I intended for this story to move a good deal more quickly than it is. Its these characters.... They keep doing stuff and having conversations and... well I think you'll get the idea.

I gradually come to wakefulness. Oddly enough, I don’t really feel hung over… its more like I’m still kind of drunk. I have to roll out of bed immediately and run down the hall for the bathroom but I notice that neither Theo or his preferred leg are there. I’m in the shower as my sister comes in and makes use of the toilet, rather noisily…

“Oh god sis, what the fuck did you eat? It smells like Zombie stew or something…”

I can just hear her over the water cascading down my head.

“Hairy fish….”

That draws a laugh and once she has finished she slips into the shower with me.

I’m used to the lack of privacy at the doss but I’ve never been naked in front of my sister, especially not post transition…

I trade places with her under the water and start soaping up. I can’t help looking at her and comparing myself to her and I notice her doing the same.

“I swear if it wasn’t for that little thing I’d never have known you were supposed to be a boy. There is literally nothing about you that doesn’t scream female…”

“Yeah you’re not too bad yourself sis. How about washing my back?”

It is something new and yet comfortable… like it should have always been this way.

As we are drying off she gets this twinkle in her eye.

“Bring your blades?”

“Of course.”

“Then lets go dance!”

I actually feel quite good after the shower and readily assent.

We return to our rooms and both don leotards with microskirts.

Michelle carries her blades loose but I have donned my harness and my Katana hangs down my back with my Wakizashi strapped to the back of my right thigh. There are other little surprises but nothing I’d use in a friendly sparring match.

We pad downstairs and each fix ourselves a cup of the coffee we’ve been salivating over for the past few minutes.

I watch her pour enough milk into hers to turn it into… well, not coffee…

I notice her returning the look of distaste as I pour sugar into my black coffee… We share a grin about it.

The whole time we can hear the meaty smack of male bodies thumping each other thoroughly in the back garden. We look out the window for a few minutes as we sip the nectar of the gods and watch our father systematically destroy both of our husbands.

I have a moment of pride as I watch Theo get the best of my dad for a few moments but his leg betrays him in the end… he still hasn’t totally adapted and its one of the things that really bothers him.

He jokes about himself as being “A one legged man in an ass-kicking contest”.

I notice dad teaching him a couple of subtle tricks to compensate. He’s kind of the perfect teacher that way, having had two effed up knees since Vietnam. Beau is participating, having his own movement issues with the whole pararescue thing having done a real number on his knees and lower back.

My sister interrupts my thoughts with similar musings.

“Who would have thought our men would fit so well?”

“Right?”

She looks at me with this sort of sidelong glance….

“So are you ready to dance?”

I grin back in response and we both drain our cups, then head out into the side garden.

She dances to the edge of the flowerbed edging the space and flicks both scabbards away, holding both of her blades bare in a ready stance.

I draw my Katana with my left hand, noticing the slight widening of her eyes as she sees my offside draw.

I stand in a “Walking horse” ready stance, normally posed, legs slightly apart, blade held parallel to my left leg.

I watch my sister circle slightly to my right and detect the beginnings of a strike pattern. Both blades blur and she seems confident she has gotten through my guard… but I have moved and drawn my second blade. I didn’t need to use it to block, I only blocked the one strike and simply evaded the other.

From that point my universe fades into a sort of focus that has no room for anything but the dance of blades, the thrust and parry, slash and evade…

At some point we are truly dancing, anticipating each other’s movements, countering strikes just begun… We stay in that space, delighting in our dance of blades.

Much like the men sparring, if you didn’t know what you were watching you would likely think we were seriously trying to kill each other.

We have both noticed we are being watched quite quickly and a part of what we are doing is actually a sort of … I don’t exactly know what to call it.

We’re seriously sparring but we’re also dancing in a way that emphasizes the grace of the whole thing. It isn’t something conscious for either of us but we are preening for our men, aware they are watching…

I do an eye flick toward where her scabbards lie and we launch into a complicated slash and parry routine which ends with me sheathing my own blades during a walkover. I pick up her scabbards and she slides them into their homes as though she is striking.

I roll back onto my feet and bow to her, blades held crossed behind me, then kneel before her with her swords held in the valley of my thumb and forefinger.

