previous:

“I didn’t pick the fight, he did.”

“But you had to finish it didn’t you? When will you learn it isn’t ladylike to beat up on men?”

“Not even if they deserve it, Uncle Phillip?”

“Well, at least leave enough that I get to put in my two cents worth. Okay?”

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Admin Note: Originally published on BigCloset TopShelf by T D Aldoennetti on Thu, 2008/11/06 - 5:16am., Air Force Sweetheart -- TacPzlSolGp Chapter 17 is revised and reposted on Sat, 2009/12/19 - 02:26 PM. ~Sephrena

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INCOMING…!:

Chapter 17

 

I missed supper. The nurse came in and sat me up. I remember picking up the fork and taking a sip of the tea, which was pretty good, but I don’t remember much else. Now I’m laying down again and the room is dark. I begin fishing for the glass of water again. My groin gives a prick and I squeal. Seconds later, the light goes on and a nurse is coming over to the side of my bed.

“I think I’m bleeding again.”

She checks and for five or ten minutes there’s a flurry of activity, after which I’m offered some water, and Jell-O if I want it.

“Oh, yes. Please. I’m hungry and I don’t remember eating supper.”

“You didn’t. You fell asleep. Your uncle left when you fell asleep earlier. He seemed quite relieved.

“He’s my favorite uncle. Has my fiancé been by?”

“No…, I don’t think so. Were you expecting him?”

“No. He may not know I’m here. It’s okay, he travels a lot and I don’t want him to worry.”

She nods her understanding. I can’t stay awake; I’m nodding off again, even while she’s standing there in front of me.

I hear her voice saying, “I’ll go get the Jell-O and wake you when I’m back. You need to eat something.”

-o~O~o-

What seems like seconds later, she is back, patting my arm to awaken me. She spoon feeds me so I don’t fall asleep without finishing the Jell-O.

“Do you think you could eat another one in about an hour?”

“I’ll try, just wake me up.”

She gives me a smile as my eyelids drop again.

-o~O~o-

I’m dreaming about Happy running with young children, when I notice something, but can’t understand what it is.

I begin to wake up and find a nurse there with more Jell-O. She feeds me and I manage to stay awake all through the feeding. She says, “I’ll check back in about an hour.”

My thoughts drift to Mom and the likelihood she has her hands full with the two puppies we planned on dropping on her. Somehow the two puppies turn into two young girls and it’s me, not Mom, that has her hands full. Sis walks in with two more girls and then Mom drops by and says she borrowed two from the neighbors. Then she and Janet leave me there with my mouth hanging open while they go shopping for asparagus.

-o~O~o-

Something is trying to attract my attention. I finally realize that I’m dreaming again and open my eyes just before the nurse gives up.

She sees my eyes open. “Hi, sleepyhead.”

“Hi. I was having a dream.”

“I’ll leave if you want.”

“No, that’s okay. It was a weird dream. Do you think I could have some more Jell-O?”

“It’s breakfast time. Do you want to try that?”

“Okay. I’m hungg…, hungry.”

“I think I’ll feed you, to be certain you eat. I’ll be back in just a few minutes and we’ll eat then, okay?”

“Okay. Please… make certain I wake up… and eat. My stomach… thinks my throat’s… been cut.”

“I promise.”

“Thanks.”

-o~O~o-

Again I feel something trying to attract my wandering attention — the smell of food. The nurse is back and my food is cut and ready to eat. She feeds me the first mouthful, and when my stomach realizes that my mouth is sending down food, it begins to complain that it wants about six helpings. It will need to be happy with this one. I manage to finish everything but the toast. I’m just not into that much chewing right now. The food is wonderful and I really appreciate her taking the time to keep me from falling asleep again.

-o~O~o-

My waking periods continue to be spent with doctors examining me, nurses poking me and giving me shots. I figure out that the shots come each morning and evening, but I still can’t keep track of the days very well. I still need to be fed, as I fall asleep if left on my own. I think I’m getting stronger. Tomorrow they are going to let me try to walk a little and then we will wing it for a while. Day after tomorrow my facial bandages come off.

