, especially when I could simply incorporate the extra hands into the change that I really wanted.
Extras were the most common of the unusual transformations. People sought extra arms, legs, eyes, fingers, legs, toes, cocks, breasts, nipples, and belly buttons. Oftentimes, people went for a combination of several extras, choosing to have extra fingers on their extra hands and extra toes on their extra feet. Hell, I once saw a guy with two bodies which joined together at about mid-chest level. He had one head and one set of shoulders, but starting just below his nipples, he split into to separate bodies.
I personally didn’t find the addition of extra body parts to be too weird, but some changes that people made were just downright freaky, like those people who changed the location of their body parts for example. I once saw a lady who switched the location of her mouth and vagina so as to “enhance oral sex” as she explained to me. It was odd hearing her words emanate from between her legs, and it was even more strange to look her in the face and see what resembled a vagina located just under her nose. I had more questions for this lady, but I didn’t ask them. I was too disturbed by her choice of transformation. I would assume that she ended her menstruation when she made this change, otherwise, I imagine that she would have a bad taste in her mouth every month. And if she was to swallow cum, as it were, and become pregnant. . . oh boy, open wide, Sweetie! I also wanted to ask her from where she pissed, but I figured that either spot would have disgusted me had she explained it. I also wanted to know how she ate. When I saw her, with incredible control, wrap her modified outer labia around her straw and take a drink from her glass, I figured it was through that vagina-like structure under her nose. I guess she refrained from solid foods, as I detected no teeth in that mouth pussy of hers. Oh well, I suppose it was a sacrifice that she was willing to make. When she wrapped her highly pliable pussy lips around a cigarette and drew in that smoke, only to release a plume of blue-gray smoke from her pussy, I was somewhat freaked. She even licked her labia with a second tongue that emerged from inside the vagina on her face, something which visibly gave her pleasure. I could see how oral sex was enhanced. A tongue in her mouth located between her legs, and a tongue in her vagina, a vagina that could suck dick just as easily as it sucked cigarette smoke located right under her nose. I couldn’t help but wonder about intercourse though. “Fuckface” was usually used as a disparagement, but seemed to apply accurately in her case. I found her change rather disagreeable, but I wasn’t going to judge her. Indeed, she probably would have found my desired transformation just as troubling had I explained it to her.
The transformative baths had limits however. First, the changes had to be human. I had a friend who was disturbed by the fact that she couldn’t have the lower body of a cheetah, like some kind of cheetahtaur so that she could move with cat-like grace and run like the wind. No, changes that had tried to mix the genetic structures of two different species had only ended in failure with the test animals becoming highly deformed or dead. My friend had finally settled for four human legs in a taur-like arrangement and a long tail of human flesh. Those that elected to have extra parts or large extra bodies had to have other changes as well, like larger or extra internal organs. After all, if someone chose to have six legs, the circulatory system would have to be capable of supplying all of those body parts with oxygen. The solution had limitations for me too. The transformative solutions could create new and different body parts, but it couldn’t create a new brain, or at least not one with a spirit with which I could share a body. It could create a second head, but both would be controlled by me, by my single mind in two brains. I didn’t want two heads, I wanted a second person to share a single body with me.
Yes, my preferred transformation was conjoinment. I had confided in a few people my dream of being conjoined to another person, and they just found it strange. “It’s ok for a fantasy, dear, but you wouldn’t actually want to live your life that way.” They would tell me, as if they knew. What they didn’t understand was that I really did want to live my life that way, more than anything. “But you wouldn’t have any privacy.” They would say. What they didn’t understand was that I would have privacy, or rather, we would have privacy. I and whomever else I found would be as one, and thus my privacy would instead be our privacy. We would be two people living as one. It would be our privacy, and that is all we would need. We would share the same body. Thus, any physical privacy would be what we excluded from others, not from each other. And, as for mental privacy, we would not be able to read each other’s minds, so we would still have that, even though we would be physically together forever.
