Ryan Mondalmi

The Customer Presentation.

So we spent most of Monday night gluing Lori back together. We didn't bother with the makeup since I wouldn't be showing any seams. For all the good it did, Aida gave me a titty squeeze to welcome Lori back.

Tuesday I put on my new skirted suit with a lavender blouse, much like I had worn in my dreams. Hair just so, dangly earrings, a single bracelet and those three inch pumps. You can be sure I had my flats in my tote bag.

I tried to make my entrance to the company as quiet as possible, but wouldn't you know that a security guard stopped me and asked for my ID, not having seen me before.

I showed him my ID. He was skeptical, so I referred him to my boss. He was polite, but I wasn't going anywhere until I was cleared. A few minutes later the Boss made his appearance, thanked the guard for his vigilance and escorted me to HR for a new photo and ID. He also sighed and told me he wished it was the good old days so he could give me wolf whistle without getting sued for sexual harassment. I am exceptionally blessed to have a boss who is both tolerant and gifted with a perverse sense of humor.

With the ID issue resolved, I sat at my computer and read the company-wide e-mail welcoming me to the group and providing a link to the company's diversity policy. Someone in HR had achieved just the right tone in that missive.

I only had time to talk to a couple of people before it was time to head out for Streeten. I slung my purse, hefted my briefcase and followed the Boss to his car.

We tried to go over just what we wanted to accomplish there, but since Mr LaChance had just said he wanted to talk we we could only guess as to what we would encounter. I was nervous, but the Boss treated me no differently than he ever had, listening carefully to what I had to say.

We went through the usual front office folderol and eventually were shown to a small conference room. I immediately recognized Harrison P LaChance from the party, and even remembered talking to him as part if a group.

The CEO got right down to business, explaining the project and what he wanted from us. I can't tell you much more than that, as we had to sign a confidentiality agreement before we got any details. I can say that it was particularly ambitious and Mr LaChance realized that it was going to take considerable outside help to bring it off. As the meeting went on others joined with their expertise and we dug into the reasons why they needed this project and the results they expected.

I was the only woman in the room most of the time, but I was treated as a valuable resource and detected not a trace of male chauvinism. Quite the change from the ambiance at the party.

At last we said our goodbyes and received promises to get back to us ASAP. I think they were impressed.
 

Out in the car, the Boss turned to me and said "I've known you for what, three years, right?"

"Just about."

"How in the world did you hide Lori for all that time?"

"I really don't know. Lori has always been there, but I have always been told I was Lauren, mainly because the doctor said I was a male when he slapped my bottom."

"Interesting. Lori, you just put on a display of expertise that amazed even me. Lauren was good, but somehow Lori was able to slip past the barriers those guys put up and show them just what we can do for them. Even if we don't get the contract, I am absolutely sure that Lori is going to be even more valuable than Lauren."

"I was pretty much scared out of my gourd. I haven't had sustained attention like that as Lori."

"Yeah, I can see where that would make you nervous. You handled it beautifully."

"Thanks."

"So, when we get back write up everything you can think of from the meeting and let me know how you think we should proceed. And Lori…"

"Yes?"

"I really hope that people accept the change without giving you grief. If they don't, I want to know about it before it can get out of hand."

"I will.
 

The other thing that needs telling was by the time I had settled back at my desk my phone pinged. Our offer had been accepted by Streeten.

Fitting In

As they say, your mileage might vary. Most of the office got used to Lori after a few weeks. There were some who remained cold, but didn't cause any real trouble; they were balanced by several who were supportive. I won't name names, but there were two women who were genuinely interested in why I chose to transition, one of whom became a good friend outside of work.

On the home front, we went down to the bank to apply for a mortgage. Having Aida be a major depositor in the bank with her trust funds certainly didn't hurt, but there was some concern about my being transgendered. Bankers are pretty conservative folks. Aida made it clear that if we were rejected they could kiss goodbye to her trust finds. Bankers also know on which side the bread is buttered; there was certainly no financial reason to deny the mortgage as we both had sterling credit.

Not that it was simple, there were inspections, title searches, and fussiness galore to finally get everything in line. It took two months to get it all done, which I'm told is pretty good. I can only say if I were to pass judgement on the way all these disparate interests worked together I would tell my client to bail out and stay out.

The contract with Streeten was much simpler in comparison. We got it and I headed a team that worked long and hard with them. It would take years before the project was a success, but it did succeed.

The Times They Are A-Changin'

The next few months left me feeling like juggler with too many balls in the air. Those marvelous, expensive breast forms had gotten to be a bit of a pain. Yes I liked how I looked, but I was sick of gluing and ungluing. We did some research about breast and butt implants and were amazed to find we could actually fly to South Korea for a medical vacation, have the procedures done and then return home for much less than the procedures alone in America. I'll simply observe that medical care in the U S of A sucks and leave it at that. Even with the cheaper procedures it was going to pretty much empty my savings account.

Ball #2: in order to fly to a foreign country you need a passport. I had a passport but it has that annoying little 'M' on it. I could just see some hulking border patrol officer trying to reconcile my breasts with that M and chucking me out of the country to live homeless in some South Korean airport lounge.