-o~O~o-

Yesterday was interesting. I’m as weak as a kitten but managed to walk as far as the door and back three times during the day. Sometime this morning the bandages on my face will come off and maybe I’ll get to sit in the chair for a little while. Maybe when it’s time for supper. I finally think to ask how my things are doing back at the BOQ. I hope they didn’t give away my room and everything is still in one piece.

They don’t know, but tell me they will check. One of the doctors comes in and checks me again, then says the bandages will come off my face a little after lunch.

-o~O~o-

Two of the doctors who need to be present are going to be busy after lunchtime. The bandages are postponed a second time, to around 1600.

-o~O~o-

One of the nurses comes by just after lunch and gives me a shot. The doctor increased the dosage slightly and added a third shot for each day for the next five or six days. I also start on two more of the pills I have been taking, an increase from one each morning and evening to two each time.

-o~O~o-

Finally, this smothering head piece is being removed. The doctors tell me not to touch my face, as it will be very sensitive for a few days and they don’t want any chance of infection. They look me over and gently poke and prod at it through surgical gloves. They agree that it looks good.

“Do you want to see it?” one of them says.

I say, “Yes,” and they give me a mirror. I look at the face and have a little difficulty seeing me in it. The more I look, the more it looks like a stranger. My nose is smaller and much more feminine. There are other changes too, but I can’t quite place them. I see the overall look, but can’t decide what changed. My face is definitely female though. I reach up to touch it and the younger doctor restrains my hand.

“Careful. If you must touch it then be very gentle for the next three or four days.”

They’d stressed ‘very,’ so I ask why.

“We shaved some of the bones in your face and added a little to others giving you a very feminine appearance and a skull which, if X-rayed, will appear to be feminine. We were going to also reshape your pelvic bones, in addition to making a few other skeletal changes down there, again to help offer a feminine appearance, when we made a bit of a discovery. The X-ray didn’t quite do you justice and the, uhh, transplant….” He screws up his face as he considers what he is going to say.

“Part of the reason you’ve been so ‘out-of-it’ is because of the pain medications. These will begin to be tapered off starting with the morning meds. You must be very careful and keep your hands clean and away from your face as you are on an immunosuppressant. This is to help prevent rejection of the portion of the transplant we actually performed. It means that very simple infections could cause you a great deal of harm at the moment.”

The other doctor chimes in, “Another week and your immune system will be up and running again. We’ll keep your evening meds at this level, so you can get a good night’s sleep.”

Now the other doctor tag teams his colleague. “ At your request, we did not perform any surgeries on your chest and breasts. We did a couple of procedures which will help you to have small breasts short term. These will be absorbed and help, along with some of your medications, to cause you to begin increasing your breast size on your own.” He smiles at me.

“If yours have not developed enough in two months, then we will need to take some action to help boost you to the C-cup you say you want, but right now we’ll wait and see. There are already some ‘very firm’ suggestions of adolescent breast development so, with this gentle ‘prodding,’ they will likely develop well on their own. We’re trying to accelerate that growth without placing foreign materials, such as implants, into your chest.”

I reach up and almost touch my skin, before I remember that I’m not supposed to, while looking in the mirror. My skin has changed some. There is no sign of any beard, which should have been there after all this time, and my skin is softer, with a delicate curve to my face rather than the slightly boxy look I’m used to seeing. The area where my beard should be feels like it’s burning slightly in the air, but my face isn’t at all discoloured that I can see. I have cheek bones! I’ve just realized I can see them through my eyes, not just in the mirror, very slight protrusions into the lower outer edges of my vision.

My whole face and forehead looks different, even under my chin. I try to see my profile and, from what I can see of it, it’s pretty nice. The key word is ‘pretty.’ If I were a boy, I’d really like a date with the girl I see in the mirror. It will be interesting to see how things have turned out a little lower. That’s due to be checked in intimate detail tomorrow. I’ve had the bandages changed a half dozen times or so. But tomorrow they come off, so my healing can proceed faster and I’ll be able to walk further and more often. Suddenly it hits me. I’m bald. My eyes open wide and I look in the mirror touching the top of my head. I feel a slight stubble so I guess it will grow back.