It was hard to explain to people who did not understand. I barely understood my passion for conjoinment myself sometimes. I know that I had had the passion for the longest time, since I was a little girl of 5 or 6 years of age. I was a small child and I would see the old pictures of Siamese twins and I would envy them, while others would feel sorry for them. Others would wish that they could be separated, and I could only wish that I was one of them. The desire to be conjoined only grew stronger as I matured. The passion became especially strong when I was a teenager and remained with me from that time onward. I had set a goal to be conjoined by age 25, but that year had come and gone. As I entered my 28th year, I couldn’t help but wonder if I would be alone in my body by age 30 as well.
From the time I was about 15 years of age, I had searched, mostly online, for others who shared an interest in living their life joined to me. In all that time, I found only a handful of people who wanted to be conjoined. Most, while interested in what it would be like to live as a conjoined person, did not want to spend the rest of their lives attached to another person. Of those very few people that actually were interested in living the rest of their lives conjoined, I quickly found them to be incompatible. I mean, I disparately wanted to be conjoined, but, at the same time, it had to be with someone whose company I enjoyed. You can see my problem. It is hard enough just to find people with whom you like to spend time, much less find one of those people who also happens to want to be conjoined for the rest of her life.
I had searched without success for years. I was beginning to think that perhaps I should use my transformative dip for some other alteration. But then I found someone. I wasn’t all that excited at first. Although I liked him a lot and he was interested in conjoinment, he was a he. I didn’t want to conjoin myself to a man. The sexual overtones were too great. I wanted a “sister” with whom I could share a single body. My spirits lifted, however, when I discovered that he wanted to be that sister. He was completely willing to change his sex to become my conjoined sister. Not just to appease me, but because he wasn’t looking for a cross-sex conjoinment either. He didn’t really seem to care what sex he was as long as he had the chance to be conjoined. It was that important to him. I knew that I had found a kindred spirit at that point. The only question became whether I enjoyed his company enough to be conjoined to him. Through the course of several months of chatting online and then later in person, I discovered that I loved him. I loved him not in a romantic way, but as a sister, and to my delight I found that he felt the same way about me.
We continued to see each other on a regular basis, and later lived together. Many people assumed that we were lovers at that point, but we never had sex. We did, however, share many intimate moments together. As we became more comfortable with each other, we would masturbate in front of each other. We would take showers together. We would even use the bathroom in front of each other. We never had sex together though, no matter what others may have thought. Sex was never really a topic of discussion between us. We both knew that the shared moments of usual highly private matters was not a sexual invitation, but a way of testing whether we both wanted the conjoinment, and, more importantly, whether we were comfortable enough with each other to live together in one body.
I had been worried at first. I was concerned that this guy had simply been playing along for the eventual sexual encounter. But as our relationship grew, it became obvious that his desire to be with me was not sexual, but rather derived from a passion for conjoinment. After living together for over a year, we went to the transformation clinic and made the appointment for my 30th birthday. I could think of no better gift to myself, nor could I think of any better gift that anyone had ever given me than the one that Frederick, my soon-to-be sister, was about to give: the gift of conjoinment.
We walked, hand-in-hand, up the transformation clinic. Protesters lined the sidewalk leading up to the building. Religious fanatics were protesting the use of the transformative solution. They held up signs proclaiming that man should leave god’s creations alone. Religious fundamentalists were often in front of transformation clinics, just as they used to line up near abortion clinics back in the old days. It was our bad luck that my birthday happened to fall on a day of such a protest. We ignored them as best we could. One of the protesters shouted something at us, like “be happy with the body god gave you!” We did not acknowledge the remark and continued to walk toward the door of the clinic.
