That didn’t cause me any panic. I was expecting a few deliveries and I was hoping this was the one I was really waiting for. When I opened the front door a delivery-man was standing there, brown uniform, a cardboard box in his arms and one of those sign-in document thingies for me to register that I had received the delivery.

My non-descript pyjamas gave little clue to my gender. I was wearing no make-up and my hair was pulled back into a low pony-tail. He addressed me as “Sir” as he handed over the package. It was addressed by initials only, no give-away first name. I had deliberately ordered it that way. The box was plain cardboard with only the address on the outside.

I took the package, signed, and closed the door with a smile. No drama.

We had chosen our new apartment with care. We didn’t want twitching curtains following us with every entrance and exit, or curious neighbours behind doors slightly ajar shadowing all our moves. The main entrance was at street level and the flat was on two floors. We could exit to the front on the major road and we had a side entrance on a sort of half-basement with a staircase around the corner on the side-street.

“I think this is it, Trish,” I yelled up the stairs, as I tore at the anonymous packing.

Sure enough, the inner package carried the logo of The Breast-Form Store. I removed the lid to expose what I had been waiting for, two glorious silicone shapes, nestled nicely in the box, plus various appurtenances and instructions on how to attach them to myself. At last I would be able to go out with some feeling of confidence instead of lurking around indoors, flat-chested.

Trish arrived at my side and joined me in admiring those awesome globes.

“They’re very nice,” she said. “We’ll fix them on later, and tonight we’ll show you and them to the world.”

She doesn’t need them. She’s a year or more ahead of me in having her own built-in set, attached permanently. I’ll catch up but, in the meantime, I need the prosthetics.

Neither of us was dressed that morning. We usually reserve that pleasure for later. Mornings were for mundane things like grocery shopping. When we moved in we had been careful to mingle with the moving-guys in drab. Our gender was our secret for now.

Unusual activity always draws curious eyes. Without boobs I could pass for male or female. Trish had to be more circumspect, and wear baggy clothing but decorators are generally accepted as being more androgynous and their comings and goings are normal-ish. They had been doing their thing for the last couple of weeks but mixed genders don’t excite any suspicion with them. Anyway, who clocks them as straight, female or gay, and who cares?

So later on Trish performed the necessary surgical implementation, that is, sticking them on properly, and I felt the actual heft of genuine breasts on my chest. For now these will do nicely until I can finally get my own ones that move with me when I move. Once we blurred in the lines between the actual flesh and the illusionary I was elated. Now I felt that I could go out feeling like a real girl. I actually had something (or somethings) to fill out my bra and wouldn’t feel embarrassed when someone stared at my non-existent chest.

So, after endlessly admiring my new assets, I had prepared myself for the evening out and was wearing a lovely little LBD, stockings, heels, face made-up, wig on and ready for the road when the doorbell rang once more. I was just about ready to face the world. When you live in a building with multiple apartments you do have to expect interruptions occasionally.

I answered the call and was greeted by a young man of about my own age, dressed for a night out and with a cup in one hand. My new boobs got an immediate work-out. I have to admit to being slightly flustered at his attention.

“Hi, I’m Ben. We live downstairs and I was wondering if we could borrow a cup of sugar?”

There was a basement flat and we kind of knew it was occupied by two young guys, but, in only two weeks in our new place, we hadn’t had any interaction with them. In any case, they were exactly the people we might need to avoid. “Danger, Will Robinson!” Or in my case “Jenny!”.

I looked him up and down…not bad…presentable. If I had been a real girl I would have jumped his bones, maybe not just right then.

He stood there, blushing like crazy. It must have been quite an effort to come to our door and his flat-mate had made him the emissary.

I yelled, “Hey ! Trish, do we have sugar?” Of course we did!

I took the empty cup from his nerveless hand. “Wait here.”

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

I’ll let him suffer.

I walked the few paces to our kitchen and filled the cup with sugar. By the time I got back to him Trish was giving him the once-over.

“So, you have a flat-mate. What’s his name?”

“J-J-Jerry.”

“OK, it’s Ben and Jerry. When we want to borrow some ice-cream we can come down-stairs, right?”

He looked blank for a few seconds, and then he got it.

He laughed, a genuine laugh. “Of course!” he said.

Then he wound up to what had always been the real reason for his visit.

“Look, you girls are obviously ready for a night out. We are just going for a couple of drinks in the pub across the road and were wondering if you would like to join us?”

Trish and I looked at each other. This could actually be a good way for us to get out without breaking a leg, but we needed to talk before we accepted his offer.

“You want us to go on a blind date with Jerry? We have to check him out first, and, if he doesn’t past muster, then it’s no deal. Tell you what. Come back in half an hour with him in tow and we’ll give you our answer.”

Trish is always the one in charge. I can’t do it. She has that extra year-and-a half of interacting with Joe-and-Josephine public in her girl persona, whereas I’m still Nervous Nellie and have never ventured outside except as a male. I was planning to break that barrier tonight with the help of my two girls to give me confidence.

With the door closed behind him we couldn’t stop giggling.

“That was a turn-up for the books, Jenny. What do you reckon?”

“If his mate’s as nice as him, I’m all for it, but I think we have to tell them. They’ll find out anyway and we don’t want them to think we deceived them later on.”

“Agreed.”

We spent the rest of the remaining half-hour titivating each other to perfection.

The doorbell rang right on time.

Two lads stood there with their tongues hanging out, both nicely dressed and groomed, smelling of after-shave. Jerry was as good-looking as Ben.

This time we invited them in and pointed them at the sofa, where they went and sat obediently, waiting for the guillotine to fall.

“Well, we will go out with you, on one condition.” Their expressions brightened.

“Don’t get too excited. This is make-or-break. There is something you must know about us right from the start.”

Trish paused, a bit unlike her.

“You think you are looking at two girls. Well, you are and you aren’t. Neither of us was born a girl. We’re transgender, ‘trannies’. We want to live our lives as girls, but we’re not ‘real girls’ yet. So if that puts you off you just walk out of that door and nobody gets hurt. Or you take us out tonight, maybe just this once or, who knows?”

The boys looked at each other and came to a decision.

I could almost see the telepathy working.

Well, they look all right, and whoever’s going to know? We’re dressed for a night out and so are they. If it doesn’t work we can come home and we don’t have to do it again. What do you reckon?

I don’t remember if it was Ben or Jerry, but one said to the other. “There are chairs and tables over there going to waste. There are drinks to be drunk and a pretty decent band. Here we have two very beautiful girls all dressed up and ready for a night out. Let’s go!”

So they took our arms and two couples went over the road and had a very enjoyable evening. They bought us enough drinks to keep us happy but not enough to make us drunk. We danced to the more-than-adequate band and eventually Ben brought me back home. We kissed goodnight and I hoped we would see each other again.

We did.