Then I remember what he said about the ‘portion of the transplant they performed.’

“What did mean by ‘the portion’ of the transplant?”

They look at each other as though they are two boys, caught by their mother with their hands in the cookie jar.

The one doctor screws up his face again, “We were…, uh. The transplant…, uh.”

“Let me guess; this has something to do with the transplant.”

They both laugh nervously, but stop laughing as soon as they realize they’re laughing.

“You couldn’t do it? So I’m not fully a female?”

“Oh no, nothing like that, in fact you’re…, uh. That is…. The X-rays barely showed…, uh. If we weren’t looking for the adjustment we would need to make we would never have noticed until the surgery…, uh.”

“DOCTORS, OUT WITH IT!”

They act like I slapped them. I’d used ‘the voice’ just like Mom would do with Janet or myself when she needed control. That surprises even me.

Now the pair of four year old’s standing beside my bed are trying to decide if flight might be a good option, or if they should just tell the truth to their mother.

They’re still trying to decide between opting for the truth when two nurses come barging into the room, take one look at my body language, and then the doctors body language, and beat a hasty retreat out the door again, leaving the doctor’s to their fate.

“The…, uh…, transplants weren’t completely necessary, not what we’d planned.”

“And???”

“You…, uh. Have you ever had the flu, or maybe a little blood in your urine, or anything a little different?”

“What in the world does that have to do with my transplant? Yes, I’ve had flu and sometimes a bad meal and stomach cramps for a few days until it passed. What does that have to do with anything?”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Could you two just give me a straight answer?”

“How long?”

“How the H— should I know?” At this point I am feeling anything but ladylike, “You want my life’s medical history for something like getting the flu? I used to get it when I was just a kid. Everybody does.” By now the whole hospital must be able to hear me.

The one who’s been pussyfooting around the most finally gets up enough courage to give me a complete sentence.

“We did give you the vaginal transplant but you didn’t need the…. You already have a… uterus, ovaries too.”

They stand there to wait for that to sink in.

“And?” I still don’t get it….

Suddenly, I realize what he said. “YOU MEAN I’M A GIRL? A REAL…?” In my excitement, I’m almost squeaking by the time I notice that they’re waving their arms at me and trying to get me to quiet down, or at least to lower my voice by an octave or two.

I’m a little embarrassed by now; I’d sounded like a school girl, so I stop speaking and start thinking.

My slight build, curvy figure, high voice, recent breast swelling; it all begins to make some sort of weird sense.

I’m about to say something when the doctor waves at me again.

“Yes and no,” he says.

Now I’m confused, I thought he just told me I have all the equipment and it was mine to begin with.

“Everything is there, just not working well, and you were missing your vaginal opening, and of course your vagina, which we provided using part of the transplant materials. Those came from an accident victim who was about your age, give or take, and who matched the other things necessary to allow the transplant. We were becoming worried because we had the materials nearly two days before you arrived and keeping them fresh enough to use was about to become a problem.”

“I’m a girl?” I’m calmer now, and I manage to restrain myself to what passes for two rational inquiries. “All this time? I’m a girl?”

“Well, as we said…, not exactly.”

“Then what exactly?” Okay, be calm, Lucy. Be calm.

They’re looking at each other again, as if considering flight.

“Don’t even think about it,” I say

They look back toward me as though I’d read their minds, and look like two four-year-olds again.

He screws up his face and lips before speaking again. “For some reason, everything you have within you wasn’t quite performing as it should. Which was probably a good thing, since you didn’t have a proper path for it all to follow. A path which we added. We think the medications we have you taking will jump start everything so to speak and it will take off and probably run normally. The ovaries are our main concern at the moment.”

“Why?”

“They… don’t appear to be functioning.”

