The Twelve Days of Christmas - Day 0

The Twelve Days of Christmas By Tiffany B. Quinn Tradition has it that the magi took twelve days to find the Christ child after the new star first appeared at the time of the child’s birth. This is a magical time, which ends the day before Epiphany. Unlike the eighteenth-century English Christmas carol which details an increasing number of gifts with the twelve days of Christmas, Karl’s gifts do not increase in number daily. Instead, their cumulative effect has a profound impact on his life view.

Sunday Dec 25, Day 0

Snuggling deep into my warm bed, I look out my second-floor window to see fresh snow on the barren branches of the Maple tree outside my window.

Well, Karl, I say to myself, it looks like a magical white Christmas after all. I remember hearing that new snow on Christmas day has magical properties. I sigh thinking that magic could never grant my greatest wish.

I burrow a little deeper under the comforter remembering Christmases past while trying to not feel melancholy. In many ways, I miss the carefree days of my youth when I would enjoy being indulged by loving parents. I remember, fondly, finding a treat filled red stocking from Santa at the foot of my bed each Christmas morning. I was given strict instructions from my parents each Christmas Eve to enjoy the wonders of the stocking without waking them up too early.

I fondly remember sneaking to the top of the stairs to get a glimpse of what other wonders Santa had left behind. I’d have to go down a few steps to peek into the living room where the Christmas tree was. I still recall my excitement one year, as a young child, to see a shiny new bicycle by the tree. Other years brought other exciting gifts.

As an only child, my parents lavished me with more gifts than they probably should have.

I never complained!

I fondly recall how my father was always there for me throughout my life while he attempted to raise me in his own image. Being the majority owner and co-founder of the engineering firm that he had built from the ground up, he had visions of me joining him in the business and made sure that I was groomed for that position. I would spend my summers and occasional holidays hanging around his firm as it grew into the going concern that it is today. I loved every minute of it.

Regardless of my father's attention, my mother was my real strength. She guided me in so many ways to become a man worthy of respect. She taught me, with support from my father, about honesty and integrity. She also taught me the practical skills that I would need when I would eventually leave home.

We were a very closely knit family and how I miss them! If the magic of Christmas snow were real, I’d ask to have them magically restored to life.

With a sigh, tears come to my eyes knowing that all the Christmas traditions of my youth are forever in my past.

When I graduated from high school seven years ago I left home for college to become an engineer like my father. After completing my degrees, we agreed that I should go into the world to gain experience and possibly bring that back to enrich my father’s firm at some point. So, with my new degree in hand, I had gone on to start my own engineering career in a big city, working for a major international engineering firm. The work was exciting but involved long hours and little time for my personal life. I was able to get time off to come home once or twice a year, especially for the Christmas holiday. At home, the gifts changed, but the love and anticipation had never left.

That all came to an end last New Years when my parents died. Their car was annihilated by a drunk driver on their way home from a party. The police and paramedics told me that they, and the other driver, probably died instantly. My world turned completely upside down when I got the news from an appropriately compassionate police officer at six in the morning, not long after returning home from a party myself.

My parents left me financially very well off and now the majority owner of his engineering firm, so I quit my high-pressure big city job and moved back to my hometown. I don’t have quite enough time in practice to sit for my professional engineering licensing exam, so I find myself owning majority interest in my father’s prosperous firm but working under the technical direction of his senior engineer and minority partner, Jim Sanderson. An odd arrangement at best.

Because of the loss of my parents, this is my first Christmas alone.

Most of the last year, after moving back into my childhood home, has been spent settling their affairs and considering my future involvement in my father’s firm. I ended up working part time for the first six months of the year while I emptied out the house of most of my parent's personal possessions. All their clothes and other personal items were quickly disposed of. I sold my mom’s jewelry, dad’s watch collection, and most of the artwork. I decided to keep the house, but I cleaned out closets filled with stuff/junk that had accumulated over the decades that my parents had lived here. I even cleaned out the garage of my old, long unused, Christmas toys from years past. With the help of old friends, I had a huge garage/estate sale last summer and managed to get rid of most everything that I did not need or want. The rest went either to charity or the landfill.

As I lay snuggled under the warm comforter in my childhood room, I wish with all my heart that the past year could have played out differently. I would give anything to hear my mother rustling around in the kitchen preparing a holiday dinner for us and the friends that we’d often invite to join us.

Knowing that sleep is not going to return, I climb out of bed and begin my day. After shaving, showering and dressing, I head downstairs to find a small beautifully decorated Christmas tree in the living room, right where we normally placed one each year. The tree decorations are the same ones that we used to use every year. What is odd is that the tree had not been there when I went to bed last night. Under the tree was a single small, nicely wrapped box sitting on top of a Christmas card.

I am bewildered. How could I have slept through someone moving about decorating a Christmas tree? I am sure I would have heard someone hauling in the decorations from where they are stored in the garage. Also, it always took the three of us an hour or more to setup and decorate the tree, then clean up all the resulting mess. Someone had to have spent hours here last night.

Going to the front window, I gaze out at least a foot of new snow, with more coming down. There is no sign of tracks in the snow on the front walk or driveway. Besides thinking that I have some snow shoveling to do, I figure that my secret Santa either came down the chimney or at least came before the snow got very deep. I check the locks on the door, and they are all secure. I can’t think of anyone who would have a key to the house. There is one man door to the garage that has a keypad, but I recently changed the code and haven’t given the code to anyone.

How did Santa get in?

Curiosity gets the better of me, so I pick up the package and sit on the couch. Opening the card, I read:

Dearest Karl,

How we miss you! Please know that all is well with your father and me, but we both wish that we could have had more time with you. Someday, we will be back together again. In the meantime, you still have much left to do.

Being the technical whiz that you are, there is one aspect of life that you have neglected for far too long as you have immersed yourself in your work. It is important that you develop a meaningful relationship that will bring you the happiness that our marriage has brought to your father and me. Your greatest joy will be found in a loving relationship and the children that it will bring. Forming such a relationship is very important for your, and others, future.

We know that the semester you lived with Judy in college ended badly, but there is someone out there for you. However, there are some changes that will need to be made for you to find your soul mate.

Tomorrow is the first of the twelve days of Christmas. Each of those days, you will experience change that will prepare you to find your one true love. The changes may seem strange each day, but all will come into focus on the day of Epiphany.

Love Forever, Mom

P.S. I strongly recommend that you take a selfie every one of the twelve days of Christmas.

With tears in my eyes, I set the letter down on the end table, I wonder who is playing this cruel joke on me. I also think back on all the times that my mother encouraged me to break out of my techno bubble and look at the world around me. She once told me of the challenge it had been for her to do the same for my father. This card is so very typical of things my mother would say to me.

I admit that I haven’t taken time in the last year to do more than settle my parents’ affairs, prepare for my professional licensing exam, and try to learn how to manage a midsized engineering firm. There have been a few women in the office who have tried to gain my attention but none of them have managed to break through. I just haven’t had the time, or inclination, for a relationship at this point in my career development.

I pick up the package and turn it over in my hands. I give it a soft shake and am rewarded with a small rattle. Opening the box, I find my mother’s favorite necklace. I know that the necklace was sold months ago along with the rest of her jewelry. I distinctly remember the jeweler who purchased the whole collection as one lot. He had asked if I wanted to keep a piece for memories sake. I had the declined but if I had chosen a piece, it would have been this necklace. The blue Topaz gem seems to glow softly.

Lifting the pendant necklace gently out of the box, I hold it up to the morning light coming through the window. I am mesmerized by how it glows and sparkles in the sunlight. As I watch it, the thought enters my mind that I should put it on.

What a strange thought!

But why not? So, I fiddle with the clasp and hang the jewelry around my neck.

Now, I’m not a big guy (5’ 10” and a bit on the pudgy side) but a chain longer than 18” would probably be more appropriate for me. The chain is not tight, but it doesn’t really hang much either.

I get up to look in the entry way mirror and decide that it doesn’t look too bad. It would look better if I were a woman but what the heck. I know guys who wear gold chains and other jewelry, so I decide to leave it on for now. Remembering mom’s advice, I take a selfie.

With a shrug, I get on with my quiet morning. After fixing a simple breakfast of cereal and toast, I pull on my winter boots and coat before heading out to do some snow shoveling. I end up doing not only my own driveway and walks, but those of two neighbors that I know will struggle with the chore. It is nice to spread the Christmas cheer.

----<0>----

Later in the afternoon, I head over to the home of my best friend from high school bearing my contribution to the holiday dinner. Jake was a pretty popular guy in high school and ended up going to Law school. He now works for a local corporate law firm which works him to death. His wife, Sarah who had been Jake's high school sweetheart, earned a degree in Finance and works for a local branch of a major investment firm. Jim and Sarah married just after finishing their bachelor’s degrees. No children yet, but I know that they are planning to start soon.

“That’s a beautiful necklace,” Sarah observes when I take my coat off. “I love Topaz and that is quite the specimen.”

Blushing, it seems that I have forgotten that I am wearing the necklace. “It was my mother’s. I found it under the Christmas tree this morning.”

“Dude,” Jake asks with a raised eyebrow, “I thought that you were going to skip the tree this year.”

“That’s the weird thing,” I reply, “I did. When I went downstairs this morning, the tree was there, and all lit up with a single gift and card under it. The necklace was in the package and the card was, this is really weird, from my mother.”

“Why are you wearing the necklace?”, asks Sarah.

“I am not sure,” I reply with a frown, “The idea to do so just entered my mind, so I did. Frankly, I forgot that I had it on. I probably should take it off.”

As I reach around to find the clasp, Sarah says, “Don’t Karl, it actually looks good on you. Plus, I think that Joanna will love it.”

I roll my eyes, “Don’t tell me you invited HER too?”

Sarah frowned at me, “Jake invited his best single friend. I get to invite one of mine. Joanna is a wonderful woman, you could do worse than dating her.”

Joanna and I have never really liked each other. She is a very aggressive person, also an attorney (specializing in divorce), and has always seems to get under my skin in a bad way. She is a very attractive woman, but her aggressive behavior really puts guys off.

“Actually,” I snort, “she is a man hater.”

Wisely, I notice that Jake is staying out of this conversation.

“No, she’s not,” Sarah dismisses my accusation. “She just gets tired of the misogynist jerks that make life difficult for us women. She just hasn’t figured out yet that you are not as bad as most men.”

Now there’s a backhanded compliment if I ever heard one!

Joanna joined us about fifteen minutes later. Throughout the evening Joanna kept giving me strange looks, probably because of the necklace but she didn’t say anything. Sarah must have asked her to keep the negativity down. The dinner and evening turned out to be relatively pleasant.

As I was leaving, Jake asked if we were still on for a Bowl Bash at my house a week from tomorrow, Monday, January 2nd. My parents’ house has a huge big screen TV with surround sound in the family room and a slightly smaller version in the Living Room, so we can have two games on at once. There are four bowl games scheduled for the second. We had planned to get a few guys together for an all-day football bowl game binge with pizza and beer.

“Hey,” Sarah asks indignantly, “Is this a guys only event or can women come too?”

Joanna gives me the evil eye. You can almost see her mind working up some retort about a misogynistic gathering of men. She seems to ignore the fact that women frequently have misandry girl’s nights out without the guys.

“If you want to come Sarah,” I diplomatically reply, “we’d enjoy your company.”

“What about me?” challenged Joanna.

“If you can stand the company of a bunch of rowdy, and likely drunk, guys,” I shrug, “you are welcome to join us.” Man, I hope that she doesn’t take up the challenge! She could be a real damper on the day.

----<0>----

I am very tired when I get back to my lonely home late that evening. After trying unsuccessfully to work the clasp on the necklace in my exhausted state, I decide to just leave it on for the night as I fall into bed.

The Twelve Days of Christmas - Day 1

The Twelve Days of Christmas By Tiffany B. Quinn I am very tired when I get back to my lonely home late that evening. After trying unsuccessfully to work the clasp on the necklace in my exhausted state, I decide to just leave it on for the night as I fall into bed.

Monday Dec 26, Day 1

The alarm seems a bit harsh this morning, but I need to get moving because of an early morning meeting at work.

I still sleep in my childhood room, having not yet moved into the master bedroom with its en suite bathroom. It is probably irrational, but to me the master bedroom still seems like my parent's space and I am not ready, emotionally, to make that move yet. Consequently, when I roll out of bed I have to stumble across the hall to find a bathroom. While relieving myself, I wake up enough to notice a couple of large plastic bottles on the counter with a note lying beside them.

Good morning, Karl,

We know that you have started to let your hair grow out a little. In today’s world that is just fine. Remember that appearances matter so you must take care of your hair. Make sure to get a trim when it starts to get unruly. Go see Caroline at the salon. She will know what to do. We are not there anymore to remind you to look presentable so please pay attention to yourself. I suggest that you use this shampoo and conditioner to help your hair have a more professional look.

Your father says not to let the Mayor push you around in your meeting this morning. If he gets too pushy, ask him why Miss Weaver (his former secretary) had to leave town in such a hurry. That should give him pause.

Love, Mom & Dad.

P.S. you can leave the necklace on under your shirt. Your shirt and tie will hide it. And don’t forget to take a selfie.

This is getting seriously weird! I run downstairs and check the doors again. They are all securely locked. I wonder if I should get the locks changed?

Looking at the clock, I see that I am in a serious time crunch and need to get moving.

Returning to the bathroom, I prepare for my daily shave but find that there is no need. For the first time since I was sixteen I don't need to shave this morning because my cheeks are as smooth as a baby's bottom.

There is nothing to shave.

My shaving supplies are also gone. No razor, no shaving cream, no aftershave.

I don’t have time to dwell on the theft of my supplies or wonder why I don’t need to shave today. Instead, I hop in the shower to get ready for the day. I do use the strawberry scented shampoo and conditioner that arrived this morning. I don’t have any other choice!

Dressing in slacks, a dress shirt, and a tie, I take a quick selfie before heading off for the office. Breakfast is taken care of with a quick stop by our local drive-up coffee stand where I snag a sweet roll along with my morning coffee.

----<0>----

I am usually one of the first people in the office in the morning, but today I am about half an hour late and find our senior administrative assistant/business manager at the receptionist’s desk. Much of the staff is on vacation this week, so those of us still around are filling in where needed.

“Good morning Mr. Bronson, I am glad to see that you made it here this morning.” Celeste cheerfully greets me. “Mr. Sanderson would like to see you before the meeting with the Mayor and the Director of Public Works.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Jenkins,” I reply. “I hope that you had a nice Christmas.” We’re a moderately sized general civil engineering firm of around 40 employees. We are small enough that most of the staff are friendly and less formal in their interactions. I have tried to get Celeste to call me by my first name, but to no avail as she believes in propriety. Having been with the firm since its beginnings almost 20 years ago, Celeste is the grease that keeps things moving smoothly. She knows everything and everyone. Next to Jim, the minority and current managing partner, Celeste is the most irreplaceable person in the organization.

It is quiet in the office today with most of the staff gone to visit extended family or to hit the after Christmas sales. Not a lot of progress will be accomplished this week. Unfortunately, I need to be here as we wrap up a project for the city, hence the meeting with the Mayor and the Director of Public works.

As my morning note predicted, the Mayor is difficult during our meeting. I manage to slip in the suggested question, and he becomes a lot more reasonable, obviously uncomfortable that I might know one of his little dark secrets. In addition to closing out our current project with the City, we discuss upcoming work and they tentatively agree to two more rather lucrative projects for the coming year.

My partner, Jim, and I had a working lunch with a couple of our department heads to map out a strategy for fulfilling the new contracts and to refine our final proposals for several others. Business is looking good for the coming year.

Even though I am the majority owner of the firm, I am also one of the junior engineers. For all intents and purposes, Jim runs the firm as the managing partner. We agreed that I need a few more years in the trenches before I will be ready to take an active leadership role. Even then, Jim will always be senior in my view as his many years of experience almost demand it. It is an odd arrangement but, as majority owner, I also need to be in on major business decisions and when contracts are signed even though I am still legally only an engineer-in-training.

I spend the rest of the afternoon working with a team on the design of a new water treatment plant for a nearby city. At the end of the day, I leave for home feeling somewhat accomplished. As is commonly my practice, I also take home a couple of hours’ worth of work to keep me busy for the evening.

As I am checking in with Jim before going home, he gives me a strange look.

“Hey Karl,” he asked, “when was the last time you had a haircut? I didn’t notice it this morning, but it seems as if your hair has gotten more than little shaggy. You might want to get another haircut before our next meeting with a client.”

I reach up and feel my hair. It does seem longer than it should. I swear that there is at least an inch of length that wasn't there this morning. It also feels a little fuller.

“I think that it’s been a couple of weeks,” I respond. “Normally I can go about six weeks between haircuts.”

“Longer hair is okay,” he admits, “but please keep it trimmed and presentable.”

“Will do,” I agree, “See you tomorrow.”

----<0>----

When I get home, I look in the mirror. My hair is definitely much longer than it was this morning and looks rather unkempt. I also notice that my face is still baby smooth. Normally, I would expect a little stubble by this time of day.

There is no doubt that something very strange is happening. Both the lack of facial hair and the phenomenal hair growth are just not possible but, looking in the mirror, the evidence that it is possible is literally staring me in the face. That's not even mentioning the magically appearing Christmas tree, notes, and 'gifts', nor the disappearance of my shaving supplies and shampoo. Are these the changes that mom referred to in her first note? If so, how is this going to help me find true love?

I take another selfie and compare it with this morning's image. My hair has definitely grown today. This morning, I was sporting my normal rather short professional haircut. This evening I have an unruly mop of hair that is at least three inches in length. This just can't happen!

Examining the shampoo and conditioner bottles does not reveal any clues. They are commercially available hair products of the type that my mother used to use. Taking a whiff of the shampoo brings back memories of the clean strawberry scent of her hair. The memories of my beautifully feminine mother brings tears to my eyes. How I miss her!

Unfortunately, I don’t really get to any of the work I brought home. Instead, I spend the evening making sure the house is secure against my crafty intruder. I make sure that every door and window is securely locked. I change the code on the keypad of the door to the garage. Drawing from spy movies, I put a small piece of tape across door jams so that I can tell if someone has opened the door in the night. If someone comes in tonight, I’ll at least know the point of entry.

I hope.

Once I feel secure, I re-examine the two notes. The handwriting definitely looks like Mom’s. The words sound like Mom’s. If it is not actually from mom, then whoever is doing this certainly is doing an excellent forgery. As I reread the words, a chill runs up my spine. What if she is communicating from the grave?

She says, in the first note, changes will be made over the twelve days of Christmas with the goal of preparing me for a new relationship. I only have two data points so far, but that is enough to make me suspect that agents of change will appear each of the twelve days.

The gifts of shampoo and conditioner I can understand. It will help me look nicer. But the necklace? What is its purpose? I reach up and notice that I still have it on. Finding the clasp, I remove the piece of jewelry and examine it more closely.

Dad had bought the necklace for mom one Christmas when I was a teenager and she would wear it frequently. There was something about the gem that tweaked the interest of the jeweler who bought mom’s jewelry as one lot. He had commented on the size and quality of the stone. Tonight, it seems to have some slight inner glow. I wonder if that is usual? It is a beautiful piece of jewelry, but other than that I don't see anything overly mystic about it.

Finding the small box that it came in, I tuck the necklace into the box and decide to store it in the master bedroom.

Since I cleaned out my parents’ personal effects, I rarely visited the master bedroom. I usually enter the room only once or twice a month to dust and vacuum. For me, the room still seems to have a sort of sacred feel to it. After cleaning out my parents personal effects, I left the furniture in place almost as if I expect them to return someday. The queen size bed is made up just as it was the night my parents died. I made sort of a shrine on top of a dresser with a framed picture of the three of us at Christmas just a week before the accident as well as a framed picture from their wedding. Their wedding rings have a place of honor in front of my parents wedding picture.

Tonight, the first thing that I notice on entering the room is that mom’s jewelry box is back on her vanity. The reappearance of the jewelry box is unsettling because the jewelry box was sold along with the jewelry. Opening the box, I find what appears to be the complete inventory of mom’s jewelry. Rifling through the box’s drawers, I am pretty sure that literally everything that I sold is in there.