We had chosen the hot tub bath. Some people seemed to prefer something more sterile-looking, but the end result was the same. Being that you had to sit in the transformative bath for over two hours, I figured we may as well have a relaxing hot tub while we did it rather than some sterile hospital tank, especially since the heat and bubbles of the whirlpool did not change the effectiveness of the transformation anyway. I remember that Fred had been scared the whole time before we first contacted the clinic the month before. He worried about whether they would even be able to conjoin us, being that most transformations only involved a single person. I had no such worries. I had inquired about the possibilities of conjoinment many years ago. They technicians back then had assured me, that even though it had never been done before, it presented no real problem. The technicians at this clinic had told us the very same thing. I could sense that Frederick would not be truly convinced until we were sharing one body. It didn’t really matter. We soon would be.
My heart pounded in excitement as I slowly entered the warm, bubbling hot tub. I gingerly stuck my toe in the warm water before plopping my whole naked body into the mixture of water and transformative solution. Frederick was hesitating. He was quite overweight and rather ashamed of his fat tummy and getting naked in front of all the technicians in the room. I reassured him that his old body would soon be a thing of the past and he would be sharing a new body with me. He finally disrobed and climbed into the pool next to me. We had to sit right next to each other, pressing our sides against each other. Frederick had chosen to be on the right side and I had chosen to be on the left of our shared body. We both initially wanted to be on the right, probably since we were both right-handers, not that it mattered. Whoever ended up on the left would automatically become left-handed. That person would become doubly left-handed in fact. I had made sure to include the extra arms with our transformation. We would have only one body from the shoulders down, but that one body would have two pair of arms, two on each side. I would control the left side of the body, meaning that I would control the two left hands and Fred would control the right side, meaning that he would control the two right hands.
Frederick was six years younger than I. It didn’t matter much though. Even though we would have the life expectancy of someone in her late 20’s, we would both have the appearance of nineteen-year-old women after the transformation. As far as our looks were concerned, we would be setting back the clock to the age of nineteen. Next year we would have the faces and body of a twenty-year-old, the year after that, we would have the faces and body of a twenty-one-year-old, and so on. We had not only chosen young faces, but beautiful ones as well. We had chosen the slender faces of models with long slender necks and high cheekbones and radiant smiles and bright, beautiful eyes and smooth, creamy, blemish-free skin with glorious, red, luscious lips and gorgeous, long, flowing hair. I had changed my usual blond locks to a raven black and Fred had changed his straight, sandy-colored hair to a chestnut which seemed to change between red and brown depending on the lighting and angle.
As we sat there in the tub with our sides pressed against each other, it was those new faces that we first saw. Fred’s chubby masculine cheeks were becoming more slender and more feminine by the moment. The changes were slight at first and then more pronounced later. As we sat there in the warm bubbling water transfixed in silence by the small changes occurring in each other’s faces, it wasn’t until I tried to readjust myself to find a more comfortable sitting position, that I noticed our skin was attached. It shocked me slightly and I instinctively tried to pull away, causing a surge of pain as our connected skin pulled at my side. We looked down to find that a thin seam of skin was connected from just below our armpits all the way down to just above our ankles. We were only barely connected, but connected nonetheless. We looked into each other’s eyes and shared a smile of excitement and joy. A technician came over and told us to keep pressed together and to remain and still as possible.
Our skin started to connect more steadily. The thin seam became thicker. The transformation started to quicken. The changes were also beginning to become a bit painful, not so painful as to be agonizing, but enough for us to feel a bit uncomfortable. Yet, the discomfort was hardly noticeable as the transformation began to become more extreme. The seam of shared flesh started to be replaced with a shared midsection. Fred’s now feminine leg merged with my leg. Instead of me having a right leg and instead of Fred having a left leg, we now had a shared middle leg that was thicker than either of our outer legs. Yet, that shared middle leg was growing smaller by the minute. It was disappearing as we grew even closer together. I looked over to Fred. He may have been Fred in name, but his body was now completely that of a woman, and quite a beautiful woman at that. This beautiful woman’s body was disappearing though. It was becoming part of my body, and my body, now younger and more beautiful, was merging into Fred’s new body. We were becoming one. Fred’s torso was coming toward my torso, as if pulled toward it by some invisible force. I felt Fred’s body inside of me! I felt his ribs next to mine. I felt his intestines press up against mine, on the inside of my body! We were merging! My right arm and his left arm were disappearing, just as our shared middle leg was, into the merged flesh in-between our bodies. Our shoulders pressed into one.
