When Karl’s pregnant wife was diagnosed with breast cancer, it changed their lifestyle severely.

As you may know, October was Breast Cancer Awareness Month. Being aware for a month inspired me to write the following story. It is a fictional story, although the disease is very real. Please take a moment to consider donating to help fund research, and if you’re lucky enough to have breasts make sure you examine them regularly. This story uses some serious issues as hooks for a lightweight plotline that plays with gender - if that sort of thing bothers you, you’re better off not reading any further.

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It’s amazing how quickly joy can turn to despair. Abby and I had been married for three years and we decided it was time to start a family. When she peed on the little stick and we watched it turn blue, it was incredible! I had never felt that much happiness before — not when I got my degree, not when she said yes to my proposal, not even on my wedding day. We told our folks and they were excited at the idea of becoming grandparents — it was great. But, you know they say you’re not supposed to tell anyone right away. There’s a reason for that. Abby miscarried at seven weeks. It was devastating; we were all frantic and wondering what we did wrong. Abby blamed me; I blamed her; we each blamed ourselves. It was real rough there for a while. But we got through it. Eventually she even let me touch her again.

It was almost a year later when she came to me and talked about trying again. I’d thought about it myself, but I didn’t feel like I had the right to bring it up. It took a few tries, but eventually we were pregnant again. This time we made sure she was taking all the right vitamins, and eating all the right foods, and getting the right kind of exercise. I did everything I could to keep her free from stress; I did most of the housecleaning, I learned to cook the foods that were good for us, and I practiced some massage techniques on her feet and the sides of her head. We made a pact not to tell anyone until the second trimester. This time we lost the little one at eleven weeks. It just wasn’t fair! Had we done something to make God mad at us? Were we not going to church often enough? Or were we going to the wrong church? Had we committed some sin that deserved to be punished so horribly? We thought that we’d done everything right, but sometimes it’s just not enough. It took longer to get back to normal the second time — we almost separated, but got into couples’ counseling and worked out our problems. Abby and I weren’t really mad at each other; we were just frustrated by things that seemed to be beyond our control.

It was just after our sixth anniversary when a torn condom resulted in our third pregnancy, and even though we hadn’t planned it, we were ready to welcome the little miracle into our life. But in light of the previous experiences, we were pretty much on eggshells 24/7. The doctors said everything was fine, there weren’t any difficulties, and all was going well. Then it happened. When Abby was about six weeks pregnant, I’d felt something unusual in her breast as we were cuddling one night. I figured it was just a developing milk gland or something, but there wasn’t anything like that the other two times. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about it, so as not to give her any extra stress, but I did whisper it in private to her obstetrician at one of our regular appointments. The doctor then felt around for any lumps, under the guise of checking how Abby was developing, and found something she didn’t like. So she took an ultrasound scan of Abby’s breasts, and sent it off to a specialist. She told Abby that something was suspicious, but it probably was just a fatty lumpy cyst, although the doctor used some more technical term, and we probably shouldn’t worry. Of course we worried, but I did my best to try to keep Abby calm, for the sake of the baby.

A couple of days later, we got a call from an oncologist. He thought the scan looked bad, and wanted to do a biopsy. Abby was freaking out. Her doctor gave her a prescription for a mild tranquilizer to keep her from going frantic. We scheduled the biopsy for as soon as possible, and did more praying than I ever had in my life. Those prayers were all for naught. They found cancerous tissue in both breasts, spreading at an alarming rate. We had three options. They could try to only cut out the lumps, and then put her on a regimen of radiation and chemotherapy, which would probably kill the baby. They could cut off both her breasts, and hope they caught all the cancer before it could spread to anywhere else, or they could do nothing and she would probably die a painful death. It took some soul searching and a lot of talking, but in the end there was only one choice. We couldn't letter our little miracle go the way of her brothers, so Abby went in for a double mastectomy. I called my sister Lena before the operation to get some idea of what to expect, since she’d had a reduction surgery some time ago, but she warned me that it was completely different so there’s really no comparison. But it was good just to vent my emotions at her. The night before the surgery, Abby made me take extra time to say goodbye to "my friends," as she put it. We were both really scared, but I tried to do my best. We had a romantic cuddle, even though neither of us was feeling very sexy.

Waiting for her to come out of surgery was nerve-wracking. Was she going to be ok? How was the baby doing? Was I going to be a family of three, or two, or just one? It seemed to take forever. When they finally brought her to the recovery room, she looked awful — there were tubes and wires and bloody bandages everywhere! But I told myself to be strong, for Abby. She was in the hospital for a week or so recovering, and the OB said the baby was doing fine. The cancer doc said he thought he got it all, but they usually recommend a course of radiation after the surgery to make sure. But we didn’t want to risk the pregnancy, so Abby decided to hold off on that. When they let her go home, we all decided it would be better if she continued resting most of the time. She quit her job teaching third grade, and it was a little tight, but my job working in the bank paid enough for us to live on, and my health coverage was first rate.

Abby was bored lying around doing nothing all day, so she’d taken to surfing the internet on her laptop while staying in bed. Usually she’d have something to show me that she’d found about ratings on baby furniture or recommendations from child-care experts. But one night, after she’d been home for six days, she greeted me with a firm expression on her face. "Karl," she said, "There’s something you’re going to have to do for the baby. Hear me out before you say no." I took a deep breath and willed myself to relax, figuring she probably found something really expensive that she wanted to buy, and money didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. But what she proposed was nothing I would have ever guessed.

She showed me some statistics from one page about how breast-fed babies are usually healthier and do better developmentally than bottle-fed babies. I wasn’t sure how to respond, since I knew that she couldn’t possibly make milk anymore and was probably beating herself up over it. But she was building to some kind of point, so I just nodded. Maybe she wanted to hire a wet nurse? Then she showed me some stuff about adoptive mothers taking some kind of hormones so they can give milk to their new babies, to show that you don’t have to get pregnant to lactate. I wondered where this all was going. Then for her finale, she popped up a page that showed how there’s this African tribe where the men take turns nursing their babies. She gave me the bottom line. "Since I won’t be able to give our baby her mother’s milk, I think you ought to take those hormones so you can give her father’s milk." Now before you say that no guy in his right mind would agree to that deal, you have to realize where my mind was at the time. Our two little boys were taken from us before they were even finished, and now their sister was on the way. And every time before I always wondered if I could have done more. I knew I would do anything for my unborn child, and I think it was because the request was so outrageous that I saw it as a test. If I would be willing to do this, it would show that I was capable of making the sacrifices that it takes to be a parent. I mulled it over for a while and told her I’d do it. She gave me the name of an endocrinologist she’d found who was willing to see me. I called the next day and made an appointment.

Abby insisted on coming with me to the appointment. The doctor was kind of young; he looked like he was fresh out of med school, but when Abby explained our problem to him, he seemed to understand. "Now you want to grow a full set of functional lactating breasts within six months, give or take a couple weeks, is that right?" We nodded. He said that to get development in that short a time, I’d have to go with a very high dosage, and there would be side effects. He said I’d probably lose the ability to function sexually and most likely would go sterile, but it might return when I went off the hormones. And we couldn’t just pick and choose which body parts we wanted; besides breasts, the hormones would be trying to give me a woman’s entire body. My butt and hips would be getting new fat growing there as well as my chest. And he said I’d get moody and emotional, which made Abby chuckle, since the hormone cocktail he was prescribing would be very similar to what was already in her pregnant body. I think he was trying to scare us off, but I kept agreeing to it all. I was ready to take anything that was thrown at me if it meant keeping the baby alive. So he upped the ante. He said the biggest problem would be countering the male hormones already in my system, and the best solution would be to do an orchidectomy, which is the doctor way of saying he wanted to castrate me.

At this point, I wasn’t even hearing the doctor. I was hearing God, asking me if I’d be willing to cut my balls off to save my baby. I’m not sure who Abby was hearing, because she was getting ready to give up. But I saw her starting to tremble with frustration and put my hand on her shoulder. "Whatever it takes, Doc," I said. "Our baby is going to need to be fed when she comes out, and I want to be there for her when she does." Apparently, my conviction swayed him, so he drew some blood to run some tests and tentatively set up an appointment to begin treatment. He referred me to a urologist for the surgery, but said that nothing could go further unless I got cleared by a psychiatrist, so he sent me to one of them, too.

