Revenge is Snowy White by Jennifer Brock This is a sequel to my earlier piece While Sleeping, Beautified. Your narrator will begin by summarizing what came before, so you shouldn’t need to have read it to understand this one. Join our heroine as she begins to make a new life as a woman, and seeks to get revenge upon those who did her wrong. Be warned that a fairly sarcastic tone is frequently taken toward some unfairly brutal issues. If that sort of thing offends you, skip this one.

I hope you’re comfortable, Sweetie; I’m going to tell you a story. Once upon a time, there was a guy named Doug Connors, who was a bit of a dick I’ll admit, but didn’t really deserve everything that happened to him. One morning after a one-night stand he couldn’t find his underwear, so the girl thought it would be sexy if she let him borrow a pair of her panties. Never having worn a thong before, he was a little distracted and couldn’t react fast enough when this bigger asshole took a wrong turn at a stoplight and smashed into him. He got rushed off to the hospital, but was unconscious. However, he could hear what was going on, and what he heard didn’t sound so good. There was a lot of damage to his genital area, but (here’s where it starts to go absurd) since they found him wearing panties the doctor in charge decided that he must be one of those weirdo guys that want to be women, and he okays the reconstruction guy to rebuild his crotch with an innie instead of an outie. And he’s still in a coma, screaming internally, “Stop! Don’t do this!” but of course no one can hear, and before you can say Jill Robinson, our boy Doug is now a girl!

She doesn’t wake up, but she can still hear things. It turns out the doctor who approved this surgery is an Evil Bastard, and he’s running a scam with his buddy the insurance man to perform all kinds of surgeries and procedures on poor ex-Doug, charging it to the insurance settlement from the bad driver, and skimming a little of the top for himself. It seems Dr. Evil Bastard Mike Andrews got into a little trouble and owes a lot of money to some shady characters, so he cooked up this scheme to get him the funds. And he isn’t worried what would happen if the patient finds out and sues the hospital, because he’s keeping her in a coma with some kind of drug, although he must not be using enough if she’s hearing him so often. All they would have needed was one little machine that’s not all that complicated to use and he’d be able to know when her brainwave patterns showed she was listening, but even mad geniuses make mistakes sometimes. One time when he was raping her with his little friend Larry the insurance guy, she heard that his Evil Bastard plan was even worse. Wait a minute; that’s right! I forgot to mention the raping part. All the while he’s having her remodeled, he’s been using her shiny new vagina (and other parts) as something to be fucked whenever he feels like it and sharing her at least once with his buddy. Anyway, his Evil Bastard plan is even Eviler and Bastardlier; when he’s run out of things that he can do to her and charge for, he’s going to arrange for her to have an “incident” and slip from comatose to dead. So she musters every ounce of willpower into a mantra of “Got to wake up, got to wake up, got to wake up!” The miracle happens, or maybe she’d just built up a resistance to the drug, but she opens her eyes and is in a hospital, and she’s a girl, and it wasn’t a bad dream, but the nightmare’s just beginning.

How do I know all this? Because I’m her, Aurora Connors, the Sleeping Beauty formerly known as Doug. I hope you recognized my voice, Darling. And now that you know that I know everything about what you did to me, you’re wondering what I’m going to do to you, or maybe even what I’ve already done. But I won’t tell you yet. You’ll have to wait until I finish my story. Now where was I? Oh yes, Aurora was waking up in the hospital. Actually, Aurora really doesn’t like talking about herself in third person, so I’ll switch to talking about me as me. Is that ok? Just shake your head if it’s not. Thanks for indulging me.

I woke up, and was feeling very weakened, but I still managed to get the doctors’ attention. And they got the nurse to bring me some water to sip, and the Chief of Surgery helped answer some questions, while the Evil Bastard went to fetch a mirror. I knew that until they discharged me from the hospital, I was still at their mercy. In the state I was in, it would be really easy for them to still arrange that “incident.” So I realized that the only way they’d let me go was if they didn’t think I was mad at them. I pretended that waking up as a girl was something that I’d always dreamed of. Doug had only had one useful skill; (I know I said I didn’t want to talk about myself in third person, but thinking about Doug’s life really doesn’t feel like I’m remembering mine) he was a first class bullshit-artist. It’s how he got to be fairly successful as a salesman, and it’s how he managed to bed a different woman every night. Like I said before, he was pretty much a dick. However, that skill served me well, as I cooed and squealed in delight at my new body. And what a body it was! The new name they’d given me wasn’t the only thing that seemed to belong on a stripper. I saw that I had an enormous pair of bazongas, a tiny little waist, and a perfectly round little ass that you’d want to eat off of. Long red fingernails showed off my dainty hands and matched my sweet little tippy-toe feet. My face was beautiful, with big twinkling eyes, a cute little nose, pouty bee-stung lips, diamond-studded earlobes, gorgeous cheekbones, and a delicate new jawline, and it had all been tattooed with permanent makeup to look a little too whorish for daytime. I had dark black eyeliner, smoky eyeshadow, bright red lips, and rouged cheeks. I looked in a full-length mirror that had been wheeled in and was amazed. I was really unsteady on my feet and almost fell, but someone caught me and held me up. Who was my hero? Why none other than you, Sweetheart, Dr. Mike Evil Bastard Andrews himself! As I saw your face for the first time, I had an odd reaction. Even though I hated everything about you and all that you represented, I nonetheless felt a strong attraction to you. This confused the hell out of me, because Doug had never been any kind of gay and I didn’t know how to relate to having sexual thoughts about a man, plus of all the men I could have wanted, why you? It must have been something related to all the hormones you’ve pumped into me. Eventually, everyone except Rose the nice nurse cleared out of the room and I got back into my bed. I took some medication and gradually fell to sleep. I was still a little worried that I might not wake up again.

I had a weird dream that night. I was Doug, having that fateful last date again, but when my date went to hand me her panties, she looked like Aurora. Then I put them on, and so did I, and I looked back at the girl and she was now Doug, but then he shifted into Dr. Evil Bastard. I realized that I was only wearing a thong and moved to cover myself, but the doctor grabbed my hands and forced me down and tore my panties off and forced himself into me, again and again. I woke up in a cold sweat, frightened, confused, and strangely a little horny. Lori the night nurse noticed me on the monitor and checked to see if I was ok. I told her I’d had a bad dream. She helped me out of bed and got a clean nightgown for me to wear out of a chest of drawers in my room. When she pulled the wet one off of me, I got my first good naked look at my new body, since the mirror was still there. I was hella sexy! My thick juicy nipples were standing up in the middle of their perfectly circular pink areolas. There was a sparkly little gemstone hanging off of a piercing in my navel that seemed to match my earrings. And there was a thin little rectangle of curly brown hairs leading the way to my new womanhood, like a red carpet laid out for special guests. I briefly touched myself to see what my new stuff felt like, but quickly pulled my hand away when I could actually feel my fingertip slipping inside! I was awestruck for a moment and posed a little before the nurse snapped me out of it. She handed me the clean gown and I looked at it, trying to figure out how to get into it. Lori had to show me how to pull it over my head. It was a long, silky gown with spaghetti straps and lace trim around the cups and along the hem, in a pale blue that made my eyes look bluer somehow. She rang for an orderly to change my sheets. She asked me if I’d wet the bed, and I said I didn’t think so, and I thought it was just sweat. Apparently, they’d removed my catheters after I took my sedative so she wanted to be sure. She suggested that I go sit on my toilet and try to see if anything would come out. It shouldn’t be too hard; I just needed to relax my muscles and let gravity do the work. I needed her help showing me how to pull my gown up to use the bathroom, but after a while I watched as a few golden drops came falling out of me. It was a very weird feeling not having anything to aim with, and the urine felt hotter than it ever did as a male, but it felt like an accomplishment, like I’d started breaking in my new equipment, on my own terms. When the drops stopped, she told me to make sure to wipe myself afterward. It was a new experience for me. I wasn’t really sure where the pee hole was, so I just gave everything in that area a good sweeping. To keep an accident from ruining my pretty gown, she had me pull on a matching pair of blue panties that she’d attached a maxi-pad to. It felt kind of weird, like wearing a diaper, but it was also reassuring to have some bulk down there again. I tried lying on my side to go back to sleep like Doug always used to, but the boobs just became too noticeable smashing together so I had to try to get comfortable on my back. I admit that I did play with my nipples a little before falling asleep. They were very sensitive, and the silky fabric was just too good a feeling to deny.

