James fidgeted in the examination room, the lace-edged bralette suddenly feeling far more noticeable under his t-shirt than it ever had at home. When Dr. Mercer knocked and entered, James instinctively crossed his arms over his chest, then immediately felt ridiculous.

The doctor, to his credit, didn’t bat an eye. "How’s the tenderness?" he asked, flipping open James’ chart.

"Better, honestly. The uh," James gestured vaguely at his chest, "support helps. A lot."

Dr. Mercer nodded approvingly. "Good. Let’s take a look."

The physical exam was clinical, measurements, gentle palpation. But James’ face burned anyway. Until Dr. Mercer paused, eyebrows lifting.

"Well. This is progressing faster than expected." He tapped the calipers against his palm. "You’ve developed noticeable breast tissue, Tanner stage two, verging on three, after only six weeks. At this rate, you’ll need proper bras in a couple of months."

James blinked. "That’s... good?"

"Very. Most trans women would envy your response to HRT." Dr. Mercer made a note. "Any other changes? Mood, libido?"

James hesitated. "I haven’t had morning wood in weeks. And when I, uh," he cleared his throat, "try to get off the old-fashioned way, it’s like my dick’s half-asleep."

The doctor didn’t look surprised. "Testosterone suppression does that. But orgasms don’t disappear, they just work differently now. You might find other areas more... responsive." He gestured vaguely toward James’ chest.

James stared down at himself. Oh.

* * *

That evening, locked in their bedroom while Jennifer worked late, James decided to experiment.

It was frustrating at first, his usual methods failing, his body stubbornly refusing to cooperate. Until, on a whim, he brushed a thumb over his nipple, now noticeably fuller, sensitive in a way that made his breath hitch.

Oh. Oh God.

He kept going, lighter now, teasing circles until his back arched off the bed. It wasn’t like before– sharper, deeper, everywhere– and when it hit, it rolled through him in waves, leaving him shaking and gasping.

James lay there, dazed, as two realizations crashed over him:

1. He’d just had what was unmistakably a female orgasm.
2. Jennifer was never letting him live this down.

He reached for his phone, thumbs hovering over the keyboard before deciding some things were better shown than typed.

Instead, he simply texted: "We need to buy more bralettes."

Jennifer’s reply was instant: "???"

James grinned at the ceiling.

This parenting thing was taking them places nobody’s baby books had covered.

* * *

The bedroom was cast in the soft, hazy glow of a single lamp, the kind of light that blurred the edges of the world and made confessions feel safer. Jennifer, now four and a half months pregnant, was just beginning to show, a gentle curve to her belly that James loved to rest his hand on.

She lay on her side, watching him as he read, his new, more substantial bralette a soft grey shadow beneath his t-shirt. He’d complained earlier that his chest was aching again, a growth spurt, he’d joked, with all the melodrama of a teenager. But now, in the quiet of the evening, Jennifer’s curiosity was a low thrum beneath her skin.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice drawing him from his book.

He looked over, his expression softening. “Hey, you. Baby not kicking up a storm?”

“Not yet.” She shifted closer, her fingers tracing the hem of his shirt. “I was thinking… about your text. The other night.”

James’s cheeks colored slightly, a faint pink that was becoming more common. “Ah. The bralette budget meeting.”

“More than that,” she murmured. She propped herself up on an elbow, her gaze dropping to his chest. Her own breasts felt tender and full, a familiar symptom of pregnancy she’d read about.

But looking at him, she realized they were navigating two different, yet strangely parallel, versions of puberty. “You said… things felt different.”

He swallowed, his vulnerability a tangible thing in the space between them. “Yeah. They do.”
Hesitantly, Jennifer reached out, her hand hovering over his chest. “Can I…?”

He nodded, his breath catching.

Slowly, she flattened her palm over the thin cotton of his shirt, right over his heart. She could feel its frantic, thudding rhythm. Beneath her hand, she felt the unmistakable soft swell of breast tissue. It wasn’t much, nothing to cup yet, but so profoundly different from the hard muscle that used to be there. Her thumb brushed over the center and James flinched, a sharp hiss of breath escaping his lips.

“Sorry,” she whispered, pulling back.

“No,” he breathed, his eyes squeezed shut.

“Don’t stop. It’s just… a lot.”

Emboldened, she moved with more confidence, her fingers learning the new shape of him. She slipped her hand under his shirt, her skin meeting his. He was warm, and the flesh was incredibly sensitive, the nipple pebbled and hard under her touch.

She’d never touched another woman’s breast, had never had the desire to, but this wasn’t another woman. This was James. This was the man who was rewriting his own biology for their family. The thought sent a dizzying wave of love and pure, unadulterated lust through her.
She leaned in, replacing her hand with her mouth, her tongue tracing a wet, hot circle where her fingers had been.

James cried out, a raw, breathy sound she’d never heard from him before. His hands tangled in her hair, not to pull her away, but to hold her there. "Jen," he gasped, his back arching.
The sound shattered the last of her hesitation.

This was new territory for both of them, a strange and exhilarating landscape they were exploring together. She suckled him gently, mimicking the motions she’d read about in breastfeeding pamphlets, and the effect was immediate and electric. James bucked beneath her, his whole body trembling as a low groan rumbled in his chest.

The sight of him, so completely undone by her touch, was the most powerful aphrodisiac she’d ever known. Her own body ignited, the familiar ache between her legs intensifying into a sharp, demanding need. She moved against him, her own swollen belly pressing into his side as his hips began to move in a desperate, searching rhythm.

“Please,” he choked out, his voice cracking. “Oh, God, Jen, I’m so close.”

That was all it took. Her own climax, which had been building steadily, crashed over her in a tidal wave. She cried out his name, her body convulsing as stars exploded behind her eyes. Her release triggered his, and James arched into her with a shattered shout, his orgasm not the familiar, focused release she knew, but a full-body tremor that seemed to shake him to his very soul, leaving him gasping and shuddering in her arms.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was their ragged, mingled breaths. James lay limp beneath her, his face buried in the crook of her neck.

Finally, he stirred, his voice a hoarse whisper against her skin. "I think… you just broke my brain."

A breathless laugh escaped Jennifer’s lips. She pressed a kiss to his damp temple. “Welcome to the club.”

He shifted, turning his head to look at her, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief. “No, seriously. My toes are still buzzing.”

She smiled, tracing a lazy finger over his chest. “Mine too.”

They were in uncharted territory, on an adventure that grew stranger and more wonderful by the day. And as they curled together in the lamplit dark, their bodies still hummed with the aftershocks of their shared discovery.