She takes them from me with her hands held in the same way, then thrusts both into her sash and grasps my hands. We look into each other’s eyes for a moment, each of us seeing a peace that we had not experienced for a very long time in the other’s eyes.

We stand and pivot to face our men(Odd how smoothly our husbands and our father have become just that…. “Our Men…”)

Michelle launches herself into Beau and kisses him soundly. I notice that he winces when he catches her.

I just stand there, unsure what to do… until I see Dad and Theo exchange a look and both of them engulf me in a hug, Theo kissing me.

His kiss overwhelms my attention and wakes my body in a whole other way than sparring had… I find myself responding and wrapping more tightly around him until he reluctantly disengages from the kiss and pries my arms from around his neck. My legs are still wrapped around his hips and I can feel his arousal pulsing against me.

“Erm…. I can’t put you down right now….” He mutters into my ear.

“None of you have anything to be ashamed of!”

I say it a bit louder than strictly necessary, I want to make sure we don’t have any genital based animosity among our men. I haven’t seen Beau hard but I’ve seen enough to know that all three men are roughly the same size.

Mama nature was rather generous. They are all around 9” and rather thick… although to be honest Theo wins on one level. He has the most enormous balls…

Suddenly my mood slips a little as I think that no matter how fertile he might be I can never bear his child… And I go directly from feeling like the sexy woman my husband just semi-ravished to feeling like… nothing…

Theo is experienced enough at reading my body language to understand that I need his support and he holds me more tightly to him. I know it’s a stupid thing to cry about… how many cisgendered women are unable to bear children? Logic says I shouldn’t feel the way that I do… But it is everything I can do to keep from bursting into tears.

“We already talked about this Angel” he murmurs into my ear. “We already decided we would adopt children like you and other kids who wouldn’t have anyone otherwise. We’ve got this planned…”

I know what he is trying to do but there is nothing that can fill the emotional hole that is carved out of my being by knowing that I will never feel a child grow within me.

I recover my mood quickly, it is after all an old familiar pain. Disentangling myself from his large and rather sweaty form I smile happily up at him. “So watcha gonna cook us for breakfast?” I chirp.

Yes, I actually did the girly-girl thing… I can’t help it sometimes. As a tall girl, especially a trans one, sometimes it really really helps that Theo is so much taller than I am and even in my highest heels I still look up at him…

Sensing I’ve recovered my mood he chuckles and points his jaw at my dad, giving me another little kiss before he lets me go.

“Ask the old man, he lost that bet!”

My sis and I meet each others eyes and let out a simultaneous groan mixed with yet another of those “Men are so strange…” looks of understanding.

“What bet?”

“He bet that you’d spar hand to hand… Beau and I said you’d go with blades. We might have won the bet but we never expected to see what you two just did. That was some serious up “Matrix” shit!”

Our father breaks in. “Where the hell did you two learn that? I taught you to fight with knives and staffs but I never even thought about swords” He looks a little sheepish. “I never really learned any of that stuff, I’m an old garrotte-man…”

Michelle and I both pipe up at the same moment.

“Paul”

“Sensei Hanzo”

We trade a glance but she can’t hold herself, the question is bubbling to the surface.

“He lets you call him Paul?”

“Long story sis… lets just say we’ve both worked through a lot of issues. I’d known him for maybe 2 years when we finally had a serious conversation and a lot of shit came out… “ I trail off, uncertain how much more I can say without betraying the confidence of a dear friend. I decide to deflect.

“Ever heard him put on his bad Japanese accent?”

It takes a moment to hit her and I see the grin as she spits it out.

“You mean Shritz a Mart Riqour?”

We both burst into laughter. Paul Hanzo might be many things but his default accent is purest cornpone Georgia. He messes with people sometime by putting on a seriously bad fake Japanese accent. There was a time when we were eating at a Korean BBQ place and I tried to order Kirin for him. I didn’t know he hates the stuff but I learned quickly as I heard the horrible accent mangling “Schlitz Malt Liquor”.

Apparently this was not unexpected as a 40 oz bottle and two glasses appear. He pours for both of us, pops a piece of meat into his mouth and chews, then washes it down with a generous swallow. He gestures at me with his fork(He won’t use chopsticks.).

“Don’t try to order that horse piss again please? I’d rather drink Butt-wiper… “

I can tell from his grin that he is serious yet joking.