Damn! How did this get here? I better let the jeweler who bought the lot know that it’s here or someone will think that I stole it. All sorts of bad scenarios run through my head as I contemplate what would happen if I was accused of theft.

Looking through the drawers of the vanity I find them to still be empty. Just for good measure, I open every drawer in the bedroom to see if anything else returned. I breathe a sigh of relief to know that my only real problem is the jewelry.

Walking into the master bathroom, I see that there is more to my problem. The rack that mom used to hang her hair accessories and less expensive necklaces on is back on the wall and it is fully loaded. Opening the drawers in the bathroom cabinet, I find one filled with various hair clips, bands, brushes, combs, etc. right where they had been before I cleaned out the bathroom last spring. A chill runs down my spine.

As I ponder the significance of what I am finding, I find that I am having a hard time wrapping my mind around all this. The jewelry was sold. The hair accessories either went at the garage/estate sale, or were donated to charity shops, or ended up in the landfill. There is no way that someone could have rounded all this stuff up and returned it. Even if someone could have found everything, how did they sneak in and put it all back where it had been when mom died? Someone would have had to know where everything was, gather it up somehow, break into the house, and put it right where it belonged. I can’t think of anyone with that kind of knowledge and ability. Sure, someone could have entered the house while I was at work and staged all this stuff, but how would they know where it all went?

I wonder again if my parents aren’t truly communicating with me from the grave.

Sleep tonight is slow in coming as I go to bed with more questions than answers.

The Twelve Days of Christmas - Day 2

The Twelve Days of Christmas By Tiffany B. Quinn I wonder again if my parents aren’t truly communicating with me from the grave. I go to bed with more questions than answers.

Tuesday Dec 27, Day 2

After a restless night, filled with nonsensical dreams, I actually wake up a few minutes before my alarm goes off wondering what mystical treat is awaiting me this morning.

What I find is the soap missing from my shower. In its place are three bottles of Le Petit Marseillais body wash. One in Almond scent just the same as my mother used to use, the others being Lait (milk) and Peche Blanche et Nectarine (White Peach and Nectarine). There is a funny puff ball thing hanging in the shower. I had seen one in my parent’s shower when I cleaned it out. There is also some feminine deodorant on the counter. A quick search for my usual deodorant comes up empty. It is gone.

Of course, there is a note with the deodorant on the counter.

Dearest Karl,

You probably have many questions. We can’t really answer them at this point. Sorry! As we mentioned before, it will all come clear on the day of the Epiphany.

In the meantime, we are still set on helping you prepare to find the love of your life. Women love nice scents, so we have provided you with three different ones to choose from. The body wash will help you in your quest. Just add a little to the Loofah body wash scrubber to spread it over your body. It is much better than using a washcloth.

You should go to the coffee shop today. Your old high school girlfriends, Anita and Jane, will be there. You should join them for lunch.

Wear the topaz necklace again. It will help us to feel close to you and you to us.

Jim is right, you are due for a trim. I suggest that you go see Caroline at the salon today and have her tidy your hair up a little.

Love always, Mom and Dad.

Another interesting note to add to my growing collection.

So, I am supposed to have lunch with Anita and Jane today. I briefly dated each of them in high school. I know that Jane is now married with a child but Anita is still single. I haven’t visited with either of them in ages. I am not sure that I really have an excuse to do so now.

About the haircut, I think that I’ll just go see my barber instead of Caroline.

I am not so pressed for time this morning, so I wander downstairs to check my tells and find that nothing has been disturbed. No one has been through any of the exterior doorways or windows. Interesting. How did the note and gifts find their way into my house?

Feeling my chin, I realize that I still don’t need to shave which will take a few minutes off my prep time this morning. I do a double take when I look into the mirror. Not only are my cheeks as smooth as a baby’s bum, but I swear that my hair has grown at least another inch overnight.

That’s impossible, like everything else.

It is definitely time for a haircut.

When dressing for the day, I find the topaz necklace on my nightstand - not where I had left it last night. With a shrug I put it on, noticing that it fits a little better today. I also observe that my shirt collar is pretty loose as I knot my tie. Am I shrinking? I don’t think that I’ve lost any height, but my neck is definitely slimmer. If this is a trend, I will need to buy some new dress shirts soon.

I snap a quick selfie before leaving for work.

----<0>----

“Getting a bit shaggy aren’t we?” Celeste gives me a look of disapproval when I walk in the office. She sniffs a little and asks with a frown, “Is that some kind of body wash scent that I smell?”

I roll my eyes at her, “Yes, Mrs. Jenkins, I intend to get a haircut today and my mother told me that a body wash scent would be good for my love life.”

“Honey,” she retorts, “the best thing you can do for your love life is to get out of your office and meet some nice women your age. When was the last time you went on a date? Say the word and I can introduce you to some very nice young ladies."

“Thanks for your concern, Mrs. Jenkins,” I reply, “but I really should be getting some work done.”

“That’s the problem, dear.” She huffs at me.

I manage to slip out of the office late in the morning to visit my usual barber. He is not too busy this time of day and seats me immediately.

“Boy,” he observes, “you’ve been letting your hair get away from you.”

As he restores my hair to its professional looking short cut, we talk about all the things you chat about in a barber shop. The state of the weather, the best place for ice fishing this year, how the football season is wrapping up, who is going to win the college football bowl games. You know, the usual stuff. There is a surprising amount of hair on the floor when he is done.

Walking back to the office with my newly shorn head, I pass the local coffee shop just as Anita and Jane approach the door along with a very cute little girl who is hanging onto Jane’s hand. There has to be some cosmic force in action here. Getting there just ahead of the women, I hold the door for them.

“Hello ladies,” I smile at them. They look a little surprised.

“Well, if it isn’t Karl,” Anita says with a smile. “We haven’t seen you in a long time, why don’t you join us and tell us what you’ve been up to.”

“Please do,” Jane added. “We were all devastated by the loss of your parents, and we haven’t seen you since the funeral.”

“I don’t want to intrude,” I make my apologies.

“Come now Karl,” Jane encourages me. “We are old friends and we’d love to catch up with what you've been up to.”

“If you insist,” I relent, “I will join you on the condition that I pick up the tab.”

The women look at each other and shrug. “Sure, that would be nice,” Anita agrees.

We spent an hour together chatting like the old friends that we once were. I learn that Jane has just the one daughter, Amy age three, and she just recently found out that she is expecting another child. Both Jane and Anita teach at the local high school, but Jane will quit at the end of the year to become a full-time mom.

With the cost of daycare, it is about break even to work to pay for it or to stay home and focus on raising the children.

Anita, it turns out, is between relationships. Her last boyfriend was in the early stages of getting mentally and physically abusive. Not that he had done anything serious yet, but Anita could see where it was going having lived next door to an abusive household while growing up. When she found out that he was cheating on her to boot, he got the boot. Apparently, the breakup wasn’t pretty. There were restraining orders involved.

They ask about how my life was going, and I tell them about quitting my big city job and moving home to settle the estate and work my way into my father’s engineering firm. They question my decision to be involved in the management of the firm when I have so little experience. I explain our plan for me to work under the direction of the other partner until I earn my professional license, hopefully in the coming spring. Even then, I will work as one of the staff engineers, getting my hands dirty for a few more years, until everyone feels that I have earned the right to help manage the firm. Until then, my father’s longtime partner is the managing partner but we consult often on management issues and business development. I can sell out my father’s interest at any time to his partner, but I think that this is a great opportunity for me to get a leg up in the industry. The ladies seem to agree that the plan sounds reasonable.

“How was your Christmas?” Jane asks with sympathy in her voice. “I imagine it was lonely with your parents gone.”

“It was, but I had Christmas dinner with Jake and Sarah. Joanna was there too. It was a nice evening.”

“Joanna was there?” Anita raised an eyebrow. "I hadn't heard that you were dating her."

“I am not,” I quickly respond. “Sarah invited her. Let’s just say that Joanna has pretty high standards for the guys she might date. I doubt that I meet them.”

Anita snorts, “That’s a diplomatic way to say that she really doesn’t think too much of men in general. I know what you mean, she helped me with my restraining order. After all the cases of domestic abuse she’s handled, her opinion of the male of the species is rather low.”

“Hey,” I defend my gender, “it works both ways. There are abusers out there that are female.”

“I imagine that there are ten male abusers out there for every female one.” Jane points out. “But there are still a lot of good men around, like my Bryan. Unfortunately, it is the nature of Joanna’s business to see the scumbags and not the good guys.”

“A professional hazard I suppose,” Anita agrees, “but I am starting to think she might be right. Finding a good man is tough.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I cough.

“Sorry, Karl,” Jane apologizes. “We know that you are one of the good guys.”

“Yes,” Anita agrees, "Do you remember going to the Homecoming dance with me our Junior year?"

I nod, indicating that I do.

"Well," she continued, "That night you were impeccably polite and gentlemanly. You kept your distance and seemed to be afraid to touch me. You also seemed more interested in how the disco ball worked than in me."

"You were that way when we attended the Junior prom together later that year," Jane added.

“Karl, all the girls respected you in school because you so sweet and respectful," Anita continues, "but you were always distracted. There were a number of girls that had crushes on you but I don’t think that you ever noticed.”

“Maybe we should change the topic,” Jane kindly suggests, noticing my discomfort with where this line of discussion is going, “Did you decorate for Christmas?”

“Funny you should ask,” I reply, grateful for the change in topic. “No, I didn’t but I found a nicely decorated tree in my living room on Christmas morning.”

“A secret Santa!” Anita announced with a clap of her hands.

“I love secret Santas,” Jane agreed. “Did he leave a present?”

“Mommy, Mommy,” Jane's daughter interrupts the conversation, “I need to go potty.”

Perfect timing. The little girl has been very well behaved but seems to be reaching the end of her patience with grown-up talk.

“Excuse us,” Jane apologizes, “We’ll be right back.”

As the mother-daughter team head for the toilets, Anita picks up the line of questioning.

“Did you get a present?”

“It’s a little complicated, but yes,” I answered. At this point my cell phone rings. It is the office calling to see when I’ll be back. Apparently, my presence is required, and I’ve been gone for a long time already.

“Listen, Anita, I need to get back to the office.” I apologize. “And the question about the gift would take some time to explain.”

Recalling that Anita had been into mystic stuff in high school, I decide to seek her assistance.

“You would have to see this to believe it.” I inform her. “You used to be into mystic stuff, maybe you can help me figure out what the gift is all about. Are you available to come by the house tonight? I could order some dinner. I’m afraid that my culinary skills mostly involve take out.”

She laughs, “I must admit that I am intrigued. How about I pick up some Chinese on my way over?”

“It’s a date,” I agree.

I settle the lunch bill and leave before Jane and her daughter reappeared.

----<0>----

The afternoon passes slowly. I participate in a couple of rather boring design progress meetings but, with half the office on holiday, I am not sure how effective the meetings are.

My haircut earns approving nods from Jim and Celeste, but I can almost feel it growing out again as the end of the workday approaches.

When I have a free minute, I call the jeweler who bought mom’s collection. I tell him that I am curious to know if he still had any of the pieces left. He informs me that he has already sold all the pieces to various customers. He asks if there was a particular piece that I was interested in. I tell him that I am interested in the topaz pendent necklace. He said that the necklace had been one of the first pieces sold. At least I can rest easy that they were not stolen from him.

But how did the collection get reassembled? And how did it get back into the house?

----<0>----

As I pull into my driveway, I notice that Anita is already out front waiting in her car. She gets out of her car with a big bag of food from a local Chinese restaurant while I park my car in the garage. I manage get to the front door just in time to open it for her. Before opening the door, I check my tell. The door has not been opened since I left home.

I take the bag from her and carry it to the dining room table before disappearing into the kitchen to get plates and drinks.

“Do you want chopsticks?” I call out to her from the kitchen as she hangs her coat on the coat tree.

“No,” she calls back, “I prefer real utensils. Nice tree. Have you figured out who put it up?”

“I’ll tell you what I know over dinner,” I reply.

After getting the dinner stuff out, I run upstairs quickly to shed my tie and grab the notes. I unbutton the top two buttons of my shirt, revealing the necklace. Once I am down the stairs, I check all the tells and every one of them is still in place.

“Nice necklace,” Anita observes as we sit down to the meal.

“That’s part of story,” I inform her as we dig in.

As I hand her the first note to read, I tell her of coming down Christmas morning to find the tree, card and gift package.

“This is creepy,” she comments after reading the note. “It looks like your mother wants you to find your soul mate.”

“She has always wanted that,” I sigh. “The creepy thing is how did this get here? We had a foot of snow Christmas morning and there were no tracks in it. How did someone bring in a freshly cut tree without leaving tracks? All the ornaments on the tree were stored in the garage and I would have heard someone bringing them into the house. Mom’s been gone for almost a year. Who would write such a note? The necklace was sold to a jeweler along with the rest of mom’s jewelry. How did it come back?”

Anita looked at the card again. “Do you recognize the handwriting?”

“It looks exactly like my mom’s,” I answer.

“Who was Judy?” she asks.

“A girl I knew in college that I thought I was in love with. It didn’t work out.” I sigh.

“What went wrong?” she asks with curiosity.

“She says that I did not spend enough time with her,” I shrug. “Engineering school was pretty time consuming so I was studying all the time. One day I came home to find that she ran off with a theater major. I hear that that relationship did not last long either.”

“A girl likes some attention,” she declares, “You were never one to do that. Tell me about the necklace.”

“It is one that my father bought her about ten years ago, or so. It was her favorite. When I opened the present, I recognized it immediately and got an urge to put it on. So I did and forgot about it. I’ve worn it most of the time since then.”

“Has anything strange happened since you started wearing it?”

“There have been so many strange things happening," I admit. "For example, I haven’t had to shave since I started wearing the necklace. It also seems that my neck has become more slender. Oh, and when I went into the master bedroom, I found the rest of mom’s jewelry collection and her jewelry box right where it had been when she died. I called the jeweler who bought the collection, and he informed me that he has resold every piece to various customers. Whoever brought it all back must have had a heck of a time getting the collection back together. And I’m not sure how they got it in the house with all the doors and windows locked.”

“This is a real mystery,” she thoughtfully observes. “She talks about daily changes. Have other things happened?”

I hand her the second day’s note.

“What’s this shampoo and conditioner?” she asked after reading mom’s instructions.

“It’s nothing special that I can see,” I tell her. “It is just commercially available stuff. In fact, it is the same stuff that mom used to use.”

“You’ve been using it?” she inquired.

“Yes,” I admit. “For the past two mornings. I haven't had much choice since my old shampoo disappeared when this stuff showed up.”

“Anything strange happen after you washed your hair?” she asked.

I reach up to feel my hair. I am sure that it’s grown at least two inches since my haircut this morning.

“My hair seems to growing at a phenomenal rate.” I say. “I had my hair cut just before lunch today and it’s already grown quite a bit since then.”

“I remember your hair from lunch,” she says, “It looked pretty professional then. Now it looks more than a little shaggy. What did Caroline have to say about it?”

I blush when I admit that I went to see my barber instead. I then go on to tell her that about the same time as the appearance of this note, all my mother’s hair accessories reappeared.

She asks if I received a note today, so I show her the latest one.

“How did she know that Jane and I were going to lunch together today?” she asks with a puzzled expression. “We didn’t even think of going before 10 AM this morning. It was a spontaneous decision. We are both off work for the holiday and thought it would be nice to have lunch together before things get crazy again next week. This is seriously weird.”

“I know,” I agree with her.

“Somebody must be pulling your chain,” Anita concludes. “Who else has a key to your house? An old family friend or neighbor? How does this person know these details?”

“That’s just it,” I point out. “No one that I know has a key. I’ve put tells on all the doors and windows. None of my tells have been breached. I really don’t think that anyone has been here.”

We spend time discussing how all this could be happening. Regardless of how we look at the evidence, there is no rational explanation for the events of the past three days. Anita gets visibly excited as we keep circling back to the idea that this might be an actual supernatural event.

“Let me guess,” she looks at me with sparkling eyes, “your regular soap wasn’t there this morning.”

“You are right,” I confirm her guess. “And my usual deodorant was gone and a new one on the counter.”

"Feminine deodorant?" she questions.

I nod in the affirmative. "The same kind that mom used to use."

“What else appeared in your parent’s room today?” she asks.

“I haven’t checked yet,” I shrug my shoulders.

“Well,” she says with determination, “what are we waiting for! I really need to see this. Lead the way.”

Walking into the master bedroom, I don’t immediately see anything new. Poking my head in the bathroom, I don’t see any obvious changes here either.

“Is there anything in the drawers?” she asks.

“There wasn’t yesterday,” I tell her.

Anita pulls open the drawers in the bathroom cabinet. They are all empty except one which has some pink disposable razors, shaving cream and more feminine deodorant.

“These weren’t here before today?” she asks examining the contents.

“They weren’t there yesterday,” I emphasize defensively.

We go back into the bedroom, where she starts pulling open the dresser drawers as I had done yesterday. She closely examines the drawers in the walk-in closet as well.

They are all empty.

Anita asks to see the other upstairs bathroom that I use.

She examines the shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, and body washes. While she is doing her examination, I open the sink vanity drawers and show her that my shaving supplies are gone. When I mention this latest development, she reaches up and strokes my cheek.

“Well,” she says with a smile, “It doesn’t look like you need it anymore!”

Running her hand down my arm, she comments, “You have mighty fine body hair for a man. This looks more like the hair on my arm.” She puts her arm against mine. While mine is definitely a man’s arm, the hair on it is fine just like hers. My skin is pretty smooth too.

“What about the rest of your body? Can I see?” she asks with an inquisitive look on her face.

“I am not getting undressed,” I blush furiously.

“Just unbutton your shirt and raise your pant leg.” She suggests.

After a little more cajoling I relent only to find that my legs and chest are also free of masculine hair. While never a hairy guy, this morning I had definitely had chest hair. My legs have a very fine hair as opposed to the coarse hair that I am used to seeing.

Anita runs her hands over my chest with a bit of a dreamy look on her face.

“Definitely a manly chest,” she observes with a coy smile, “just without all the hair.”

I quickly step away and self-consciously close up my shirt.

Great, I think to myself. The first time in years that I’m alone with a woman who wants to run her hands over my body and I am seriously creeped out.

She gives a good-natured laugh. “You should get away from your desk a little more often. You are getting a little pudgy.”

We spend another hour discussing every angle of my situation and finally conclude that there is definitely something supernatural going on.

“This is so cool,” she says enthusiastically. “I’ve spent a lot of time studying supernatural phenomena, but this is the first time that I have actually encountered it!”

“Yeah,” I agree, “It kind of makes you think that there really is life after death.”

“I have no problem with that,” she says. “Let me share this with a couple of my friends who know more about supernatural phenomena, and we will see what they have to say about it.”

We also conclude that I’m likely to get more notes and “gifts”. There is also evidence that I am being feminized, making us wonder how this fits in with the finding true love part of the messages. I shudder to think that my true love might actually be much different than I was thinking.

Eventually it gets late, so I see Anita out to her car with a promise to let her know what surprises tomorrow brings.

Undressing for bed, I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my parent’s room. I still see me, but without the masculine body, arm and leg hair. There is still copious hair in my pubic area and arm pits. My new haircut is a thing of the past. My hair looks as shaggy as it did before this morning’s trip to the barber. It is probably even longer than it was this morning. In fact, it has probably grown another inch just while Anita was here.

The necklace is the only thing I am wearing. It hangs a little lower on my chest and I don’t think the chain is getting any longer. It is slight, but I am sure that my neck is more slender than it was when I first put on the necklace. At least, I am still fully male where it really counts.

Pulling on my normal nightwear of boxers and a t-shirt, I wonder what tomorrow will bring. I am not sure that I am looking forward to it.

Becoming paranoid, I close every door inside the house with tells in place before going to bed.

After turning out the light, I notice a very faint glow from the topaz necklace laying on my nightstand.
 

The Twelve Days of Christmas - Day 3

The Twelve Days of Christmas By Tiffany B. Quinn Pulling on my normal nightwear of boxers and a t-shirt, I wonder what tomorrow will bring. I am not sure that I am looking forward to it. Becoming paranoid, I close every door inside the house with tells in place before going to bed. After turning out the light, I notice a very faint glow from the topaz necklace laying on my nightstand.