So, more research. To my immense surprise, as of June 2021 all you need to do to change that 'M' to 'F' is fill out the paperwork and write a check. They have to take your word for it! I'm sure they fired the ass of the faceless bureaucrat that made it that easy to deal with Homeland Security, but I sent in my application and a new picture ASAP before they changed their minds.

Ball #3: Assuming I can get there and back, I need to find a surgeon and schedule the procedure from half way around the world. The Internet has plenty of advice and connections, but do I want to trust my tender body to what could turn out to be the medical world's version of the Nigerian Prince who needs my help?

Now I've developed an extensive network of contacts to do my job, but they were of absolutely no help in this situation. I doubt the AMA was going to be a good resource either. Would you believe that The CDC has web pages with advice for just this topic? Damn! Two government departments with useful information and helpful people. What is this world coming to? There's even an academic site devoted to research on medical tourism.

It's a good thing I spend most of my working life doing research, it took quite a bit to satisfy myself that I would get what I wanted and return to the country safely.

I was mildly surprised that there were so many people in the South Korean hospital who spoke good, idiomatic English. I had been worried about that. Apparently they get a lot of business from Americans who can't afford our screwed up medical system. They even were set up to use Skype, thus saving some serious money in international calling rates.

Ball #4: Good thing this isn't baseball, there's still a lot to get done. We had a wedding to plan. After due consultation we decided that there was just too damn much going on to get married.

Ball #5: The new house. Even with all our worldly goods from our two small apartments, we needed furnishings and decoration for the new place. This led to frequenting thrift stores on weekends, then filling my old apartment with whatever bargains we found.

Then there were utilities to turn on, garbage pickup to arrange, and a host of other things that apartment dwellers take for granted.

Ball #6: Family. Now that Aida and I were official, the parents and sisters wanted to see more of her. I seemed to come along as a bonus prize, but then with two older sisters I was used to stuff like that.

Ball #7: Jobs. Right, both of us had to squeeze a few hours into our schedule to go to work and earn the money to pay for all those balls.

Ball #8: Sleep. Forget that one, it went flying off to nowhere and there wasn't enough time to retrieve it without dropping all the other balls.

Housewarming

It was in early fall when Aida and I were finally able to move into the new place. No matter how much we loved each other, two women (one and a half?) in a studio apartment was an unstable situation.

When the place was finally ours we hired a moving company and watched them do all the heavy lifting. We were overwhelmed when my parents and sisters, complete with families, appeared at our door to help. Aida had a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile because she had arranged it all as a surprise for me. I love the woman, but sometimes…

My sisters had a great time critiquing my wardrobe choices, or should I say our wardrobe choices. What's mine is hers and what's hers is mine, as long as it doesn't go on our feet, that is. Do you know just how weird it is for a former boy to have her mother sorting through her lingerie? It got even more surreal when Mom wanted to know where I got one particular bra so she could get one for herself.

It was a madhouse. The guys were assembling and moving furniture, the gals were measuring for curtains and the kids, too young to be of much help, were racing around the place playing tag until shooed out into the back yard. At one point I found Aida standing in the kitchen, simply looking at the clean counters with our appliances neatly arranged and our cupboards full. She was sniffling softly.

"What's wrong, Hon?" I asked.

"Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Is this what it's like to have a family? A real family, not a house full of nannies and servants and spiteful parents? Lori, not only do I have you but I have a family for the first time in my life."

"This is the good part of having a family. Just be glad you didn't have to go through the fights over who had to do which chores or the teenage boyfriend traumas to get here. And you haven't seen Mom or Dad when they got pissed at me."

"But you have love despite the fights. That's something I never had before I met you."

"We have love, Aida. The past is gone away, we have a future, don't we?"

But the quiet moment had passed, Lil tracked us down to ask where we wanted this thing put.

One thing remained to be done before we collapsed into our bed. We ceremonially loaded our very own washer with our underwear and ended and era. No more Friday nights at the Laundromat.

Surgery

We had barely unpacked the boxes before we locked the front door and headed out for three weeks in South Korea.

That's right, three weeks. I was going to do the whole enchilada, breasts, butt and hips. With top surgery I could have pushed it by only taking a week off, but the butt enhancement meant I was not going to be allowed to sit for prolonged periods for a week or two. Once again my Boss proved to be a gem. Not that I didn't take a bit of good-natured grief about my 'womanly problems,' but he arranged for medical leave along with my remaining vacation. It certainly helped that modern computer communications allowed me to remain in the loop even when halfway around the world.

Look, as much as I wanted it, surgery is not a fun experience. Aida and I did get a couple of days to explore Seoul before the procedure, but spending weeks wearing an ugly bra and what amounted to a medical panty girdle to keep the implants in place is not something you want to think too hard about.

It hurt. It ached. It looked just awful when I got to see myself in the mirror. There was no comfortable way to sleep. I was jet lagged and hyper on pain medication for the first few days, then aching and wishing the damned doctor would give me a couple of more happy pills. I know all about addiction and such, but dammit it hurt!