“And what does that mean to me?”

“You cannot have your own babies. Well, you can, but…, uh.”

“Spell it out.”

“With your ovaries not functioning properly, you have no eggs. Without the eggs you can’t have children. Otherwise, everything else down there is female. If you were implanted, then I think you could come to term and have a child.”

I’m thinking about this and looking at my face and head again. They latch onto this as a possible diversion.

“Don’t worry. We had to shave your hair to do some of the work on your skull. You can continue to wear a wig until your own hair grows out again. A few years and it will be shoulder length. If you like it long, then it may take you six or seven years to reach that length.”

My shoulders droop, but then I remember, ‘shoulders back, head up.’ Six or seven years…. But then my long hair will be MY long hair and not a wig. Wonderful.

Their diversion works and they leave as I’m admiring their work. I need to become accustomed to my new face. I hope my makeup isn’t drastically affected, since I’ve already purchased it. By the time I am ready to ask more questions, I discover that they’re long gone.

-o~O~o-

The next morning, about 0800, the Two Star drops by with Uncle Phillip at his side. They take one look at me and then back out of the room before I have a chance to say ‘hi.’ A minute later they are back with a nurse who looks at me and then at them.

“That’s her,” she says.

I flash ‘what’s the problem?’ at her and she says, “They weren’t prepared for the changes in your face. They didn’t recognize you right away. No big deal. Have a nice visit. I’ll be back with your shot in about twenty.”

“Hi, Uncle Phillip. How do I look?”

“Great, kitten. I gave Aunt Julie your love. She wants you to visit when you get back.”

“Tell her I will. How are you, Sir?” I ask the Two Star.

“My office looks much better. Beat up on any Colonels lately?”

“No, Sir. But then I haven’t come across any that need it in the past few days.”

He chuckles and says to my Uncle, “She’s a good choice, Phillip. I hope the rest of the surgeries turn out as well as her face has. Lucy, tomorrow afternoon your husband will drop by to say hello. He flies out in a couple of days. The nurses will give you your makeup and help you look a bit better before he arrives.”

“I need my wig. Did they destroy it?”

“I don’t think so. If they did, we’ll get you another.”

“They don’t come off an assembly line, Sir. They’re made for the head they fit, and are pretty expensive.”

“How much could they cost? Thirty or forty dollars?”

Uncle Phillip and I both laugh, and he says, “No, George… How about three to five… hundred?”

General George chokes at the amount. He goes out to check with the nurses, who come back in with him, saying that everything is in the room. The search is on and the wig is found. It’s in terrible shape. It looks like it was peeled off my head by brute force instead of using the solvent to take it off properly. Some of the hair has been cut away. I guess they started to cut my hair before they discovered it was a wig. The cap has portions which are stretched or cut. It is a total loss. My beautiful wig is now a piece of trash.

“If they destroyed my wig, what did they do to the breast forms?”

They’re nowhere to be found.

General George says, “I suppose those are three to five hundred as well?”

“Not quite, Sir, but just like the wig they must match the person who is going to wear them. You don’t just pick up a pair and glue them on. The wig must match the head and be in the proper colour and then it must also have the proper cap or it won’t look like natural hair; it will look like a wig. The adhesives used are soluble in a special solvent, which is designed to remove the adhesive but not damage the cap or hair. Immediately after removing it, the wig has to be carefully washed to remove all traces of the adhesive and solvent. That will protect it, allowing it to be used again and again for maybe two or three years depending on usage and care. The breast forms must both physically and colour match my chest. This is especially true since all my gowns are strapless and allow portions of my breasts to show. They are made to match me, so the seams don’t show and they look like my own. It takes time for them to be made properly. They’re glued in place, much like the wig, and require special care to remove them.”

Two Star George thinks for a while, “Okay, We can order everything and for tomorrow your head can be bandaged to cover the area where your hair should be. That will solve that part of the problem. We can obtain cheap breast forms quickly, I hope, so you could wear them under a nightgown and robe here in bed. You’ll be well covered, so no one can see that they don’t match perfectly. When the good wig and forms arrive, no one touches them but you. What do we need to know to get the order under way?”