A second arm began to develop just below our left arm. It was just a small lump at the side of our chest at first, but it quickly developed in to a second arm just below the regular left arm. I looked over to Fred’s half of our body and saw that a second right arm was developing under the normal right arm as well. A vagina was becoming visible as Fred’s cock and testicles shrank. Despite Fred’s desire to become conjoined, a look of shock and horror crossed his face as his penis and testicles shriveled away while his new pussy sprang to life. Fred did not get much chance to experience his new vagina though, because the flesh of our vaginas collided. I felt sexual excitement as our pussies merged into a single vagina. Our clits merged as well. I only felt the left side of our newly forming body, and Fred felt only the right side, but the newly formed vagina was not split into sides. We both felt the entire pussy and we both felt the exact same stimulation as our pussies merged and finally came to rest as one vagina, felt and shared by both of us, in-between our legs, a left leg controlled by me and a right leg controlled by Fred. Our shoulders stopped merging, and our heads came to rest on a single broad set of shoulders.
The transformation had concluded. We were now conjoined. We still had to remain in the tub for several minutes while the process completed, but for the most part, we were now one, or rather, two in one. I had feeling on the left side of our shared body and in our entire pussy. Fred now had feeling on the right side of our shared body and our whole pussy. I could control the left side of our body, including our two left arms and hands and Fred controlled the right side of our shared body, including our two right arms and hands. I moved our left arms and found that the second arm was just as easy to move and manipulate as the normal upper arm and hand. I moved our left leg in the warm water of the transformation tub and found that I could move it just as easily as I had moved my own left leg before the transformation. Yet, I felt very strange. I had no feeling on the right. It was like I was half a person. It was like someone had split me right down the middle and left only the left half. I felt the weight of my other half, and I could see it moving. I also felt the vibrations of my right half moving, but I had no feeling and no control over it. The right half of my body was no longer mine. It was Fred’s. Fred’s left half was no longer his. It was mine. And, this body neither belong to me nor to Fred, it now belonged to both of us. The true magnitude of this transformation was now hitting me full force. I could tell from the concerned look on Fred’s face that it was now fully hitting him as well. The concern was awash on both of our faces, but there was no regret. Fred and I were concerned yet overjoyed at the same time. We had finally realized our life’s ambition. We were conjoined! Part of the concern was how we were going to get out of the hot tub. I knew how I would have gotten out of the tub if I had control of a right leg, and I knew that Fred knew how to get out of the tub with control of a left leg, but if we were going to get out of here, indeed, if we were going to get anywhere at all, we were going to have to cooperate.
We did manage to get out of the tub that day, but it took several attempts, and some time. As we got out of the tub and managed to slowly, very slowly, stumble our way through the building of the clinic, we realized that we had no clothes that would fit us. All we had were our clothes that we had been wearing when we arrived.
“You mean you didn’t contact a seamstress beforehand?” One of the technicians said as he rolled his eyes in disbelief at how two people making such a momentous change could be so ill-prepared. “You know, it would serve you well to prepare for these changes before you hop in the tub.” The technician continued. “Well, don’t look at us, we will help you with the physical matters, but lifestyle is all your responsibility.”
“We were prepared.” I replied. “Well, at least we prepared ourselves mentally and emotionally.”
“Yeah,” Fred agreed, a bit shocked by the higher pitch of his new feminine voice. “With all that mental preparation, I think we forgot to consider many of the practical matters.”
“Oh well,” the technician stated. “Clothes are important, but I’m sure you can find something to cover yourselves up with until you find a seamstress.”