The next day was a very busy one for me. It started with Mama Rose (I think that’s when I started calling her that) who had volunteered to come in early and guide me through my day, just because that’s the kind of sweet and caring woman she is. My voice still wasn’t all there yet, but she had no trouble understanding me. Since my breakfast was the first solid food I’d be putting in my stomach in two years, it was very light and soft: some applesauce, a small portion of something pretending to be scrambled eggs, some fruity-tasting yogurty stuff that was supposed to replenish my intestinal flora, and a small cup of cranberry juice. Then I got out of bed and she showed me that there were rails I could hang onto in my shower so I wouldn’t have to worry about falling down, but she’d be listening outside the bathroom door just in case. I had some gentle soap that smelled like flowers, a nice big washcloth, and a bottle each of salon-grade shampoo and conditioner. It was very soothing to let the warm water flow all over me, so I probably took longer than I needed to, but she didn’t say anything. I also did waste some time exploring myself more completely. There was still a little tenderness down there from where the catheter had been, but there were plenty more other areas down there where my fingers could wander. I ran my fingers softly along the edges of my lady lips, back and forth, enjoying the sensation as I built up enough nerve to deliberately touch myself on the inside. I ran my finger along the seam, back and forth, pushing a little more harder on each pass, until it broke through and parted the flaps, then I gently began caressing the inside of my pussy. While I worked a couple fingers inside, I just sort of let my thumb wander and let me tell you, when I found my new “magic button” it felt so incredible that I almost didn’t regret what you had done to me. I teased it with my thumb and index finger, and let a few other fingers slip in and out down below. The other hand started to feel left out so it decided to play with a nipple, at first just giving it a little pinch and squeezing it between two fingers, but then I found that a circular kneading of the entire breast, touching the nipple only occasionally instead of constantly, worked better. As I was being flooded with stimulation, I worked all my fingers faster and faster, harder and harder, deeper and deeper. I had my first orgasm as a woman right there in the shower, and remembering it right now gets me so hot that maybe I’m masturbating right now while I’ve been describing it to you. You’re probably thinking about being aroused yourself, aren’t you? Too bad you can’t feel your body now; it’s got to make you wonder whether I left you any parts to get aroused with. Or you weren’t wondering that until I just mentioned it. Did I spoil the mood? Sorry, Honey. Sometimes I just get a little ahead of myself. We’ll be getting to what happened to you later. We’re still talking about me now.

After giving myself the most amazing sexual stimulation I’d ever had (at that point) I remembered what I was supposed to be doing and after taking a moment for the weakness in my knees to go away, I started washing my hair. Doug had never grown his hair long, not even as a rebellious teenager, so it was yet another new experience for me. I think it was the first time I ever obeyed the directions on a shampoo bottle: I lathered, rinsed, and repeated. Then I did my best with the conditioner, although I think I might have used too much. After my final rinse, I turned the water off and when I opened the curtain Mama Rose was waiting there with a giant fluffy bath towel to dry me off. I thought she was going to show me how to do thing where girls wrap towels around themselves and tuck the end into their cleavage to hold it there, but instead she pulled the towel away when I was dry and helped me into a short pink terrycloth robe, and gave me a bottle of lotion that I was supposed to rub in all over, to keep my skin moist or something. It had the same kind of flowery scent as the soap, and spreading it all over my luscious flesh made me feel even more girly, if that was possible. Then I got to learn how to blow-dry the billowing blonde mass atop my head. When my hair had been completely dried and brushed into something resembling manageable, she had me style it by simply pulling it back into a ponytail and securing it with this big fancy barrette. I didn’t need any makeup, but she thought I might like a fragrance, so she sprayed me with some of her cologne while I was figuring out how to use my roll-on deodorant. We talked about what kind of look I wanted for my first real day as a woman, and I opted not to go for the casual comfortable look she was recommending, theorizing that the transsexual I was pretending to be would have wanted to make a big splash at her unveiling in an outfit that was pretty and feminine.

My next first for the day was putting on my first bra. It was baby pink, with lightly padded cups so my nipples wouldn’t poke anyone’s eye out, a good strong underwire, and a sprinkling of white lace around the edges. I peeked at the tag to see what size I wore and it read “40DD.” Rose showed me how to loosely settle my basketballs into place, and then reach around behind me to hook the ends together, making sure I got all the hooks, then I had to go back and arrange the straps and the cups so that everybody was in their right position. It wasn’t a push-up bra, but it wasn’t full-coverage either, so it revealed a decent amount of cleavage, which gave me an odd sense of pride. The matching panties sat low on my hips, which felt weird. I couldn’t see, but I was pretty sure they were revealing some cleavage of their own in the back. Then she put me in a pale fuchsia gauzy wrap dress, which fortunately was lined so I didn’t need a slip. She tied it tightly around my waist behind me and there was a lot of sash left over, so she had to double-knot it. She thought my legs were good enough that I could skip hosiery my first day, and helped me into a cute pair of leather sandals. I found them very comfortable even though they had three-inch heels. Something about the surgery you had done to make my feet smaller changed the shape of the arch so I fit better into heels than flats. Thanks for that, Dear.

She explained that I had a lot of appointments to attend, and since I wasn’t quite ready for all that walking, I got to ride in a wheelchair. I felt bad that she had to push me around, but she said that it was her job and she’d had to push plenty of people heavier than me, so it wasn’t a big deal. I gave her a hug and said it was a big deal to me. My first appointment was with Dr. Powell, the plastic surgeon who’d done most of my alterations. He listed all the operations he’d done on me, and showed me some “before and after” photos that were taken for the various steps along the way. I wondered if he had one from right after the accident, since I was curious just how extensive the damage was, but he didn’t. He had me take off my panties and sit on an examination table, putting my feet up in stirrups. I felt weird showing my womanhood to a man, but he was the guy who built it, so I guess that made it ok. Using a hand mirror, he showed me my new girl bits in vivid detail. Since I’d been comatose for two years since he’d made my vagina, he hadn’t been able to do his normal post-op test to see what level of sensation I had. I blushed and told him that I’d already checked some myself, and was very impressed with his work. But he had to test anyway. He touched me in several places with this special stick and asked if I could feel it. I could feel most of his probing, and was very embarrassed that some of them were turning me on, particularly this one point where he had the probe way up inside me and was rubbing it around. He told me that I had near-perfect sensitivity, and an excellent lubrication reaction. Because he’d used a section of my intestine to make it, it was capable of producing mucus in response to stimulation, and so with enough foreplay I wouldn’t need any bottled lubricants when the time came that I was ready for sex. The whole thing sounded really disgusting, but I lied and looked happy and told him I was eager to take it for a test drive, and flirted with him asking if he was available. He got a little flustered, which was fun, but he said he was married and it was unethical. I giggled to let him know I was just kidding around. It was nice to know that some doctors actually have scruples. He showed me how to dilate myself and I pretended to be interested. Of course, I don’t need to explain the process to you, since you were responsible for dilating me while I was sleeping. But then, you chose to dilate me with a penis, you raping asshole! He did mention that I’d need to keep at it regularly even if I were to become sexually active, since intercourse wouldn’t be enough to maintain my depth. I’m not sure how you managed it, but maintaining my depth was the last thing on my mind at that point so I didn’t press the issue. He handed me a leaflet describing how to do some exercises to strengthen my bladder muscles which had probably weakened somewhat, gave me his card in case I had any questions, and then let me put my panties back on and called Rose in to take me to my next appointment.