Wednesday Dec 28, Day 3

My first task of the morning is to check the tells on my doors and windows. A quick circuit around the house confirms that they are all in place. I am not sure that I am happy about that when I find today’s note and gifts in my bathroom. I’d like to think that someone is actually playing a practical joke on me. It kind of creeps me out to think that I am being watched from the other side.

Good morning, Karl,

We see that you did not follow our advice about your hair. Please go see Caroline today. She will have an opening today at 11 AM and her shop is just down the street from your office. She does hair for both men and women. I think that you will be pleased with her services.

Don’t forget to floss your teeth this morning. You will also find that gargling with mouthwash will help keep your mouth feeling fresh all day. Girls like that.

With Love, Mom & Dad.

Looking in the mirror I see that my hair is even longer than it was yesterday morning. There has been at least four inches of new growth since my haircut. Apparently, my hair has an agenda of its own and just won’t stay short. I can't help notice that my mop is a little fuller this morning.

It looks like I’ll be seeing Caroline today.

By the sink I find a new bottle of mouthwash, a new toothbrush, toothpaste, and floss. There is also a new tube of lip balm. I can’t help wonder what new feminization these products will bring to my life. Do the products cause change or are they just emblematic of the changes that I can expect to start today? There is a mystery that probably will never be solved.

Looking through the cabinets I can not find my old versions of these products. I sigh when it becomes clear to me that, since all my old versions of these products are gone, I am obliged to use these new gifts today.

With a sigh, I retrieve my phone from my room and take an image of the note with my new personal hygiene items. I text the image to Anita before going through my morning routine, with special attention to my oral hygiene. My lips are dry so I apply the lip balm as well.

As I am eating some cereal, I get a text back from Anita asking what new items showed up in the master bedroom.

I still have some time before I have to leave for work, so I head upstairs to search my parent’s room. The only new items I find are some tubes of lipstick, in various colors, and lip gloss (cherry and strawberry flavors) in a drawer of the vanity. I send Anita a photo of the stash of lip products. She texts back that my mother has good taste. The lipstick is apparently of good quality.

I am thinking that mom’s suggestion of daily selfies is a really good idea if I am undergoing transformational change, so I take a couple of shots before leaving for work. One is a whole body shot in front of a full-length mirror, then a standard front head shot followed by a poor attempt at a profile head shot in an attempt to show the length of my hair.

----<0>----

As I walk in the office, Celeste immediately notices my hair again and frowns at me.

“What has happened to your hair?” she asks with disapproval in her voice.

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “It seems to have a life of its own. I think it has grown over four inches since yesterday.”

“And what’s happened to your voice?” she asked with concern. “Are you sick? Your voice sounds lighter today. It is almost girly.”

She’s right! I haven’t spoken out loud all morning, so I hadn’t noticed the change. I don’t think it is girly, but the tone is definitely up half an octave.

“Jim is just going to LOVE this. Not!” she says sarcastically.

----<0>----

A while later, Jim stops by my office to find out what is going on. Being partners, I figure that I better bring him into the loop as it looks like this may have an impact on the business. I ask him to close the door and we spend half an hour going over everything that has happened since Sunday. I think that he is taking the news rather calmly. Being analytically minded engineers, we study the data together and essentially arrived at the same conclusions that Anita and I had the night before. What we can’t figure out, however, was what to do about it. As far as work was concerned, if I keep producing as I always have then my personal changes shouldn’t be an issue. The main problem will be working with clients and possibly dealing with the staff. We decide to see how far this is going to go before doing anything specific. We agree that trying to hide any changes will only backfire on us when found out, so we agree to be open about what was happening to me if anyone asks. He highly recommends that I see my family doctor to see if these changes can be stopped reversed or, at least, document what is going on. I might need some creditable documentation if this change goes all the way.

After talking with Jim, I call Caroline’s salon and make an appointment as the note suggested. Of course, she has an opening as the note said she would.

My next call is to Dr. Lake’s office. Dr. Lake has been our family doctor for as long as I can remember. The receptionist says that his 1 PM appointment just canceled and that I can have that slot.

It doesn’t look like I’ll be getting a lot of billable hours in today.

----<0>----

“Sweetie, what have you not done with your hair?” Caroline looks at my hair disapprovingly when she first sees me.

Caroline is about my mother’s age and had been her hairdresser for many years . Mom used to have Caroline cut my hair when I was young.

“Your mother, bless her soul, would not be happy with your appearance,” She scolds me.

I proceed to fill her in on what has been happening with my hair the last few days.

“So,” she questions me, “you’re telling me that you had a conservative short business cut just yesterday? That’s hard to believe.”

“I get it,” I sigh. “I have no clue what is going on with this mop, but it has grown at least four inches since this time yesterday.”

I can tell that she doesn’t really believe me.

“Hypothetically,” I ask, “if this is to continue at this pace, what can you do to my hair so that it maintains some semblance of order as it grows out?”

“And, I suppose that you don’t want it to look girlie?” she clarifies my question.

I just nod.

She walks around me, feeling my hair as she contemplates the options.

“Have you ever heard of a folk singer named John Denver?” she asks.

“The name sounds familiar, I think mom listened to some of his songs,” I reply.

“Well, he had fairly straight hair like you and later in his career he wore it long.” She tells me. “It wasn’t so long at first, kind of like yours is now but with some shape. He grew it out later and he looked pretty good. You could go with a look like that. It might not fit into your engineering world too well, but it doesn’t look bad. Let me show you.”

She gets her iPad and finds some images of the folk singer with a quick web search. Some of the images are from earlier in his career when his hair wasn’t too long. Others showed him later on with near shoulder length hair and funky round glasses.

“Do you wear contacts?” she asks.

“Yes,” I reply.

“Well,” she suggests, “you could ditch them and get some of those cool glasses. What do you think?”

“I think that I’ll stick with contacts,” I reply, not liking the spectacles idea, “but we could try the hair style.”

“That will work,” she admits. “Think about getting some of those outdoor clothes and ditch the tie and you would look a lot like him.”

With that, she shapes my hair so that it will grow out like John’s.

----<0>----

After a quick bite of lunch at a internationally franchised purveyor of fast junk food, I arrive at the doctor’s office. It is also within walking distance of the office.

Dr. Lake is a little late getting back from his lunch, but I am shown in to see him a few minutes after the appointed time.

“Well, Karl,” he asks with a smile, “What can we do for you today? It’s not time for your physical again, is it?”

“No,” I respond. “I had one of those a few months ago. I’ve got a new problem.”

“Okay,” he frowns, “tell me about it.”

It takes me about twenty minutes to fill him in on the odd affairs of the last few days. He raises his eyebrows when I tell him about the cure for shaving, my higher voice, the change in body hair, and the fast growing hair on my head. He asks lots of questions and I can tell that he doesn't really believe me.

“You’re not a transsexual, are you?” He asks. “I’ve worked with a few over the past few years. However, even after years of hormone treatment, they don’t report effects quite like this.”

“I am not a transsexual,” I confirm. “And I am not on any hormone treatment. It’s just happening. Each of the changes seems to come after I receive a communication from my mother.” I show him pictures of the notes from my mother, as well as my daily selfies, on my phone.

“I am finding this all hard to swallow,” he admits, “But I can’t deny that something very strange is happening to you. It is obvious that there have been minor changes to your body since we last met. Well, let’s go ahead with an exam. We’ll take some blood and urine samples for lab work. We might as well take a DNA swab too while we are at it.”

So that is what we do. I am weighed, measured, prodded and poked. He does the FULL exam.

“That is all the damage that I can do today,” he smiles as he takes off his exam gloves after checking my prostate. “You are ten pounds lighter than you were when we saw you six months ago, but that can be due to a lot of factors. Your skin is softer and clearer than last time I saw you. I can’t find any visual evidence that you ever had any facial hair. Your larynx is not as prominent as I would expect. I suspect that your vocal cords have tightened up some. I don’t know what to say about your hair. While I find this all very interesting, you are in good health. If, as you suggest, the changes are the result of some mystical event there is not much medical science can do to help you stop or reverse what is happening to you. The best I can do is document the changes. Sorry, Karl.”

“I was afraid of that,” I sigh. “Documentation will probably be useful if worse comes to worse and I need to change my identity.”

“I will let you know the lab results tomorrow. If the changes continue or you start feeling ill or in pain,” he instructs me, “come back. I am really curious to see how this progresses. I’ll tell the front desk to work you in as a priority if you call.”

As I walk back to the office, I ponder on the craziness of the last few days. Am I really morphing into a woman? Or am I just taking on some of the characteristics of one? Like most men, I don’t know the first thing about being a woman.

Is this really a supernatural event? If so is there any hope for stopping this train?

I agree with Dr. Lake. If all these changes are the result of the will of some mystical power, there is probably nothing that medical science can do to stop it. Any effort to stop the progress would be like trying to stop the tide.  I get that. I tried to resist my hair growth with a hair cut and look at where that got me!

So, I conclude, I will just have to ride it out to its conclusion whether I like it or not.

The best way to avoid worrying over just about anything is to immerse myself in work. I have plenty of that!

----<0>----

When my phone dings with a message notification, I rouse myself out of deep concentration on a particularly challenging work problem to notice that I am alone in the office. Looking at the clock, I realize that everyone else probably left an hour ago.

The text is from Anita asking if she can stop by my house for an update. She wants to see, with her own eyes, what happened today.

I ask her to give me an hour to wrap things up at the office.

----<0>----

On my way home, I manage a quick trip through Walmart to get new shampoo (one combined with conditioner), toothpaste, mouthwash, deodorant made for a man, generic soap, shaving cream, etc… all those things that 'mom' left for me, but in a more masculine form. I want to make sure that I am not using altered products. I still don't know if the changes result from the gifted products or not and hope that using my own products will answer the question. I also grab a premade sandwich for dinner.

I manage to get home before Anita shows up so I have time to get out of my work clothes and into some comfortable jeans and a casual long sleeve flannel shirt. I am channeling my inner John Denver.

I also take time to check all my tells. They are all in place. No one has come through any of the doors while I was gone for the day.

I am about to head upstairs to check out the master bedroom when the doorbell rings. Opening the door, I am greeted by a smiling Anita and Joanna.

Oh great, Joanna, I immediately think to myself. I guess it shows on my face.

“Sorry Karl,” Anita looks apologetic when she sees my frown. “Joanna is one of my friends who is intrigued by supernatural phenomena. When I told her about what was going on, she wanted to come see for herself. I hope you don’t mind?”

“Hey, Karl.” Joanna gives me a small wave. “I love the necklace. Isn’t that the same one you wore to Christmas dinner?”

I forgot that I am still wearing the jewelry.

“Yes, it is. Come in out of the cold, ladies,” I open the door admitting them into the house.

“Oh Karl,” Anita asks with concern, “has your voice changed? I like the hair.”

It turns out that the two women are good friends. Something about being in their mid 20s and still single when most of their peers are now married and starting families. I guess that I fit that description now, with the difference being male to their femaleness.

Over the next hour we go over my story again and they get the tour of the master bedroom. Both women are very thorough in their inspection. They announce that my mother has excellent taste in jewelry and cosmetics, at least lipstick and lip gloss. They also approve of the shampoo, conditioner, deodorant, and body wash that mom left me. With their help, we move all mom's personal hygiene gifts into the master bedroom’s en suite and put my new Walmart purchases in the bathroom that I generally use.

“Why aren’t you living in the master suite?” Joanna asks in curiosity.

“I don’t know,” I shrug. “It still feels like their space. I’m not ready to make the move. Not only that, but it looks as if mom is moving back in.”

“Actually, we think that Karl’s mom might be feminizing him,” Anita informs Joanna.

“Damn,” Joanna mutters with a disappointed look on her face, “another one bites the dust.”

“What?” I ask, confused.

“We are getting to the age when decent single guys are like parking spaces,” Joanna says, unhappily.

My continued confusion is obvious to both women.

“Yes,” Anita explains, “The good ones are already taken.”

“Or they are clueless geeks,” Joanna grumbles. “Finding a good man is tough. Now we can add mystically transformed to the list.”

“Karl,” Anita explains, “ as we told you at lunch yesterday, all the girls in our class respected and liked you. You are the perfect gentleman, never going all macho on us. You are the kind of guy that every mother wants for their daughters. Unfortunately, puberty made us a little boy crazy and most of us were drawn to the manly macho types of guys during our teen years. They are fascinatingly different from us. It is a self-destructive behavior that most of us girls had to get past.”

“The only problem,” Joanna points out, “was that you were considered boring since you weren’t one of those excitingly different macho boys. Don’t get me wrong, there were girls who had crushes on you. You were nice and polite, but girls never seemed to be a priority with you. Technology and odd projects seemed to be more important in your world. You were an asexual geek. Still are, from what I hear.”

Joanna doesn’t seem to have many filters.

I look at her curiously, “And I heard that you don’t like men, Joanna. Did I hear wrong?”

“That’s just a nasty rumor spread by men that I have destroyed in court. I do like men,” she corrects me, “I just hate assholes. Unfortunately, most of the men I’ve run across are assholes. I would love to find a man who isn’t an asshole and who would be fun to be with.”

“So,” I ask her, “am I an asshole as well as boring?”

She blushes, “I didn’t mean to include you in my generalization.”

I just look hard at her waiting for an answer to my question.

Anita jumps in, “Karl, you have never been an asshole.”

“Not that we know of, anyway,” Joanna clarifies.

I sigh, “I guess that it is better to be boring than an asshole.”

“Well,” Joanna tries to soften the criticism, “maybe not exactly boring. Maybe clueless is a more appropriate term.”

Anita quickly interjects, “As Joanna said, there were quite a lot of girls in our class that had mild crushes on you at one time or another. I know that I did, but after a couple of dates, which I think your mother pushed you into, it seemed obvious that girls were not your top priority. It was deflating.”

“I was also one of those girls,” Joanna admitted, “but you never noticed me even when I tried to flirt with you. Eventually, I fell under the spell of that asshole star football player, Bob whatshisname, who was sexy and exciting. What a big mistake that turned out to be.”

Thinking back to high school, I don’t recall ever being pursued. Maybe I was, and maybe I still am, clueless.

“Sorry ladies, I never knew.” I apologize.

Joanna looks at Anita and sighs, “Definitely clueless.”

Anita also sighs and says, “Karl you the perfect prototype for the story of the engineering student who rides a new bicycle up to his friend’s place. His friend tells him that he thinks the new bike is cool and asked him where he got it. The engineering student tells his friend that a hot coed rode up to him on the bike, hopped off, then stripped off all her clothes and told him to take what he wanted. He decided that the clothes wouldn’t suit him, so he took the bike.”

“I don’t get it,” I say confused. “It sounds like he made the right decision.”

Looking at Anita, Joanna confirms, “Yes, he’s definitely clueless.”

“Don’t worry about it, Karl,” Anita assures me, patting me on the arm. “It will come to you.”

On that note, the girls make their excuses and head out the door.

I went over the story again as I made my rounds setting tells and making sure the house is secure before turning in for the night.

I still don’t get it.

 

The Twelve Days of Christmas - Day 4

The Twelve Days of Christmas By Tiffany B. Quinn I went over the story again as I made my rounds setting tells and making sure the house is secure before turning in for the night. I still don’t get it.

Thursday Dec 29, Day 4

First thing in the morning, I stumble half awake into the bathroom looking for another note. There is not one there.

A glance in the mirror informs me that I can skip shaving again this morning. My hair grew another inch or two overnight and now covers my ears, reaching almost to my shoulders. The softer version of my face staring back from my mirror has a serious case of bedhead. At this rate, I am sure that my hair will be below my shoulders by the end of the day. I don't think that the John Denver looks is going to make it through the day but at least it is growing out nicely... for a girl.

Looking around the bathroom, I see that all my newly purchased personal hygiene products have been replaced with the ones we removed last night. There also is a new hairbrush on the counter.

I go searching for the products that I bought last night but can’t find them anywhere.

Doing a quick check of my tells shows that no one has entered the house. What I do find is a note on the kitchen table.

Good morning Karl,

Anita was right the other night; you are getting a little pudgy. Girls like toned bodies. You really should be eating healthier and work out more often.

You really need to stop by the gym after work today.

Love, Mom & Dad

This note seems innocent enough and she’s right; I have been eating mostly fast food and drinking lots of coffee and soda — not the healthiest of diets. Mom used to try to convince me that pizza was not a basic food group. It was a sad day when she informed me that Cheetos weren’t either.

Looking in the fridge, I find skim milk, yogurt and berries that weren't there yesterday. I notice decorative jars on the counter with rolled oats, granola, and crushed nuts. My cheerios and whole milk are nowhere to be found. Neither is my bin of chocolate chips.

Today's note reminds me that I do have a gym membership, but so far it has been a bad investment since I only make it there a couple of times a month. The gym belongs to a former navy seal who encourages you much like a drill sergeant encourages a raw recruit who doesn't quite make the grade. The gym is popular with guys who wish they’d been in the special forces. It is not so popular with women.

It looks as if mom was kind enough to pack my gym bag for me. It is sitting by the door to the garage. Given all of the changes lately, I better check it before I go to make sure she didn’t include anything feminine in the bag.

Before heading back upstairs to shower, I text Anita and Joanna images of the note, the breakfast food in my refrigerator, and my gym bag by the door along with a note telling them that I will be going to the gym after work.

Anita texts me back asking if I’d like to meet her and Jane at the coffee house for lunch. How can I pass up a deal like that?

I end up using mom’s products again as I prepare for the day. I’m sure that the toothpaste and mouthwash are messing with my vocal cords since the pitch of my voice is, again, slightly higher today.

Maybe the floss seems to be having an effect as well. I may be hallucinating, but my jaw line seems a little softer this morning. It doesn’t seem so square. I take my daily selfies, and compare the face shots from the last few days. If you look closely, you can see subtle changes to my facial structure.

The topaz necklace rides a little lower again today and my shirt collar is definitely very loose. I will need to buy some shirts with a smaller collar if this keeps up.

----<0>----

As lunch time rolls around, I am happy to escape the office. Virtually everyone in the office asked me about my new hair style. The new pitch of my voice has not gone unnoticed either. One woman in the office suggested that my jaw didn’t look quite as rugged as usual. I met briefly with Jim and told him about my doctor’s visit. I think that he agrees that there is no stopping whatever is happening if this really is caused by the supernatural. If there is no way to stop the train, then we’ll just have to find a way to deal with the fallout. We both agree that it would do no good try to hide the obvious. How do you hide a change in gender? I just don’t want to make a big deal out of it. The sooner people come to grips with what is happening, the sooner we can move on.

As I am leaving the office to meet Anita and Jane, I receive a call from Dr. Lake. He wants me to swing by the office to donate more blood. Apparently, he is finding the current lab results hard to reconcile so he wants to try again. He is a little vague about what the issue is.

----<0>----

Anita and Jane are already seated at the coffee shop when I arrive. Jane’s daughter is noticeably absent. Apparently the little angel is spending time with her daddy today. Joanna arrives right after me.

Once we’re settled, Joanna opens the conversation, “Today’s note was pretty short.”

“It looks like you’re going to be changing your diet,” Jane adds with a smirks.

“And start getting some exercise,” Joanna smiles.

I am saved from responding by the arrival of the waitress.

I start to place an order for roast beef and onion panini sandwich and get an “oh no you don’t” look from my three companions.

“What would your mother say?” Jane asks with another smirk.

I sigh and order a green salad with avocado and chicken. I’m sure that I can pick up some junk food on the way back to the office if I am still hungry.

“And don’t stop off for junk food on the way back to the office,” Joanna cautions me as if she is reading my mind.

“So, it was yogurt for breakfast,” Anita picked up the prior inquisition. “How did that go down?”

“It was actually pretty good,” I admit. “You know, it seemed to be enough for this morning. I expected to get hungry by mid-morning, but I didn’t”

“That’s good,” Jane approves. “Anita and Joanna tell me that there are usually some changes around your house each morning. What happened today?”

I tell them about the return of mom’s personal hygiene product gifts.

“She must really want you to use what she gave you,” Anita commented. “Where did your Walmart stuff end up?”

“I don’t know,” I answer her, “I couldn’t find any of it.”