The technicians were kind enough to give us an oversized robe which we used to help cover ourselves. We used my underwear and pants to cover up our lower half, since it wasn’t much different from the waist down than I had been before the transformation. Our legs were more slender and longer than mine had been, but the fact that my jeans were a bit baggy and a bit too short didn’t hurt much. The real problem was putting on my socks and underwear and jeans and shoes. It took a type of cooperation that neither one of us was accustomed to just to get ourselves dressed.
Before we left the clinic, we practiced walking for several hours. In that time, we managed to find a rhythm which allowed us to get along without falling, although our walk was still very awkward. After seeing that the protesters were still outside, the technicians were kind enough to let us borrow an electric wheelchair which allowed us to speed through the shouting protesters who looked at us with shocked expressions.
Upon arriving home, we looked ourselves over in the full length mirror. From the belly down, we had the look of a normal but beautiful woman: tight stomach, tight butt, and two long and slender legs. From the chest up though, it was a different story. We had two pair of arms, three breasts in a single row at the top of our broad chest, and two heads atop our broad set of shoulders. Even for those familiar with Siamese twins, we looked odd. We had the extra arms and the extra breast, not to mention that our heads looked completely different. Both of our faces were that of beautiful woman, but they looked different, not similar the way twins’ faces would look.
We eventually learned to walk, and even run, with ease. We essentially had to relearn all of the daily functions of life. Everything was a effort in cooperation. Learning to cooperate, and even learning to cooperate without having to discuss that cooperation was not as hard as one might think. We were able to adapt with a minimum of training. The difficulty arose when we disagreed on what we wanted to do. One of the first things that we both wanted to do when we arrived home after the transformation was to masturbate. We took turns rubbing our shared clit and fingering ourselves. Frederick marveled in the splendor of the new orgasmic sensations of his vagina, only having before been accustomed to the orgasms of a penis. We enjoyed several orgasms that first day, and many in the days which followed.
Our masturbation after those first few days was a different story however. We shared the same vagina and had the same feelings from it, but we, of course, continued to have separate minds with separate desires. Inevitably, one of us would want to masturbate when another one of us would not. When one of us wanted to masturbate, whichever one of us who wanted to do it would pretty much have at it, starting to rub or finger our shared vagina. At that point, the other of us pretty much had to go along with it even if she didn’t want to masturbate in the first place. After all, once one of us started rubbing, both of us received the same sensations. Yet, if one of us was trying to concentrate on something else and the other began to masturbate, it could start a fight between us. A few times, Fred tried to pull one of my hands away from our shared crotch or vice versa. We generally tried to settle matters through peaceful discussion, but sometimes it was just easier to let whichever one of us needed the satisfaction to just go ahead and finish even if the other of us was not into it at all. In that sense, it almost became rape-like. It was a violation of what one of us wanted, but yet only masturbation for the other of us. To play with myself meant also to play with my sister. It has lead to arguments, but we got over it. We have no other choice. It is not like we can leave each other. We had to take the good with the bad. Luckily, there was a lot of good and only a little bad in our shared lives.
Given Frederick’s new female appearance, he, or rather “she,” took the name “Frederique,” although I still call her “Fred” for short. We both had some explaining to do to both friends and family, especially since neither one of us shared our decision with any of them beforehand. After all, we didn’t want them trying to talk us out of it, not that they could have anyway. Fred had even more to explain than I did. He not only had to explain his conjoinment, but the fact that he was now a she. Our friends and family generally responded with shock, anger, and disappointment, but generally came to accept us. Only a couple of Fred’s friends refused to speak with her anymore. Otherwise, all of our friends and family learned to begrudgingly accept our new appearance.