“And that shit would seriously benefit from a second trip though the horse!”

I finish the joke for him.

It causes us both a moment of reflection. Paul and I had become very close when Kiyomi(his wife of 28 years) died from aggressive pancreatic cancer. It was so blindingly fast… one day she vomited blood and 6 weeks later his love was the ashes we scattered on the water…

He became relentless after that, demanding perfect form and also perfect rhythm. He had always taught us with music playing and when we asked he just said “To truly become one with your blade you must not simply move. You must dance.”

We had both taken lessons in secret, thinking our parents would not approve.

It is a very pleasant surprise to realize that my sister has kept in form.

“Have you seen him lately?”

“Last Saturday in fact… I am in his Advanced Jujitsu classes”

“So weird that a Japanese guy teaches Brazilian Gracie, isn’t it?”

“I think if you looked up weird in the dictionary, there would be a picture of him…”

We share a giggle.

Beau breaks into our moment. “Wait, you’ve both been trained by Paul Hanzo? The “Paul “Hanzo?!?”

I can hear the incredulity in his voice and I have to poke back a bit.

“Yep. Man trained me to drink. Never could keep up with him so he offered some blade training as a compensation…”

He is still obviously overawed and turns to my sister.

“How the hell do I not know my wife makes Trinity look slow?”

I can see the signs, I know she is right on the edge so I jump in.

“Look, it was something that came about when we were both on the edge of suicide. Paul somehow saw it and decided to make us his project. We learned to dance the blades and it kept us alive…”

Theo doesn’t really know this although he has seen me practicing forms.

I can read the look of distress on our father’s face.

“On the edge of suicide?” I can hear him mutter “Jehovah forgive me… again…”

I have to hug him and I am joined by my sister. As we hold him he begins to cry again, deep wracking sobs of grief…

As usual in situations like this, I find myself wishing there was something more I could do that just to offer a hug. Well there’s no time like the present to try.

“Dad… Poppa?”

He looks up at me, tears streaking down his face.

As gently as I can, I speak, even though my voice is a bit ragged with emotion.

“We’ve worked through it. We both had our reasons but that stuff is in the past. We want…” I have to say it more firmly, I can’t give him an escape. “We Need our Poppa. In our lives…”

He pulls away a little so he can see both of our faces, as streaked with tear tracks as his own.

“And I…” He almost loses it for a moment but gulps and continues with more certainty, an almost flinty note in his voice.

“I need my daughters in my life. God how I wish I had found you both when your mother was alive…”

He is beginning to cry again…

I hold him to me and just let him sob for a moment.

After a moment it occurs to me.

“Dad?”

“Yeah Angel?”

“I’ll totally give you a towel or something but stop crying on my boobs.”

He focuses his eyes on where his head had been resting and I can see this little moment…

Its so weird because I can totally tell what is running though his mind, the longing for his wife, who had ample boobage for him to cry on… and then this moment of self-disgust when he realizes its is his daughter he is crying on…

I have to get up under this before it becomes an issue…. Well more of an issue anyway…

“Its normal dude.”

He doesn’t say anything but I know he gets it.

“For short guys…”

At this one he snorts and chortles a bit.

“Well your mom’s tits weren’t exactly at face level… even for Danny DeVito!”

I let out what Theo calls a horse-laugh.

My mom was possibly the butchest straight cisgendered woman I’ve ever known. Their romance was forming a roping team, he was heads, she was feet. I’m reasonably sure my big sis is the reason she quit school like 1.5 credit hours short of her degree(She wanted to be a vet).

She was also all of 5’1” tall. And had like triple F boobs or something once she gained the weight. Turns out that was a result of her having several fibroid tumors which she described as “Each the size of a five month fetus”. Being the mid 1980s, the solution was radical hysterectomy.

After that, she lost almost 150 pounds… it took 15 years but she stuck to it. She had apparently found her point of equilibrium at about 150 pounds which made her look a bit plump still, being built like a munchkin and all(Excuse me, tall person snark.)

I have no idea where my height comes from. None of my grandparents were tall and my parents and sis were fairly short by comparison.

Not for the first time, I contemplate the notion that I am partially Androgen insensitive…. I certainly have many physical markers for it… my height being one of them. I don’t suppose I’ll ever actually be able to figure that one out because I managed to just barely get in the way of a male puberty and coopted it for the correct one.