Joanna quips, “That trip to Walmart was a waste of time and money, as is usual for that place.”

I ignore her.

“What other changes did you find, other than the food?” Jane wants to know.

“Let’s see,” I ponder. “My hair gained another of couple inches.”

“It looks good,” Joanna interrupts.

“My voice has gotten a little higher,” I continue.

“It has,” Joanna interrupts again, “if this keeps up for a couple of more days, anyone hearing your voice without seeing you will think you are a woman. By the way, didn’t you have an Adam’s apple? There’s not much left now.”

I ignore her again and continue, “I found my gym bag all packed and by the door.”

“Did you check it out?” Anita asks. “Knowing what your mother is doing to you, you might find pink gym clothes.”

"Or a sports bra and yoga pants," Joanna adds.

This comment brings a chuckle to the assembled women.

“That would be cute,” Jane says with a smile.

“I don’t think so,” I don't find the humor.

“Please don’t tell us that you belong to that male chauvinist gym downtown,” Joanna almost begs. “What’s it called? Asshole’s Hardcore Fitness?”

“That would be Joe’s Hardcore Fitness,” I correct her. “And, yes, that’s where I go when I get around to working out.”

“I like my name for it better,” Joanna grumbles, “I represented his ex-wife during their divorce. Believe me, Joe is a certified asshole. Come to think of it, the idiot ex-husbands of many of my divorce clients have memberships there. You should find another gym.”

“You might be able to try my gym soon,” Anita smiles. “The Fitness Club for Women.”

“Bryan and I joined that national chain club,” Jane offers, “It is very reasonably priced and they go way out of their way to make everyone feel comfortable regardless of their experience or conditioning.”

I am noncommittal in my response, “We’ll see.”

Changing subjects, thankfully, Jane asks, “What new things did you find in the master bedroom? Isn’t there normally some new addition there?

“I didn’t have time to look there,” I admit. “I’ll do that when I get home tonight.”

“You will have to let us know what you find,” Joanna suggests. “This is an exciting adventure. Much more exciting than watching Law & Order reruns.”

“Maybe we could come see for ourselves?” Anita asks hopefully. “There’s not much else happening around here.”

“Can I come too?” Jane asks hopefully. “I bet that I can get Bryan to put Amy down.”

“I’m in,” Joanna invites herself.

Just what I need! It looks like I am this week’s entertainment.

“Sure,” I reluctantly agree. “I will text you all when I get home. It should be around 7:30 or there abouts.”

----<0>----

On my way back to the office, I stop by Dr. Lake’s office to give more blood and urine. I am given an appointment for after lunch tomorrow.

I don’t feel the need to supplement my lunch salad, so I skip my anticipated junk food lunch extender.

----<0>----

I should have checked the contents of my gym bag. While everything in it is technically for a male, not all the contents scream masculine.

Take, for example, the shorts. They are pastel baby blue. The T shirt is a very light grey with a math geek saying: “Avoid Negativity, f(x) = abs(x)”. As I said, they are made for a male, but with slightly different tailoring, the same clothes would look even better on a woman. The “Avoid Negativity” message doesn’t fit well in the particular gym that I belong to.

The clothes coupled with my, now shoulder length, brunette hair and higher pitched voice invite more than one jab at my masculinity by the owner and patrons of the club. It is not a pleasant experience.

As I finish up with some weights, which seem heavier than usual, I decide to look into that national chain gym that Jane and Bryan belong to. I am starting to see why women avoid this place and I wasn't even hit on. If I end up female I am sure that I would have to endure that additional indignity at this gym.

I wonder which is worse: the snide remarks about my increased femininity as a guy or enduring being hit on by arrogant macho men as a woman?

The only good thing about the experience was that I managed to work up a sweat (not hard to do with my poor fitness). I really need to exercise more often.

Instead of showering at the gym, I just gather up my clothes and drive home to clean up.

I send a group text/conversation to the girls as I leave the gym telling them that I will be ready for their company in 45 minutes. I send them the code for the garage man door in case I can’t get to the door when they arrive.

At home, before running upstairs for a shower, I look in my freezer for something to toss into the microwave for dinner only to find that my normal quick food items are gone. What I do find in the freezer is a homemade chicken and broccoli casserole just like mom used to make. It is accompanied by a note specifying how to heat it up. I hate chicken and broccoli casserole.

My beer is gone too. Instead, there is a bottle of white wine chilling in the fridge.

Lacking any better alternative, I pop the casserole in the oven to heat before dashing upstairs to shower.

The warm water feels great after the workout. If anything, my skin feels more sensitive than usual. The shower feels so good that I take longer than normal to finish up.

I am starting to get the impression that long hair takes more time to deal with than my usual short crop. There is a hair dryer on the counter that wasn’t there this morning but I am not certified to operate it. I skip the dryer and just brush out the snags in my hair after giving it a good rub with my towel. There are a lot of snags.

By the time I throw on a clean T Shirt and jeans, the ladies are already here.

I find them in the kitchen invading my space looking through my cupboards and refrigerator.

“Good evening, ladies,” I greet them with a hint of sarcasm as I head to the oven to retrieve my dinner. “Are you finding what you are looking for?”

“We’re just checking things out,” Joanna casually replies. She either didn’t get, or ignored, my sarcasm.

“You have a very nicely equipped kitchen,” Jane observes as she investigates the cabinet with various cooking implements. I haven't got a clue what most of them are for but decided not to get rid of them along with the other stuff. The engineer in me views the cooking implements as tools and you never get rid of tools. You never know when you will need one.

Anita is checking out the refrigerator. “I would have expected a bachelor to have more quick dinners and junk food. It looks like you have a lot of healthy stuff in here.”

“You should have looked in there yesterday,” I say dryly.

“Ah,” Anita says knowingly, “your mother has been busy today. I am seeing fresh fruits and vegetables, yogurt, grains, and healthy prepared meals. I bet there were frozen pizzas, frozen hamburgers, and other fast foods in here before today. And I’ll bet that you didn’t put that vase of fresh flowers on the breakfast table either.”

“You got it,” I tell her as I extract my dinner from the oven.

“That smells great,” Jane says with longing in her voice. “Is that chicken and broccoli casserole?”

I smile at her, “There’s enough here for four. Grab some plates and help yourselves. I am sure that, between you three, you know where everything is. Anita, can you get down some wine glasses? There is a bottle of white in the fridge.”

For the next half hour, we eat, talk, laugh, and generally enjoy each other’s company just like a group of old friends. I suppose that the three of them are, indeed, old friends but they generously include me as if I am just a normal part of the group. I can’t remember the last time that I had such a pleasant time with an intimate group of friends. I learn a lot more about my three guests as we chat.

It occurs to me, as we finish eating, is that I actually really liked the chicken and broccoli casserole!

As we finish up, I suggest that they go explore the master bedroom for new additions while I clean up the kitchen. Anita and Joanna are familiar with the room, having investigated it last night, so I figure that they can give the grand tour to Jane. I’m not sure that I want to see what may have appeared in the last 24 hours.

Anita decides to stay and help me with the cleanup while Joanna and Jane troop upstairs. The two women are still up there when we finish cleaning, so Anita and I go up to join them.

“What did you find?” I ask as we enter the room.

There is a very colorful array of clothing spread out on the bed.

“We found these in a drawer in the walk-in closet,” Jane explains.

To me it looks like an explosion of color. I can only guess at what some of the items are. “Tell me what we are looking at.”

“Well,” Jane gets the job of identifying everything for me, “we found a complete set of women’s exercise clothing. We have sports bras, crop tops, athletic panties, loose shorts, form fitting shorts that extend to mid-thigh, yoga pants, women’s tank style shirts, a few fitted T shirts, athletic socks of various types and a rather pretty set of trainers. They are all new, never been used.”

Joanna adds, “In the en suite, I found some hair ties and scrunchies that weren’t there yesterday.”

“And,” Jane continues, “I forgot to mention that there are a couple of leotards, a one-piece bathing suit, and a really cute bikini, all with the sales tags still attached. They are all from upscale brands.”

Jane gives me a close look, “Everything seems to be about your size, if you had the requisite body parts.”

I sigh, “It may come to that, I’m afraid.”

As one, the women engulf me in a group hug without saying anything. It is very comforting and almost makes me cry.

After breaking the hug, Jane says, “It has been a great evening, but I really should be getting home to tuck Amy in for the night. Karl, please keep me posted as this all unfolds. I am fascinated by the things that are happening to you. We know that it is not what you want, but just know that we are here to help you adjust.”

The other women express similar sentiments as they fold everything to go back in the drawer they found them it.

----<0>----

I see the women to the door and help them with their coats as they prepare to leave.

“I almost forgot,” Joanna says as they are heading out the door. “Are you still planning your football marathon on Monday?”

“Yes. Five of my guy friends have said that they’d be here,” I inform her. “And Sarah and Jim are coming. Are you still thinking of coming?”

“If the offer is still there,” she says hopefully.

“Sure,” I agree. “I’m supplying pizza and beer. Everyone else is bringing something to add to the debauchery. Come when you want, leave when you want. The first kick off is scheduled for 9 in the morning and there should be at least 12 hours of football. I should be up and ready to receive guests by 8:30.”

“Can I come too?” Anita excitedly asks.

“Sure,” I shrug my shoulders. “What about you, Jane?”

“Thanks for the offer,” she graciously declines, “but we have plans to spend the day with Amy.”

It looks as if my day with the boys is changing. I hope that they don’t mind. I better let them know that they can bring dates/wives with them.

 

The Twelve Days of Christmas - Day 5

The Twelve Days of Christmas By Tiffany B. Quinn It looks as if my day with the boys is changing. I hope that they don’t mind. I better let them know that they can bring dates/wives with them.

Friday Dec 30, Day 5

Today’s note is found, again, in my bathroom. Sitting next to the note is two types of moisturizing lotion; one in a large plastic bottle and the other in a small tube. There is also a small tub of cream with some French sounding name.

Good morning Karl,

Girls find rough skin to be unpleasant. Hands and feet are the worst. The cold winter weather you are experiencing will dry your skin out dreadfully. I suggest that you use the lotions provided. The larger one I would suggest that you use every morning, even though it says it is good for 48 hours. Take the smaller tube with you and rub it on your hands a couple of times a day. The lotions will keep your skin soft and supple. The smaller tub is something special just for your face. You should use it both morning and night.

Don’t neglect your exercise and remember to eat healthier than you have been.

By the way, your father says to tell you that you should talk to Jim about opening a structural department in the firm. That is your area of expertise. He thinks that your skill is being wasted on the minor structures incidental to the other projects and that you are more than capable of managing a small department.

Love, Mom and Dad

I hadn’t noticed it before reading the note, but my skin is feeling dry. As I examine the lotions, I can't help but wonder what changes they will either bring or that they foretell. I contemplate just ignoring mom's instructions again, but I get a feeling gently urging me to do as she suggests.

Resistance is futile.

Rereading the note, it occurs to me that the first sentence, “Girls find rough skin unpleasant,” could be interpreted differently from each of two perspectives. As a guy, I would assume that mom is trying give me a clue as to how to be more attractive to girls. Now that changes are happening, I can also see that if I were a new girl, mom is telling me a secret for making life better for myself as a woman. I can see, in the prior notes, where the meaning is different whether you are looking at it as a man or as a woman-in-training.

I am on to you, mom, I think to myself. But why are you doing this to me? I have never wanted to be female. Not once, that I can recall, has there been an instance where I even wondered what it was like to be a girl.

I am attracted to women just like any other man. Heck, I even lived with one for a few months.

That experience with Judy started out well. I suppose that we were both exploring the mysterious opposite gender. But then life/school got in the way, and she left me. I was upset when I found her stuff gone from our apartment and a note on the kitchen table, but on contemplation, she was probably right that I put my studies ahead of her too often. Engineering school is all encompassing and she found herself with many a lonely night while I studied or stayed late in a lab. After a few months without her, she was largely forgotten as I buckled down to fight my way through my last year of school. The point being that I have a general knowledge of female anatomy but never wanted to try it on for myself. I also have a working knowledge of the design of steel structures. I guess that I put both fields at the same level of importance.

That’s probably not accurate. I think maybe I put my engineering studies at a higher priority than my study of female anatomy.

Judy was a distraction the semester that we spent together and my grades suffered. After Judy left, I decided to put off starting another solid relationship until sometime in the future when I am established in my career. That day has not yet come.

My parents, particularly my mother, had tried to get me to readjust my priorities. It hadn’t worked. So, it looks as if they have found a way to reach out from the grave to force the issue.

So, I ask myself hypothetically, what would be wrong with being a woman? The women I know seem to not mind being women.

Before I can really delve into that question, I notice the time and realize that I will probably be a little late for work this morning. I will have to put off contemplating the answer to my question until later.

My hair now reaches a couple of inches below my shoulders. Drying it after my shower proves to be a disaster. I end up brushing it out damp and hastily get dressed, after quickly rubbing lotion on my body. I add the necklace under my shirt as I have been doing all week.

As I am wolfing down my meager breakfast of yogurt and skim milk, I receive a text from Anita on our group conversation asking if there was a note today.

I quickly run upstairs, photograph the note and lotions, and send it to the group. I do my daily selfies at the same time.

On my way out to my car, I notice my gym bag waiting by the door - again. Dang, I didn’t take time to wash my sweaty gym clothes last night. I guess that I will be a little ripe this afternoon at the gym! I am not looking forward to returning to my old gym, but a ripe smell will probably go down better than a sweet clean girly smell.

On the way to the office, my phone’s text notification sound kept pinging. Looking at my phone, after parking the car, I see that the girls were having a conversation about the impact of today’s note. Jane asked if we wanted to get together for lunch again today as she and Anita were going back to school next week and would no longer be available for a mid-day gathering.

I quickly text that I was game. Jane suggests the same place and time. Everyone quickly agrees.

Celeste gives me a look of disapproval as I pass her desk. “Mr. Bronson, if you are going to wear your hair long, you are going to need to learn how to take care of it. It will be a wonder if you don’t catch cold with that damp hair in this weather.”

“Yes, Mrs. Jenkins,” I reply properly chastened, “I will work on it.”

“And what is happening with your voice?” she enquires, “your voice has been changing all week. You sound more like a woman now.”

“It has been a rough week,” I tell her. “Is Jim available? I need to talk with him.”

“I’ll let him know that you want to see him,” Celeste informs me. “His schedule is pretty open today.”

----<0>----

“So,” Jim says contemplatively, “Your father thinks that it is time to expand. I have to admit that the notes, and what is happening to you, is creeping me out. Sometimes I think that you are making this all up as a way to cover up a purposeful transition to womanhood.”

“I assure you,” I respond, “that is not the case. I have never, not even once, contemplated becoming female. Also, a week ago I was your average geeky male engineer without a sign of femininity. How do you explain hair growth like this,” pulling at my hair, “and the change in my voice in less than a week? There is no way medically that these changes can happen this fast. And I can guarantee that I am still very much male where it counts. I am just a little more… what do you call it?”

“Androgynous is probably the word that you are looking for,” Jim informs me. “Okay, I get it. If you hadn’t kept me in the loop the past few days, I would be even more skeptical. What does your doc have to say about it?”

“I have an another appointment with him after lunch,” I tell him, “I had to give a second round of blood yesterday because the first lab results didn't make sense. Hopefully, he will have some answers today.”

“Well,” he says, “keep me in the loop. What do you think of adding structural design to our list of capabilities?”

“With all the new infrastructure money flooding the market,” I explain, “we would be more competitive if we can do more than the small incidental structures that have been a part of our current contracts. You know that I have done design work on a large high school, a shopping mall, and a few moderately sized office buildings before coming here. Since I’ve been here, it’s all been small stuff that is auxiliary to our other projects. Personally, I would like more opportunity to use my training and experience and I think that the time is right to expand the firm into that area. When I pass the licensing exam this spring, I should be able to take charge of any new structural projects.”

“You are a good kid and a damn fine junior engineer, Karl,” Jim complements me. “I am sorry that it took your parent’s deaths to bring you to us, but I glad to have you here. You have proven to be the fastest learning junior engineer that I have ever met, already becoming more capable than many engineers with a decade of experience. With a few more years of experience I can easily see you being ready to take over the management of the firm when I retire. You need that experience to gain the respect of the staff and our clients.”

“You and dad started this firm with not much more experience than I have now,” I point out.

“That is true,” Jim admits, “and we made quite a few mistakes along the way that almost did us in. Anyway, go talk with our one-person personnel office and work with her on recruiting a more senior structural engineer to work with you. I agree that the timing is good and we should start building your kingdom.”

“Oh, by the way” he adds, “What do you think of letting people go home early today if they want to as personal time off or unpaid leave? I don’t think a lot of work is getting done today.”

“I’m okay with that,” I say with a smile. “I still have a couple of things to do when I get back from my doctors appointment, so I’m not sure how early I will get out of here.”

----<0>----

Once the four of us, plus little Amy, are settled at a table, Anita excitedly asks to see my hands.

I have used the small tube of lotion twice already this morning.

“Has that ring of yours always been that loose,” Joanna asks as she examines my hands, referring to my Order of the Engineer band that I wear on the little finger of my right hand.

“I hadn’t really noticed,” I admit. “I don’t think it was that loose yesterday. Maybe it is because of the cold.”

Jane places one of her hands next to mine. “Hmm, your fingers aren’t as manly looking as Bryan’s but they are not as slender and soft as any of ours. I’d say that they are closer to being a man’s fingers.”

Anita huffs, “Well, duh! He’s only been using the lotion for a few hours. Let’s see what they look like tomorrow.”

“I guess that you are not going to be showing us your feet today,” Joanna states the obvious.

I just give her a look of “really?”

“What did you find in your master bedroom?” Jane asks.

“No time again today,” I reply.

“Oh boy!,” Anita exclaims. “Can we come over again to investigate?”

“Yeah,” agrees Joanna, “It’s either that or stay home and wash my hair. Karl, you are the best entertainment that this single girl has had in months.”

“That would be fine,” I agree. I didn’t have any plans either, other than going to the gym after work. “I need to go work out, but afterwards we can see what mom left behind. I’ll text you when I am done at the gym.”

I am not sure how I feel about being entertainment but I do get to spend time with two beautiful women. I know, I know, I indicated earlier that I didn’t care much for Joanna, but she is growing on me. As a friend.

“Jane, I am thinking of trying out that national chain gym after work.” I change topics. “How does it work?”

“Did you have problems at the Asshole Gym yesterday?” Joanna smirks.

“Let’s just say that they didn’t know what to make of me. I felt a bit out of place and uncomfortable there,” I admit.

Jane gives me an overview of the membership plan at their gym and what services and equipment they have available. She calls her husband and gets him to agree to take me as a guest tonight. I’ve met Bryan a couple of times before and he seems like a nice enough guy.

“So, Joanna,” I change the subject. “You said that your other option for tonight was to stay home and wash your hair. Funny that you should say that. I had a devil of a time trying to deal with mine this morning. Maybe you ladies can give me some tips on how to deal with this mop. A woman at the office loaned me a brush to straighten it out this morning since it was a mess when it dried.”

The rest of the lunch hour was spent getting an education on hair care.

As we are leaving, Anita inquires, “You remember my older brother, Sam?”

“Yes,” I remember him. He was two years ahead of us in school. “Didn’t he get married, join the Air Force and go to dental school?"

“That’s right,” she confirmed, “Well he has been home this week looking into joining a practice here. His wife died unexpectedly last summer from a brain tumor and he wants to move closer to home when his commitment to the Air Force is done next summer.”

“I didn’t know,” I say with compassion. Losing parents is tough, but a spouse? That must be more than hard.

“Did they have children?” I ask with concern.

“No,” she says sadly, “They had just found out that they were pregnant when she died.”

She shakes off her sadness and asks, “Can I bring him to your football party? He has been very depressed and withdrawn since Karen died and I think that it would be good for him to mingle with other people. He used to love football, but not even that excites him these days. I am not sure that he will come, but I want to ask him. He needs to get out some before he has to leave on Wednesday.”

“What’s another body,” I shrug and smile. “Tell him that he is welcome if he arrives with a six pack of beer.”

This party is getting out of control!

----<0>----

“Okay, Doc, am I going to live?” I always wanted to say that!

