Chapter 19 - Bouncing Boobies

I hadn't even had time to hang my new clothes up before Julie reached over and squeezed my new breasts. "They do feel almost real," she commented. I could vaguely feel her finger as it traced the nipple of the form. "And it has a nipple!" she enthused.

"Of course they have nipples, breasts have nipples. Even if you buy the nonsense from those people who argue whether Eve had a belly button or not, they all agree she had nipples. How else could she have fed Cain and Able?"

"You mean God didn't supply her with a formula starter kit? Just like a man."

"You could end up in hell if you make jokes like that."

"Mom went through hell convincing the big boys that their breast forms had to have nipples. There were some convinced the extra expense of molding a nipple wasn't justified as there would be no real use for one on a fake breast."

You have to remember that in the seventies it was shocking if a woman let her nipples show through her blouse. You had to feel to find it, and that could get you into a lot of trouble.

Julie continued her examination by giving my left breast a little bounce.

"They bounce!" she enthused.

I reached over and returned the favor.

"So do yours," I observed.

At this point in the story an impartial observer would see two women jumping up and down and watching each other's breasts bounce as they did. The woman with the high neckline was much more delighted to be watching the woman with the low neckline, as she could see those breasts wiggle at each impact.

"What are you girls doing in there?" came the loud query through the bedroom door.

"Just a little field testing, Mom," answered Julie.

"She's playing with my new boobs,"I answered with a smile.

"Be sure to remember the results for the questionnaire, Connie."

We could hear her footsteps recede and fell on to the bed laughing. It took a while to get back up again, but that shouldn't surprise anyone.

I could fill page after page with glowing descriptions of how we spent that week together. The freedom to be Connie not just for a few hours or a few days with my new family was intoxicating. We visited museums, picnicked on the warm days, spent several evenings in girl talk with Sandra and just frittered our time away, discovering just how deep our love had grown.

The sex was fantastic, but that's all I'm going to say.

It was on Saturday that I realized that, in my determination to live the week as my real self I had neglected to pack any clothes to return to campus with. By that time I discovered this I was so high with the experience I wanted to just ditch Conrad and return as Connie and the hell with the consequences. I count myself lucky that my fiancee and her mother had more sense than I did at that point. We again went shopping, but for a lousy pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Oh, yes, some black socks as any socks I had were pretty girly.

When we tried to pack, we realized that we had both been a bit too enthusiastic in our shopping, no way we could fit it all into the suitcases. Or our dorm rooms either, even if Arthur was blind to what I had hanging in my closet. Sandra had the answer: "Just leave it here and then it will be here when you come back for the summer."

The summer?

Sandra had that smug look of someone who had just successfully sprung a surprise.

"Of course you'll both be here for the summer. I'm pretty sure I've wrangled two internships for two bright, young college girls who are on the fast track for their MBAs. Being a department head has its perks.

"But… but…" I stammered.

"You want to maybe wear a suit and tie?" she smirked.

She didn't get any further because I had grabbed her and was hugging for all I was worth, planting a great, big kiss on her. On the cheek, of course. She was too old for me and her daughter was watching.

The ride back was nowhere near as much fun as getting there, but then again I didn't have to worry about anyone hitting on me.

Laying in my lonely bed with only Arthur's snoring to distract me, I was depressed. Seven more weeks until summer. Seven more weeks of trying to be something I was sure I was no longer - a boy. Man, I suppose. For a couple of weeks I was a mess, even scoring an apartment where Julie and I could live together next year wasn't enough to lift the gloom.

People got depression back in the seventies but, like crossdressing or any issue, you just didn't talk about it. It was like moving through molasses. My friends noticed but didn't know what to do about it. Julie tried to cheer me up, but even a good session in bed only kept it at bay for an hour or two.

In the end, it was the radio station that made the difference.