“I need my cosmetics case from the BOQ so I may check the skin tone of my chest against a cosmetic colour so the forms can be made to the proper colour. We need a six foot flexible cloth tape measure, like they use in sewing, so we can measure both my chest and my head. The dimensions will need to be written down and sent off, along with the colour information, to the people who make them. The wig needs to be human hair and we can cut some of this one to send along as the hair colour. The breasts will be a bigger problem than the wig. Oh, and the wig cap must be full French lace. I’ll write it all down once I have my cosmetics case and the ruler.”

I pick up my wig looking at it sadly, “I really liked that wig. It was a part of me.”

They borrow my key and get the room number so they can send someone to pick up my cosmetics case, negligée and robe. I tell them to remind whoever it is to lock the door and check it before they depart the BOQ. Uncle Phillip promises they will tell them everything then he and General George leave together. I still don’t understand how they will keep that bigot Colonel from spilling the beans.

-o~O~o-

Two hours later a female Staff Sergeant enters with my cosmetics case, negligée, robe and my room key.

“Wow they certainly did a job on you. Will your hair grow back?”

“They tell me it will over a number of years. In the meantime, I guess I need to get a wig.”

“Someone as pretty as you shouldn’t have to wear a wig. That’s too bad. Anyway, here’s the cosmetics case. And they said you wanted one of these?” She holds up the cloth tape ruler.

“Yes, thank you. Did you have to pay for this?”

“Yes. It was fifty-five cents. They said they will reimburse me when I give them the receipt.”

“Go over to the closet and get my purse, please. I know how long they take to pay small amounts. You shouldn’t need to wait to be repaid for this.

She brings back my purse and I fish for a dollar bill, finally locating one which I give to her.

“I don’t have any change,” she says.

“That’s okay, keep it. Thank you.” I give her an ‘I appreciate it’ but she doesn’t react. I guess not everyone is taught this language.

“Thanks. Good luck.” She walks out the door.

I begin to wonder why she doesn’t understand the facial language but come to no real conclusions. Buzzing the nurse’s station, I ask for a pad of paper and a pencil.

After they arrive I begin taking the measurements of my head and write all six dimensions on the paper, along with a label for each measurement. I then write down the length, from my crown, over the top of my head, and then down to where I want it to fall. I specify full French lace cap and then put the paper with the colour sample cut from my destroyed wig.

Now I measure my chest and my breasts. WHOA! They’re SENSITIVE! That’s new. I touch the nipple of one and in moments it’s standing out prominently.

Very sensitive. Geez, if they had been like this when I had the fight with the Colonel all he would have needed to do was hit me on one of them and I would have been out of it. Carefully I again place the tape and go for my breast measurements. Difficult, until I figure out how to hold the two ends of the tape without hunching over, but not impossible.

Taking each measurement I write down the information. Measure between the breasts and write that down. I make a note of the size I want to end up at (between a B and a C-cup) with my own breasts underneath as A’s. That way, as I continue to grow, I’ll fill out the bra for now, and when I’m a little too large I can remove or replace the breast forms and continue to wait for my natural growth to duplicate the measurements we sized all my clothes for.

I try to remember my measurements from a few weeks ago and I think my breast measurement is about a quarter to half of an inch larger than before. Interesting. That means I might reach a C-cup without breast forms in about three or four months.

Cool. I could have my own breasts before I go overseas again. I wish my hair would grow that fast.

Two nurses come in. They’re going to wrap my upper head. I wait until they finish and then am about to use the hand mirror to try to put on a little makeup when one of the nurses stops me.

“Not so soon,” she says. “Your face needs to heal completely before you start using makeup again. Maybe in another couple of weeks.”

Well…. I guess I can live with that. With my new nose, cheekbones, and forehead, I look a thousand times better than I did. Before, I looked like a woman but now I’m actually pretty. Looking at myself in a mirror is still a shock. I see only a few small changes but the overall effect is amazing. I hope Mom still recognizes me.