He rolls his eyes an suppresses a grin, “Yes, but the question is how you will live.”

“Give it to me straight, Doc.” It is hard to pass up on the cheesy lines.

He gets more serious, “Your urinalysis and blood test are perfectly normal, for the most part. The only problem is that they are normal for a woman your age. Your hormone levels match a female profile instead of that of a man. This is very odd, since you do have the male parts that generate male hormones and don’t appear to have the female organs that generate female hormones. We will be checking that today with an ultrasound. Given these strange results, I had a chromosome check done with yesterday’s blood draw. I am happy to report that you are definitely male, having both X and Y chromosomes.”

With that introduction, we go through the weigh, measure, and prod business again. This time we add an ultrasound.

“What did you find?” I ask when told to put my clothes back on.

“The ultrasound is normal, for a man,” he starts out, “so we can rule out the possibility of you being intersexed. We still don’t know the reason for the hormonal imbalance. You’ve lost another ten pounds in two days. Even if you were fasting, you wouldn’t have lost that much weight in forty-eight hours. You are eating, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” I confirm, “but maybe not as much as usual and I am eating more healthy foods. If we go with the assumption that somehow my deceased mother is behind all this, then it must be her who has restocked my refrigerator and pantry with healthier foods. What is even more strange, is that I like what she's given me. For example, I came home the other night to find a broccoli and chicken casserole waiting in the freezer. When it came out of the oven, it smelled heavenly and tasted great. I hate broccoli and chicken casserole, particularly mom’s, so why do I find it appealing all of a sudden? The mysteries of this week defy explanation.”

“There are also the mysteries of your phenomenal hair growth, no more facial hair, and the continued reduction of your Adam’s apple, which explains your more feminine voice,” he added. “You are also an inch shorter than you were a couple of days ago. If I understand the history correctly, your first note said that all this would come to head on the 6th of this month."

"Can you think of anything that would stop this train?" I ask.

"I’d give you a testosterone shot," he tells me, "if I thought it would help. Unfortunately, if your story is real, I don’t think that a shot would do any good. Medical science has yet to address how to counter supernatural influences. Also, I am not an endocrinologist and I am not willing to give a shot if I don’t really know what the source of the problem is.”

Consulting his calendar, he continues, “The sixth is a week from today. I’d like you to make an appointment for then and we’ll see where you end up. Have the receptionist block out a double time slot at the start of the day.  In the meantime, call us if something drastic happens or you find yourself in pain and we will work you in, even if I have to do it after hours.”

“I will do that,” I promise.

----<0>----

Back at the office, I update Jim on the doctor’s findings and take Celeste aside and spend time telling her the whole story of my week. She already knows part of it and doesn’t believe me at first, however when I show pictures of the notes and “gifts” and explain about my voice and hair growth, she starts to come around.

----<0>----

I just barely make it to the gym at the appointed time to meet Bryan. Walking in the door I am a bit overwhelmed by all the purple with yellow trim, but the big sign on the wall declaring this to be a judgment free zone is reassuring. I am gob smacked by the huge array of exercise equipment available. After logging me in as his guest, Bryan shows me to the locker room where I am almost afraid to open my gym bag.

I am pleased to find my exercise clothes, while being the same as yesterday, are actually clean and neatly folded. I smile, hoping that this service doesn’t end on January 6th. Sitting on top of the clothes is a plain hair rubber band like thing. Which is very helpful now that my hair is down to the middle of my shoulder blades. It doesn't take a genius to figure out how to make a low ponytail.

What is really cool, was that no one gives a second look at my ponytail or at what I am wearing. After an hour of sampling the equipment, I am ready sign up for a membership, though I decide to put it off until my changes are complete.

Before leaving the gym, I send a text letting the ladies know that I am on my way. Anita texts back that she is bringing Chinese again.

----<0>----

Joanna and Anita are both pretty excited to see what has appeared in the master bedroom but control themselves through dinner. As we eat, we continue to discuss hair care in more detail than we did at lunch.

My hair has continued to grow through out the day and now extends almost to the bottom of my shoulder blades. The John Denver look is now only a memory. No matter how you look at it, my hair now definitely girly. I have started parting my hair in the middle and find myself doing that little flick of the head thing that girls do to flip hair out of my face. It is annoying. At work, I found that I needed to tuck hair behind my ear on occasion to keep it out of my face when looking down at my desk. I really need to keep a comb or brush with me to keep it straight during the day. When I mention this to the girls, they have suggestions.

“What you really need,” Anita says in a serious voice, “is a purse to carry your supplies with you during the day.” She shows me hers then empties it out on the table. She packs quite an array of supplies in a relatively small purse, most of which even I can identify.

There are the keys and wallet that you would expect. She also has a large-toothed comb. Like me, she has fairly straight hair, but hers is longer by about four inches. I wonder how long it will be until I catch up with her?

She also carries a tube of moisturizing hand lotion similar to what I received this morning, lipstick and lip gloss, and a few items that I take to be makeup. A small mirror is with the makeup.

There are also what can only be tampons, sanitary pads, and a spare panty. Oh my god, are those in my future?

She also carries her cellphone, a small note pad and a pen, breath mints, a small pocketknife, fingernail clippers, nail file, and a few other miscellaneous items.

“That’s a lot of stuff to put in that small bag,” I say in wonder. “I just carry a wallet and keys that fit nicely in my pants pockets. My cell goes in my shirt pocket.”

“You guys have it so easy,” Joanna mutters with slight disgust in her voice. “We need to carry more things around than you guys do. Also, our clothes usually don’t have any useful pockets. Our body shape makes functional pockets more difficult. Take your shirt’s breast pocket, for example. The pocket itself may look okay on a woman, but try putting something in it and things look very awkward as our breasts get in the way. Jeans back pockets are a little more functional, but the roundness of our bottoms and general tightness of our jeans make them less functional than a man’s. In other styles of pants, back pockets just totally destroy the look. So, if we want to carry things, a purse is pretty much a given.”

Anita agrees, “I’ve been carrying some type of bag, purse or small backpack, since I was twelve or thirteen. Most women I know have at least half a dozen different types for use in different situations or with specific outfits.”

I sigh, “If mom has her way, I’ll probably have a collection of my own soon. I do have a messenger bag that I use to carry my computer, papers, minor office supplies and such that I can’t carry in my pockets. I’m guessing that that is a step towards carrying a purse.”

“Not really,” Anita disagrees, “You don’t carry it around with you all the time. I bet you just carry it to get stuff to and from work.”

“True,” I admit.

“Say,” Joanna reminds us, “speaking of your mother, why don’t we go find out what surprises she dropped off today.”

When we adjourn to the master bedroom, we actually don’t find anything new. That seems strange so we widen our search.

The house has four bedrooms upstairs with the two bathrooms. Downstairs we have an entryway hall, fair size living room, a large den, the kitchen with breakfast nook, a formal dinning room, a small office, a powder room, and a mudroom with laundry facilities adjacent to the door to the two-car garage. There is a large unfinished basement with some storage, a small shop, and project workspace. It is a pretty nice house with lots of room for us to explore. It is definitely larger than I need.

We hit paydirt in the entryway hall closet. On the shelf above the coats, there are three purses of various types. I am pretty sure that they were not there after I purged the closet of my parents things. One of the purses, a black nylon crossbody shoulder bag (or so Anita tells me), is already stocked with many of the same supplies that Anita showed from her bag. Right down to the tampon and sanitary pad. There are no panties in there. I’m not sure if I should be happy about that.

“Nice bags,” Joanna says appreciatively as she looks through them. “They are all new. This is a nice starter collection that will cover most situations.”

“And of great quality too,” Anita observes. “The stuff in the black nylon crossbody bag seems to be brand new. The small wallet, however, is empty. I guess that you will need to transfer the cards and money from your wallet when you start to use this.”

“You two must be in tune with mom,” I am a little amazed. “We’re talking about purses and here they are. That is a little creepy.”

“This whole thing is creepy,” Anita happily grins, “I’ve always wanted to be involved in something supernatural.” She is practically bouncing up and down when she gives me a quick hug. “Thank you so much for including us.”

Joan just rolls her eyes and shrugs, “Yeah, it is kind of fun.”

After a thorough examination of the purses, we decide to adjourn to the den to watch a show after cleaning the kitchen and making some microwave popcorn. I get a running commentary from the girls as we watch “Mrs. Harris goes to Paris.” They occasionally pause the film to explain how a woman feels about things when I don’t seem to fully appreciate the significance of Mrs. Harris’s actions/desires.

Anita has me sit on the floor in front of her so that she can play with my hair while we watch the show. She experiments with several looks and ends up putting my hair in a loose braid as the show comes to an end.

"You know, Karl," Anita idly observes, "I think that your hair has grown another inch just since you got home. The extra length makes it easy to braid."

“If you do this before going to bed,” she educates me about the benefit of my current braid, “your hair won’t be a tangled mess in the morning.”

“You will have to teach me how to do it myself sometime,” I tell her. “Tonight, is probably not the right time as I am so tired.”

“Look it up on Youtube,” Joanna suggests. “There are tons of hair and makeup videos on Youtube.”

“I will do that,” I assure her.

Both of them give me a hug as they go out the door.

“Your braid looks nice. Don’t take it out until morning. You will text us in the morning with the next mystery, right?” Anita asks hopefully.

“No problem. I can hardly wait,” I reply with more than a hint of sarcasm.

----<0>----

As I get ready for bed, I take a personal inventory while staring in the bathroom mirror rubbing on my new moisturizer. The image staring back at me looks like a slightly softer version of my former self. I pull up a recent image that was taken as a publicity shot for the firm and compare it to what is in the mirror.

My skin is definitely clearer and softer, and my jaw line is not so rugged. It is more rounded. My Adam’s apple is virtually gone, and my neck is definitely more slender than what I have in the publicity photo.

My brow does not appear to be as pronounced as it was and my cheeks and lips appear to be fuller. My eyes are slightly less deeper set and maybe even a little bigger. It is hard to tell for sure, even looking at the photograph of my former self.

I can’t really see any drastic changes in my face, but the overall effect seems to make me appear to be more effeminate than I did at the start of the week.

My daily selfies confirm the gradual transformation. While my face is still basically masculine, the subtle changes so far are having me look vaguely like the sister that I don't have. I definitely sound like her, if she had a contralto voice.

My face is not the only thing changing. My shirt today, while the right length seems made for someone broader than I am now. The collar is definitely at least an inch too large, and the shirt is baggy on my shoulders which don't seem so broad any more. My arms have lost a lot of mass making the cuffs on my long sleeve dress shirts much looser than normal. I had to cinch up my watch band another notch today. I’ve had to do that with my belt as well since my waist appears to be slightly smaller than it was.

My one ring now rests on my dresser top since it is now too big and fell off my finger during my shower this evening. Examining my hands, I find that my fingers are definitely more slender than when we had examined them at lunch.

The only real body hair I have left is under my arms and in my groin area. There is still hair on my legs and arms but it so fine, you hardly notice it. I do notice that my legs are starting to show a hint of feminine shape.

My braided hair, touching just below the bottom of my shoulder blades, is now longer than that of many women I know. I wonder how long it is going to get. At least it is growing out nicely in an orderly fashion after Caroline's trim. It is hair that any woman would be proud of. Too bad I'm not a woman... yet.

As I finish rubbing the new moisturizer on my face, I can’t but wonder if there is some element in the cream that is accelerating the feminization process. I also rub the general moisturizer wherever I can reach. My skin is definitely smoother and softer than it was a week ago.

Strangely, and fortunately to me, my main male defining feature seems to be unaffected so far. If anything, it might be slightly more manly than before all the other changes happened. It definitely responds quickly to stimulation.

I head for bed wondering what tomorrow will bring.

I take off the topaz necklace and set it on my nightstand. I am positive that there is a very slight glow emanating from the stone after I turn off the light.

The Twelve Days of Christmas - Day 6

The Twelve Days of Christmas By Tiffany B. Quinn I take off the topaz necklace and set it on my nightstand. I am positive that there is a very slight glow emanating from the stone after I turn off the light.

Saturday Dec 31, Day 6

Being Saturday and New Years Eve I have a double reason to stay in bed this morning so I take advantage of the opportunity and don’t start moving until the decadent hour of eight o’clock.

Before rolling out of bed, I lay looking up at the ceiling trying to decide whether to think about all the things I need to get done today or about the deeper meaning of everything that has transpired in the last week. I am also fearing what new joys I am waking up to this morning.

Eventually, a coordinated assault by my bladder and stomach move me from my warm bed.

I don’t see a note in the bathroom as I take care of urgent needs. There is no doubt in my mind that a note exists somewhere in the house this morning. I wonder where it will be today?

As I wash my hands I look at myself again in the mirror. All the changes that I noticed last night seem slightly accentuated. The most obvious being that my hair is now almost to the middle of my back. Brushing out last night’s braid proves to take some time but it is not as bad the mess that I've had to deal with the last few mornings.

I am happy to see that I am still all male where it counts. That is reassuring, but I suspect that changes will occur there before the end of next week.

I wander down to kitchen for another light breakfast. I settle for dry whole wheat toast and coffee and find that the meager meal is sufficient.

There is no note in the kitchen either.

Surprisingly, a cursory search of the rest of the house does not turn up a note.

Anita sends a text on our group conversation asking about today’s gifts. I respond to the group that it appears that today is a bye since I haven’t found a note yet. The three ladies all express disappointment and strongly suggest that I send them the details when I do find something. They are all convinced that a note will show up at some point today.

Thinking of my to-do list, I head up to shower and to get ready for the day.

Today will be a cleaning day. I also need to stop by the liquor and grocery stores to stock up on beer and other treats for Monday’s party. Remembering tonight's New Years gathering at Jake and Sarah's house, I add finger foods to my shopping list.

After showering, I return to my room to find, sitting in the middle of my bed, a package with a note by it. On top of the package is a box of condoms. Mom was here while I was in the shower. I can't say that I am surprised by the intrusion.

The package label declares itself to be a four pack of “Womens Cotton Boxer Briefs Boy Shorts Panties with a 4.5” inseam”. I can see the four pastel colors through the wrapping: baby blue, light green, pink and orange (probably peach).

I pick up the note, curious to see what mom has to say about this morning’s gifts.

Dearest Karl,

As you have already concluded, you are indeed transforming into a female. There is a reason for this. It will all come clear on the day of Epiphany. You will still be a functioning male for a few more days, so if you want to have one last sexual fling as a male, I suggest that you get to it. Maybe you can talk one of your new single girl friends into some casual sex. I can understand if they aren’t interested, but women have sexual needs too and both of them have been alone for some time now. Just be sure to use the condoms when you do have sex. Pregnancy is best reserved for a committed relationship where the child can be raised by loving parents.

Anyway, you are probably wondering about the women’s underwear. These are the most masculine panties that I could find to help you with your transformation. They should be comfortable enough, even with your male equipment, and not look overtly feminine.

As you may have noticed, your father hasn’t been helping with the feminine aspect of your changes. Men are so nervous about all things feminine. Regardless, he sends his love and fully supports what is happening.

Know that we both love you dearly,

Mom

There is no way that I will send this note to the ladies! However, knowing that they will never forgive me if I don’t say something, I text them that a note and gifts appeared in my room while I was showering. I confirm that mom admitted to my feminization and told me that I would be female by the end of the week. I send a picture of the package of underwear with the text.

Jane: Where’s the note?

Me: I am not sending it. 2 personal.

Joanna: Girl friends share everything with each other.

Anita: That’s right girl friend (soon 2 be). We are here for you. Send the note.

Me: R U sure? You will probably be sorry.

I get a resounding Yes back from all three.

Me: You asked for it. And to be clear, I am not propositioning anyone here. Mom is.

I text them all a picture of the note. While I wait for replies, I start getting dressed for the day.

A quick peek in my underwear drawer shows that my male boxers gone. No real surprise there. Sighing, I decide that the feminine boxers are the only option, short of going commando, for now and slip on the baby blue pair.

The lady boxers don’t fit too well, they are loose around my butt and snug around the waist, but they are not uncomfortable. They are very stretchy and conform reasonably well to what shape that I do have. The only real issue is the lack of an opening up front. I will have to take them down to urinate. I suppose that that will be a fact of life soon anyway.

Pulling on some old comfortable jeans (now somewhat too big since I lost so much weight this week) and a sweatshirt, I start into a thorough cleaning of the house.

I remember to take my selfies before starting the housework.

----<0>----

By noon, the entire house has been vacuumed, the sheets on my bed are changed, the floors without carpet have been mopped, the kitchen cleaned, the house dusted.

While in the master bedroom, I checked for new gifts. Sure enough, my mother’s old underwear drawer has a generous supply of brand new women’s panties in various styles, fabrics, colors, and patterns, all neatly folded and arranged according to some system that I can't quite figure out. The appearance of feminine underwear in mom's drawer is not really a surprise as I was sort of expecting to find it after the gift of underwear I received earlier.

I still haven’t heard anything back from the ladies. They are, strangely, being quiet about today's note.

There are two major bowl games on this afternoon. Both games are semi-finals for the college football national championship with the winners going to the championship game on January ninth. I finish my house cleaning before the first game between Michigan and TCU begins. Strangely, once I am settled in to watch the game, I find that I not as captivated by the contest as I would have expected and use the time to neatly fold my laundry while absently watching the game.

At half time I decide to make a quick trip to the store to finish my shopping for Monday's party. I run up against a problem when I try to hide the length of my ponytail under my winter coat. It turns out that wearing a pony tail under your coat is not exactly comfortable. The coat pulls at the hair as I move around. I am tempted to let my hair hang outside my coat, but I am more willing to live with the discomfort than show my glorious hair to the world.

While busy in the house, I have ignored the weather outside. As I pull out of the garage, I find that it is lightly snowing again. There is already a new inch of the stuff on the ground. The weather report on the car radio says to expect another inch before the storm passes later today. Not a lot of snow, but enough to mess up traffic.

What is it with people that makes them turn into idiots (more than usual) behind the wheel when there is a little snow on the road?

The stores are crowded with seemingly the whole town getting supplies for tonight’s festivities.

I had notified my original football party guests that our gathering was going to be coed and that they were welcome to bring a plus one with them. Surprisingly, all of them had welcomed the change and are bringing dates. The party is going to be crowded and I need plenty of supplies. The car is well loaded with numerous bags of assorted chips, a couple of vegetable trays, dips, and a variety of non-alcoholic drinks as I head to the liquor store. I ask the female clerk about beers that might appeal to my women guests and end up buying a couple of cases of a French beer described as being “light but super flavorful, fruity, very refreshing and easy to drink”. The clerk assures me that the ladies will love it. Of course, I don’t neglect getting a variety of our more traditional beers for the guys.

----<0>----

I am in the middle of my shopping when I next hear from the ladies. I was beginning to think that they had all run for the hills after reading mom’s note.

Joanna’s text simply asks: Karl, are you going to Sarah and Jakes’ party tonight?

I reply in the affirmative.

Joanna: I will see you there.

Jane: You 2 enjoy yourselves.

Anita: I will come tomorrow afternoon to help you prepare for Monday's party.

I breathe a sigh of relief. It seems that they were not offended by mom’s note and are just ignoring the sex part. I am okay with that, even though part of me finds the thought of a romp in bed appealing. It would be a good way to spend the rest of the weekend. This weekend is also likely to be the last time I can enjoy such pleasures as a man.

Soon after I get home the snow lets up, so I spend time clearing off the drive and walkways at my house and my neighbors. I end up missing most of the first quarter of the Georgia vs. Ohio State game.

----<0>----

“Why are you wearing a wig?” Sarah asks me in confusion when she greets me at the door.

I realize that I haven’t kept her and Jake in the loop this week. My now really long low ponytail is very obvious.

“It is not a wig,” I assure her, “And it is a long story.”

“It certainly looks long,” she quips. “There is no way that you could have grown it out that long in a week. And what has happened to your voice?”

We are interrupted by the arrival of another guest.

“I will tell you about it later,” I promise her.

About ten minutes later I run into Jake who has been off finishing up some party preparations.

“What’s with the hair, man?” Jake curiously asks as he welcomes me to the party. “And have you been losing weight? You look different, dude.”

“It been a really strange week,” I tell him.

“Oh wow,” Jake exclaims, “What happened to your voice?”