I then went to a meeting with the Chief, Dr. Bernard, and his lawyer, Todd Cooper. They explained my legal situation, all the stuff I already knew about the insurance settlement, as well as explaining all the forms that had been filed to obtain my new identity. If I wanted a copy of my new birth certificate, I’d have to go to the county records office. Remember that; it’s important later. I asked them if there was some sort of official document I could use that would prove I’m the person who used to be Douglas Connors, for dealing with things like getting at my bank accounts, and they said that was a good idea and they’d put something together before I was released. I was curious what they’d done with my, that is Doug’s, personal effects. They told me they were in a box in a basement filing room, but they could have it brought to my room if I wanted. They need a patient’s permission to throw things out. I thanked them for the excellent treatment, and asked if I was going to be getting an enormous bill for it all, but they told me what I already knew about it being covered by your insurance scam, although they didn’t call it that. I asked if they had a contact number for the insurance company, so I could see about getting my car repaired, and by the way did they know what had happened to my car? They gave me Larry’s business card, but said they didn’t know what happened to my car and I should contact the police to see if they had it in impound or if it had been scrapped. That addressed most of my issues, so I let them take back control of the meeting. I don’t think they even noticed that I’d been driving it. The main thing they wanted was for me to sign a consent form, officially giving them permission to do all things they’d already done. They just wanted their collective asses covered. Once I signed that, I couldn’t sue them for destroying my life. I carefully read it over three times to make sure I wasn’t waiving my right to go after them for malpractice if it turned out any of the procedures was done improperly. I wasn’t completely comfortable with my new hands yet, so I asked for a blank piece of paper to practice my signature. I started cautiously, by holding the pen in my fist like little kids do, and spelled my name out in capital letters A U R O R A. Then I had a realization. I had to ask them if I had a middle name. Nobody had told me what my full name was. Dr. Bernard told me it was “Briarose,” and wrote it out on his pad to show me how to spell it. I asked where that weird name came from, hoping I wasn’t named after his grandmother or something, and he told me that was the name Sleeping Beauty sometimes uses in the fairy tales. I wrote that out in block letters under my first name and then my last name on the next line and after looking at them I started laughing uncontrollably or at least as well as I could with my voice still all hoarse and whispery. The chief thought I was having some kind of seizure, but I forced myself to calm down and show him that I’d just realized that writing my initials would now be as easy as “A.B.C.” He chuckled a little. I tried holding the pen the right way, and my writing was ugly, but you could sort of tell what it said. He told me that I was already scheduled with a physical therapist, who would help me work on getting my penmanship up, but a sloppy signature would be ok on this document; no one but them would ever need to see it. I did my best to sign it, feeling confident that it would mean they’d have no reason to kill me.

After that, I got taken for my first meeting with Dr. Baker. Back when I was Doug, I’d never had occasion to see a psychiatrist so I was a little nervous. I knew she was in the business of seeing through people’s bullshit, so I’d have a hard time trying to trick her. I decided I’d try to limit myself to making statements that were more or less honest. She looked like a tough old broad who had been there, so I tried to seem to confide in her. Rose rolled me in and left and I felt a little abandoned. Dr. Baker told me she’d read my file, and found my case to be extraordinary. I told her it all still hadn’t quite set in, and I felt like I was caught in some kind of dream wondering if I’d wake up. She asked me about my family, and whether I had any really good friends or other close relationships. I asked her if it was in my file whether I had any visitors while I was sleeping for two years, because I wouldn’t have expected any. I told her that after my folks died, I really hadn’t made any real connections to people. I think I held everyone at arm’s length. There always seemed to be something missing. I didn’t get more specific, but I let the doctor infer that I was talking about the whole transgender thing without actually lying to her. She did ask about when the first time I remembered feeling feminine, and I told her a true story of once when I was nine I got sent to stay with relatives for the summer, and I used to dress up in my cousin’s clothes and have tea parties with her. She called me “Debbie.” I didn’t tell the shrink that my cousin was bigger and older than me and forced me to beg her to let me be a girl. All in all, I think the session went well. I let enough real stuff out that it actually seemed to do me good.

I got wheeled back to my room for lunch, which was still really mild, soft food and then I had my first session with Bonnie Davis my speech therapist. She had me start by gargling with this special solution. She made me repeat until everything got loosened up enough that my vocal cords started making noise during the gargle. Then she had me hum for a bit, starting from a relaxed tone and then sliding up the scale. It was a little scary to me how high I could go without breaking into a falsetto. Finally it was ready for me to actually start talking. It was very weird hearing my new voice for the first time. I said “Hello, my name is Aurora,” and it shocked me how naturally female I sounded. All this time, the inner voice that I’d been talking to myself with hadn’t changed. In my head I still sounded like Doug, but in my ear I heard Aurora, and it took me a very long time for that difference to go away. Bonnie had me do a few more exercises and then gave me a booklet with some tips on the differences between male and female speech, and a little recorder that I could practice with.

I had a little accident after that. I think it must have been the stuff she made me drink. I felt the urge to go to the bathroom but couldn’t hold it tightly enough and wet my pants a little. I was really embarrassed and nearly cried, but Rose tried to cheer me up by saying it was no big deal; my muscles just needed time to get back in shape, and I had to change for my physical therapy appointment anyway. I was just glad I was wearing a pad and didn’t ruin my pretty dress — the moment I realized that was what I was thinking, I actually did break down and cry. Hormones can really fuck you up. She had me undress completely and put on clean cotton hipster panties and a sports bra that strapped everything down and kept my coconuts from bouncing around too much. Over that went a pair of powder blue low-rise yoga pants and a lime green cropped tank top, that showed off my navel piercing. Plain white ankle socks and pink canvas sneakers went on my feet. Rose had me take out the barrette and redo my ponytail a little higher up on my head using a cute blue scrunchie instead, and I was ready for my workout.

My first impression of Stefan the physical therapist was that he was an enormous scary bald black man with muscles on top of his muscles. I was worried that he was going to hurt me, or yell at me like a drill sergeant, or worse. But when I got to know his soft voice and gentle touch, I realized that first impressions don’t always tell you much. Of course my first impression of you from your voice alone was that you were a twisted creep, so sometimes you can size someone up accurately from the get go. That Frankensteiny thing you did with the electric shocks did a good job at maintaining my muscle tone, so my therapy wasn’t about rebuilding strength; I just needed a lot of work at coordinating the new shape of everything, and dealing with the change in how gravity affected me. I had to start by learning to walk all over again. He put me on a treadmill with bars to hold if I felt myself falling, and started really slowly. He didn’t want me tiptoeing, but my feet didn’t want to sit flat on the floor. It was too hard for me. I said my other shoes were more comfortable, so Rose asked if she could fetch a pair of heels for me to try wearing instead, and he said it was ok as long as they were wedges and not stilettos so they wouldn’t puncture his machine. She came back with these darling slingbacks that looked intimidating in their steepness, but felt heavenly when I put them on. I wobbled a little though, and he explained that I was standing all wrong. He said I was standing like a guy just all hunched over and sloppily relaxed, when I needed to be carrying myself like a lady, with my back slightly arched and my neck held high and I shouldn’t be afraid to stick out my chest and tilt back my hips and let the world see the goddess I truly am. And then he demonstrated the difference for me and he went from his “goddess” pose into a fierce strut around the room like a true diva, and I cracked up laughing. But he really helped me gain poise and put me back on that treadmill and got me to wiggle my sexy ass when I moved, which really did improve my balance. It would be a few more weeks of therapy before I was walking like I was born into this body, but that first day really broke the ice and made me accept my new lot in life. The therapy for my hands was harder. There was this cool room that looked kind of like a movie studio, with all kinds of environments to practice life skills in: there was a half of a car on one side, and a little piece of a kitchen on another, and a pretend restaurant booth, and an office cubicle. I had to practice writing over and over again, with breaks where I got to work at typing on a computer and dialing a phone and sewing (even though Doug would have had trouble fixing a button) and eating with tableware and using various kitchen utensils. For some odd reason, I seemed to have a real aptitude for learning how to use chopsticks.