I knew that explaining why I wanted to do this to a shrink was going to be tough, so I ran through a bunch of scenarios ahead of time before settling on what I was going to tell her. I decided to go with most of the truth. I’d talk about how my pregnant wife had to have her breasts removed, and this started us talking about how we were going to nurse the baby, and then I made up a conversation where I told her I’d always felt like more of a woman than a man, and if she’d let me I’d like to breastfeed. I’d pretend her cancer made me realize that life was too short to waste any more time pretending to be someone I wasn’t. At my appointment with the psychiatrist I must have managed to make all that sound rational, because she gave everything the green light and appreciated the need to get my breasts before the baby was born. She did make me schedule some follow-up visits, though. I was going to have to keep up the story for a while. I let Abby know what I was saying, just in case.

My appointment with the urologist went well. He sent me to a fertility clinic a couple times to get some sperm samples frozen, just in case I ever wanted to make another kid. I wished I could have skipped this step, since it might have made me look unappreciative for the kid we were currently making, but they said it was a standard procedure so I went along with it. Inside, I made sure that the universe knew I wasn’t planning on using those sperms, ever. I just didn’t want to have to explain it to anyone; they’d think I was nuts. I teased Abby into having a little ceremony where she said goodbye to "her friends," although she hadn’t really paid them much attention before. The surgery went a whole lot faster that I expected. They didn’t even need to keep me in the hospital afterward. I tried not to dwell on the reality that I’d been neutered. I was real nervous before my first round of hormone shots, but I didn’t feel all that different afterwards. I’d be taking pills every day, and getting more shots every other week, as the doctor monitored my progress.

Abby and the baby were doing well, so I took this as a sign that we’d made the right decision. I called my sister to let her know what was happening, and I got the sense that she was worried for my sanity, so I had to tell her the story I gave the shrink, but I had to add some details from our childhood about how I’d always been envious and wished I could be as pretty as her. Now that this had become my official story, I went on the computer and researched actual transsexuals, so that I could make sure I was giving plausible descriptions of my motivations. And I ordered some videos that would teach me how to talk and act and present myself in a believably female manner. What surprised me the most was that Abby was fully supportive of me in this. It was only much later that I realized that she felt that the cancer was still inside her somewhere, and didn’t expect to live. But if I continued my transformation, our baby would still have a "mommy." It turns out I wasn’t the only one who had made a deal with the universe to keep our precious one alive.

She was the one who pointed out that it would be wrong to make a baby nurse on a pair of hairy boobies, so I started electrolysis treatments. If I wasn’t so pale and blond, I could have gone for a less painful laser treatment, but luck of genetics made me take after my Swedish grandparents. Our savings were taking a major hit from all this, so I had to cash in some investments. But most importantly, we got through the first trimester, and our baby was doing fine. She was really starting to look like a little person in the ultrasound. She had survived longer than the others, so it looked like the universe was upholding its side of the deal. We would just have to keep fulfilling our side.

At a couple months into it, my nipples had become really sensitive. Abby had taken to playing with them in bed, having read somewhere that stimulating the nipples would help promote lactation. I’d taken to using a vibrator on her, since I couldn’t get it up anymore. I felt ashamed, knowing I was a failure as a man and tried not to let her see my weep, but I put a lot of effort into learning how to please her with my mouth. There were similar articles that said that giving a pregnant mother orgasms were good for the baby. It was certainly an adjustment, but we were handling it.

She got out a measuring tape one day and figured out my sizes, and ordered me some women’s clothes. She thought my psychiatrist would like it if I tried to work on putting forth a more feminine appearance. So I showed up at my next appointment in a pair of women’s khakis, a purple top that was a more or less a lace-trimmed T-shirt, a smart tweed blazer, and some simple flats on my feet. Under it all I even wore panties, a camisole, and knee-highs. Abby wanted me to carry a purse, too but I wasn’t quite ready for that, so I carried my wallet in a jacket pocket. Even though it was a fairly androgynous look, I still felt like it was a big step. I imagined a lot of people staring at me, but I made it to my session without freaking out too much.

She plucked my eyebrows a little thinner that I would have liked, but I was pretty much doing whatever she wanted at this point. But when she said "Karli, it’s time to get your ears pierced," I knew that another line had been crossed, and also that apparently Abby had decided I needed to be christened with a female name. She also decided that I needed to dress up for our trip to the mall. I’d been wearing bras at home for a while, but the lacy red one she pulled out for me was clearly a couple cup sizes too big. Abby explained why. "I broke down and ordered myself a pair of breast forms, and I got a set for you at the same time, so you can practice feeling the weight. We can be booby twins." If it was going to help her cope with her loss, it was a good idea. I put the bra on, realizing I was getting better at this than I’d realized, and she helped settle the silicone blobs in the cups. The matching panties were a little tight, but that helped to hold my shriveled and empty parts in place. Then she had me sit down and learn how to put on pantyhose. It was tricky, but I didn’t get any runs. Then she put a pair of blue pumps with 1 1/2" heels onto my feet and had me stand up. The she rolled the waistband of my hose down a few inches and wrapped this belt thing around me that I later learned was called a waist cincher. She tightened some laces in the back and had me exhale. I could barely move my waist. She rolled the top of my pantyhose back up, over the cincher. Then she had me raise my arms and a long black satin slip went on over my head, and after she adjusted the straps a little, a navy blue jersey tank dress also came down.

I took a look in the mirror behind our door and saw a woman with a decent figure in a blue dress. I was 5’10”, and kind of skinny before going on a high-calorie breast-building diet, so at least I didn’t look like a linebacker in drag. But from the neck up, it looked like my head, which still seemed very manly to me. My blond hair had grown out some since we’d started this, but it lay flatly since it was very fine and very straight. I had strong cheekbones that might have been considered pretty, but also a fairly masculine jawline and my forehead looked too heavy to me to be female. I tried to tell Abby it wasn’t going to work, but she said no one was going to notice anything was out of the ordinary and that I could tell only because I knew. She led me to her vanity and had me sit, reminding me to keep my knees together, then put some mousse in my hair and teased it out in a sort of messy cloud that could probably look sexy on a real woman. She handed me a lipstick and talked me through how to apply it. It was a dark burgundy color that did seem to work well on me. The only other makeup she thought I needed was a couple strokes of brown mascara on each eye, so my eyelashes would stand out more. I did a horrible job applying it, so she had to wipe it off with a special eye makeup remover pad and do it herself. She finished my look with a gold necklace that said "Karli" in cursive letters that must have been custom ordered. Then I was told to practice walking while she got dressed. She had me start by walking through a misting of cologne that she sprayed in the air. I looked in the mirror again and tried to believe I saw a woman, if even an ugly one, but could still only see a guy in a dress. But this was important to Abby, so I went along with it. That was getting to be my motto.

I walked a few steps, until I could get the hang of heels, and then turned to watch Abby get dressed, so that maybe I could copy some of her technique. However, she’d taken off her robe and was just sitting there, wearing her empty bra and holding her new breast forms in her hands. Hers were bigger than mine, and flat across the back instead of hollowed out. I noticed she was softly weeping. I sashayed over and sat down on the bed beside her. I reached an arm around and softly stroked her shoulder. "I love you, and I think you’re beautiful. I don’t tell you that often enough." She leaned against me and turned toward me. I kissed her softly, and added "You are the bravest person I know, too. We’re going to get through this, and in a few months our child who is growing inside you right now will come out and we’ll give her the best mommy we can. We’ll make whatever sacrifices are necessary. Now I thought you said we were going to be booby twins?" I took a guess as to which was right and which was left and slipped the fake breasts into her bra cups and then gave her a hug. It was weird, feeling the breast forms mash together. Inside all those layers I could feel my nipples becoming aroused by the stimulation, and I tried not to think about it and just held her until she stopped shaking. She broke the embrace, took a deep breath, sniffled, wiped her face and gave a sort of half smile as she told me I’d have to fix my lipstick.