I just sigh. I suspect that everyone is curious.

Joanna chooses this moment to appear from the kitchen where she has been helping Sarah with the snacks. She is dressed to the nines, looking hot in a rather short cocktail dress. I look pretty casual by comparison, wearing nice slacks and a shirt that hangs loosely on my shoulders.

“Karl has been having an experience with the supernatural this week,” she tells Jake in a voice loud enough for all present to hear.

The conversations around us suddenly stop.

Joanna continues, looking at me with a grin on her face. “His mother has been writing him notes from the grave every day. She has also been slowly making some changes in his life. She says that the changes will continue over the twelve days of Christmas. The hair is only one of the changes, but it is phenomenal. What you see has all grown out this week. If you look at him closely, you will notice other changes. According to his mother’s notes, he should be a she by this time next week.”

“Thanks, Joanna,” I reply sarcastically as I blush a bright red.

“Show them the pictures,” Joanna encourages me.

Her announcement starts a round of very embarrassing questions. In the end I relate the whole story, leaving out mom’s suggestions from today’s notes. I do end up having to pull out my phone to show the pictures of the notes and gifts from the week. I delete the pictures of today’s note and gifts before passing my phone around for people to see.

“So, Karl,” Jake asks, “is this why Monday’s party coed?”

“Partly,” I admit. “Also, I’ve been spending time with Joanna and Anita this week and they wanted to come. They’ve been a big help assisting me with dealing with mom’s shenanigans.”

The responses to the announcement are interesting. There is a faction that is intrigued and wants to know the details of the transition. Others give me some distance, maybe afraid that it is contagious. Others aren’t convinced that this is a supernatural experience. This group seems convinced that I am transitioning with hormones and that I will be getting surgery this week.

The supernaturalists point out that there is no way that I could have grown this hair in a week by either natural or chemical means. Several women take a close look at my scalp and confirm that it is all my own hair and not hair extensions. My now feminine voice is also held up as evidence of the supernatural. Several people are forward enough to feel my throat to confirm the loss of my Adam’s apple.

People start to look closer. My closest friends notice that my face has changed and that I seem to have lost a significant amount of weight. Someone notices the looseness of my shirt collar and how my shoulders no longer fill out the shirt. I sort of look like a girl wearing her boyfriend’s shirt except that I don’t have any of the curves of a woman.

After about an hour of being the main event, people start to wander off for other discussions. I am a little surprised at how fast the novelty seems to wear off.

Once the crowd dissipates, Joanna comes up to me and whispers in my ear, “Are you wearing your boy short panties?”

I roll my eyes, “As if I have a choice.”

“This I have to see,” she says with a gleam in her eye. “Mind if I sleep over at your house tonight, big guy?”

I am gob smacked and don’t know what to say.

“Cat got your tongue?” she asks seductively.

Rebooting my brain, I reply as nonchalantly as possible when shaken to the core, “Sure, there’s plenty of room and I will show you mine if you show me yours.”

“It’s a date,” she grins back at me before wandering off to visit with some other guests, leaving me in shock. I really thought that mom’s suggestion was asking too much of my friends.

Before I can really process what just happened, an old school friend of mine, John, approaches me, “You look like you just been broadsided, buddy. What did she say?”

“It was nothing,” I replied shaking off my shock. “She is just trying to shake me up.”

“It looks like she succeeded,” John laughs, “So tell me more about this transition.”

John and I chat for a while with him asking all sorts of questions about my transition and how I feel about it, some of which I haven’t suitably addressed myself yet. It is only after he moves on to another conversation that I remember that John went into Journalism in college and now works for the local weekly paper, such that it is. I hope that my transition doesn’t make the local gossip column. Both of their subscribers might actually read the article.

----<0>----

It is a couple of minutes to midnight when Joanna appears next to me and slips her arm through mine.

“Are you ready for some fireworks, stud,” she seductively whispers in my ear. “I’m really looking forward to helping you celebrate the end of your manhood. How about we slip out of here after the midnight hoopla? You head out first and I will follow about 10 minutes later.”

My response is interrupted by everyone counting down to the beginning of the New Year.

When the countdown concludes everyone grabs the nearest member of the opposite gender for a kiss. Joanna about sucks my lungs out as her tongue finds its way into my mouth. Her hand also finds its way to my crotch where she gives my hardened manhood a squeeze.

“There’s more where that came from,” she grins a hungry grin before wandering off leaving me to conceal an uncomfortable bulge in my trousers.

I wait until the first guests start to leave before making my excuses and head for the door.

“Hey Karl,” Jake says as he shakes my hand, “Sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk.” He has been busy taking care of the dozen or so guests all evening. “This transition stuff really sucks. Maybe we should talk about this more at your party on Monday.”

“Will do,” I tell him, “I really need to talk about all this with a guy for a change.”

I walk out the door to what promises to be an interesting second half of the night.

The Twelve Days of Christmas - Day 7

The Twelve Days of Christmas By Tiffany B. Quinn “Hey Karl,” Jake says as he shakes my hand, “Sorry we didn’t get a chance to talk.” He has been busy taking care of the dozen or so guests all evening. “This transition stuff really sucks. Maybe we should talk about this more at your party on Monday.” “Will do,” I tell him, “I really need to talk about all this with a guy for a change.” I walk out the door to what promises to be an interesting second half of the night.

Sunday Jan 1, Day 7

Light is already streaming into my parent’s bedroom window as I awake to someone spooned up behind me and stroking my stiffened manhood. Neither one of us has clothes on.

I am suddenly fully awake trying to figure out what’s happening.

A soft feminine giggle sounds in my ear, “Are you awake now, lover?”

It takes a couple of seconds to orient myself. I am in my parent’s bed with a woman. A smile starts to spread across my face as I recall the after party. Joanna has turned out to be a very lively and imaginative bedmate. And yes, she did show me hers when I showed her mine. I think that we went through about half a dozen condoms before falling into an exhausted sleep. I didn’t think that I had that much stamina.

“I am now,” I tell her as I roll over to gaze into her smiling face. “But I really need to use the facilities.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” I beg her, “I will be right back.”

She is sitting up leaning naked against the headboard waving another condom at me when I return. “Are you up for another round?” she grins at me, “There is something else that I would like to try.”

There is only one thing a guy can say in a situation like this: “Yes!”

----<0>----

An hour and a half, and two condoms, later I finally cry uncle. There is only so much that a guy can produce! She just smiles and informs me that I don’t have to penetrate her to bring her to climax, then guides me in ways that I can bring her satisfaction without penetration.

----<0>----

By 11 AM we are laying in bed, both exhausted from our late night and all morning sexual gymnastics.

She rolls over on an elbow and takes a long look at me.

“What?” I ask her.

“I was watching you sleep this morning,” she tells me. “When I looked at you covered, you looked just like a woman sleeping. When I reached under the covers, however, I found a very pleasing male appendage. I am amazed at your changes over so short of a time. How can you be taking this transformation so calmly? Aren’t you freaked by what’s happening to you?”

She reaches under the covers to again stroke my manhood. It feels good, but there is nothing left in the tank, so to speak.

“For one thing,” I say rolling over on my side and reaching out to fondle one of her breasts, “What you are doing now isn’t going to bring life back to my cock. You’ve drained every drop out of it.”

“Just so you know,” she tells me with a smile as I roll a nipple between my thumb and forefinger, “if you keep doing that, you will have to follow it up with some more intense activity.”

I let go, but give her erect nipple a soft kiss before leaning back to look at her. She maintains her light grip on my flaccid cock.

“You ask me why I’m not more freaked out by these changes,” I respond to her question. “For the record, I am at least mildly freaked out. Before Christmas, the thought of changing gender had never entered my mind. In fact, I have rarely given gender much thought at all. It just hasn't been a priority.

"Over the years, I have included quite a few girls and women in my circle of friends and valued colleagues but not because of their gender. Then Judy came along. Judy was a failed experiment in a gender centered relationship. After the fiasco with Judy, I guess that I see intimate relations as distractions from getting established in my career. You may have been partly right the other day when you said that I was an asexual geek.”

“Didn’t you have crushes on girls when we were in school?” she asks with curiosity.

“Sure, I did,” I admit, “But mostly you all scared me.”

“Scared you?” Joanna looks confused. “How can that be?”

“Take yourself, Joanna,” I use her for an example. “You always came across confident and in charge.”

I give her nipple another soft kiss.

“Like our time in bed together,” I continue. “You have to admit that you have taken the lead in our sexual experimentation. Sure, I suggest a few things, but you know what you want and how to get it. Sometimes, in school, you came across a little overbearing. You were scary. I have to admit that I avoided you even though I did have a crush on you for a while. I was surprised the other day when you admitted to having had a crush on me. I have to admit that I was just a little heartbroken when you took up with that football player, Bob. When he started to brag about taking your virginity, I was very disappointed that you’d take up with such a jerk. Anyway, yes, you and most other girls intimidated me.”

“So, what does this have to do with my original question?” She looks confused. “Why aren’t you freaking out?”

“As I tried to say, since I was intimidated by girls and had a bad intimate relationship in college, I haven’t ever made a big deal about gender. It has been easier to treat everyone as people. Gender, race, orientation, none of it has ever really mattered to me. My priorities have been focused on my career and getting the job done since as long as I can remember. I judge people on how well they work together and how much they contribute to their team. I am guessing that, since gender never really enters into my relationships with others, then why should my gender matter?

“As I have thought about all this, if nothing else, I am learning about a whole new culture. It is like cracking another problem. I like problem solving and adjusting to a new reality is another interesting problem to solve, even if it is unexpected. Does this make any sense to you?”

“Not really,” she admits, “Most guys I know would be freaking out about now. They would be turning every stone trying to find a way to stop and reverse the changes. I don’t know if I could cope nearly as well as you if I were to transform into a man.”

“Even if it is out of your control?” I ask.

“Especially when it outside my control,” she says emphatically. “I really don’t like other people forcing me to do anything. I’ve had enough experience with people telling what I can and can’t do because I am a woman. Many of those same people, mainly asshole men, seem to think that they can dictate my life just because I am a female. I am proud to be a woman. I get great pleasure out of sticking it to the Neanderthals that some women insist on marrying.

“Not only that, but I like being feminine. Not for some man’s sake, but for my own. I like pretty things. I like dressing well. I like being free to express my feelings. I like the closeness of women friends. As near as I can tell, men rarely have friendships as close as women do.”

“You might be right about the friendships between men,” I admit. “I don’t have any really close friends who I can share things with. Jake suggested that he and I have a chat at tomorrow’s party, but I can guarantee that, if it happens, the talk will be superficial. And his is my best friend!

“However, when I think of my parents, I think that the relationship between a husband and wife can be stronger than any other bond, if they nurture it. I just don’t know how to do it, and haven’t made establishing such a relationship a priority.”

“Obviously,” she sighs, “I don’t know how either. I have a rather poor track record with men. If great sex were the main criteria for a marriage, then you and I should go see a preacher today. Last night, and this morning, have been mind blowing. I don't have a lot of sexual experience, but I can't imagine it getting any better.”

“It has been fantastic,” I agree with a grin as I reach out to give her breast a fondle.

“Most women that I represent tell me that their relationships started out with great sex,” Joanna tells me as she playfully swats at my hand. “However, how a couple treats each other outside the bedroom seems to have more impact on the strength of the relationship. My own parents had that problem. Mom tells me that she fell head over heals in love with Dad when they first met and they had a great sexual relationship when they got married. Then, not long afterwards, Dad started treating mom more as an employee/slave. He never got physically abusive and was a great provider, but he was emotionally distant, taking more interest in things outside the home than in her. They sort of drifted apart. Mom eventually established her own support network separate from the family. I was the youngest child and when I graduated from High School, they had nothing left in common. One day, my mom came home from work realizing that there wasn’t anything there for her anymore. She was getting more satisfaction out of her work and hobbies that did not include dad. She didn’t need him anymore. Without talking to him, she rented an apartment and moved out one weekend when dad was off on a hunting trip with his buddies. She tells me that he probably wouldn’t have noticed she was gone except no one was fixing his meals or cleaning his clothes.”

“That’s sad,” I empathize with her. “My parents both worked hard to put each other first. Their relationship was not always smooth, but they worked together to fix the rough patches.”

“Well, lover,” she smiles at me and giving my cock a playful squeeze. “The sex has been great, but we are a long way from establishing the type of relationship your parents had. If your mothers’ notes are anything to go by, we won’t have time to develop such a relationship.”

“Speaking of notes,” I sigh, “As much as I love laying around with a beautiful naked woman, maybe we should get cleaned up and go looking for today’s note.”

She gives me a soft kiss then giggles and races to the bathroom. I soon follow and we clean each other in the shower. It takes a bit longer than I usually take.

After our shower she shows me how to appropriately dry my hair. We have more giggles moisturizing each other’s bodies.

We both stand naked in front of the mirror before getting dressed.

"Karl," Joanna observes, "I am sure that you look a lot more feminine than you did when we got here last night. Your face is a much better match for your voice and long hair. Definitely a woman's face. Not exactly pretty, but if the changes continue on their current trajectory, you should be really cute."

Looking closely at our reflections, I sigh. "The scales say that I've lost almost forty pounds in the last week. My overall body structure seems to be more feminine except that I don't have your curves."

Joanna grins as she reaches over to fondle my cock, "Not everything is feminine. And you don't look at all pudgy anymore. I will have to hate you if you turn out like a supermodel."

"You have nothing to complain about," I assure her as I give her a playful pat on the bum. "You were always one of the prettiest girls in our class and nothing seems to have changed that. You were so sexy at the party last night that you had pretty much all the guys lusting after you. I was happy to be the lucky one to take you to bed. I saw Jake get an elbow in the ribs from Sarah at least once when he stared at you a little too long."

She smiles and gives me a quick peck on the lips, "Thanks for the complement, lover, it is nice to know that your eye sight is suffering too!"

Joanna has brought some casual clothes for herself. I pick out my light green boy short panties and cover them with the same jeans and sweatshirt I wore for house cleaning yesterday. My jeans don't fit right as they are way too big around my waist, so I end up switching to more comfortable sweat pants with a draw string.

I add today’s selfies to my growing collection of self-portraits.

Today will be spent putting the finishing touches on the preparations for tomorrow’s football binge.

Once dressed, we go in search of today’s note and gift.

We find two notes. One is beside a pair of girly socks and a flannel nightshirt in my bedroom laying on the twin bed. The other is accompanied by a small box with a bow on it.

Dear Karl,

Your dad and I are so happy that you have gotten closer to Joanna. She is a special woman. But then again, so is Anita. They will both be great friends, as will Jane, as you settle into your new reality. Treat them well and they will stand by you in your trials, as you should stand by them in their times of need.

The weather is getting colder. When you are home alone, nothing makes a girl feel cozier than a warm nightgown, fun warm knee socks, and a cup of hot chocolate.

Love, Mom

The note for Joanna reads:

Dearest Joanna,

We can’t tell you how much we appreciate you assisting Karl with his transition. He will soon need to adjust his legal identity. We hope that you will help with that.

Please accept the gift as a show of our appreciation for all that you have done for Karl.

With love, Karl’s mother

P.S. Keep your heart open. Your soul mate will soon cross your path and if your heart and mind are not open to new possibilities, then you might just miss your chance.

Opening the box, Joanna finds a topaz necklace. While not exactly the same as mine, the two are obviously similar. Her necklace also has that slight glow that I have noticed in mine.

“I don’t know if I should wear this,” Joanna eyes the jewelry suspiciously. “After all, look at what yours is doing to you. I’m afraid of it.”

I laugh, “I can understand that!”

I photograph the notes and my new clothes then text all but Joanna’s note and gift to our group conversation.

Jane: Nice. The nightgown looks very comfy.

Anita: I want one too!

Taking a look around the master bedroom, we find a dresser drawer with a wide variety of sleepwear. Everything from comfy flannel nightgowns to flimsy see through baby-doll nighties (with matching panties). It would seem that I now have all the sleepwear that a girl could want. The sock drawer is also full of a large assortment of foot coverings.

We work together to change the sheets on last night’s bed and toss them in the washer before fixing a light brunch of coffee, fresh fruit, toast and yogurt. We spend the time chatting about our work lives and what we like to do in our spare time, not that either of us have much of that as entry level professionals. We know a lot more about each other when we are done.

As we are finishing the kitchen clean up and start to organize snacks for tomorrow, the doorbell rings.

Opening the door, I am surprised to see Anita standing at the door with an overnight bag in hand.

My surprise must have been evident as she gives me a small smile and finger wave, “Hello Karl. I hear that you are having a sleepover. I can’t wait to see you in your new nightgown.”

Joanna comes up behind me, “Hey girl friend, you are early. Come on in.”

“Early?” I asked confused as I help Anita with her coat once she is inside.

“Yes, Karl,” Joanna says with her normal confidence. “We flipped on it yesterday to see who got you first. I won. Tonight, it’s Anita’s turn.”

“I hope you didn’t wear him out,” Anita gives Joanna a mock glare.

“I don’t think so,” Joanna grins back at her. “He recharges quickly.”

“Wait a minute here,” I say confused. “You both wanted to sleep with me?”

“Of course,” Anita says as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. “As your mom said in yesterday’s note, it has been a while since these two ladies have had their sexual itch scratched. What safer way to do it than with a great guy who is not going to be trying to claim us as his property just because we had sex with him?”

“Neither of us are normally into casual sex,” Joanna informs me, “but you are a special case.”

“Well, Joanna,” Anita seems to ignore me, “What do you think?”

“Mind blowing,” Joanna grins. “He’s really good at doggy position.”

“That is one of my favorites!” Anita claps her hands in glee. “I can hardly wait.”

I wonder just how many condoms I have left.

As if reading my mind, Anita pulls a new box of condoms out of her purse. “I hope that I brought enough!”

The ladies just grin at each other.

I wonder if I will be up to the challenge. I am almost looking forward to the change in gender. It might be easier being on the receiving end!

----<0>----

I get a couple of hours to recharge as we finish up preparations for the big event tomorrow. We work together to take down the Christmas tree and return all the decorations to their boxes in the garage, then we do a thorough cleaning of the downstairs rooms.

Once the girls declare that all is ready, Joanna fondles my stiffened cock through my pants as she gives me one last kiss. “Don’t go easy on her,” she whispers in my ear, then heads out the door.

Anita looks like a little girl eager to open her Christmas presents. The door is hardly closed before she starts running her hands over my body. She eagerly starts to work my pants off me. I soon discover that she isn’t wearing any underwear under the long skirt she is wearing today.

We don’t even make it upstairs for the first round. It is amazing what a couple can do on the living room couch.

As evening settles, we surface long enough to fix a light chicken pasta dinner with a green salad. It turns out that Anita makes an amazing Caesar salad. We play around feeding each other across the breakfast table while we talk about a wide range of topics, just getting to know each other better.

“Karl,” she says, “Thanks for letting me stay over. You are doing a lot to restore my faith in men. My last boyfriend was almost enough for me to give up on your gender.”

“Glad to be of service,” I smile at her.

“It is too bad that you are becoming a woman,” she says with a sigh. “There are not enough good men out there for us single gals. Sure, there are plenty of men who are good at sex, or think they are and want to prove it, but not many who know how to treat a woman with respect. You have always treated the women around you as equals. Do you know how rare that is?”

“Joanna was saying something about that this morning,” I mention.

“Yes, she should know,” Anita agrees. “She has to deal with scumbags every day. At least she gets to stick it to them.”

“Do all women have as low of an opinion of men as you and Joanna?” I inquire.

Anita just shrugs her shoulders in reply.

----<0>----

After dinner, she insists that I slip into my new nightgown and socks. She has a similar arrangement. After I am dressed, she lifts up the nightgown and critically examines the lay of my green panties.

“Not the best fit,” she comments. “Your butt is too small, your waist too big, and that bulge up front really destroys the image.

"If you are going to become a woman your body will need to go through a lot more obvious changes than it has. Some curves and breasts will be necessary. You won’t be able to hide a nice pair of breasts under your dress shirt. I think that your changes of the next few days are going to be awkward.”

“I thought that you liked that bulge up front,” I smile at her.