I think that our friends and family, especially the more conservative ones, had some lingering concerns about our sexuality however. It could be said that our masturbation went beyond masturbation and into sexuality. Sometimes I would use one of my left hands to rub our shared vagina while using my other left hand to caress our right breast over which only Fred felt sensation, and our middle breast over which I felt sensation in the left half and Fred felt sensation in the right half. Was this masturbation or sex? A little of both perhaps. And what if I was fingering our shared pussy not primarily to satisfy myself, but to satisfy Fred? I had rubbed our clit many a time not on my own initiative, but at Fred’s request, and Fred had done the same for me. If that was sex, it was not only sex, but also lesbian sex. I’ve never considered myself a lesbian, at least not before the conjoinment, but me satisfying Fred could be seen that way. Might some even see it as incest? I mean, technically, Fred and I were not sisters, but I thought of her that way, and she was most like a Siamese sister to me than anything else. Was it incestuous lesbian sex or purely masturbation? I don’t think that I completely knew the answer to that question, but I suspect it falls somewhere in-between. I didn’t really care. What Fred and I did with our shared body was our business and no one else’s.
And speaking of lesbianism, I never considered myself a lesbian, and Fred never considered himself gay before the conjoinment, but the conjoinment may have resulted in the side effect of both of us becoming bisexual. Fred never lost his love of women after becoming my sister, and I never lost my love of men. When I first mentioned my desire for sex with a man in our new form, I was surprised by Fred’s greatly negative response to the idea. “You want me to have sex with a dude? No way!” I believe that was her response. I don’t know why I was surprised. I guess that I had just assumed now that Fred shared my vagina, he would want it filled in the same way I would. I suppose it was stupid of me to think that way. Old attractions die hard. It was a subject of great debate between us. Fred eventually had to accept the fact that my desire to have sex with a man was not going to fade. Of course, I also had to realize that Fred’s desire to have sex with a woman was not going to fade either. Like everything else with our form, we had to compromise. We would have sex with men to appease my desires and we would have sex with women to appease Fred’s desires. I was rather sickened the first time we had lesbian sex and Fred was equally as sickened by the sex we had with a man. Yet, as our old way of thinking lessened and our new sense of exploration grew, Fred began to enjoy the feel of a nice large cock penetrating our shared pussy. I too began to enjoy the beautiful look and tender feel of a woman as she would caress our three breasts or lick our shared vagina sending waves of pleasure from the same source into our separate minds.
Sleep was annoying at first as well. I had known the annoyance of a snoring lover sharing my bed, but having someone not only share your bed, but also your body means that when Fred snored in her sleep, she was snoring right in my ear, or drooling right on my cheek. In addition, when she decided to turn in her sleep, that meant I moved too, which sometimes woke me up from a sound sleep. It was a great nuisance at first, but once I got used to her sleeping styles and she became used to mine, we hardly noticed anymore. It took some time for our sleeping schedules to match up too. She had been more of a day person and I was more of a night person. Right after our conjoinment, we lay in bed long hours as the other tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to sleep. Once our sleep patterns became mostly synchronized however, we generally slept at the same times, with one of us falling asleep 5 to 30 minutes later than the other or waking up 5 to 30 minutes before the other. It never bothered me to lay there quietly for those 5 to 30 minutes while Fred slept. For as much as I enjoyed our conjoinment, those 5 to 30 minutes were the only times when I was truly alone in this world, without Frederique looking over everything. I enjoyed those moments of solitude. Luckily, that was the only privacy that I need. I know that Fred felt the same way.
The daily routine for us was difficult at first, but became just as routine for us as any single person. On any given day, we would lift our rested heads off of the pillow and sit our feet upon the floor. We walk in our normal cooperative walk to the bathroom and make our way to the shower. Showering required teamwork, but over time became no more difficult for us than for anyone else. We used two bars of soap. I mostly lathered up the parts of our body on the left side while she lathered mainly on the right side. We each washed our hair at the same time, using our respective hands to massage the shampoo into our respective scalps, and then took turns under the shower faucet rinsing the lather away.
Yet, showering wasn’t the most personal of daily activities we learned to share. We peed and even defecated together as well. This fact was quite embarrassing for both of us initially, but it too was something we became used to. And in case you are wondering, we take turns with the wiping duties.