The phrase this too shall pass occupied my thoughts a great deal. Naturally, the researcher in me wanted to know where it came from, so I searched the all-knowing Internet and found it had several sources. Not the Bible, to my surprise, but 13th century Persian folklore, 19th century Jewish literature, and Abraham Lincoln, of all people. You learn all kinds of things when you have time on your hands, and at that point my hands were one of the few places that didn't hurt.

Ironically, the phrase was given a new meaning when it came time to take a dump. You do not want to know the details. Suffice it to say the among the medications was a course of laxatives.

As I felt better we did things like visiting the National Museum and touring the DMZ. I have to say that mostly I thought of all the wasted time, money and men such foolishness has cost humanity. All this because a small group of power-hungry men need to control others to make themselves feel important. And it's always men, when was the last time you heard of a woman starting a war? I found myself inordinately pleased to have severed myself from men as a class. I know that's stupid, illogical, shortsighted and childish but I just don't want to be even a little like those miserable excuses for humanity. We have our stupidities in the USA, but at least we haven't got fortified borders.

Yet.
 

And indeed the pain did pass. Having been warned about the problems with prolonged sitting we had booked the flight home in three stages. I am still wondering if it only prolonged the agony or prevented worse agony.

I'm a woman now, I get to whine.

So OK, I'm being sexist, too. Sue me.

Home Again

Our pretty little house was a welcome sight. We both collapsed and slept for hours on end, trying to reverse our metabolism for the second time in a few weeks. I have a good deal more sympathy for the Flat Earthers, if they were right then we wouldn't have time zones, but reality has a way of biting you in the ass. After all the trouble I want to to get this nice new ass I do not want anyone chewing on it.

So OK, I'll make an exception for Aida.

Life Goes On

The time came to return to work, and other than still walking a little funny nothing much had changed other than I no longer needed to glue on my tits and ass. Said tits and ass were still in no condition to show off, it would take months for my body to do its thing and mold itself to them properly. At least I no longer looked like a victim of domestic violence.

Time went on, as it always does, and I got used to my new body. I no longer marveled at having breasts and my padded tush became something normal. After cutting the lawn the first time we hired a service to keep the yard up. I could walk normally, but going round in circles for an hour was just too much.

By thanksgiving I was able to wear a low-cut top and let the world see my cleavage. I have to admit I was like a little kid with a new toy, being able to show off my new breasts. They still weren't perfect, but they were getting there.

Aida was glowing at Christmas, her first in the bosom of a loving family. Her eyes often gleamed with happy tears, knowing she was loved and cherished. We heard not a word from her parents, and I was happy to leave it that way. We were content, we had each other and we had a loving family. What more could anyone ask?

The Wedding At Last

Having used up all our time off and then some as medical tourists, we had opted to put off the formal ceremony until the next year, allowing us to take time for a honeymoon. Also allowing my body to recover fully for the rigors of the consummation. We tossed around various dates until we realized the ideal time would be one year after we met in the Laundromat.

One problem solved, but where to hold the ceremony? Neither of us were churchgoers and Aida was certainly not interested in having Reverend Charles - he of the purchased sermon - come anywhere near us on our wedding day.

I asked some of the people at work if they had any ideas and was flabbergasted when Sam told me that the Boss was an ordained minister.

"The Boss? Ordained?" I asked.

"Yeah, in the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, also known as Pastafarians. I didn't believe it, but it's a real church and the ministers can legally conduct marriage ceremonies."

"That is just too weird. We were twitting my parents about holding a Pastafarian wedding a while back, just to see if they would swallow the tale whole. I've gotta ask the boss to do the ceremony just to see the look on my parent's faces."

"You wouldn't!"

"We certainly would. I just saw some stuff on Facebook about the Spaghetti Monster. I can't believe it’s a real church."

"Actually, it started when a guy named Bobby Henderson took on the Kansas Board of Education and demanded equal time for the Flying Spaghetti Monster if they were going to teach creationism. Of course it was satirical but, as these things sometimes do, it went viral and is a gathering point for those who try to promote rationality above fanaticism. Since there is no law in the good old USA defining what a church is, then a church is anything you want it to be. The closest the government comes to defining religion is in the IRS code that lists some of the things that makes a church a church for tax purposes."

They were my kind of people.

I had to do it. I plunked myself down in the Boss's visitors chair and asked him if he would marry me. The Boss is no slouch, he just asked if we had gotten the license yet. He even knew of a recreation hall that we could use.

So that's how Aida and I ended up standing in front of the Boss, his head adorned by the Holy Colander of Pastafarianism. Since Pastafarians also revere Pirates as holy beings the Boss did offer to include pirate regalia in the ceremony. We decided the colander was enough for us.

Thus we were married before all of our friends and relatives, with the notable exception of Aida's parents. Richards did the honors for Aida, my father walked me down the aisle and we were showered with orzo rather than rice.

Now that's what I call a happy ending - or maybe a beginning. Aida stopped taking her birth control pills last week.