My reward for being a good trooper through my physical therapy session was a luxurious whirlpool bath. All those little bubbles were just so relaxing, and the jets worked my sore muscles until I just wanted to flop around like a rag doll. I was a little embarrassed when I needed Stefan’s help to get out of the tub, but he told me not to worry; he was a professional and besides he’d never cheat on his boyfriend. When I realized I was a little disappointed to find out that he was gay, I got even more confused. Did I want Stefan to be attracted to me, or not? I was never around gay guys before, but now I want one to find me attractive? Is it because I want to be a man, and a gay guy would only want a man, so if he wants me it means some of me is manly? Or do I want him to want me because I want him in the way that a woman wants a man? If I admit that I do does that make me gay? Does it retroactively make Doug gay? Whatever the answer, it’s certainly a waste of those muscles. I hope his boyfriend appreciates what we’re missing.

Rose wrapped me in my big fluffy robe and took me back to my room. I decided to go with a casual outfit. I figured jeans and a t-shirt would feel somehow familiar, and make my life a little less crazy. Big mistake. Rose insisted that Visible Panty Lines were the greatest sin a lady could commit and had me wear a thong under my jeans. This tiny piece of red fabric was the scariest thing I’d worn so far. A thong got me into this mess, and I was shaking when I put one on for the second time in my life. It fit much too well, and wasn’t uncomfortable like I’d been expecting. The matching bra was lightly padded so my nipples wouldn’t show under my shirt, and fastened in the front, which was a plus, but it also had a little bit of a push-up action going on and gave be a sexy amount of cleavage. And the dark purple t-shirt I picked turned out to have a deep scoopneck, so everyone got a great view. Rose had me put on my first nylons, a pair of suntan knee-highs and then helped me pull on and zip up my stonewashed light blue jeans, since they were so tight I had trouble getting them on by myself with my long fingernails. I almost gave up and took them off, but then I looked over my shoulder and saw how incredible my ass looked in the mirror, so I kept them on. I looked like the kind of girl that Doug would have wanted to take home, back when there was a Doug. I shook away that idea and focused more on how much I enjoyed looking sexy. There’s only one thing that makes a girl in jeans look better, and I found a pair of burgundy calfskin boots in my closet that were smoking hot, and made me even hotter once we got them on! I let my hair down, shook it out, and fluffed it up with my fingers into a sort of loose mass that didn’t look too harsh.

I looked in the mirror and saw a really sexy chick. If only she was wearing big hoop earrings, she’d look like a typical party girl you’d find in almost any bar. I must have spoken that out loud, because Rose said that she thought I had some in my jewelry box. She helped me change out my diamond studs into three-inch gold hoop earrings, and found a cute little circular pendant on a gold chain that complemented them nicely. She even changed the charm on my belly-button to something that matched, since my shirt stopped early and my jeans started late, revealing a fair amount of my cute little tummy. I looked at Aurora in the mirror, and she really looked like a girl who was out for some fun. She smiled at me and did a kind of wiggly little dance, and I was completely taken out of the moment. But then a thought wandered through my head that brought me back down to Earth. Where did I get a fully stocked jewelry box? And why did I have such an extensive wardrobe hanging in my closet? I asked Rose and she told me what I should have already figured out, (but the person I was pretending to be couldn’t have guessed, so it actually helped with my charade) that as the one in charge of my case you had made certain that I had everything a woman would need waiting for me when I woke up. Now since you weren’t planning on my ever waking up, I’ll bet you got me expensive things so that not only would you pad your receipts and pocket extra money when reporting it to your little pal Larry the insurance guy, but you’d also be fetching a pretty penny when you sold my stuff after you’d killed me. I wasn’t real sure how to react. I asked Rose if I could get a meeting with you to say thanks for everything, figuring that I’d better be showing some gratitude if I wanted this ruse to work.

I really didn’t want to get back in bed so early, so I convinced her to let me eat my dinner sitting in the chair in my room instead. I sat with my legs neatly crossed, and she rolled my little lap table over. I turned on the TV to watch the news while I ate, and it suddenly dawned on me how much I’d missed while I was sleeping. Twenty-eight months of stuff had happened in the world and I didn’t know any of it. Everything had just passed me by, and now I had a lot of catching up to do. It was baseball season and not only didn’t I know how my team was doing, but I also didn’t even know who’d won the last two World Series. Or is that Serieses? Serii? Anyway, I couldn’t ask anyone about it or pay too much attention to the scores, or it would damage my charade as a girly-girl with no masculine qualities, grateful to finally have a body that matched my brain. But it didn’t really match, and there was too much news for me to process all at once, and I started thinking about how everyone I knew had been living their lives for a couple years while my life had been on hold. I was overwhelmed and just cried my eyes out over my Jell-o. Rose tried to comfort me, but I just told her that I realized how much I’d missed. She wanted me to turn it off, but I insisted on leaving it on. I needed to catch up. The more I watched, the more familiar it all seemed. The politicians were still screwing the people. Hollywood was still making a lot of crappy movies, and some stupid celebrities were caught doing stupid things. There were disasters and plagues and poverty all over, but people were coping. It was like the scripts were the same, but only the names were changed. It was just like all my other therapies: everything was the same, but everything was also completely different from how it used to be. After dinner, I took out my notepad and practiced my penmanship, while simultaneously working on my speaking voice by copying the tone and rhythm of the newslady.

When it was time for lights out, Rose helped me change my clothes, showing me the hamper in my closet where my dirty laundry needed to go. My clothes were cleaned by a service that came by to collect them every week, which was probably yet another one of those payments that you’d arranged so you could skim a little for yourself. I owned many very beautiful nightgowns but picked a simple white cotton sleeveless one that had some cute eyelet lace trim. I put on the plainest pair of white panties I could find, which were still rather lacy, and wore a pad just in case. Rose showed me that I needed to swap out my earrings for some smaller sleeper hoops that wouldn’t come off if I tossed and turned, and helped me brush my hair before going to bed. I thanked her for working an extra-long day for me. She gave me some medication to help me sleep. It took me a while to find a comfortable position. I finally ended up sleeping on my left side, but then I had to figure out where to put my left arm so it wouldn’t be squashed by my gigantic breasts, at least they still seemed gigantic to me back then. I started with my arm up beneath my neck, but then my hand sort of flopped over naturally and landed on my chest. I sort of absently smoothed down my nightgown, and noticed an interesting sensation when I brushed over where my nipple was covered by the thin fabric. I ran my hand over it a couple more times, and then starting making little circles when she stood up and took notice. I then realized that there were buttons down the front of my gown, and frantically worked with both hands to open them. Once I got my hand inside, I started rubbing harder faster, squeezing and pinching every so often. I licked my fingers to make it go smoother, and then brought my other hand into play on my other breast, kneading and swirling, tickling and fondling, faster and faster. And then it happened. For the first time in my life, I came without my genitals being involved at all. I was overwhelmed. If it was that intense just by myself, I could barely wait to find out what actual sex would feel like, to have a big strong man on top of me, thrusting himself inside me, to bring me to the pinnacle of ecstasy, over and over again. My sedative started kicking in before I could really process that thought, so I didn’t have time to freak out over fantasizing about wanting to have sex with a guy. It was a little embarrassing when the nurse came in and woke me up the next morning, and I had my hand stuck in my cleavage, squashed between warm mounds of flesh.

Now I probably could continue my story by going through each day one at a time, describing how things went for me at the hospital, and as much as the anticipation would torture you as you wondered how long it was going to take before I explain what brought you to your current situation, frankly I just don’t have that kind of time. So I’ll summarize a bit to make it easier. But there’s still some important background details about how I was feeling then that are necessary for you to understand, so I won’t be skipping ahead to the part you care about too quickly. It’s pretty much a win-win all around.

Most of the next few days were basically the same. Between my really long physical therapy sessions I’d get a break for lunch and another break for session with either the speech therapist or the psychiatrist, and then it was back to practicing things that I used to be able to do effortlessly like walking and writing. It was very frustrating, and I usually had at least one emotional breakdown a day. Progress was slow, but it was progress. My walk had become confident and sexy, and my small hands and long nails weren’t feeling quite as foreign to me. I put all my energy into making sure I never broke character. I buried all of Doug’s real personality and focused on becoming the girliest girl that ever girled. As the days went by, I grew less dependent on the nurses to help me pick out what to wear. Through watching television and reading fashion magazines from the newsstand, I was getting better at putting an outfit together, and learning ways to arrange my hair. I was adding more and more feminine mannerisms to my persona, and my language became more female both in style and vocabulary.