My head seems to be getting better fairly quickly. I hope the rest of me does as well.

-o~O~o-

“LUNCH!”

“You’re early.”

“Yes. We needed to move lunch up half an hour.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Now what’s for lunch? Looks like chicken…. Turkey! And cranberry sauce! Ugh, potatoes. But fresh vegetables! CHOCOLATE PUDDING! Hide this quick before they realize. Tea…. Stuffing…. Wow, how did I luck out? I start in with a small bite of the stuffing…. Uhmm, good. I continue my scrumptious meal taking my small bites but hurrying so if they made a mistake it will be gone before they may do anything. I finish everything except the potatoes.

Now for my treat. Taking the spoon I make a shallow dip in the pudding, just enough to cover the tip of the spoon placing the delicacy in my mouth. Closing my eyes, I’m in heaven. Slowly savoring every little bite, I finish off the pudding and am attempting to scrape remnants out of the bowl even though there are no remnants remaining. Now that was a nice meal. If they could all be like that I might never leave the hospital. The nurse enters my room to see me staring into the bowl, my spoon scraping here and there in an attempt to find one more scrumptious little morsel of pudding.

“Good, wasn’t it?”

“Heavenly.”

“We have a new mess Sergeant in the kitchen. He’s changing things a little. He just finished a course in nutrition for medical patients and is applying his knowledge. Patients are supposed to recover faster if the meals are tastier and more nutritious. If they are tastier, then the patient eats more of the meal as well, which also helps recovery.”

“Uhmm. I may steal him.”

She starts laughing, “I’ll tell him. If he ever gets a look at you with those bandages off, he may take you up on it.”

She takes my tray and is still chuckling as she leaves the room.

About an hour later my temporary breast forms arrive. I slowly move out of bed to find my bra from the clothes in my room at BOQ tucked in the closet. I slip the breast forms into the bra after I put it on, then slip on my negligée and robe. Slowly I climb back into bed just before the nurse walks in with my shot.

“Now don’t you look nice. Expecting a suitor? I hear you want to steal our mess Sergeant. Stand in line. Okay, give me your arm.”

“I’m beginning to feel like a pin cushion.”

“There won’t be too many more. I think they are scheduled to stop in three or four days. Your Oral meds will pick up a little at that time. Then in a few months they will begin to taper off some.”

“When will they stop?”

“From what I understand, never. They will cut way back but you will be taking them for a long time. Whatever you caught over there is a lulu. It’s keeping you from healing as quickly as normal from the effects of the accident. They think it will be controlled though if you keep up the meds, so I wouldn’t worry about it too much if I were you.”

Now that’s interesting. They are treating me like I have a disease of some kind.

Or maybe that is a cover story too. The meds aren’t though, so I guess I will be looking at them for the rest of my life. I hope they give me plenty to take with me.

-o~O~o-

Something awakens me. I open my eyes and see a stranger standing there. Maybe this is my husband. He’s very handsome.

“I hear you don’t like my food, Colonel.” Oh, this is the mess Sergeant.

“It’s divine,” I say.

“Glad you like it. You’re one of my first guinea pigs.”

“Well, I hardly feel like a pig, but if you do as well at supper I may stay here an extra week or two.”

“Wait a minute. My food is supposed to help patients get better and leave, not encourage them to stay.”

“Then maybe I should stop eating it so I have a reason to stick around. Of course then I would be missing the reason I’m staying. Quite a dilemma.”

He starts laughing. Nice smile, nice eyes, good laugh.

“Wait until after supper before you stop eating. Let me know what you think about the food after a few more meals.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Tell you what, I’ll send a surprise up with your tray. Try it and let me know what you think of it.” He begins to leave.

“What is it?”

“Now if I tell you, it won’t be a surprise,” he winks as he goes out the door.

Moments later, two of the nurses are in my room.

“Well?” one says, but their faces are both sending, ‘Tell me all about it.’