Dressing ourselves took cooperation too. We would both have to use our arms to pull on a pant leg, each lifting our leg in turn, but not at the same time. We eventually did visit a seamstress as the technician had advised. We needed specially-made tops and bras, of course, to accommodate our extra arms and our three boobs. Putting on our custom three-cupped bra required collaboration too. We must bend over slightly with our shared back, with each of us placing a strap of the bra over our respective shoulders. I would place our left breast into the left cup while Frederique positioned our right breast into the right cup, and then one of us would do the same for our middle breast. There are actually three straps on most of our bras, a left shoulder strap, a right shoulder strap, and a strap emerging from the top of the middle cup which extends up to the area in-between our necks and down to the torso strap in the back. We used the arms over which we had control to hook the bra in the back. We thus have support for each of our three breasts. And, support we need. I may have overdone it a bit, but we have large breasts. I was only an A-cup before the conjoinment, so I had the technicians use the solution to create large DD-cup size breasts for us. The middle breast was slightly larger than the outer breasts. Our custom bras where size DD outer cups and size F middle cup. Our tops, other than simple shirts and sweaters, were formed to accommodate our three tits as well. All of our tops, including our shirts and sweaters, were fashioned to accommodate our extra arms, with extra arm holes on each side.
We eat together as well. We can eat and swallow at the same time. It all goes to one stomach, but it goes down two different throats to get there. Fred’s dislike of milk and cheese required her to take calcium supplements in her old life, but now she is supplied with the calcium she needs from the milk and cheese ingested by me. Additionally, my usual lack of vitamins from my dislike of fruits and vegetables is satisfied by Fred’s love of those foods. Our different tastes helped our health. My health was improved by my quitting smoking as well. Fred refused to have smoke entering our lungs. I had actually quit soon before the transformation. Fred actually did let me smoke one cigarette after the conjoinment however. We wanted to experience the neat little trick of me inhaling the smoke and Fred exhaling it. It was kind of a cool trick, even though it sent Fred into a coughing fit. Another neat trick was the fact that one of us could hold our breath indefinitely while the other provided our body with all the oxygen that our body needed. Even though only one of us needed to breathe at any one time, both of us tended to breathe all the time, inhaling and exhaling in unison. I suppose it was habit from our old life. Besides, it just felt strange not breathing.
Fred was confused by the ways of the female world. Luckily for her, she had a life-long women attached to her for help. I taught her how to apply make up, and how to dress like a fashionable woman. I could only do so much to help Fred through our first menstruation in our new body. He was a bit disgusted by the slimy and bloody feel our vagina took on during those days, but like everything else, he got used to that and the cramps as well.
It was the ways of sex with men that was the hardest for Frederique to adapt to. Or rather, sex with a particular man as had been the case for the past few months. In the two years since our conjoinment, Fred had found three women with whom he started lesbian relationships, though none of them lasted more than a few months. Fred had also had a few purely sexual encounters. I didn’t particularly enjoy casual sex as much as Fred did, so we compromised with that too. I allowed Fred to have a few casual sexual encounters with a lesbian woman curious to have meaningless sex with conjoined women, so long as he kept it to a minimum number. I was disturbed by the sex between us and the lesbian women at first. Our shared pussy was not exactly at its wettest those first few times after the conjoinment. When we were with women, every pleasurable sensation sent out by Fred’s brain was counteracted by my feelings of aversion. The same was true of the first few times we had sex with men. For as much as I was turned on, every signal coming from Fred’s mind was trying to turn off our sexual stimulation. We managed to have sex those first few times though. I would lay there motionless and mostly quietly when Fred had one of her lesbian lovers with us. Despite my aversion to sex with a woman, I couldn’t help but let out a few moans of bliss as the female lover would lick our clit with the skill of someone who knows exactly how a woman likes to be pleased. I began to enjoy the sexual encounters with woman more and more over time. Now, I join in the action, moaning audibly with every wave of rapture, and even kissing our female lovers, and suckling their breasts, and, most recently, even licking her pussy and tasting her juices, something which I found much more enjoyable than I ever would have suspected.