I went over to the vanity and as I reapplied my lipstick I noticed how completely natural it felt to do. After I kissed a tissue to blot the excess, I turned and helped Abby finish getting dressed. She’d already managed to get her special maternity pantyhose on over her huge cotton panties, and was putting on her top, so all I had to do was button her jumper for her. She put a pair of simple canvas sneakers on her feet and went to do her makeup, where she put on lipstick and mascara like she did me, but also a little blush and some eye shadow. I think she needed to feel pretty, but she was still gorgeous to me, and the baby bump just made her even more attractive. It’s a good thing my parts weren’t working, since I would have put the moves on her right there. But fortunately that wasn’t going to be a problem. I had to stop and take a moment to realize where my train of thought was going, and it scared me. Why was I happy to be sexless? It must be the hormones or something. I could have taken it up with my shrink, but maybe she might have made me stop the treatment.

Anyway, when we got to the mall I pulled the car into one of the special spots for pregnant ladies and mothers with babies. This would be easier on Abby’s feet. We found the ear piercing place, and the girl who worked there looked at us kind of strange. Abby browsed the selection of studs and found a pair she liked that had little blue crystals in them. "We’d like to get her ears pierced with these, please." The attendant seemed to smirk a little at the "her." I’m sure she could see right through me. I blushed all the way to my toes and almost called the whole thing off, but then Abby smiled broadly and showed the earrings to me, and said "See? They’re zircons, but they’re pretending to be blue topaz. That’s December’s birthstone. It’s why I put you in blue today." I looked a little confused at first, since my birthday is in July, but then it clicked. Our due date was in December.

A tear came to my eye and I looked at the girl and said, "Yes, those are an excellent choice. Let’s do this." It was my first time using my female voice in public around anyone besides Abby and my psychiatrist, and I think its authenticity surprised her, because she sort of apologized and led me to a stool where she cleaned my lobes and put some kind of numbing stuff on them, then a couple of loud snaps and little pinches later, my ears had sparkling blue stones in them. She gave me a bag with some special ear care lotion in it, and I put it in my purse. I was glad that I had enough cash to pay her, since my credit cards were all for "Karl Larson." I would have to do something about that.

While we were in the mall, Abby thought we should do some baby shopping. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to take that step, but I figured looking couldn’t hurt. In a way, it was one of my first real moments as a woman — shopping by looking at things without planning on buying anything. But I could feel the stares everywhere — people just can’t resist looking at a freak. But I managed to keep myself from panicking long enough, until Abby’s legs got tired and we had to leave anyway.

The next Monday, I went into the bank early to catch the boss as soon as he came in. I still dressed androgynously, but wore a 38A bra that I filled completely under my simple top and pantyhose under my ladies’ slacks and flats. My breasts were as undeniable as my earrings, so I figured it was time to officially come out. Bill had always been a decent guy, so I didn’t want to put him in an awkward place. I told him that I was in transition to becoming a woman, and I understood that both customers and other employees at the bank might be uncomfortable around me. He had guessed that something like that was happening; the gossip mill was buzzing with several theories about what was going on with me. I got the impression that he himself was a little weirded out by the whole thing, but our personal history made him try to understand. I figured that he might not want to have a grotesque man/woman working as a loan officer anymore, but I really needed to stay on the company health plan. I asked if maybe I could be transferred to working at the call center for a while, where people wouldn’t have to see me face to face, but I could still make use of my knowledge of our offerings. He said he had to make some calls, but sent me to get started on clearing my workspace of personal effects. I then killed most of the morning telling my story over and over to my co-workers: Yes, I was on hormones. No, I wasn’t gay. Yes, Abby knew about it. Yes, she’s pregnant, thanks. No, I wasn’t planning on leaving her. Actually, it isn’t really your business if I still have exterior plumbing. No, I haven’t legally changed my sex yet. Yes, I suppose that would make me in favor of same-sex marriage. Yes, they’re real, but No, you can’t touch them. It was a long morning.

Bill caught me and said he’d talked to upper management, and the legal department said it wouldn’t be good to fire me. His openness surprised me. He said he talked to Jerry, the manager at the call center, and he agreed to let me transfer in. Bill apologized, but he said he believed in full disclosure, so he’d told Jerry exactly what kind of person would be working for him. It would mean taking a cut in salary, but Abby and I wouldn’t be losing any health coverage. Bill said that I’d start the new job in two days, so I’d get a day off.

On Abby’s advice I used my day off to go to a beauty salon and get my hair and nails done. I got my hair cut and styled into a feminine pixie ‘do, even though I told the stylist I was planning on letting my hair grow. I got fake fingernail extensions glued on that were girlie but not too long, and had them painted in a soft pink. And just for fun, I also got a pedicure and had my toes painted the same color. I still thought I looked ugly and mannish, but at least it showed that I was making an effort. I was very nervous about meeting a whole new bunch of people, and having to do it as a woman made it even scarier, but I figured it was better not to start off trying to pass as a real man. Besides, I’d already had my first mammogram and that’s something that really makes you feel like a woman.

For my first day, I decided to wear my blue dress and my newest shoes, a pair of black pumps with 2" heels. Abby made me wear my fake breasts since she said it helped make a good impression, but the way they rode in the cups of the bra I chose, the tops of my real breasts got pushed up so I was showing a little actual cleavage and it didn’t feel as much like cheating. It gave me a strange sort of satisfaction that I didn’t dare mention to Abby — she hadn’t worn her breasts since that trip to the mall. Jerry seemed a little suspicious when I met him, almost as if I had blackmailed Bill into getting me this job. But he showed me to the cubicle where I’d be working, and introduced me around. I let them know the short version of my story. I was a man, but was becoming a woman. My legal name was still Karl, but I preferred to be called by the nickname Karli. I’d prefer it if they let me use the ladies’ powder room, but if any of the women would be uncomfortable with that I could use the men’s. If the men would be uncomfortable with that, I joked that I’d have to get a bucket. That seemed to help break the ice. I got the sense that some of the women were uncomfortable, but none of them wanted to seem intolerant so no one complained. I kept my trips as short as I could, and stayed out if someone was already in there. While technically I could still stand to pee, I liked to sit because it was less of a disappointment. After a week, I had the routine down, and "First Statewide Bank — this is Karli. How can I help you today?" displaced "Hello" as my habitual way of answering the phone. I even had idle conversations with some of my neighbors, who’d asked about the pictures on my desk. One was of Abby as a bride, my 5’8” brunette goddess. The other was a framed ultrasound printout of our daughter, who we’d decided to name Lily Grace.

At my next therapy session, I told Dr. Weiss about my change of jobs. She pressed me about how much of the discomfort I was sensing from people was really coming from inside me. I told her I was feeling more and more feminine every day, but any glance in a mirror showed me this man-faced cavewoman that shattered any delusions I had of passing for a natural female. She said that was reasonable — there are physiological differences between the features of male and female heads. She referred me to a plastic surgeon who does what’s known as "facial feminization" procedures that could ease back some of my more masculine qualities. Everything else I told her I was feeling also was fairly normal (although that’s a word she doesn’t use) and she even laughed a little when I told her I knew I was a girl when I found myself having fun buying shoes, and I was eager for the hormones to finish reshaping my body so I could go out and get a new wardrobe. I left the appointment feeling refreshed and hopeful.