“Well, what?”

“You know. Him.”

“He just came up to tell me he is glad I like his food.”

“Uh huh. And pigs fly. He had dozens of messages about his food, even from the nurses. You’re the only one he came up to see.”

“I have no idea. He doesn’t know me from Eve. Maybe it was luck of the draw, or perhaps I hold the most rank.”

“Riighttt. You’d better watch out, girl, he may be setting his sights on you.”

“That’s hardly possible. I go back to Vietnam in a few months.”

“I thought you have already spent more than two tours over there. Pushing for General before you’re thirty?”

“Almost two and a half, and no. I just have some heavily required expertise.”

“You still better watch out. We just got him here. We don’t want to lose him right away.”

“I doubt you’ll lose him. I don’t believe my fiancé would appreciate the competition.”

“You’re engaged? No one mentioned that.”

“In fact, he’s supposed to visit today.”

“He’d better be a hunk. If you turn down the Sergeant for him, he’d better be a hunk.”

“I would prefer intelligent. But wait and see.”

“We’ll be watching. Get some more sleep. After that visit, you’re probably exhausted.”

They go out, talking quietly, and I imagine the rest of the nurses will hear about my visit before the hour is out.

-o~O~o-

“Lucy? Lucy.”

I manage to open my eyes and focus on another handsome man in my room.

“Hi, honey. How are you doing?”

“Fine.”

“I came as soon as I heard. They said the accident left you in pretty bad shape but you’re doing ok now. How about a kiss for your fiancé.”

OH. So this is the one.

We share a little kiss with more passion on his side than mine but I’m still ‘sick.’

When did they tell you?”

“I was cabled yesterday and it took that long to get here. I’ve got to leave again in a couple of days. You know how it is. They can’t do without me.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You seem tired.”

“I am, but I’m getting better.”

He leans down and gently puts his hand on one of my breasts. I’m glad I have the forms on.

“What do you say to getting married tomorrow? Then, after you recover, you can come over and be with me.”

I give him a little smile. Inwardly, I’m not so sure. The mess Sergeant seems to have a nicer personality, but then again who am I to know?

“Married? Here? Now?”

“Why not? We can always consummate it once you’re better and over with me. Besides, I don’t think conjugal visits are quite the norm at the hospital.”

“I guess not. Maybe we could have a nicer wedding sometime later, so I can have bridal photos and memories?”

“Sure. Why not? It can be a big wedding too, after we return to the States.”

He still has his hand on my breast and I feel it moving like he is gently massaging it. My own breast is responding by enlarging a little which is forcing the breast form up a little as well. My breast, hell, I’m responding to it. This is a new sensation. I’m not certain I like it. I’m not certain I don’t.

“I’m kind of sleepy.”

He takes his hand off my breast.

“Okay, honey. Get some sleep. I’ll see if I can make it back tomorrow.”

“Okay. I’m glad you came by.”

“Any time, honey. Any time.” He leans down again letting me feel a little of his weight as he kisses me again. I share it a little more this time, as though I’m still recovering but want the kiss none-the-less.

He leaves the room and I’m lying there trying to find that elusive feeling I had.

Now that I’ve met him, I’m beginning to have some second thoughts. Something is just a little too smooth. Of course it just may be that I’m still too doped up to be able to get a good ‘reading.’ I had a good reading from the Sergeant, though, so I’m confused.

The Sergeant was friendly and nice and didn’t push at all, like a big brother who wants to protect his little sister. The impression I got from my fiancé was more like the big bad wolf.

This doesn’t make sense. Uncle Phillip would hardly allow them to pair me with someone who would be like that. I’m just being paranoid because we are going to be married. A girl is always allowed second thoughts just before her wedding.

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To Be Continued….       © 2008, 2009 by T D Aldoennetti & Rénae Dúmas. This work may not be replicated or presented in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder) or her assigned representative. ALL Rights Reserved, including but not limited to ownership of Characters, final content decision, and more. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental. An Aldoennetti Original.