Although I had not had as many male lovers as Frederique had female lovers, the transition was similar with Fred, although her transformation into bisexuality was quicker, perhaps because Fred now had the body and mind of a woman. Fred lay in silent disgust the first time we had sex with a man, only letting out the smallest peep of the pleasure I knew she felt as we orgasmed the first time together from intercourse and the feel of a man’s cock in our pussy. Yet, later, just as I had accepted our bisexual lifestyle, Fred began actively participating in sex with our male lovers. It started with her allowing herself to moan and even scream in pleasure from the orgasms which the male penis could supply. More recently, Frederique had even kissed my boyfriend and sucked his cock.
As I saw the head attached next to me sucking joyfully on my boyfriend’s cock, I just quietly kissed his thigh and allowed Fred to continue, but secretly, I was angry. I was jealous. I know it seems strange. I know that when my boyfriend fucked me, he was also fucking Fred. But, it was different somehow as I saw my sister sucking his cock. It was our vagina, but it was her mouth on my man’s cock. I grew enraged as I watched my boyfriend of five months cheat on me right in front of me. The worst part was that he didn’t even know that he was cheating. It became clear to me at that moment that he was never in love with me, but in love with us. He considered both of us to be his girlfriends. He was just waiting for his other girlfriend, Fred, to come along and love him too. I didn’t want to share him. Fred and I had shared everything since we were conjoined, but I did not want to share my man.
How could I explain to Fred that it was not acceptable for her to suck my boyfriend’s cock? I saw her swallow his cum greedily, and in the few days since then, she had confided in me that, much to her surprise, she had enjoyed it greatly.
“Keep your mouth away from my man!” I shouted unexpectedly one morning three days after the incident, finally unable to keep my rage to myself.
“Excuse me?” Fred looked at me as though I had lost my mind, which was a scary prospect I’m sure, considering that my mind was attached to her body.
“You heard me, you bitch! I don’t want you kissing him on the lips or sucking his dick!” I scowled at her, expecting the worst fight of our time together.
“OK, Sis,” Fred said with a smile of reassurance.
I was shocked that Fred was so accepting of my demands and so pleasant after my awful words to her. As I looked into her eyes however, I could tell that she understood. Living in the same body with someone for two years allows you to know them like you can know no other. I understood with that simple look that Fred understood that I cared for this man deeply and that I saw a difference in having sex with our vagina and her using her mouth to satisfy him sexually. I was happy that Frederique was so understanding. I wondered if she would be as understanding when I told her that I wanted to marry this man and to have his child. For if I shared my bed with this man the rest of my life, she would have to share it with him too. And what if I was to marry him? What about the lovers that Fred would still seek? My husband would have to accept that he was only marrying me. He would have to allow Fred to sleep with her lesbian lovers. I somehow thought that allowing Fred her female lovers would not be a problem for him. But now that Fred had developed a taste for men as well, what if Fred wanted a male lover? Somehow I thought she might. And, somehow I thought my husband-to-be would have difficulty with another man fucking his wife, even if the guy was fucking Frederique at the same time.
Even if we did find understanding spouses, what about a child? I would consider a child conceived by me and my man to be our child, and not Fred’s. Yet, it seemed unfair of me to ask Fred to go through nine months of pregnancy and deny her the benefit of being that child’s mother. It seemed that the strongest tests of cooperation were yet to come. I dreamed of our child suckling at one of our three breasts. Would I grow possessive of the child if Fred tried to nurse her from our right breast, or would I see it as merely another part of life which we must share? I couldn’t help but wonder how marriage and parenthood could drive a wedge between Fred and me. I dreamt of a child growing up and looking into the face of his or her mother and seeing two faces. What if the child saw Frederique as more of a mother or a better mother than I? These thoughts of marriage and children created thoughts of selfishness in me that I had never had with regard to Fred before. What kind of wedge would it drive between us, if any? Only time would answer that question. I presume that we will work it out eventually no matter what problems marriage or parenthood presented. I mean, what other choice do we have but to work it out?
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