Abby and I went to see the plastic surgeon, and he showed me some before and after pictures, and gave me some recommendations for what he could do to make my face less manly. He wanted to take the end of my chin down a little, grind the corners of my jaw off to make it less square, make my nose thinner and slightly higher on my face, smooth out the browbone on my forehead, and go into my throat and shave the bulk off of my Adam’s apple. It was going to be very expensive. The first time Abby had gotten pregnant, I’d arranged some funds so that our baby could go to college when he got old enough, but I’d been afraid to touch that money since then because it was too painful a reminder. Abby had some reluctance to agree to use that money for this surgery on me, as though it was a frivolous or selfish luxury. But I explained that I didn’t want Lily to be subconsciously traumatized by all the people I could imagine pointing and saying "Why is that baby being nursed by a troll?" I wanted her to have as normal a life as possible, and normal would mean being breastfed by someone who looks female. Eventually she agreed to let me do this. I think a part of her might have been expecting to die again, so she wanted the only mother her baby would have to look like a mother. One of the good things about my job transfer was that I got to keep all my banked vacation time. So after I’d been at the call center for a month, I took two weeks off to get my face done. The doctor spent hours working on me, and when I woke up in the hospital, there were the familiar tubes and wires and bloody bandages all over my face, I couldn’t talk, I was very thirsty, and I still a little high from the drugs. Abby had this look of sheer horror, and tried to conceal it, but I’ve seen pictures of what I looked like, and it was as though I’d been hit in the face by a truck or something.

After a week, when I had recovered enough for them to let me out, I spent some time resting at home. It was kind of funny; Abby and I were both home resting, so whenever either of us wanted something, we’d have to consider whether it would be easier to ask the other one for it. I tried not to ask her for anything unless I was in pain, since Lily’s welfare was everyone’s priority. After my two weeks, most of the bruising and swelling had subsided, but I decided to even out my complexion with foundation makeup in order to go back to work. And foundation would mean I’d need blush, too. If I was going that far, I might as well go with a little eye shadow in a neutral shade, as well as my usual lipstick and mascara. It was close to the time that my earlobes would heal and I could change my earrings, but I liked keeping the topaz studs. They really made the blue in my eyes pop. Since I was feeling a little sexier, I decided to wear a shorter mauve pleated skirt that ended just below the knee, sheer-to-waist suntan sandalfoot pantyhose, natural tan leather crisscross sandals with a 3" heel, and a sleeveless white silk blouse that was cut low enough to show a hint of cleavage from my unassisted B-cup breasts. The waist cincher was the only cheating my figure needed at this point. I liked feeling the eyes of passing men on my cutely rounded bottom as I strutted my way down the halls of the office building the call center was located in.

Instead of just waving at the guard to get buzzed in as usual, I actually had to run my ID card (Which still said Karl) through the machine to get into the bank. He looked at his computer screen at me and said “Oh, Ms. Larson, it’s you. I didn’t recognize you. Have you done something different with your hair?” That reminded me that I should check with my stylist to make sure my hairdo still fits my new face. When I passed my co-workers on the way to my cube, I could hear whispering. It was Stephanie, a fortyish single mother whose cubicle was across the aisle from me, who had the guts to speak up. "Karli, you look great! If I met you today, I’d never guess… well, you know." I thanked her deeply and gave her a big hug. Soon I fell back into the routine, but wasn’t feeling at all uneasy like before. I took a bathroom break and hadn’t realized Julia, a young redhead who had been pretty much ignoring me before, had just gone in. I started to turn to leave but she smiled at me and said it was ok. Just before lunch, I was paged to the lobby. There was a delivery guy there with a bouquet of tiger lilies in a glass vase for me. I was flabbergasted. I looked at the card and it said "Have fun at work, Mommy! We miss you. — Lily" I melted. I kissed the delivery man on the cheek and gave him a tip. I floated on the ceiling all the way to the break room to get some water in the vase, and did cartwheels to my cubicle. Or at least it felt that way. I put the vase on my desk and explained to my neighbors that these flowers were a gift from my unborn daughter, who would be entering the third trimester in two weeks. I called Abby and told her to thank Lily for me, and I offered to pick up Chinese takeout for dinner on my way home: all her favorites, no seafood, no MSG, no nuts.

When I got home I brought the takeout cartons to the bedroom, and used a pair of chopsticks to feed Abby an entire container of beef lo mein, as well as some of my sweet & sour pork. I kissed her deeply and strongly and made sure she knew how much I appreciated her. I undressed her and laid her on the bed. She was very ashamed, both for her flat chest and her weight gain, but I told her she was the sexiest woman I know. She said so was I, and had me slowly undress to tease my lover. When I unveiled my breasts, she let out a small gasp. I kissed her some more and thanked her for the flowers. But then I "realized" that the flowers were from Lily so I had to thank her. I kissed Abby’s growing belly repeatedly, and wondered why I hadn’t realized how hairy she’d become. I said "Thank you Lily" loudly at her navel, but it didn’t seem like Lily heard me. But then she kicked, and we both jumped. I kissed Abby again, as we shared our joy. Now I felt that I needed to give Lily a kiss, too. So I worked my way down to the doorway to Lily’s house, and stuck my mouth inside to kiss her, as deeply as I could. Then I tried the doorbell, and knocked on the door a few times. Laughing at how silly I was being got Abby to relax enough that she could let her self go, and she exploded. Three times. I was glad I was wearing waterproof makeup.

Abby felt she wanted to reciprocate, and repositioned herself on the bed so that I could kneel straddling her head. She kissed my empty sac a few times, and then took my former glory into her mouth. I could feel some stimulation, but it just wasn’t doing anything. She reached up her hands and started playing with my breasts, and that was turning me on. I let out a little moan. She moved my hands so that I was twiddling my own nipples, and I think she enjoyed watching. She reached over and opened the nightstand drawer and took out her vibrator, all without looking which made me wonder how often she’d done that. While one hand was moving the vibrator into and out of herself, her other hand started kneading my buttocks. I could almost feel the vibrations running through her and worked on my breasts more intently. Then without warning, she pulled the vibrator out of herself, turned it off, and plunged it into me. It must have found the right spot, because when she turned it on I erupted almost immediately. It was a very strange feeling having an orgasm without an erection, and I’m not sure exactly what kind of fluid Abby was licking off of me, but something was there. We repositioned ourselves into a cuddle. Wow. That was amazing! But I guess she wasn’t done. As we cuddled, she slid down and started suckling on my left breast. I don’t know if this was supposed to be sexual or just preparing me for the baby, but it felt very good. After a while, she moved to my right breast, then stopped and looked up at me, grinning, and said, "Hey! I think you just expressed! It was only a drop, but it proves your equipment works. We’ll have to get a pump."

The next couple weeks went well. I was still giddy as a schoolgirl from my flowers and awesome sex, and my mood rubbed off on going the extra mile to give all my customers great service. Since it hadn’t quite turned autumn yet, I took advantage of the nice weather to keep wearing flirty clothes. I spent more time getting to know my co-workers, and even went out to lunch with "the girls" a couple times. They invited me as a regular thing, but we were on a budget so I brought a bag lunch most of the time. As it got close to "Third Trimester Day," as we were starting to call it, I could tell that Abby was planning something but she wouldn’t let me in on it. All she’d let me know is that I’d have to take the afternoon off that day. I wanted to do something special for her too, but I wasn’t sure what to do, until I hit on the idea of getting the nursery ready. I spent a weekend cleaning out the room that was our home office, and it was really wearing me out. My former strength was nearly gone from all the hormones. I got some paint swatches from the home improvement store, and bounced some colors off of Abby for an opinion. We ended up going with a soft peachy orange with white trim. I spent another weekend painting the room, and duct-taped the doorway airtight so she wouldn’t be exposed to dangerous fumes. I remembered a nice set of baby furniture from our shopping excursions that we both really liked, and placed an order to have it delivered the week after 3T Day. Then I had fun picking out window treatments and bedding that would match the color scheme. I wished I knew how to sew, so that I could just go wild at the fabric store and get the perfect look. But I put enough energy into picking things out it felt like I’d done something. I wonder if my hormone cocktail was awakening a nesting instinct. Either way, Lily was going to have a great room.