I wasn’t under any more direct medical care, so they transferred me to a room in their outpatient facility, but they wouldn’t discharge me until they all agreed that I was ready. Dr. Baker thought I needed to start making arrangements for my life after the hospital, so I figured I’d start by trying to see what pieces of Doug’s life could be salvaged. I called Larry, and he seemed a little nervous to be talking to me. He was probably worrying about whether I knew what you encouraged him to do to me. After he looked up my file, he told me that my car had been totaled, and that the insurance settlement would cover my replacement cost, but that wouldn’t be very much since my car had been so old. A little bit of Doug crept back in as I told him that my 1972 Impala was a classic, not old. That car was the only one I ever owned. It had been my dad, and he gave it to me when I graduated high school, but he was a car guy and a mechanical engineer, so it was still running like it was fresh from the factory when he gave it to me. When he was drinking, he’d joke that that was the car I was conceived in, and if I kept it maintained it could be the car I ride in to my funeral. (The coffin would go on the roof or something; I didn’t always get his jokes.) I’m pretty sure I was a disappointment to him when I didn’t inherit his way around machines. But I did have a way around people, so I had a great guy who kept my baby running for me. That car had been my last real connection to my father, and now it was gone. I didn’t realize I was crying until Larry offered to give me a minute on hold to collect myself. I’m not sure if these were more hormonal tears, or if I was finally appreciating what had been lost. When Larry came back he ran through the rest of my financial situation. Since they didn’t know how long I’d be comatose, after a couple months they stopped paying my rent, and had everything in my apartment boxed up and put into storage. He gave me the address of the storage center, and said that my name was on the contract, so they’d let me in with valid ID. All my utilities had been cancelled as well as my credit cards, since I hadn’t been running a balance. My bank accounts were still good. All in all it was a mixed blessing, but I thanked Larry and hung up.

It was on the sixth day that I’d been awake when I finally got my meeting with you. I put a lot of effort into looking nice for you. It made me want to vomit, but I knew that the person I was pretending to be would have wanted to thank you for making her into the woman she always wanted to be, and would have wanted to look her best when she did it. But since I had secret knowledge about what you’d done, I was able to play to your weaknesses. Namely, I knew that you’d gotten used to having sex with me regularly so these few days off might have you missing it. I was planning on flirting with you, so I had to psyche myself up more that I’d ever been before. I started my sexy look from the inside out, with a white lace balconette bra that presented my luscious melons in an appealing fashion, with a tiny matching thong panty that was barely more than a kiss of lace. Even though I’d been taught how to put on pantyhose, I chose to go with a garter belt and stockings, just to feel that much sexier. I didn’t want to go too over the top, so I went with suntan-colored stockings instead of the seamed black ones I tried on first; I thought they would be pushing it for daytime, especially with my three-inch pumps. I slithered into this gorgeous white lace slip — whoever you hired to buy my clothes has exquisite taste, by the way — and then pulled my dress over my head. I’m sure you remember that blue silk dress that was made to drape perfectly around all my curves, with a handkerchief hem that danced around my knees and a neckline that revealed just enough to hold your attention. I wore dangling crystal earrings and a coordinating pendant that would catch the light and maintain my cleavage as the focal point of the outfit. I did my hair up in a simple loose twist. A spritz of my favorite perfume in all the right strategic locations and I was almost ready to go. Even though my permanent makeup tattoos mean I don’t need to wear lipstick, I had one of the volunteers run down to the drugstore and get me a tube of sparkly lipgloss, so my lips would shine wetly for you. From what I was able to overhear, the one sex act you could never get my comatose body to do for you was oral, and I wanted to tease you with the idea of my mouth. The whole look was proably a little too much for a professional appointment, but it wasn’t qute an outfit ready for a night on the town.

When I got to your office, I could tell that my plan was definitely working. Your door was open, but I knocked on it anyway, and when you looked up you had to take a few seconds before you could blink and say something. I had to put all thoughts of your Evil Bastardity out of my head and just try to look flirtatious. I’ll admit that it was easy to pretend to be attracted to such a tasty slice of man-cake. You did a decent job pretending yourself, as you got up like a proper gentleman when a lady entered the room instead of a miserable excuse of a human being. You offered me a seat and I smiled my cutest smile, showing off Dr. Powell’s dimples. I made sure to lean forward as I sat to give you a deep look at my chest. I “accidentally” glanced at your lap and “unconsciously” licked my lips before you returned to your chair. I don’t really need to tell you what we talked about, since you were there, but I will say that I was impressed with how organized you were. When I started asking questions like could I get the name of the stylist who’d been doing my hair so I could get some more ideas for how to arrange it, you handed me this ten-page document with all the contact information for everyone who’d worked on “The Aurora Project” as the cover titled it, from the surgeons to the people who did my hair removal to the tattoo artists and hairdressers who gave me my look, all the way down to the stores where my clothes, shoes and jewelry came from as well as the seamstresses who’d done alterations. There was even an appendix that listed all my sizes. I learned that my measurements were 46-24-40, and I was still 5’9”, but now I only weighed 148 — I’d lost about thirty pounds! I wore size 9B shoes, and as I already noted my bras were 40DD, but my clothes were all different sizes. I took a 20 or 2X top, but a 12 or Large bottom, although in full skirts it said I could wear a 4 or Small, and with dresses it said sometimes a 16 or XL fits. My panties were a 7 in hipster but a 5 in thong, and my hosiery was usually size C/D. Women’s sizes still baffle me, even today! I almost caught you a couple of times watching me while I read, but I was actually too interested in finding out all about the new me.

When I told you how impressed I was with your thoroughness and you said it was because the hospital was considering offering the same treatment as an elective for other transsexuals, to induce coma and have them wake up after an extended period of time in their new bodies. They were thinking of calling it “The Sleeping Beauty Treatment.” Then you asked that since I was the pilot project, would I be willing to offer a testimonial, and it started sinking in. The little secret smile you got when you mentioned doing what you did for me to other patients — you were planning on raping them as well, and who knows what else! Even if these potential patients were a bunch of screwed-up fruits that want to become women, they didn’t deserve what you did to me. I knew right then and there that I had to stop you, and I was afraid for a moment that my resolve would show on my face, so I quickly shifted my expression so the intensity would appear to be overjoyed glee. I clapped my hands together, giving my boobs a little squeeze between my arms as I did so, and told you that sounded like a great idea — more lost souls should be allowed to live my fairytale. I thanked you for everything, and surprised you with a hug as I was leaving, pressing all of my soft parts against your hard and hardening ones. I then shyly apologized and said that I hoped I wasn’t violating some hospital code of ethics, and then you, sly dog that you are, pointed out that I wasn’t actually your patient anymore so you could even take me out to dinner once I was out of the hospital, and before I knew it I’d accepted a date with you. It wasn’t because I got all tingly inside when I held you; you just caught be by surprise; that’s all it was. I allowed my flusteredness to show, since it fit with my charade, but I went to look like I was trying to cover it up by asking you whether you ask all your patients who are naturally female out on dates too. Your line about how I always was a woman and all you’d done is make the outside match the person I was on the inside was smoother than any line Doug had ever used, and I’m sure it would have worked if I’d been who I was pretending to be. Just because I left your office wondering what it would feel like to kiss you doesn’t mean it worked; that was only my damned hormones talking.

I guess the next important event was when I got permission to leave the hospital grounds for brief periods of time, and finally got up the nerve to open my box of personal effects. There laid out before me were Doug’s remains, at least that’s how I though of it. It had a shirt, a jacket, a pair of jeans, and that fateful thong that were all torn, blood-stained and sealed in plastic bags. There was my wallet, that still had a few bucks in it, along with a bunch of credit cards that had been cancelled, a driver’s license with a picture of a guy who didn’t exist anymore, and my old Lucky Rubber that I really didn’t need anymore - this body would never need a good luck charm in order to get laid. My checkbook was in there, for a bank account that still existed, but with the wrong name and address printed on them, and I had two sets of useless keys: one for a car that didn’t exist anymore, and one for an apartment I didn’t live in anymore. It really hit hard and sent me into another crying jag.