“Oh, I really do,” she grins back. “But not on a girl and in that nightgown, you look more like a woman, except for the flat chest. You have a face, arms, legs, hands, and feet that are more woman than man. It’s all the stuff in the middle that is desperately in need of updating if you are going to be a female.”

We curl up on the couch together sipping hot chocolate and watching some romantic classic. I don’t see much of the movie. We lose our clothes at some point and I love licking strategically applied whipped cream from her body. She particularly likes it when I get to some sensitive places and apply the techniques that Joanna taught me for pleasing a woman without penetration.

She gets to experience my skill with the doggy position too. Several times.

As we fall asleep in each other’s arms later that evening, I think of how good it is to have friends.

The Twelve Days of Christmas - Day 8

The Twelve Days of Christmas By Tiffany B. Quinn As we fall asleep in each other’s arms later that evening, I think of how good it is to have friends.

Monday Jan 2, Day 8

It is Game Day.

I expect my first guests to arrive shortly after 8:30 AM in anticipation of the 9 o’clock kick off of the Reliaquest Bowl in Florida.

The alarm goes off at 6:00 AM, just like a workday. It is doubly hard to get up this morning after a long weekend with short nights.

We only have time for sex once in the shower as we get ready for the day. Anita seems genuinely disappointed that there is not time for more.

As we playfully dry each other off, Anita takes another close look at my body.

“You know, Karl,” she informs me, “I think that you are now more female than male. Your voice is now about the same pitch as mine. You sound 100% female. I think that we can also safely say that your face is pretty much there too. You look like a female version of your old self from the shoulders up with a really cute, upturned nose and beautiful almond shaped eyes that are to die for. I can’t wait to see what they look like with mascara and eyeliner. Your lips are a little plumper too - I think guys refer to lips like yours as being kissable. I am sure that your shoulders and chest are not as broad as they used to be. Your torso may be a bit shorter too and you have lost a lot of weight. Also, I think that your hair growth has slowed. It is only grown a half inch or so since I arrived yesterday. It is now down to the small of your back - a good length for a woman who likes long hair.

“Have you ever heard the term ‘Shemale’?”

“Yes,” I sigh, “when I look in the mirror that is what I see. It is pretty weird. A woman with a penis, no shape, and no breasts. It must be difficult for you when we are making love.”

“It is,” she admits, “a truly unique experience. When I see your face or hear your voice, I think woman, but when I feel your wonderful cock thrusting into me, all I can think is: here is a man who really knows how to use his equipment. I think that that is why I like doggy position best; I feel you but don’t see the woman behind me.”

She takes another long thoughtful look at me, “I bet that if we put you in a loose gown and a bra with something to fill the cups out, that everyone would think that you are just a tall woman. I would guess that you are about 5’ 9”, not an unreasonable height, just taller than most women.”

“Interesting assessment,” I relent with a sigh.

Looking in the mirror, I have to agree with her.

“Do you want to try it?” she asks hopefully.

“Not today,” I try to dampen her enthusiasm. “It is game day. It is time for comfortable clothes to lounge in front of the TV with.”

She pouts at me then changes the subject, “Where will we find your note today?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I shrug.

Pulling on our nightgowns, we go searching for the today's note.

We soon find two notes in my old bedroom just as Joanna and I had yesterday.

Mine is accompanied by a pair of women’s Sketchers walking shoe sneakers, a pair of multicolor feminine athletic knee socks, my pink boy short panties, a light grey pair of femininely tailored sweatpants, and an oversized football jersey from my alma mater.

“It looks like your mother has chosen your clothes for today,” Anita observes. “This is so cool. It would be nice to have my own supernatural assistant to make sure that I have what I need each day!”

“What does your note say?” she asks curiously.

Dear Karl,

Give Anita a hug for us. She is another very special woman. We appreciate her efforts to help you with your adjustment. There is still a lot more that she can teach you about being a woman since I won’t be there to guide you.

You will find the clothes that I laid out for you to be very comfortable as you and your friends binge on football today.

Love, Mom

A package similar to the one Joanna received yesterday is sitting with Anita’s note.

Dear Anita,

Thank you for being such a wonderful friend to our child. You are a very special lady with a big heart, which is why you are such a great teacher.

Please wear our gift to you often and good things will happen soon.

With Love, Karl’s mother

Anita’s present turns out to be a topaz necklace, almost identical to Joanna’s.

The topaz sparkles as Anita holds it up to the light for inspection. “Very pretty,” she admires the necklace.

“Joanna got one too,” I mention. “She is leery of wearing hers, afraid of what it might do to her.”

“She just likes to worry,” Anita dismisses Joanna’s concern as she puts on her new necklace.

“Oh, look at the time!” I exclaim.

I quickly photograph the notes and my pile of clothing and send the daily text out to Joanna and Jane.

Jane: It looks as if our newest sorority member is going to be comfortable today.

Joanna: See you soon.

----<0>----

We spend the next hour getting dressed, changing the sheets on the bed, and generally clearing all the evidence of our debauchery. Today, Anita takes my daily images for me. They are much better than the selfies that I have been taking.

As she is emptying the bathroom waste basket, she points to the small pile of used condoms.

“You know,” she says thoughtfully, “If you deposit some of your sperm in a sperm bank, then later you could use it to become the mother of your own child.”

“That is assuming that I become a fully functional woman,” I point out.

“I think that your mother wants grandkids,” Anita informs me with a grin. “I am pretty sure that you will be worrying about falling pregnant before too long.”

"Well," I tell her, "IF I ever fall pregnant, the baby will have two loving parents, not one. There is no need to save the sperm, though it is an interesting idea."

----<0>----

It is when we peek in the master bedroom walk-in closet that we find the rest of today’s gifts. The previously empty shoe rack is filled with various styles of footwear. I am not looking forward to learning to walk in the heeled shoes, even though Anita assures me that none of them are all that tall.

"There isn't anything over three inches here," she points out. “Being a tall woman, you don’t need anything bigger.”

There is also a box on a shelf containing an array of nylon hosiery.

Looking in the underwear drawer, we find a couple of garter belts.

“Sexy,” Anita smiles as she holds one up for inspection. “And look, there are coordinated bikini panties and bras to go with them. And a thong too.”

Further investigation shows that my old male socks and shoes are all gone. Oh well, I think, the shoes have been getting looser every day. I’m sure that they would no longer fit my newly femininized feet.

----<0>----

Under Anita’s supervision, I work at braiding my hair. She braided her hair in less than a minute. She patiently works with me as I struggle with mine. I get it close enough to right on the fourth try.

“It will get easier the more you do it,” she assures me. “When you get the basics down, I can show you how to French braid your own hair. It looks much more sophisticated.”

I sigh as I think about all the new skills that I’ll be learning over the next while.

We are just finishing up my hair lesson when the doorbell rings announcing my first guest. It turns out to be Joanna.

“Hey there lover boy,” She winks at me, “or should I say girl? You are looking a lot more feminine today.”

Turning to Anita, she asks with a grin, “Did you have a good night?”

“It was amazing,” Anita confirms with a very satisfied smile.

I just blush.

Hugs are shared all around, and the girls head into the kitchen to check on the snacks or, more likely, to compare notes on their recent sexual experiences. Women are like that, I hear.

I can hear giggling from the kitchen.

The next guests are a guy from work with a date. He is about four years out of school, like me, and should be sitting for his professional licensing exam with me in April.

It turns out that the woman accompanying him is not his date after all.

“Is this Karl Bronson’s house?” my coworker/employee asks when I answer the door. He is holding some kind of casserole dish.

“Come in George,” I sigh and hold the door open and take the food from him, “Who is your friend?”

“This is my sister Diana,” looking confused, he introduces his companion. “Are you Karl’s sister? You look a lot like him.”

“Nice to meet you Diana,” I greet the pretty brunette and introduce myself. “I am Karl Bronson, and no, I don’t have a sister. I’ve been undergoing a supernatural transformation over the past week.”

“No way,” George exclaims. “I was with you in a meeting last Tuesday and you were definitely male then. What happened? Are you on hormones or something?”

Diana looks me over thoughtful, “There is no way that hormones can change a guy into a girl in less than a week, George."

Addressing me, she says, "Karl, I am a nurse and everything I know about hormones says that there is no way that you can create such a feminine facial appearance with just hormone treatment. It takes surgery. Lots of surgery. And there is no way that you would be recovered if you had had surgery since your meeting on Tuesday. You have to be Karl’s sister.”

Joanna and Anita show up while Diana is talking.

“We can certify that this is Karl,” Joanna grins a mischievous grin, “Anita and I have been seeing him almost every day for the past week, watching the transformation take place. We have checked him out thoroughly.”

“Very thoroughly,” Anita says with a sly grin.

Joanna pats me on the butt and points out, “No woman has a bum this small.”

Anita runs her hand over my chest, “No woman has a chest this flat.”

Joanna gets a questioning look on her face and runs her hand over my butt again. “Karl, I think it is growing!”

I blush and swat their hands away, difficult to do when balancing a casserole dish on one hand. I make it work particularly when Joanna starts to reach for my crotch. “Down ladies. Why don’t you two take this into the kitchen?”

They both pout for a moment before breaking out in giggles as I hand them the casserole. “Spoil sport.”

“Anyway, don’t mind the two psychopaths,” I finish the greeting. “Make yourselves comfortable. We have a snack buffet in the kitchen, beers and sodas in the refrigerator, with more on the deck in a cooler. We have two TVs going and you have your choice of seats since you beat everyone else here. The bathroom is down the hall there on the right.”

The guests filter in as the first kick off time approaches. I go through variations of the same explanation which each new arrival. Some of my guests were at the New Year’s party so they aren’t quite so surprised by my appearance, though they are surprised to see how much I've changed in just over of a day and to see me completely decked out in women’s clothing.

I endure the comments and inquiries, all the while hoping that the novelty wears off soon and that we can just focus on the games.

I am in the kitchen working with several of the women arranging the snack buffet, when Diana says, “I’m sorry, but I just can’t call you Karl. You don’t look like a Karl. Do you have feminine name?”

“Ah, no?” I reply slightly taken aback. I should have thought of this.

Another of the women eagerly suggests, “I think that you look like a Heidi. You kind of look like a Heidi that I once knew.”

I scrunch up my nose at that suggestion. I knew a Heidi in grade school, and she was a prissy little drama queen. Nope. Heidi won’t work.

Just before Mississippi State and Illinois lineup for the kickoff of the ReliaQuest Bowl, the snack buffet is ready to go, and we have a list of five names that might just work. Diana suggests that we have a poll at the end of the day to suggest the winning name, giving us all day to see how each name fits.

I slip off to the office and quickly print off ballots with the five names. When people are ready to vote, they can check their preferred name and drop their ballot in a crystal bowl by the buffet.

This should be interesting.

----<0>----

The last to arrive, just after the opening kickoff, is Anita’s brother Sam. I hadn’t paid much attention to him while growing up because he was a couple of years older than me. But what I do remember of him was that he was also some kind of science geek. I don’t remember him being anybody outstanding. He wasn’t an athletic star. he wasn’t in student government. For the most part it seems to me that he was just an average sort of guy. I do remember that Anita always looked up to him. I doubt that he remembers me even though I took his sister on a couple of dates.

When I open the door, I can’t help but think that the guy standing on my doorstep with a case of beer is really handsome, not that I am into that sort of thing. He must be six foot plus and seems to be in really good shape. He has a short military haircut that seems to suit him.

“Welcome,” I greet him with a smile, “You must be Anita's brother, Sam the dentist.”

He gives me a funny look. “Yes, I am. You must be Karl. Anita has been talking about you for days now. You know, you don't look much like the guy that she dated a couple of times in high school. You are a guy right?”

“Yes, I’m a guy,” I assure him with a frown, “but not for much longer, or so I’m told.”

“Or so you’re told?” He looks confused. “Don’t the doctors know when they will be done with you?”

“The transition should be complete by Friday,” I inform him, “according to my deceased mother. And, no, this is not a medically supervised transition. It is just happening all by itself, whether I like it or not.”

“Anita said something about supernatural forces at work,” he says, “but she is always going on about supernatural phenomena. It is not something I can believe.”

“Well until this last week, I didn’t either,” I assure him. “However, the evidence is that I have gone from being a normal male to this,” I wave my hands over my body, “in just a week with no medical intervention. Along with the physical changes, there have been a lot of other events that cannot be rationally explained. Being the center of all this change, I now find it hard to believe otherwise.”

“At least the fates have been kind to you,” he compliments me with a wink and a smile. “You have a very lovely face.”

Now that is something that I have never heard before! I’m not sure how to take it. I just blush and direct him to the game and food.

Anita sits down next to me during the first quarter of the game. When there is a break in the action, she whispers to me: “What did you say to Sam? I haven’t seen him smile since Karen died. He smiled at you at the door. I saw it.”

“I’m not sure,” I admit quietly. “We talked a little about trying to believe, or not believe, in supernatural phenomena. I told him that I didn’t believe until all this happened to me. He said that the fates have kindly blessed me with a lovely face.”

“OMG,” Anita gasps, “he was flirting with you!”

“No, he wasn’t,” I hiss at her, “He was just being nice.”

“To quote the teen girls in my class,” Anita whispers back, looking excited, “He SO did!”

“Keep it down ladies,” Jake grumbles. “They’re going for a long field goal.”

Anita pokes me in the ribs and grins.

----<0>----

USC takes on Tulane in the Cotton Bowl on the living room TV an hour after the start of the ReliaQuest Bowl, resulting in a division amongst my guests. A few wander back and forth between the rooms, trying to keep up with the developments in both games.

There is a rush to the bathrooms at half-time for the first game. I allow the women to use the upstairs bathrooms and the men are relegated to the downstairs powder room.

When the women don’t reappear, I head upstairs to find out what is going on.

I find Joanna and Anita holding court in the master bedroom, regaling the other women with tales from the past week. I don’t think that they’ve got to the part of the sleepovers. I really hope that they skip that part.

“Can we show the ladies what your mother has left you?” Anita almost begs.

The underclothes, jewelry, personal hygiene products, shoes, exercise clothes, nightwear, swimwear all get examined in detail by the local fashion experts.

“Where are the bras?” One woman asks.

“I don’t see any makeup either,” someone else observes.

“And there is no outerwear here,” Another woman who actually works in our office observes. She came as a date of one of my long-time guy friends. “Karl, you really don’t have anything to wear. No slacks, blouses, skirts, or dresses. What are you going to wear to work tomorrow? With your face, hair, and now slender build, there is no way you can go to work as a man.”

I just shrug, “Jamie, I was thinking about working from home until all the changes are complete. You know, just hide away this week. I may use some vacation time. Most of the office took last week off so it must be my turn now.”

My home office is actually as functional as my office at the firm. Dad set it up with all the latest communications equipment when the pandemic started. I have full access to the servers in the office and the teleconferencing set up is state-of-the-art. I can easily work from home to avoid being a mid-gender freak in the office for the week.

“That could work,” she admitted. "but you’d miss out on all the office gossip and we couldn’t help you adjust to your new reality. I think that you will find that being a woman engineer in any firm, including ours, is an uphill battle.”

“Not that our firm is bad,” she quickly clarifies her statement. “The management is actually quite supportive, but let’s face it: the construction industry is still controlled by misogynist Neanderthals. You will discover this rather quickly when your transition is complete. As a matter of fact, you will have it worse as the assholes treat transgender women even worse than natural born women. They won’t be comfortable around you. Just you wait and see.”

Joanna gets a gleam in her eye, “That’s just it, Karl is not actually transsexual. He is not voluntarily making the transition and we expect that he will become a fully functional she by the end of the process. I can hardly wait to defend her in her first discrimination suit.”

“That’s just it,” Jamie huffs, “The most dangerous assholes know the rules and are very good at finding ways around them. If you complain, it comes back to bite you. They paint you as either incompetent or militant. You can’t win.”

“Ladies, Ladies,” I interrupt the developing argument. “I think the second half is starting. We can continue this later.”

“It is only football,” Diana snorts waving off my attempt to change the topic. “This is real life.”

“Well,” I inform the group, “I want to see the game. You are all welcome to hang out here if you like. I am going downstairs.”

As I am walking out the door someone mutters, “She’s still a guy inside.”

----<0>----

A little way into the third quarter, the women come downstairs and join the revelry around the game.

As the end of the first game nears, I sneak off to the kitchen to put casseroles in the oven to warm. Anita follows me out to help. Or so she says. What I think what she really wants is to talk about her brother.

I am down on my hands and knees to retrieve some pans from the bottom cabinet when I hear a gasp behind me.

“What’s wrong?” I ask Anita.

“I don’t think that Joanna was joking when she said that your bum was filling out,” She informs me. When I stand up, she runs her hands down my sides and over my bum. Finally, she looks around and finds us alone, before feeling my crotch.

“Well, doctor,” I say dryly. “What is your conclusion.”

“You are definitely changing again,” she tells me. “It’s not much but you are getting some shape. I’ll bet that your hips have expanded at least an inch and your waist has shrunk about as much just this morning. Having spent time with your bottom last night, I can say that it is not quite the flat men’s bottom that I enjoyed so much in the shower this morning. You still seem to have your male equipment, but I don’t think that it is what it was earlier. We need to check it out.”

I feel myself up and come to the same conclusion. “You are probably right. However, in case you haven’t noticed, I have a house full of guests and they are finding their way into every nook and cranny.”

“Everyone is downstairs now,” she observes, “Let me grab Joanna and we take a quick run up to your room. The women are more interested in the master bedroom than your bedroom. We can find some privacy there. This won’t take but a minute.”

I finish filling the ovens, then head upstairs to soon be joined by my two girl friends.

“Drop ‘em,” Joanna insists, “We can’t be gone long.”

I pull down my sweats and pull up my shirt.

“The panties too,” Anita directs.

Oh well, they both have intimate experience with every inch of my body, so I pull down the panties too.

“He’s definitely has a hint of curves,” Joanna critically observes. “Not much yet, but it is coming.”

Anita and Joanna both run their hands over my naked bottom.

“Definitely a little fuller,” Joanna observes.

“Definitely,” Anita agrees. “It was smaller when I was pulling him closer to me last night.”

Joanna starts to fondle my penis and balls, getting the expected reaction.

“Well at least that still works,” she sighs.

“Yes,” Anita smiles at the memory of last night. “But I think that it has shrunk a smidgin.”

Joanna stokes my penis as she observes, “I am pretty sure that you are right.”

“Joanna,” I say uncomfortably, “If you keep that up, I am going to come.”

She grins as she gives it one last light squeeze. “That would be a waste.”

The two women, finally leave to head downstairs as I breathe deeply to come back from the edge. Eventually, little Karl deflates and I can tuck myself back into my underwear.

No one seems to notice that we were gone during the final minutes of the game.

----<0>----

When the first game ends, there is another mass exodus to the toilet facilities, then people start to fill plates in the kitchen. There is still a bit of time before the start of the next game and small conversation groups spring up around the house.

One of the things that I notice is that my buddies are drinking a lot less beer that I expected. I suspect that the presence of the women might have something to do with. I also noticed that there were a lot less observations about cheerleaders than last time I watched a game with just the guys. I can’t say that I am disappointed with the change in the general demeanor. When you get a bunch of guys alone at one of these events, there is a lot more macho behavior than what I am seeing today. In a male only gathering, a lot more beer disappears and there is a sprinkling of lewd comments about the cheerleaders. The presence of women in our midst is definitely having a civilizing influence.

After the crowd has filled their plates, I take a moment to sit by myself at the breakfast table. Just as I am sitting down, Sam wanders in and fills his plate then joins me at the table.

“I don’t get it,” he says as he takes a bite.

“You don’t get what?” I ask, though I am pretty sure that I know what he doesn’t get.

“That you are really a man,” he says.

“Well,” I reply, “that’s up for debate. I may be more woman than man at this point. The changes are continuing.”

“Your beautiful face, neck and shoulders are all very much female,” He informs me of something that I have already observed.

He reaches across the table and lifts one of my hands, “Your hands and arms are slender like a woman’s too.”

I look at my hands and arms and find that he is right. If I were a hand model, there would be no doubt that my hands belong to a female. I also doubt that these arms have the muscle to press as much weight at the gym as they did a week ago.

“Doesn’t this freak you out?” he asks. “You seem to be taking the changes calmly in stride.”