When the day finally came, I left work and went home to get Abby. She had something to show me in the bedroom. There was a big stack of corrugated cardboard boxes, like you’d use for moving, and each one had a label printed on the side like "shoes" or "suits." She told me it was time we got rid of Karl’s things, and although I knew what she meant it was still a weird thing to say. She said the guy from Goodwill would be coming tomorrow, so if there were any of Karl’s old things that were still precious to me I could take them out and save them. Then she showed me all the space that had opened up in my closet and my drawers, since my female wardrobe was still fairly small. She gave me a half hour to make a list of favorite things I remembered, and if I couldn’t find where any of them was packed, she’d help me look. I didn’t keep much: a baseball cap I liked, a sweatshirt I still had from college, a couple t-shirts with funny messages on them, and the necktie that was the first Christmas present Abby had ever given me. The one thing that I wanted that I couldn’t find was my favorite blue Cashmere sweater that had been an anniversary present. When I asked Abby where it was, she said she’d stolen it herself, as something to remember Karl. Part of me was insulted — I almost wanted to steal her red bikini as something to remember Abby’s old breasts, but then I realized how much we’d both given up, and knew what she meant. So I had a good cry, then it was time to take her to the obstetrician. Lily and her mother were both doing great.

Abby then gave me an address to drive to, which turned out to be a lawyer’s office. Was she making a will, or worse, filing for divorce? I had a moment of panic, but I held it in. I knew Abby loved me, and this wasn’t going to be a bad thing. It turned out she’d hired this lawyer to handle the forms to change my name. This day had a whole "Goodbye Karl" theme to it. I was still legally male, but I’d have a new name that would match my appearance. So my credit cards and driver’s license and employee ID at the bank would all be in my feminine name and cashiers and waiters and things wouldn’t look twice. All I had to do was sign a bunch of papers and then I’d be "Karli Joanna Larson" legally. I gave Abby a big hug for picking my favorite grandmother for my middle name. I was slightly confused about which name I was supposed to sign on which form, but fortunately I could always tack an "i" onto the end wherever I missed it. And the spaces where I had to initial were the same either way. I did ask the lawyer whether I would be committing fraud if I identified myself as "Ms." in documents, and he said that the title I put before my name was just a courtesy and didn’t matter legally. I could be "Ms. Karli Larson," without needing a "Female" in my official records.

There was one more stop in Abby’s plan, but first we had to go home to change. She told me to look under the bed. There was a big box from an upscale department store under there. I pulled it out and there was a beautiful strapless powder blue cocktail dress. I took it out of the box and saw under it a sexy set of white lacy lingerie . She had me strip completely and then start with the barely there thong panty, then showed me how to arrange myself into the merry widow, and fasten the hooks in back. Then I had to sit down and carefully unroll the white silk stockings up my legs, and figure out how to thread the garter straps under my panties before fastening them. I stepped into the dress and she zipped up the back, then handed me a pair of matching blue mules with the highest heels I’d ever worn. The jewelry that went with this outfit showed me what real blue topaz looked like, as I finally took out my starter studs and replaced them with pair of sparkling gold chandelier danglers. A matching pendant went around my neck and nestled between my impressive breasts. She also gave me a gold ladies’ watch for my left wrist and a powder blue clutch purse with a thin strap. While I worked on redoing my makeup into a look more suitable for evening, Abby got dressed and told me not to peek. When I turned around at the end, I saw that she was wearing an outfit I would never have thought existed, a maternity tuxedo. Her makeup and jewelry was minimal. We looked like a nightmare prom couple — a knocked-up lesbian and her date. When I asked her why she went butch (although it did look like she was wearing her fake breasts at least) she said that I was so beautiful, she didn’t want to compete. I’d never thought about it; I was just concerned with not wanting to look like a man in drag, but when I took a step outside myself and took another look in the mirror, I was shocked. That chick there really was a stone fox! How could I not have noticed? I turned and looked at Abby, and she was still the most attractive woman in the room to me.

I asked her where we were going, but she wouldn’t tell me. I didn’t know how I was supposed to drive us there, but she told me a car was coming. Abby showed me where she had stashed a new coat for me in the front closet. It was a yummy long white faux fur. Sure enough, a while later the doorbell rang and a tall buff black guy in a chauffeur’s uniform was at the door. He let out a low whistle when he saw us come out of the door, and remarked that we’d be breaking the hearts of a lot of unlucky straight guys out there. Abby told him not to tell me where we were going, and I pouted cutely, but it still didn’t work. He showed us to a waiting black limousine, opened the door and ushered us into the back. I made sure he didn’t get a peek at anything when I swung my legs in. Inside there was a champagne bottle on ice. Abby popped the cork and started pouring, and I tried to stop her because alcohol was bad for Lily, but she showed me the label. It was a nonalcoholic sparkling white grape juice. I let her finish pouring and we raised our glasses in a toast "To Lily!"

It was hard to see exactly where we were going from our vantage point, so I was impressed when we arrived at the same fancy French restaurant where I had proposed all those years ago. Abby took my arm and led me to the door. Fortunately there was an attendant who held the door for us, because I’m sure each one of us would have wanted to open the door for the other. Abby gave our name to the hostess and said we had a reservation for two, and she led us to a table. I guess she read Abby’s vibe correctly, because I ended up getting the menu that doesn’t show the prices. When the waiter came to our table, Abby ordered for both of us, picking the same exact meal we ate the first time, only with spring water instead of wine. The meal was splendid. At the end, I lobbied for diverging from our original meal, so I could order the chocolate mousse. But she stood up and silenced me. She walked over to me and took my hand and asked me if I remembered what happened after dinner before. Of course I did; that’s when I asked her to marry me. She said Lily wouldn’t let her drop to one knee, but she pulled a small jewelry box out of her jacket pocket and opened it. She said, "I don’t want to throw it away, but I don’t think you should wear Karl’s ring anymore. It’s really too wide and masculine. So I had a jeweler make you one exactly like mine, only in your size. And I don’t want people thinking my girl is married to a cheapskate, so I also got my grandmother’s engagement ring resized to fit you. So in other words, Karli, will you wear my ring?" I said "Yes, yes, yes!" just as Abby had when I asked her, and took the box. I took my old wedding ring off, which I guess was Karl’s ring like she said, and put on my new one, which was thinner and two-tone and had a pattern etched into it. I looked inside and saw an inscription with our original wedding date and "yours forever." Then I slid on my new engagement ring (the one that Abby had been saving to pass down for our son to give his intended) and my hand did look much more feminine. I kissed her and knew I was happy to be her bride. She paid the check and we left. Our car was still waiting for us.

When we got home, I was a little worried that Abby had exerted too much, but she had enough energy to lead me to our bedroom and unzip my dress. She wanted me to leave my lingerie on. I started helping her get her clothes off and tried to hide her breast forms before she could see them and be depressed. When she was nude, she turned the lights low, told me to relax on the bed, and got something out of her closet. She walked over to me and I turned and saw she was wearing a strap-on dildo. It was a lot bigger than the vibrator and looked a whole lot more like a real penis. My eyes got big with equal parts anticipation and dread, and turned around when she told me to. She pulled off my thong, and I felt her squirting a little lubricant into me and then she slowly pressed the head of her penis against my opening. I relaxed and felt myself accepting her penetration, and rocked my hips against her when she started thrusting. This was the most surreal moment that had happened to us so far, wearing my sexiest lingerie while my pregnant breastless wife took me from behind, and wishing that she would pay my nipples some more attention. Based on the little noises she was making, it seemed like part of the dildo was inside her as well, and we achieved climax fairly close together. She had me change my merry widow and stockings for a new satiny pink nightgown and I removed my makeup and jewelry and moisturized. I put some little gold hoops in my ears to keep the holes open. As I got into bed, I saw that Abby was wearing blue cotton slightly masculine jacket-and-pants style pajamas. When I spooned her, I could feel that she was still wearing the penis harness. I wasn’t sure I wanted to know why.