To take some focus off Doug’s old life and shift it back to my new one, I called my beautician and arranged to go to her salon. Kelly was great. She showed me how I could cover my permanent tattoos with makeup to change my look for various situations. I was surprised by how much hotter my evening face got just by thickening my eyelashes with a little bit of mascara. And it was weird how much fake “natural” stuff I had to use to look like I wasn’t wearing anything. But my favorite look was halfway in between everything and nothing, that said I wanted to look glamorous but wasn’t on the make, like a professional businesswoman or a rich housewife at a luncheon. I told her I was fairly satisfied with my hairstyle, so she just gave me a little trim to fix any split ends and a touch up of my highlights and then she taught me a few more ways to wear my hair. When I left I was in an elegant French braid that was useful for keeping it out of the way during my afternoon session with Stefan, and I was carrying a shopping bag in each hand filled with cosmetics and accessories. So now hair and makeup became another thing to practice everyday.

When I reached a level of confidence with my makeup skills, I arranged a meeting with the boss at my old job. Since I said what a great salesman Doug was you probably figured he dealt in used cars or something, but actually I worked at Edwin Machinery selling industrial equipment to manufacturers. Now those big hydraulic presses may not sound as sexy as cars, but let me tell you there’s a lot more money to be made, and companies are willing to spend much more than the average consumer. I never went into engineering like my dad wanted, but he did teach me how to talk to engineers. The Sales Manager Sam Gardner seemed to already know a little something about my situation, because when I said I was Aurora Connors and I’d like a meeting, he sort of knew what it was about. I wore my apple green pencil skirt with matching fitted blazer over a black camisole top. I opted for nude hose and my lowest black pumps. (It amazed me how much fashion vocabulary I’d absorbed in such a short amount of time.) I put my hair up in a tight bun and toned down my makeup. My jewelry was minimal: a gold bracelet watch, triangular hoop earrings, and a simple chain necklace. I looked about as conservative as this pinup body you gave me can get. I was very nervous in the cab ride over. This would be the first time someone would be seeing me as Aurora who knew me as Doug. When I walked in, I saw that they’d hired a different receptionist since I was there last. She looked at me funny; I think she was sizing up the competition. I gave my name and she had me wait while she called Sam. He must have been telling her something about me, because while she had him on the line she looked over at me and got a really confused look, and said “Really?” three or four times and kept glancing over at me even after she hung up. A few minutes later Sam came down and I stood up. I said “Hi, Sam. My name’s Aurora.” and he blinked a few times then whispered a “wow” I don’t think I was supposed to hear, and finally greeted me then took me to his office, guiding me with his hand on my back, even though I knew where we were going.

As we passed, the cubicle prairie dogs would all pop their heads up to look at the visitor. I suspect that word had already circulated about the tranny coming to visit, and they all wanted a peek at the freak. In Sam’s office, he showed me to a chair and closed the door. I told him that I didn’t expect that my job was still open, since I was in a coma for a couple of years and they’d have long since covered my territory, but I figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask. He said they didn’t have any positions available, and I said I understood; the customers probably wouldn’t take me seriously anyway, since I looked like such a bimbo. That seemed to break the ice, and soon we were laughing and reminiscing about old times, and I got caught up on how things were going with the company, and asked how his family was doing. He asked me some questions about my new body, and I answered as discretely as I could. I got him to agree to write a reference for me, and I asked what happened to the personal items I’d left in my workspace; I had a couple photos of my folks there that I didn’t have copies of. Sam said that Sally in Human Resources had a box with my things, as well as some forms for me to sign. I thanked him for seeing me and impulsively gave him a hug on my way out. On my way down to HR, I poked my head in just to say hi to a few of my old coworkers. I repeated the same things a few times, confirming the rumors as I casually greeted them. When I got to Bill Jessup, the closest thing I’d had to a friend at the office, I stayed a little longer. He’d been given some of my old sales territory, and after questioning him a little it seemed like a few of my favorite customers were stringing him along to try to get better deals. I also flirted a little and learned that he still wasn’t married and didn’t have a steady girlfriend; his views on romance were a lot like Doug used to have. I impetuously made him an offer: I needed some practice dating, so if he’d agree to go out for lunch with me that Saturday, I’d give him all my insight into my former customers. He tried to nonchalantly look me over, but I could tell that he though that I was sex on heels, so he of course agreed to my scheme. We picked a time and a restaurant, and I gave him a light kiss on the cheek. I could tell he was having trouble realizing that the hot chick who’d just made a date with him was also his old buddy Doug, so I slowly walked out, then quickly turned my head and winked as I caught him checking out my seductively swaying derriere.

My meeting with HR went fairly smoothly, even if Sally did look like she’d been chewing lemons. She hated her job, because it forced her to be tolerant of those whose lifestyles she looked down upon. Judging by her expression I’d guess that included transsexuals. She had some forms for me related to terminating my participation in the company retirement plan. When I figured out which bank or fund I wanted my monies moved to, I was to send the forms back to her. There was another legal form I had to put my Jane Hancock on that said I bore the company no malice for letting me go, and that I would not disclose any trade secrets. My signature was still a little sloppy, but it was legible, and slightly feminine. Then she gave me a copier paper box containing Doug’s personal things. I peeked to make sure it was the right box and thanked her. I made sure to put some extra goddess into my strut as I walked out, just to show her I was proud of who I am. I went back to the lobby and asked the receptionist to call me a cab. We chatted a little while I was waiting, and I told her that the rumors were true; when I used to work there I was a guy named Doug. She found that hard to believe and said I was too pretty to have ever been a man, and it was another one of those little surprises to myself that I liked the idea of being pretty. I thanked her for her compliment, and even gave her a little hug when my cab showed up.

Around about that time, Dr. Baker signed me up for a transsexual support group. I wasn’t really looking forward to it, but she made it a condition for my release, so I went. I wanted to feel really girly, so I put together a cute outfit of a yellow sundress with spaghetti strings so I needed to wrestle my girls into a strapless bra, a matching yellow ribbon in my hair, and my favorite wedge sandals. I toned down my makeup with neutral foundation and some bubblegum pink lipstick, and went with a pair of little gold butterflies in my ears and a cross pendant on a gold chain. (I was never all that religious, but I thought the cross added a sweet hit on innocence, and it couldn’t hurt just in case God really was watching.) I arrived early to meet the therapist, Anita Radcliffe, first. She dressed well in tailored suits and had a lot of skill at using her makeup to appear younger than her fiftyish age, but her large facial features, hands and shoulders made it obvious that she used to be, or maybe still was, a man. Her coppery wig was probably quality but it still stuck out as a wig, and her small bust was fairly sad. I nervously introduced myself and she limply shook my hand and said that I looked nice, and that my doctor had given her a little background about me, and I told her I was having a little trouble adjusting and it would be good to talk to a bunch of people in similar situations. I picked one of the chairs that had been arranged in a circle and sat in my daintiest pose to wait. There was a coffee urn and Anita offered me a little Styrofoam cup but I declined; I was so nervous I thought I’d pee my panties if I drank anything.

When the others started showing up, I was a little disappointed; they didn’t look much better than Anita. The first one, Marie, was a taller woman with a receding hairline. She tried to carry herself in a feminine manner, but it just didn’t work on her square frame. Her boobs were decent, and there was a little scar on her neck where her Adam’s apple used to be, but all that expensive work she must have had done seemed worthless when there were still major aspects that proclaimed her to be male. Oliver was a short guy with a well-trimmed beard and a slightly feminine demeanor, who apparently used to be a chick. There was still something about him that I found attractive, and I wasn’t sure if it was the woman he used to be or the man he was becoming that interested me. Shanti was an enormous black person in a big pink tent of a dress. It was totally not her color. Something that big should not be that bright. But I will say this for her, as soon as she saw there was a new girl at the meeting she came over to me and gave me a great big crushing hug, then sat down in a couple of chairs next to me. The one who was introduced as “Wendy” was a man in a dress. His crooked blonde wig did not work with his bushy black eyebrows. The excessive amount of rouge on his cheeks did nothing to conceal his five o’clock shadow. He talked in an annoying whispery falsetto. He clomped in on a pair of teal pumps that clashed with his navy dress. The well-bitten fingernails on the ends of his hairy arms really could have used a manicure. Georgette was a wrinkled old bag that was starting to get to that stage where you really couldn’t tell if someone was male or female. Her gray hair was in a woman’s style, and she wore a nice plum pantsuit, but her voice was gravelly. Gee, putting all the members down like that makes me sound real bitchy. Maybe I really am a girl after all.