I’m lucky though cause out of 6’ of me I have an inseam of like 38” and a stupidly high waist so it basically looks like I’m all legs with a smallish waist and boobs sat just under a face…

I can’t say much about my face really. Its kinda face shaped…

My cheekbones are so high you can’t really see them. I’m guessing that’s the Native American in both my parent’s backgrounds. There’s a nose that is…. Well, nose shaped… Hazel eyes… There is a cleft in my chin that I detest but everyone else says adds to my “Look”. I don’t think I even qualify for “Fugly” but Theo tells me I am beautiful… And I choose to not argue the point..

I feel my Dad’s hand on my chin and along my jawbone, gently forcing me to look into his eyes

“You are stunning. So incredibly beautiful I have trouble believing that you are my daughter. From what I hear you are just as beautiful inside as out. What I have heard about you seems so incredible… I have to see it. I’m gonna go pack a little more stuff and we’ll meet in 10?”

The question in his voice is almost as though he is pleading.

I keep it short.

“25. I totally need a shower...”

35 minutes later I am downstairs, having properly restored my hair although I have stuck with the black glitter nails and black lipstick.

I have chosen another pair of jeans I altered. They started out as a grey on grey python print… but I turned it into a rainbow, iridescent looking snakeskin look. Paired with royal purple flat sandals they were the perfect offset for the teal cowlnecked sleeveless top which showed more than a hint of top-boob. Earrings were something that looked intricately hand worked but was in reality WallyWorld Schlock

I had a couple of bangles on each wrist but aside from that I was jewelry free… Except for Theo’s ring hanging on its chain under my top and resting between my breasts….

We both wear our wedding rings when we go out formally and we had at the memorial service as well but otherwise we wear them secreted somewhere on our persons. I know it isn’t the safest place but I like to wear his ring resting on my breasts… it is a tangible reminder of him, anytime…

By the time I rejoin my family(What a thought) My dad has managed to make scrambled eggs, grits, and sliced some tomatoes.

For him, that is stretching some serious culinary muscles. To say that my dad can’t cook would be like saying water is wet. Fortunately the grits are good stone ground coarse yellow grits(I detect Beau’s hand in that one).

I know Theo could have taken charge and turned out a serious gourmet breakfast but its kinda neat that he didn’t.

We eat in companionable silence. Maybe its normal for my sister but the simple idea that I am eating breakfast with my husband after what the pleasant soreness says was clearly a rather passionate night(Little bits have come back and I smile slightly.)… that reminder of him gives me a warm glow.

“Warm Glow” turns into “Burning embarrassment” when my dad speaks up.

“From the sound of it, both of my daughters picked men who satisfy them… loudly…”

Theo almost inhales a mouthful of grits. Beau doesn’t react quite as strongly since he has just washed down a bit of egg.

My sis and I look at each other and burst into laughter.

Ya know, I really didn’t think a man with Theo’s skin tone could blush quite so visibly…

Beau with his paleness is blushing brightly enough to heat the room.

Both of them begin apologizing over the top of the other until my dad holds his hand up to signal silence.

“You read it wrong boys. I am glad for my daughters and I guess glad for you by extension… It is difficult for a father to say but both of my daughters are adults and that includes being sexually active. I am glad that you are able to satisfy them, it helps cement my already good impressions of you.”

All four of us are staring at him, dumbfounded.

He heaves a sigh, looking at me. “Look, your sister was raped and those assholes that called themselves Elders tried to blame her for it. Nothing about any of that was fair even a little. I know now that you probably don’t remember any of the nastiness that went around after that whole thing.”

He turns to look at my sister, catching her stormy grey eyes with his own slate grey ones.

“You need to know that he is gone.” He grinds out. “There isn’t a grave, I left him for the animals to eat up on the mountain property.”

I had known for many years that my father had taken vengeance for her rape, but I hadn’t considered the idea that he would have simply killed the man.

He interrupts my minor reverie as he continues speaking.

“Not that I’d want to hear it every night, it was like listening to two porn movies at once… “ he chuckles.

At this point I am blushing down to my toes. Normally I try to be very quiet during sex because there is no privacy really, but last night I had been rather vocal. What can I say, my husband knows every single sexual trigger I have and he used all of them.