Over the next few weeks, we were both getting bigger, but in different places. She’d started a diary of how often Lily was kicking. She’d gotten me an electric breast pump and hooked it up to me every day like a milking machine on a dairy cow, and watched the drops flow into the little bottle. It was hard to believe it was actually coming out of me. It tasted a little sweeter than cow’s milk, but it seemed to be real. Abby also liked nursing on me. I think it was uniting the three of us, in a way. We started taking Lamaze classes. I was a little worried about going to class, but Abby wasn’t the only one with a female coach. There was this other lesbian couple, and a young unwed girl who was there with her mother. We laughed whenever the teacher would reveal some of the details of the birth process that made the male birth partners get squeamish. Everything was going well at the office. About the only thing unusual was that as my breasts were growing larger, I seemed to be getting more attention from some of the men. I was praying for the day when I’d be able to stop buying bigger bras. My endocrinologist said that I should expect to have breasts about a cup size smaller than the women in my family since I’d started hormone therapy at thirty-four; if I’d started earlier, they’d probably be the same size. But then I remembered that my sister’s breasts had been so large they had caused her pains and she needed to get them reduced, so I figured it was probably a good thing that mine would be smaller.

I borrowed Abby’s address book and decided to throw her a baby shower. Of course, this meant explaining to all her friends who I was. When I told Abby my plan, she insisted I invite my girlfriends from work also, since I was going to become Lily’s other mother. I didn’t want to argue it, so I added them to the guest list. We went to a number of baby stores and registered for things we might want. It was fun. The party itself was a little too chaotic, and getting Abby to dress up nice for it was a chore. She complained that she was too fat, and too ugly and just wanted to wear something comfortable. I finally got her into a simple maternity dress, and made her wear her breast forms, so people wouldn’t feel weird, and got her to hold still while I plucked some stray hairs from her eyebrows and did her makeup. I tried to get her to the salon for a trim and a new hairstyle, but she wouldn’t have it. So dealing with Miss Crankybritches at the shower was exhausting. We were in a private room at a nice restaurant for a Saturday lunch. Some of the guests had wine, which only made Abby grouchier that she couldn’t have any. And when some of my friends met some of her friends, I had to do introductions and tell the whole story about what happened to Karl all over again. Gradually, Abby relaxed and had some fun talking with people she hadn’t seen in a while. And we got some great gifts for Lily.

With about a month to go, Abby’s fingers had gotten so swollen that she’d taken to wearing Karl’s ring instead of hers. I offered to let her wear mine, but she declined — I was glad she did although I wasn’t quite sure why, since either way she was wearing my ring. My sister Lena came to visit us for Thanksgiving. When I met her at the airport, she didn’t recognize me at all. When I said it was me, she made me step back and turn around so she could get a good look at me. She said "Wow, sis! You look amazing!" I thanked her and tried to help her with her bags. I warned her that Abby had been having some wild mood swings, but she said that was normal. I needed a few tips on roasting my turkey, but I did manage to make a lovely dinner with all the trimmings by myself. It was the most I’d ever cooked for a single meal before, and making sure everything was ready at the same time was tricky, but worth it when I saw my family enjoying it. While Abby took a nap after dinner, Lena did help me clean up and she offered to finish it all so I could watch football, but I realized that I’d rather talk with her while washing dishes than sit watching a bunch of violent men bashing into each other. As I stood there with a flowered apron protecting my pretty dress as opposed to my sister’s less feminine outfit of jeans and a casual top, I thought about how girlish I’d become, and couldn’t remember the last time I watched a game.

When we finished the dishes, I did turn the set on to see if I’d enjoy the end of the game, and I sort of remembered what I liked about it before, but I really didn’t care anymore who won, and was listening more to the color commentary about the players’ lives. Lena was sitting in the living room with me, but I think she was watching me more than she was watching the game. I wasn’t really cheering the good plays, although I was wincing at the big tackles. And I don’t think I ever noticed the physiques of the players before — were football pants always that tight? When the game ended, the team I used to root for won and instead of being happy for them I just broke down and cried, as though in mourning for my former self. My big sister came over and just held me until I calmed down. I know it was probably all from the hormones, but sometimes I just forgot why I was doing it all. I was so comfortable being held there that I spilled everything to Lena, telling her more or less this story that you’ve been reading so far. It really felt good to just vent out all my fears and worries. Lena was a little freaked by my story, but she loved me and if this was the life I had chosen, she was sure her new niece would be happy with two parents who cared for her enough to make drastic changes just for her. Lena wanted to give me a few minutes to pull myself together, so she went to check on Abby. They must have been talking for a while, because she didn’t come back right away, and later they both came out and we just had some nice family time. When it was time for Lena to go home, Abby insisted on coming along. She said Lily wanted to say goodbye to her auntie. We all cried and hugged at the airport.

Our due date was December 22. It seemed appropriate that our little miracle baby would be a Christmas present. Because of everything, I’d only decorated the house minimally for the holiday. I’d warned Jerry that I was planning on taking 6 weeks family leave after the baby was born. We were so close to the finish line, it seemed like everything was going perfectly. Never say that; don’t even think it, because the universe has a sick sense of irony. During one of Abby’s last obstetrician appointments before the big day, they were checking on Lily via ultrasound and the technician must have been fairly new at the job because she moved the wand way over off of the uterus, and she was trying to find Lily again, but the doctor told her to go back up there; she’d seen something interesting, and looked at some blobby organs on the screen for a while, then printed something out and left the room, telling the tech to put Lily back on the monitor for us to watch while she took care of something. I grabbed Abby’s hand and told her to try to stay calm. It was bad. When she came back, she had Abby’s oncologist on speakerphone. He said that he’d been faxed the picture and it looked like there was a suspicious growth on Abby’s right ovary. He’d talked to our OB and his recommendation was that we plan on taking Lily out a couple weeks early via caesarean section, and while they had Abby open he could take a look at what was in there. He didn’t think waiting for a natural birth was a good idea. If it was malignant, we’d want it out fast. The obstetrician thought that Lily was developed enough that she’d be able to handle coming out slightly prematurely with little difficulty.

We were terrified. We went with their recommendations and soon Abby was checking into the hospital. There was a bit of a hassle at the admission desk. I gave our insurance info and said I was the patient’s husband and the nurse tried to say that our insurance policy doesn’t cover domestic partnerships. Just because I was wearing a 36E nursing bra under my peasant blouse, she didn’t believe me when I said I was male and we were legally married. I ended up having to show my license which clearly showed that "Karli Joanna Larson" was male and would they please admit my very pregnant wife so that our baby could be born. I was so angry that my voice almost slipped back into the lower register.

They took her off for surgery and I had to wait. It was agonizing. I did a lot of praying. Then a nurse came out with a little bundle in a pink blanket for me to meet. Lily was beautiful! She had her mother’s brown hair and my blue eyes, ten fingers, ten toes, 7 pounds 4 ounces, 20 inches! I got to hold her briefly before she was taken off to be checked out by a doctor. Then the obstetrician came out and told me the caesarean went well, but the oncologist found a tumor. To keep any cancer from spreading he was going to remove her uterus and both ovaries. We’d been warned this was possible, so I gave my verbal ok. I was escorted off to wait in the room where Abby would be taken for her recovery. I was pleasantly surprised when Lily’s little bed was rolled in so she could wait with me. I held that precious angel and knew I would never let her go. I softly sang to her and she made a little cooing noise. Abby was still out of it when they brought her in, so I put Lily in her cradle and went into the hallway to talk to the doctor. Her surgery went well, but he thought it would probably be best to give her some radiation treatments just to be sure they got it all. He said he’d be back after Abby woke up to go through it all with her.

When she came to, I told her how incredibly brave she was and introduced her to her daughter. She pushed the button to make her bed sit up a little, and I handed Lily to her. We all started weeping. Then Lily was crying and Abby said she might be hungry and handed her back to me. I sat down in my chair and held her in my left arm while I used my right to open the flaps in my blouse and bra cup, exposing my breast. I held Lily up near the nipple and she seemed to instinctively know what to do. She grabbed on and suckled, and I could feel the milk flowing into her. This was what it was all for, and she was definitely worth it. I looked up to see Abby smiling at us. "You look very natural together. I’m glad we did this," she said. I told her I was, too.