But I really wasn’t feeling like I fit in with this group of freaks and oddballs. Then Belinda came into the room. She was beautiful, a petite Asian girl around twenty-three in a cute rust-colored dress with three-quarter sleeves and a slight v-neck, black tights and a nice pair of slingbacks that matched her dress. Her hair was short, but moussed up into a kicky style. A pair of gold hoop earrings and a twisted chain necklace complemented her look, and all she needed was some lipstick and a little mascara to finish. We clicked immediately, and praised each other’s fashion choices. It was ironic that when I learned more about her I found out that she actually hadn’t had any surgery or hormone treatments and lived most of the time as a male. Her parents were Chinese immigrants and still held strong to old traditions. Their son was responsible for carrying on the family line and taking care of them in their old age. Bel knew that they’d consider it a tremendous dishonor if their son were to declare that he wanted to become their daughter. Her parents lived with her, so she had to keep her things locked away in a trunk in the basement. Heaven for her was the two weeks every year her folks went on vacation to visit relatives in Scottsdale, and she could shave her legs and be herself at home. I felt really sad and wished there was something I could do to help her. A person shouldn’t have to live in the wrong body. I guess I empathized with her strongly because my situation was so similar, although I couldn’t say it. I too was living a lie, forced to pretend to be happy as a gender not of my choosing. I guess I was just as much of a freak as the rest of them, even though it didn’t show as clearly.

I gave the group the edited version of my story, that I was transgender but only got diagnosed after having a traffic accident while wearing my favorite panties, and lapsed into a coma while they were transforming me only to wake up in my new feminine shape, so I was frequently overwhelmed by the differences, but on the whole it was like a dream come true. I didn’t tell them the dream was really more like a nightmare, but I did tell the truth about how I found that I was finding it much easier opening up to people since I became a woman. They asked a few questions about the details of my procedures, and I filled them in as well as I could. Particularly, they wanted to know who my doctors were. Marie had been saving up for her “bottom surgery,” as they refer to it, and didn’t realize that there was a local guy who did them. I found it interesting that apparently many transsexuals go abroad to what sounds like third-world nations to get their bits rearranged. And then it started to get a little uncomfortable, as she asked me if I was satisfied with my new equipment. I guess that it must be really hard to construct a vagina that both looks nice and provides a stimulating sexual experience, because she said that she’d been researching those foreign doctors, and there were a more than a few that had delivered disappointing results. I wanted to know how you could research that kind of thing, and Anita showed me a leaflet that had a list of websites with information for the transgender community. I’d have to get my computer out of storage before I could check any of them out. I did say that so far I was satisfied with my parts, but I’d have to get back to them at the next meeting. I blushed and admitted that I’d be having my first date with a guy that Saturday. Then we all bonded and dished on men for a while. Maybe it’s true that the guy I described to them had some of your traits as well as Bill’s, but I really did have dates planned with both of you. I gave some sincere hugs at the end of the meeting and really did look forward to seeing them all again.

My occupational therapy was going well. I’d gotten to the point where I was cooking at least one meal a day in the kitchenette. My handwriting was improving. I’d mastered my sexy walks enough to the point where Stefan was now teaching me ballroom dancing, to improve my gracefulness. And I was good enough at getting in and out of his mock car that he signed me up for real driving lessons. The instructor rolled his eyes when he saw that I was wearing spike heels to drive, but I told him that that was what I usually wore, so I wanted to handle a car in them. I told him that I’d driven before, but I’d recently recovered from an accident (that was the other guy’s fault) and needed to retrain my muscles. The “Student Driver” car wasn’t even a stick-shift, so driving it did prove to be easy. It took me a little practice to learn how to put the right pressure on the pedals, but the rest came fairly easily. My first lesson of driving around in a parking lot went ok until I had to navigate some tight cones, and then it was just because I had to learn how far the car stuck out, and I screwed up the first three times parking in reverse because I kept missing the lines. I was glad to be taking the lessons instead of trying to hit the road immediately.

For my lunch date with Bill, I wore the exact same ensemble that I’d had on for my meeting with you, even the same lingerie. And it wasn’t because I was fantasizing about you while on my date with another guy; it was because I really liked how I looked in that outfit and it was the right level of sexy for a lunch date. I had my cab drop me at the restaurant early, and told the hostess I’d be waiting in the bar, and to keep an eye out for my date. She gave me the conspiratorial wink of sisterhood. I know a real girl would probably have showed up late and made her guy wait for her to make an entrance, but I never really liked those power games when I played for the other team so I wasn’t about to start now. Besides, I wanted to be able to catch his eye before he caught mine. He’d seen my “dowdy conservative” look before, and with my hair down and makeup turned up, showing a little more leg and a lot more cleavage I knew I’d impress. I sipped my iced tea and kept the door in view. And sure enough, when I saw him walk in and start looking around, he nearly missed me. He was wearing a nice pair of khakis that were just tight enough on his nice little buns, and a green polo shirt, unbuttoned to let a few of his chest hairs peek out. I imagined running my lacquered nails trough the thatch on his chest as I gave him my sultriest smile and a little wave and he had to take a moment when his eyes focused in on me. I don’t think I will ever get tired of having that effect on men. He came over and said hi and told me I looked incredible and I gave him a little peck on the cheek and took his arm. The hostess showed us to a table, and Bill gallantly held my chair for me. We ordered our meal; I had chicken Marsala and he had veal scaloppini, if you care. We chatted a little while our food was cooking. I thanked him for agreeing to come, and he said that having lunch with a beautiful lady was hardly putting him out. He was trying hard not to look at my boobs, so I laughed at his comment and made sure my pendant caught the light to reflexively draw his eye to the Forbidden Zone. He licked his lips and I knew I had him hooked. I pulled a folded piece of paper out of my purse and read him the little notes I’d made about all my old customers, with hints and suggestions for which techniques worked for each. He had some trouble taking me seriously and talking about work, probably because he didn’t have enough blood in his brain. He shook his head and swore that three was no possible way that I could really be Doug. He thought I must have gotten together with Doug to run some kind of scam. I tried telling him some stories that only I would know, but there weren’t that many of them. I told him the hospital would confirm if he really didn’t believe me. I wished I’d brought my scrapbook so I could show him every step of the way. I finally got him to take my word. For some reason, it was very important to me that he acknowledge my identity, even while I was encouraging him to undress me with his eyes. I think maybe the part of me that was still Doug wanted revenge for Bill taking his job, so wanted to cause him a sexual identity crisis. I could almost hear his penis deflating every time I mentioned who I used to be, only to harden again if I giggled sweetly, or casually touched him, or leaned in to give him a nice look down my neckline. I suppose it wasn’t very nice of me to do so, but I knew I’d be making his day later, so I enjoyed teasing him while I could. After our meal, I gave him an opportunity by saying that I didn’t want dessert, but a cup of coffee might be nice although not immediately, and he pounced on the line to say that he had excellent coffee back at home if I wanted to move the conversation there. I chewed on my lower lip as I pretended to mull it over, and then said I thought that sounded like a great idea, as I reached over and pulled his face closer to mine for a deep kiss, letting our tongues dance. Our waiter got an excellent tip, as Bill just dropped a small pile of twenties on the table since we hadn’t gotten our check yet but for some odd reason he was in a hurry to go.