He continues. “My point is, boys, that I am simply glad for my girls. You make them happy and that is everything. I’ve seen the way you treat them, even when you’re so drunk you can barely stand. I can tell that you are both perfect gentlemen who are absolutely in love with their wives…”

He trails off for a moment and I can tell that he is living in the past a little bit. He looks at my sister and I and his face gets a little harder, the planes of his angular jaw tightening.

I can tell he is struggling with his feelings as he continues to grind out his words. “I loved your mother with all my heart and soul and she was the light of my life. Listening to you four reminded me of when we had… that…”

I can see tears about to flow from his eyes.

Michelle and I exchange a wordless glance and move to hug him from both sides.

We can tell he likes the closeness but there is a moment where I can tell he’s on the edge of a freakout. I am totally familiar with that and I catch Michelle’s eyes and let her know we need to move away. She seems puzzled for a moment and then realizes how tensed up he is and gets it and we separate.

He takes a moment and a few gusty breaths.

“Sorry girls, you know I have claustro-freakouts…” He looks embarrassed..

I hug him gingerly

“Yeah dad, I know all about it. I think I got that one from you.”

My sister breaks in “No you got that from when Freddie locked you in a trunk and kept you there all night. I discovered you the morning after, when they had gone home. You were crammed in so hard I don’t even know how you were able to breathe.”

“Wow… stuff like that makes me thinks amnesia isn’t actually such a bad thing…”

It hits me a moment later.

It was him that threw me down the hill and knocked the wind out of me… I remember trying to cry and not even being able to do that. Was that the genesis of my disorder, the reason I couldn’t even allow my husband to grasp me too tightly as we made love or slept?

Whatever it is, I am locked into the memory and feel as though I cannot find enough oxygen, not that I could manage to breathe it in anyway… Theo knows the signs and just keeps a hand where I can grab it for support. He knows better than to try to hug me or be in my personal space in any other way.

By the time I have come out of it I am curled up in Theo’s lap and he is stroking my hair and kissing me gently on my forehead.

I see him exchange a glance with my father. In his face is a challenge. My father’s face holds clear approval.

“Son if you haven’t figured it out yet, I do think you’re good enough for my daughter.”He pauses and directs his gaze over to Michelle and Beau.. “And you too, for my other daughter. I wish none of you anything other than the best life has to offer.”

As I open my mouth to reply he gestures me back to silence. He focuses his gaze on me.

“As it happens, your mother had a few life insurance policies. Its not a lot but I’ve done some research and I’ve got you booked with the guy who is supposed to be the absolute best In the field.”

I stare at him with a complete lack of comprehension.

“Um…. What?”

“What is that you have a flight on Japan Airlines that will take you to Bangkok, where you and your young man will spend a month in paradise dealing with the aftereffects of surgery…”

I burst into tears. Between sobs I manage to choke out “But…. You, you can’t….. I know she meant that money for you…”

He is stroking my hair and shoulder as I am still held in Theo’s lap.

“Your mom specifically told me to use the money this way” he says softly. “She was very clear about it”.

“She knew you had never gotten very big down there and this guy can deal with that. She… and I…. We want… wanted… only the best for you.”

He sighs again. “We fucked up so badly…” He trails off.

I force him to meet my eyes this time. “All parents fuck their kids up dad. No matter how hard they try, they still fuck em up. Trust me, lots of parents do so much worse than you and mom did…You were brutal, yes… but there is a reason I survived being on the street alone and the way you fucked me up is it. Michelle is such a strong rape survivor because she learned never to blame herself by having you blame her.”

“So yeah dad, you fucked up. Ya know what?”

He looks into my eyes again “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. It is the past. What we did is what we did and you can’t unspill the milk. We can agonize over might have beens but there’s no point really. You fucked up, I fucked up… There’s no shortage of blame to go around. Dwelling on it does nothing more than cause further injury.”

“And Dad?”

He leans closer to hear as I have dropped my voice to just above a whisper. “I want you there too. I want you to welcome your daughter into the world as you should have in the beginning. You delivered me into this world the first time around dad, and I want ... For both of us… I want a redo on that one and this is as close as its possible to get.”

I can tell this is not something he ever considered from his stunned expression.