The recovery period was rough on all of us. I stayed at the hospital until they let Lily out, since I had to be there for her feedings, but it was only a couple days before they said everything checked out ok. Abby was in a lot of pain, but the drugs were helping most of it. It was a good thing I was the one nursing, since she’d have had to lower her doses if she was. But they only gave her three days to recover from her surgery before they started the radiation treatments, and gave her a couple rounds of chemotherapy. It seemed like overkill to me, but they’re the experts and I’m not. It really took a lot out of her. Most of her hair had fallen out, she’d lost a lot of weight, and she had no energy. When Lily and I visited her in the hospital, she couldn’t hold her for very long before her arms got tired. But we kept visiting. About the only positive note in it all was that they’d managed to harvest some of Abby’s eggs from the healthy ovary that was removed, and they were in storage at the same place that had my sperm, so there was a possibility we could have another child someday if we got a surrogate womb. But one child was definitely enough for me at that point. I wasn’t getting much sleep; I’d moved Lily’s bassinet into our room and I nervously kept listening to make sure she was breathing, and even when I could relax and fall asleep she kept waking me up every so often because she was wet or hungry or just wanted some attention. When my six week family leave was up and I had to get back to work, Abby was home, but she wasn’t quite up to taking care of Lily on her own. We hired a part-time nanny to give Abby a hand with the things she had no energy for, and she even brought Lily to my office at my break times so that I could feed her without having to pump.

Abby was getting better, but her moods were still swinging wildly. Because her hair had fallen out, she wasn’t comfortable being seen in public, so she stayed home mostly. When she had to go to the doctor’s, she’d wear a scarf on her head. It was understandable that her body chemistry was really messed up, between postpartum and premature menopause, but I was worried for her state of mind so I managed to convince her to make an appointment with my psychiatrist, which had an odd sort of symmetry since I’d cut back on my number of sessions, with work and the baby and trying to keep the house in order I just didn’t have time, plus I was feeling more or less normal. My hormone prescription had been stepped down to match other nursing new mothers, and that did wonders for my occasional blue periods. Abby perked up a little and got to the point where she could handle Lily on her own, and we let the nanny go. The only disappointing part for me was that Lily didn’t come to me at work anymore for her feedings, and I had to fill bottles for Abby to use. I had to pump at the office or I would get painfully engorged, so I had to work out something with the other ladies to get some privacy, and make sure no one else touched my bottles in the fridge.

Abby had started exercising more, which I thought was a good sign. She’d even ordered a set of dumbbells and was doing some lifting. I was a little slow on the uptake and thought she figured developing her pecs would fill out her chest some and assist in simulating breasts. Then she reignited our sex life, but her technique was a little different. There was less tenderness but more passion, although she seemed to be mostly focused on driving her strap-on into me, forcefully and almost aggressively. But whatever she was trying, it really worked for me, so I didn’t complain. When the time came that she sat me down for a serious talk one Saturday morning, I shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was when Abby told me she wanted Lily to call her "Daddy." She told me, "Karli, you’ve come out of this whole experience as an incredible person. You’re a beautiful woman, a loving wife, and a wonderful mother. I think you’re everything Lily could ask for in a Mommy, and I’d been starting to resent you for taking my place, even though I had a role in putting you there. But Dr. Weiss got me to realize that I had to find my own role to play in our family. And coming out of the shower the other day, I saw this scrawny bald guy in the mirror and realized that what our household didn’t have was a father figure. If I start now, Lily will never really remember me as anything other than her Daddy. I want to start testosterone therapy so I can become more of a man for both of you, but only if you agree. I love you, and I don’t want to lose either of my girls." We cried, we hugged, and I understood it made the most sense, and kissed my husband for the first time.

Abe (my man’s new name) was concerned that Lily not have any reminders of Abby around, so we got rid of her things quickly. Just as with Karl, we kept a few souvenirs but donated most of it to charity. It was disappointing that very few of her things fit me. I kept all of her good jewelry, and left her wedding dress in the closet, just in case Lily would want it, along with Abby’s wedding rings. Abe had Karl’s ring resized to fit his hand, which felt appropriate. It was useful that we’d been through all this before. He got his name changed and started his hormones on the same day. He tried to get back into substitute teaching, but even the union rep said the school system would be reluctant to hire a transman and if we threatened a discrimination suit to force them to hire him, he’d probably get stuck with the worst classes and no room for promotion to full-time. So he ended up getting a job in an advertising firm that ended up paying him more than he’d have made teaching. It was enough that I was able to quit my job and become a stay-at-home mom, although I still kept a few investments up and did some day trading in my spare time.

Just after Lily’s first birthday, I had my first Valentine’s Day with my husband. He came home with candy and roses for me, and I just started undressing him right there. He was so sexy with the little man-nipples he’d gotten tattooed on his muscular hairy chest. Running my fingers through those little curly hairs just got me so turned on. I’d been weaning Lily, so my breasts had gotten a little smaller, but they were still on the large side which was good because he liked to play with them. I put on his favorite nightgown and I slithered into the room and handed him a folded sheet of paper. He was a little confused. I showed him that it was a statement of the current net worth of my investments. I’d saved enough that we could have our operations, and told him he could go first. He tried to make it seem like he would have offered to be a gentleman and let me go first, but I knew he wanted it more. He tried to pass it off as being important that Lily have a daddy who could pee standing up, but I knew he was tired of having to use a prosthetic to have sex. Even when I went down on his growing clitoris, it just didn’t feel right to him. Since our sex was usually a fake part of his body entering a real part of mine, I thought it was only fair to start with him.

His surgery came in several steps, and it really looked like a mess down there for a while, and he’d be needing to get some new tattoos to cover scars on his forearm and thigh, but when it was all finished, he sported a good six inches that I got to know very well as soon as the last stitches were healed. There was a thing I had to do with his testicles to pump him up to erection, but other than that I thought it was realistic. The doctor warned that it wouldn’t have the level of sensation of a natural penis, but it had enough for me to use to please my man, and he was very satisfied. It was only on looking back that I realized that unlike before, we didn’t have any ritualistic saying goodbye to his vagina. I guess it just didn’t belong there anymore, so it wouldn’t be missed.

When we went to our lawyer to get his sex legally changed, we got a shock. Something we hadn’t considered was that since we would both be legally male until my surgery was finished, we couldn’t be married anymore. We had to file for an annulment at the same time. It really threw me. It also meant that I would no longer have health insurance. Lily would still be covered on Abe’s plan, but I couldn’t be. I was devastated and terrified and ready to fall apart, but he managed to pull me together. He said it was only going to be for a few months, but we could get me into an HMO in the meantime, just in case. And he said that an annulment could be a good thing, because it would mean we’d have to get married again, and that I deserved a wedding. He thought I’d make a beautiful bride, and couldn’t wait to see me in a big white dress standing before a justice of the peace. That cheered me up. It gave me something to focus on.

We planned a wedding for after my surgery would have healed. I wanted my first time to be as a newlywed. My surgery went fine, but because I’d been castrated and had been on such high doses of hormones, my old stuff had shrunk so much that they couldn’t do the relatively simpler procedure that essentially turns your boy bits inside out to make girl bits. I had to have a more invasive and complicated procedure where they have to take pieces from elsewhere to add where there wasn’t enough material. Abe was able to take a couple weeks off and stayed home with Lily while I was in the hospital, and when they’d come to visit me I’d ask what she’d been doing with daddy, and he tried to coach her with the words for what they did, like "park" or "zoo" or "store," and you have not seen adorable until you've seen a toddler try to say "aquarium." They looked so sweet together. Even if I wasn’t strung out on pain killers, I’m sure I’d have been beaming anyway. Lily giggled when I showed her that her mommy was wearing a diaper, too. But I’d feel much better when all the dressings and catheters and packing could come out. Of all my operations, this one took the longest to recover from, and there was a rehabilitation needed where I learned how to use and take care of my new parts. They had to teach me how to go to the bathroom, making sure to wipe in the right direction so I don’t contaminate myself. And I had to learn dilation, a very uncomfortable process where you stick this plastic thing inside yourself to fight your body’s natural desire to heal up the opening. It’s kind of like how you have to keep jewelry in a piercing to keep it from closing. Dilation eventually got easier, but those first few times it’s all about stretching things to their limit and there’s some tearing and bleeding and a lot of pain.