I let him put his arm around me as he walked me to his car, and like a gentleman he opened my door for me, and he waited until I was settled in to close it. He drove a gold BMW M Series, which must have been a company car, so I was jealous. I decided to make a comment on how the shoulder seat belt was bothering my breasts, just to make him look and get uncomfortable. Similarly, his apartment was in a nicer building than Doug’s. His decorating style was somewhat minimal, without a lot of decoration. His living room was little more than a big leather sectional facing a giant plasma screen. Since we were pretending to have come for coffee, he went into the kitchen to put a pot on. I asked for permission to use his bathroom and went exploring. His bathroom was in the middle of a little hall that led to his bedroom. I looked around the bedroom briefly, and found it to be pretty clean, and there were no signs that some other woman already had a claim on Bill. In the bathroom, I poked around the medicine cabinet to make sure he didn’t have any serious diseases. I sat down and emptied my bladder and after wiping myself I took a bottle of feminine lubricant out of my purse and gave a couple squirts inside, just in case the stuff I make wouldn’t be enough. After I pulled my tiny panties up, I rearranged my garters so they were on the outside. It was less convenient, but sexier. I was very nervous, and had to psyche myself up to the task. I faced the mirror and fixed my hair and makeup, then repeated to myself, “I’m a girl; I’m a girl; I’m a girl; this is perfectly normal. There’s a tasty guy out there who wants you; go for it! Who knows, you might even like it.” I bit the bullet and went out.

I found him sitting on the couch, waiting patiently. He stood up when I entered the room. I walked over and sat beside him, close enough to smell his cologne. He put his arm around me and we kissed again. It was nice, but I wanted more. While still kissing, I ran my hand along the front of his shirt, feeling his muscles. They weren’t a big as yours, I admit, but he was built better than Doug ever was. He must go to the gym more often. He let his hands roam along the back of my dress. I think he was trying to figure out how to remove it. I got a little bold and let my caressing hand wander lower, down his rock hard abs and into his lap, where more hardness was asserting itself. I gave him a squeeze through his pants and he made a soft moaning grunt. I found his fly and unzipped him, then reached into his pants to touch him directly. His hands were now fondling my breasts through my clothes, which was starting to feel good, but I had to stop him so I could change position. I broke the kiss and lowered myself to the floor, opening his knees wider as I did so. I unbuckled his belt, opened his pants all the way, and lowered his briefs. It was the first time I’d had that close a look at a man’s genitals, so I really wasn’t sure how he compared to others. I just knew that the cock in from of my face was the scariest thing that I had ever seen, even though it made me lick my lips in anticipation. It was neatly groomed and smelled clean, and when I leaned down and gave it a tentative kiss on the tip it seemed to taste ok. I just knew that from this point there would be no turning back. Aurora’s first consensual sex act with a man was a big step, and it had to happen some time, even if I wasn’t sure if I was ready. I conjured up memories of the best blowjobs Doug had ever had, and combined that with twenty-some-odd years of masturbation to figure out what to do with my hands and mouth to give Bill a pleasurable experience. I held his shaft in my left hand and used my right to gently stroke his balls. I flicked my tongue around the head before putting my collagen-enhanced lips over it and taking it into my mouth completely. He was uncircumcised, which made it easier to find the sensitive places right under the edge. At this point, I realized that I wasn’t sure how wide my altered jaw could open, and I hoped that I’d be able to take him in without hitting any teeth. I started sucking, moving me head up and down on him, never backing off completely, but taking more of him into my mouth on every stroke, undulating my tongue against the underside of his member. He grabbed my hair and started thrusting against me. I managed to get him all in without gagging, which made me wonder if there was something you’d had done in my throat surgery to make me a better cocksucker; it seemed like the kind of thing you’d do. I could feel it in his testicles, so I wasn’t surprised when he started spurting warm semen down the back of my throat. I just kept up the suction and swallowed every drop. When he went limp, I slowly let him out of my mouth, cleaning him off. I gave it a little kiss before putting him back into his pants. As Bill took a moment to catch his breath, I skipped off to the bathroom to fix my face and swish some mouthwash around. The little piece of Doug in the back of my mind was feeling horrible ashamed, but I was full of pride in a job well-done.

I stepped out to the doorway of the living room and teasingly asked Bill if he’d ever have imagined his old pal Doug would be giving him head like that, and he teased back that maybe he would if he’d known Doug would have been so good at it. Standing in the hallway, I reached around and unzipped my dress, letting it fall to the floor. I winked at him and, pointing toward the bedroom, asked if he wanted to try some more things he’d never imagined doing with Doug. When he was able to blink, he jumped up off the couch and tried to run toward me, but his pants weren’t fastened and he tripped. I laughed, letting him watch my breasts wiggle as I did. He figured out before I could tell him that he wouldn’t need his pants and slipped his feet out of his shoes and walked over in just his shirt, socks and underwear. He looked me up and down and let out a gasp, saying that he was now sure there was no way I ever was male. I put my arms around the back of his neck and kissed him. He put his arms around me and when his hand touched the skin on my back it was an electric tingle, and when he gave my bare ass a playful squeeze I’m sure I would have been moistening if I could. I was just getting my hands up under the back hem of his shirt when he reached down and with one hand behind my knees and the other at my back he swept me up and carried me to his bed.

He was very talented — as he gently placed me on the bed the hand on my back deftly moved up to unhook my bra faster than I could notice. He easily swept it aside and told me I had beautiful breasts. I blushed and leaned up to kiss him. He lovingly kissed each nipple, then gently blew on them to wake them up. Then he set to work licking and suckling on one while softly kneading the other with his fingers. He didn’t play favorites, either — he switched back and forth between nipples every so often. I made him stop momentarily so I could pull his shirt off and run my nails along his broad shoulders. I kicked off my shoes and clenched my toes in ecstasy. Damn, he was good. If I’d known how incredible breasts could feel, I’d have grown a pair years ago. I was inches from getting an orgasm just from having my breasts stimulated, and he surprised me by moving a hand down to my panties. A tickle in the right spot sent me over the edge. I grabbed his shoulders and did the cliché maneuver of dragging my nails across his back. I lay still for a moment and then pulled his face up to kiss me, long and deeply and full of gratitude. I shimmied so that I lay in a slightly different position, and slid down to my waist to try to undress me. I had to help him with the garters, but then he rolled down my stockings and paid some attention to my legs. He kissed my toes, and the backs of my knees, and lightly on the inside of each thigh. I think his plan must have been to keep me aquiver with anticipation, because I was. And then he reached around and unhooked my garter belt, while noticing my navel piercing. He put his tongue in my bellybutton and it felt wild! Sex as a girl was awesome, and a whole lot less work. Finally he grabbed my panties and pulled them down. I lifted my hips from the bed to help. He took a look at my treasure and I blushed. He said that I was definitely not Doug — there was no way that there was ever a dick growing there instead of my pretty pussy. He was a real charmer.

He dropped his drawers and then got back up on top of me. I reached down and touched his re-erected penis, and stopped him. Before we went any further I wanted him to know that I really didn’t have a lot of experience at this, so I wanted him to let me know if I did anything that wasn’t working. He sort of laughed at this, but the expression of innocent sincerity on my face made him stroke my cheek and tell me not to worry. I nodded, and guided his penis into me. It felt weird at first, as I was getting all kinds of unfamiliar sensations. Sure I’d had stents, probes, and doctor’s fingers in there, but nothing felt quite the same as a real warm, hard cock sliding into my vagina. I could feel where the tip was touching me on the inside, and I could feel where my lips were gripping the sides of his manhood. I was glad that I was tight enough to give him a good ride, but not so tight that he hurt me. I also discovered that I was deep enough, and there was still room after he went as far as he could. He slowly started moving back and forth, sliding in and out of me. After a few thrusts I began to rock my hips against him, moving as one in rhythm, faster and faster, harder and deeper, building, growing, feeling him inside me completely and utterly. As the intensity built up, I felt like I was going to split open, and when I finally let go, I could feel him releasing seconds later. It was also strange feeling him spurting inside me, yet I also had a great sense of satisfaction, at having pleased my man.

Telling this story has gotten me a little worked up. I think I need to go fuck someone before I can continue. I’ll be back later. You just wait here, ok?