When they let me go home, Lily was under strict orders to be gentle with Mommy. I was still tender and very weakened. Abe couldn’t take that long a leave so we hired another nanny to give me a hand. At about two weeks post-surgery, most of the swelling and mess was gone and I could actually look down there and see that everything that should be there was there. I showed Abe and he was happy for me, but he was also way too eager to touch it and I wasn’t healed enough for that. Although I was just as anxious to feel him inside me, I had to keep him away. It was nice to be able to wear my panties without anything flapping around or sticking out and making any bulges, so I did pick up some sexier styles to frame my treasure appropriately for when the right time did come.
We filed the paperwork to get me officially declared female at the same time that we filed for our wedding license.

Lena came to stay with us for the wedding. She served as my maid of honor, and would be taking care of Lily while we were honeymooning. I’d tried taking Abby’s dress to a seamstress to get it altered to fit me, but she had been a size 10 and at 36D-28-40 I wore a 12 in most things but sometimes needed a 16 on top. The bodice would have needed to be taken out more than the fabric that was there would allow, and the seamstress thought she’d have difficulty matching the lace. So I had to get my own wedding dress, which was probably a good thing anyway, since I wouldn’t want my spouse to feel bad that I looked so much better in the dress than Abby did. Was it catty of me to think that? I don’t know. The gown I decided on was a strapless satin number with no train but a full skirt that went all the way to the floor so I could wear my flattest flats. I was two inches taller than my groom and didn’t want to be any taller. It was ivory (I was someone’s mommy after all, so white seemed inappropriate) with tone-on-tone ivory embroidered flowers around the edges. My veil had the same style of embroidery and satin ribbons along the sides. My something old was my engagement ring. My something new was my dress if anyone asked, but it was really something my new husband would be appreciating a lot more. My something borrowed was one of Lily’s hair ribbons that I tied in a bow around my garter — it seemed fair that she have a part. My something blue was my topaz earrings, so I wanted to have blue flowers in my bouquet with the white roses, and the florist suggested a blue lily he had that was the perfect color before I even told him lilies were my favorite flowers. My hair had gotten nicely long, so I got it permed and styled into an updo with a few escaping ringlets. I had a new French manicure with extensions on my fingernails, which I’d been keeping pretty short since it’s hard to maintain glamour-length nails while being a full-time mom.

Our wedding was a simple private ceremony with just the two of us, Lily, Lena, Abe’s friend Charlie from the office who was serving both as best man and photographer, and the justice of the peace who was officiating. The ceremony was held outside in a lovely garden with a little cobblestone path leading under a lattice archway. Lena was wearing a simple blue satin sheath dress, and she was holding Lily who was just precious in a little dress the same color. Charlie and Abe were wearing tuxedoes with little blue bowties and cummerbunds. My sweetie looked so handsome! I’d tried to get him to shave, but instead he’d neatly trimmed his beard so that it framed his face perfectly. I think he might have been wearing lifts in his shoessince when he turned to face me for our vows and Lena flipped up my veil, I could look him squarely in the eye. It was a beautiful ceremony.

We’d scheduled things so that we had a few hours before we had to get to the airport, so we went home and Lena helped me take off my wedding things and put on my new peignoir, a lacy gauzy thing that was nearly transparent, and then she disappeared and took Lily to go play for a while. In the other room, the men were taking their tuxes off so Charlie could get them back to the rental place. Abe knocked on the door and then came in wearing just his socks, boxers and undershirt. He saw me posed on the bed for him and was momentarily breathless before letting out a choked "Wow." I crooked a finger and beckoned him closer, and when he walked over I threw my arms around his neck and gave him a kiss that he should have felt all the way to his toes. It worked; he wobbled. I took advantage of his moment of hesitation and pulled his shirt off. I loved the shape of his yummy torso. He clearly also didn’t want to be the only one undressing, and I could see him trying to figure out how to remove my negligee. I directed his fingers to the ribbons lacing it together just under the bustline. My present for him was all wrapped up and tied with a bow. He took hold of each of the loose ends and pulled. The laces came untied. He then parted the sides, and revealed all of my bounty to him. He kissed me again and let his hands roam all over my breasts. I slid my hands down his waist and yanked down his shorts. While one of my hands took a good squeeze of his tasty little bottom, the other one found its way to his front and checked to see if he’d already pumped himself up. He hadn’t; I think he didn’t want Charlie to see him walking around with an erection. So I took matters into my own hands. I had to stop kissing to tell him that I’d gotten him ready, and now he’d need to do the same to me, and handed him the tube of lubricant I’d tucked under the pillow. Our foreplay was unconventional, but it still felt sexy to me. He knelt down and got his first real good look at my new parts. I blushed as he spread my petals and kissed each one. When he brushed the tip of his tongue across my new little clitoris, it felt amazing! I was glad the doctor didn’t leave me insensate; I’d been reluctant to try it out by myself for fear of disappointment. He squirted some lube on his finger and slipped it inside me. He was inside me wiggling around and I could feel that and oh my god! If that was just a finger, was I ready for the real thing? You bet. I pulled him up toward me and leaned back, spreading my legs wider. I used a hand to hold myself open and guide him in. It was a close fit, but not too tight. He slid in, and I just felt so complete. He slowly pulled back and started thrusting. I pushed my hips towards him and soon we were rocking in rhythm. Our bodies were one, just as our hearts and souls. I moaned in perfect ecstasy. We built in intensity until he reached a climax. I wasn’t sure whether I did or not — I hadn’t enough experience yet to know what a vaginal orgasm would feel like. We kept at it for a while, and ultimately collapsed together in a satisfied pile of sweaty exhaustion and cuddled for a while.

When we disentangled ourselves, we got up and shared a shower. That was nice. Then we got dressed and went downstairs. Lena had prepared a light lunch for us, and she and Lily were playing peek-a-boo in the living room. We grabbed some sandwiches, had a nice visit, and played with our little angel until the airport shuttle showed up and we had to say goodbye to her. That was the hardest part of it all. Then we were off to a week in sunny Cancun. I’ll admit we did spend most of our honeymoon in our hotel room, but I did make sure we hit the beach most days. I had a new bikini that was the tiniest and tightest imaginable and for which I’d gone through the chore of getting a wax before my operation, so there was no way I wasn’t going out to let people see me in it. Even though it was a little naughty of me, I wanted to show off my camel toe. We even went to a beach where I could go topless a couple times and get some sun without tan lines, but my girls really don’t like to go unsupported for very long. On our last night in Mexico, I sat my husband down for a serious talk. "I’ve been thinking about Karl and Abby," I said. "Not in a regretful way, but more out of nostalgia. Do you ever miss that old life?"

He thought for a moment before answering. "Truthfully? Sometimes I do. I miss teaching, molding young minds in a good way, instead of tricking them into wanting to buy stuff. But I really don’t miss being Abby. She was weak, and sickly, and miserable a lot of the time. But she did bring our daughter into the world, and for that I will always be grateful. Have you been wishing we’d made different decisions?"

I took a deep breath before replying. "When I was napping this afternoon after a few too many margaritas, I had a dream where I was Karl again, trying to work in the bank, but I was wearing my good apple green skirt suit, and I had forgotten where all the right forms were when a customer came in for a loan, but sort of halfway into it I realized it was a dream, but I got confused: was Karli dreaming about being Karl, or was Karli the dream, and Karl would wake up and it would all be back the way it used to be? I snapped out of it in an awful panic and had to pinch my boobs to make sure they were real. I don’t miss anything from that old life, but I sort of feel guilty that I don’t. Am I betraying Karl by not regretting it? If Abby and Karl were here, what would they say about what we’ve done with their lives?"

"Actually, Honey, as much as we like to think of them as different people and talk about them in the third person, Abby and Karl are here. We are they and they are we. I can’t tell you what Karl would say, but Abby would say I love you, and if I had to do it all over again I’d make all the same choices. I’m looking forward to spending the rest of our lives together as man and wife, and I hope you are, too." As a professional communicator, my man always knew how to say the right thing at the right time. I jumped his bones right then and there, and all my doubts flew away.

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