I shrug. “You are probably right. I’ve been busy and haven’t taken the time to think deeply about it. But what does it really matter? Gender seems to make a huge difference in our roles in life, but then again, so does our race, nationality, height, weight, personal disabilities, wealth, and a myriad of other factors. Each factor has an impact on our lives and how people perceive and treat us. But is one set of factors preferable to another? I am sure that most people learn to adapt to their particular set and would feel uncomfortable if any one of their factors were changed without their permission.

“So, my gender changes. Sure, that is a major factor in who I am, but I am still a privileged white with a good education and resources to do pretty much anything that I want. I still have a great job and good friends. I am still an only child who has inherited their parents’ wealth on their untimely death. I still like football and other sports. While I am experiencing a major change, there are a lot of things that are still the same.

“My parents tried to teach me that who you really are is not defined by gender, race, nationality, or many of the other factors that people judge us by. My parents told me many times that it is what is in my heart that really matters, none of the other stuff. Is it in my heart to treat other people fairly? Is it in my heart to be concerned for the welfare of my community? Is it in my heart to love and support the good people around me? Is it in my heart to be the best engineer that I can be? Is it in my heart to be an ethical businessman? If not, then it doesn’t matter where you come from, who your parents are, or what your gender is. Being a cheat and a liar is not gender dependent. Being a bully or just an arrogant selfish person is not gender dependent. Being good at engineering, or dentistry for that matter, is not gender dependent.

“So, if the things that really matter are not gender dependent, then why should I be upset by this change that is apparently being driven by a power that probably knows more than I do. I can’t see the future, but based on what I’ve seen this past week, there is someone or some power that can either see our futures or at least predict it accurately. I have to believe that this someone or power is benevolent.

“So, that’s a long answer to your implied question. Yes, I think that I am taking it all in stride. Have I had a deep desire to be female? No, the concept never crossed my mind until last week. I didn’t ask to become female. Do I mind? Yes, but only because I don’t know why this change is happening. I never asked to be male either - it just was.

“While I’m on a roll, there is another thing that influences my reaction to these events. People often complain about how unfair things are and they often wallow in self-pity. Last year at this time, my parents were killed by a drunk driver on their way home from a New Year’s party. Was that fair to me or to them? No. Can I change it? No. No matter how much I want them back, they are gone. There is nothing that I can do about that. I went into a very dark place after they died. My grief counselor helped me realize that there was nothing that I can do to change the past and bring them back. He helped me to see that I need to let my anger go if I am to move forward. I learned to not sweat the things I can’t change, but to find ways to move forward to happiness, often going around the obstacles by doing the things that I can do. He taught me to embrace change.

“In this situation, the changes that are happening to me I have no influence over. Or at least we haven’t found a way to change me back or stop the progress. I can either vainly fight the change and be miserable or I can embrace the change and look for the silver lining.”

When I finally stop, Sam just stares at me with an expression that I cannot interpret.

“Wow,” he finally says. “That’s quite a philosophy. My grief counselor has been trying to get me to move on since my wife’s passing. I don’t think that I have made as much progress as you.”

I reached out across the table and put a comforting hand on his.

“It’s probably a byproduct of my engineering practicality,” I smile at him. “Give it some time. You can do it.”

Tears are forming in his eyes. I must have touched a nerve or memory.

He starts to say something, but we are interrupted as some of my guests come in looking for snacks before the next game starts.

I give his hand a squeeze before getting up to assist my other friends.

----<0>----

The rest of the day passes without further discussion of my situation, which is fine by me.

I do notice that Joanna and George are in frequent conversation with each other. They really seem to be clicking.

Joanna takes me aside at one point to ask me about him. When I enquired why, she said that he has asked her on a date for Friday night. She wanted to make sure that she wasn’t accepting an invitation from an asshole.

Anita apologetically leaves after the second game. While classes don’t start for another week, she still has teacher stuff to do in the morning. I think that she is mainly feeling a bit worn out by last night’s gymnastics.

----<0>----

When the final whistle is blown, Diana retrieves the voting bowl.

Tapping on a glass with a spoon to get everyone’s attention, she announces, “We all agreed this morning that Karl is no longer a Karl and needs a new name. Karl agreed to five possibilities as long as they all started with the letter K so that she doesn’t have to change her initials. The five names on the short list are: Kali, Karla, Kyla, Katelyn, and Karlene. Joanna, will you help me count the ballots?”

She pulls the ballots out of the bowl and, with Joanna’s help, quickly stacks them by choice.

“And the winning name is…” some idiot does a drum roll on the counter, “Karla!”

“I can live with that,” I accept the selection as everyone cheers.

That’s easy enough, just add an ‘a’. Fortunately, it was my first choice.

Everyone congratulates me on my new name.

Joanna texts the verdict to Jane and Anita.

----<0>----

Several of the guests pitched in to help with cleanup before heading home. It would appear that the party was a success as everyone seems to be in great spirits.

Not unexpectedly, Jake and I never did get around to the promised talk.

By nine o’clock, everyone is gone except Sam who helps me haul trash to the garage and to vacuum the downstairs.

“Thank you, Sam” I say with sincerity. A very tired sincerity. “I really appreciate the help. I wasn’t looking forward to spending tomorrow evening vacuuming.”

“That’s good,” he said with an equally tired smile, “because I have a better plan for tomorrow evening.”

“A long hot soak in a Jacuzzi followed by a massage?” I ask dreamily.

“Well,” he admits, “probably not that good of a plan.”

He nervously shuffles his feet as he asks, “Karla, would you go to dinner with me tomorrow?”

That stops me cold. Dinner with a guy? A date? I’m pretty sure that I am not ready for that.

Seeing my hesitation, he adds, “I really enjoyed our chat earlier and I’d love to continue it. There’s a quiet little restaurant in a quaint old home on the outskirts of town, The Carriage House. Have you heard of it?”

Have I heard of it! You bet I have. It’s just the place couples go for a romantic evening. People dress up to go there.

As the women observed earlier, I have nothing to wear!

“Yes,” I finally say with indecision in my voice, “I know the place. You know that I’m not really a woman?”

“Not yet,” he smiles, “but you will be. I have to head back to my posting in Germany on Wednesday, so this is the only time we have to continue our conversation.”

I still hesitate.

“It would mean a lot to me,” he says hopefully.

“I have nothing to wear,” I point out.

“I am sure that Anita can help you out, if your mother doesn’t,” he counters, acknowledging the supernatural assistant in my life.

I did enjoy his company earlier. And he has been very attentive all day, not to mention extremely helpful this evening.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” I finally say with caution in my voice, “but I will tentatively say yes. If I can’t find something appropriate to wear, or I come to my senses by morning, then I will need to cancel.”

“Great!” He smiles like he won the lottery. “I made reservations for seven o’clock. I’ll pick you up a little after six thirty.”

“You what?!” I exclaim. “When did you make reservations?”

“A few of hours ago when I decided to ask you.”

----<0>----

I am exhausted when I finally slip into my new flannel nightgown and fall into my own bed.

As sleep creeps up to me, all that I can think of is: what I can wear for my date with Sam!?!?

 

The Twelve Days of Christmas - Day 9

The Twelve Days of Christmas By Tiffany B. Quinn I am exhausted when I finally slip into my new flannel nightgown and fall into my own bed. As sleep creeps up to me, all that I can think of is: what I can wear for my date with Sam!?!?

Tuesday Jan 3, Day 9

Morning comes too quickly. I think that I need to take a day off just to recover from the long weekend! More than anything else in the world, I want to stay in bed this morning so I take a few minutes to luxuriate in the warm feel of my flannel night gown while snuggling deeper under my comforter.

I smile as I recall the New Years party, two sleepovers, and the football party. It was a great weekend!

I still don’t understand why the two ladies were so willing to share my bed. It could be that they needed some sexual release, and I was a safe way to do it without forming awkward emotional attachments. It could also have been some kind of compulsion from the supernatural power that has taken so much interest in me lately. Maybe it was something else. I will have to ask Joanna and Anita sometime. I don't really know why they did, but it made for one a heck of a weekend.

My prior sexual experience is limited. Before to this weekend, I had only slept with my one girlfriend, Judy. I wasn’t her first, but even after a couple of months living together, we were both still learning the ways of sexual pleasure when it all came to an end. My time with Judy wasn’t nearly as satisfying as that of the past weekend. Joanna and Anita really helped me understand the joy of sex, from a male perspective. I could also see the pleasure that they derived from the experience. Maybe this weekend was meant to show me that sex as a woman can be very satisfying and nothing to be afraid of. I shudder at the thought of having sex with a man, however, knowing that the ladies enjoyed the weekend as much as I did gives me hope that sex as a woman will be just as wonderful as it has been for me as a man. Maybe making love as a woman is something to actually look forward to.

Thinking of sex with men, I am reminded of my upcoming dinner with Sam. I can guarantee that there will be no sex tonight!

Reaching down into my panties, I find that little Karl is still there. However, little Karl seems much smaller and not at all inclined to rise to the occasion. It looks like his romping days might be over. Not that those days ever really got started.

My hand also discovers that my testicles are AWOL. The scrotum is still there, but the sacks are empty. This new discovery jolts me awake.

Jumping out of bed, I strip down and stand before the full-length mirror, finding that I am nearing the end of my transformation.

What I see in the mirror is an underdeveloped female with a pretty face, beautiful hair, arms, and legs that are shaped more like a woman's than a man's. She has a hint of curves, but just a hint. The hips are slightly wider than the high waist. Her chest, neck and shoulders are also more slender than they had been even two days ago. She is still missing any hint of breasts other than the areolas which are more pronounced than they were yesterday. The biggest anomaly is the penis, albeit only a couple of inches long, hanging from her crotch.

I turn to get a better view of my backside. My derriere is definitely showing signs of rounding out into a feminine shape but still is much smaller than a mature woman's. I still have fresh, and vivid, memories of up close and personal interactions with feminine backsides this past weekend. I am nowhere near as shapely as either Joanna or Anita, but I am one step closer to being just like them. My panties should fit better today, I idly think.

As I stare at myself in the mirror, I realize that Jamie was right yesterday: there is no way that I can go to work today as a man. I am not really equipped to go as a woman either. I am three quarters female and a noticeable one quarter male.

Today sounds like a great day for telecommuting. Using my phone, I email Jim and Celeste my decision to work from home today. I let them know that they can call me anytime if they need anything.

I still need to get ready for work, even if I am telecommuting, so I head off to the shower wondering where I will find mom’s daily note. I am not in a rush to find it.

After finishing in the shower, I go back to my bedroom to figure out my clothing situation. I needn’t have worried. I found my day’s outfit on the bed along with mom's communication.

My dearest Karla,

I love the new name! I recommend that you change your middle name from Louis to Louisa.

Isn’t it great to have so many good friends? I think that it is a good idea to be open about your transition. A cover-up won’t work and would only make things worse. You will get some flack from various quarters, but that will blow over when people realize that you are not trying to hide anything from them. Just be honest and straight forward and you will be able to ride it out.

It is time for you to dress as a woman full time. The clothes in the master bedroom are yours to use. You can simulate the upcoming changes rather easily with a little padding here and there and a little makeup.

BTW, your father wants me to tell you to resist selling out to Jim for now.

Love always, Mom (and Dad)

Knowing that the ladies are probably waiting to hear from me, I take a picture of the note and clothes on the bed and text it to my group. I don’t mention the change to my anatomy.

There are quite a lot of clothes on the bed.

The outfit includes a pair of navy-blue women’s slacks with matching blazer, a white blouse, and a conservative low-heeled pair of women’s loafer shoes. Not too unlike what I see our women engineers wear to the office.

I also find some kind of white women’s stretchy brief with pads. The package says that it is butt enhancer shapewear. There is also a white bra with a box lying next to it. Opening the box, I find two silicone breasts - I have no doubt where those go!

Taking a deep breath, I face my new reality and slip on the panties, tucking little Karl between my legs. The firm panty keeps everything in place and gives me a fuller rear end and hips.

I have a lot of trouble figuring out the bra until I recall once watching Judy put hers on by doing up the clasps up front then spinning it around before pulling it into place. I find that the technique is much easier than trying to reach behind me to work the hooks. The breast forms fit the bra perfectly... of course.

I slip on the blouse and fumble with the backwards buttons, the last of which is much lower than I am used to. At least it covers up the bra and breast forms. I add the topaz necklace, which seems to be happily glowing this morning as it nestles in the V formed by the open top of the blouse.

It takes me a couple of minutes to figure out how to put on the sheer black knee-high nylon stockings, which I find with the shoes, without damaging them. The stockings are then covered with the slacks and I tuck in the blouse. There is no belt, or pockets for that matter. I will definitely need a purse if I go anywhere today. The waist is higher than I am used to. Turning in front of the mirror, I see that the butt enhancers do give me an acceptable female appearance behind and the panty gives me a flat feminine front.

The blazer is, fortunately, loosely tailored. I still don’t have the curves for a really sexy form fitting tailor job.

Slipping on the shoes, I stand up to walk to the mirror. Before I take my first step, my world view changes. I find it decidedly odd how things look a little different with only a couple of inches of elevation change! I know that I have taller heels in my mother’s shoe collection, but even this small heel throws me off kilter. I feel like I am standing on a slope with my feet pointed downhill. I take a few tentative steps towards the mirror and find that walking will be just a bit different, but not too bad.

Standing in front of the mirror, I critically evaluate my appearance.

Something needs to be done with my hair, which is still damp from the shower. Cautiously walking to my nightstand to get a brush, I return to the mirror. Mentally I try to come to grips with the reasonably attractive woman staring back at me. She looks almost sexy as she brushes her long hair.

She could use a little makeup. Unfortunately that is a skill that is in my future, not my present.

My phone dings with multiple notifications.

Jane: It looks like Karla is here to stay.

Anita: Please text us a picture once you are dressed.

Joanna: Any new physical changes?

Standing in front of the mirror, I take a selfie that shows the finished product and text it the group. While I am at it, I also do my daily head shots .

Joanna: Looking great girl friend!

Jane: I agree, you look very good. Hopefully your curves will appear soon!

Anita: Quite the professional woman.

Me: There are changes down below too.

Joanna: Oh! Do tell. Do you still have your joystick?

Me: You two wore it out. It is about half size and its two batteries are AWOL.

Anita: Dang! I was hoping for one more go at it.

Joanna: Me too!

Jane: You ladies really need to find yourselves a good man.

Joanna: Where do you find one?

Anita: Yeah. I haven’t had much luck there.

Anita: Speaking of good men, I hear that Karla has a hot date tonight.

Jane: Do tell.

Anita: My brother Sam told me this morning. He is over the moon. I haven’t seen him this excited since before he lost Karen.

Me: I am not going if I can’t find something besides this business suit to wear, I caution.

Jane: Have you checked in your mother’s closet today?

Me: No

I look in the master bedroom and notice a dress and accessories on the bed. I photograph the layout and text it to the ladies.

Me: Mom has me covered.

Joanna: I will come after work to help you get ready. I bet you don’t know the first thing about makeup.

Anita: I will come too.

Jane: You are in good hands.

A quick look around the room reveals a wide selection of bras in a drawer and several dresses, skirts, blouses, and pant suits in the closet. None of the items were here yesterday.

----<0>----

It is not long before I receive a call from Celeste.

“Hello Mrs. Jenkins,” I answer the phone.

There is quiet for a moment before she asks, “Can I speak to Karl?”

I sigh, “It is Karla now. There have been a lot more changes over the holiday.”

“Is that why you’re not coming into work?” She asks.

“Mostly,” I reply, “I’m three quarters female and one quarter male. It would be awkward at best. I don’t know any reason that I need to be physically present at the office today since I can get my work done remotely.”

“Can we do a teleconference?” she asks. “I would love see what you look like now. It might help me prepare the office for your return.”

“Sure,” I sigh. I expected this. “You might get Jim on the line at the same time. I’m sure that he will want to see this too. Can you give me twenty minutes and I will boot up our default video conference room?”

“Sure, Karl,” she hesitates, “I mean Karla. Twenty minutes. I will make sure that Jim is online to.”

I need the time to brush out my hair one more time and make sure that everything is in place.

----<0>----

I am nervously waiting in our virtual conference room when Celeste and Jim join in almost simultaneously.

They both look shocked when they see me.

“Karl?” Celeste asks, “Is that you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Jenkins. It is me but I think that I should go by Karla now,” I say, “don’t you think?”

“My God,” Jim exclaims. “You certainly have changed, Karl. I mean, Karla. Is it complete?”

“No,” I point to my chest, “these are silicone breast forms. I am still lacking female body curves and still have a vestige of my manhood in place. I suspect that all these ‘flaws’ will be rectified by the end of the week.”

“You sound 100% female,” Celeste observes. “Is your hair still growing?”

“I think that my hair has found its length. It hasn’t grown in the last twenty four hours. It extends to the small of my back.” I stand up and turn around so that they can see the length.

“Step back from the camera so that we can see the whole package,” Jim directs.

I adjust the camera and stand far enough back so that they can see my whole height then execute a slow twirl.

“Wow,” Celeste says in amazement. “You look completely female. That’s a very nice suit.”

“It is amazing what a little padding will do,” I reply dryly. “My mother picked out the clothes.”

“She’s still communicating with you?” Jim asks.

“Every day,” I confirm, “and each day I undergo some change. She usually leaves me with gifts of clothing and accessories too.”

“What do you hear from your dad?” Jim asks.

“Not much lately,” I tell him. “I think that all this feminization makes him nervous.”

“It makes ME nervous,” Jim declares. “I hope that it is not contagious.”

“Being a woman is not a bad thing,” Celeste retorts.

“I hope that you are right,” I reply, “because there is no stopping this train.”

“You look nice,” Celeste says. “Can you lean a little closer to the camera please.”

I do as requested.

“Just what I thought,” she says, “you are not wearing any makeup. Just a little makeup would complete the look and no one would question your gender for sure. Not that there is any doubt now.”

I laugh, “Yeah, right. I am not an artist. That’s not going to happen any time soon.”

“Ladies,” Jim looks impatient. “Can we get back to work here? Karl, sorry, Karla we need figure out how to explain your change to the staff and clients. I really don’t know what to say.”

“I think, whatever we do, we should be honest and straight forward about it,” I say. “Enough people already know that something is happening. George from the soils lab already knows. So does Jamie. They were both here all day yesterday at my bowl party. The genie is out of the bottle and she’s not going back in.”

“I agree,” says Celeste as Jim frowns. “I bet that we hear chatter on the office grapevine before lunch. There has already been a lot of talk around the office about Karl’s hair, voice, and softer facial features.”

“I haven’t heard anything,” Jim grumbles.

“You are the boss,” she says as if it is obvious to a blind fool. “No one gossips to the boss.”

Turning her attention to me, she suggests, “It is not good to let speculation run rampant. You need to get ahead of the curve and set the record straight before things get out of control. Might I suggest that you get your cute little derriere down here ASAP and mingle as much as you can today. Maybe have your lunch in the conference room and invite people to join you for a chat. Kind of informal like. The more people that are in on this change the better control you will have over the rumors. Girl, we just need to pull the bandaid off as quickly as possible.”

“But the changes are not complete,” comes out as a whine.

“Celeste is probably right,” Jim admits, “You look complete enough for me.”

“Did your mom leave you any makeup?” Celeste asks. “Bring some if you can. Some mascara, eye liner, a subtle lipstick, and some foundation would be a good start, and if she left some muted pink nail polish bring that as well.”

I just stare blankly at her.

“You don’t know what I am talking about, do you?” She sighs.

“You are speaking in a foreign language,” I point out.

“Well girl, if you are going native, you need to learn the language.” She informs me.

“Jim, in the best interests of the firm, I am going to order a lunch buffet for the conference room today, invite everyone to swing by, then I will go get our girl ready for her debut.” She firmly states.

She turns her attention back to me. “Go gather up what makeup you can find and text me a picture of it. I may need to stop by the store to get supplies on my way over.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I snap off a cocky salute.

“Don’t get smart with me, girl” she growls at me. “I raised two teen daughters. I know how to handle attitude.”

With that, we agree to Celeste’s plan and sign off to put the plan into play.

I find what looks to me to be a dizzying array of makeup stuff on my mom’s vanity and text a picture of it all to Celeste.

Less than an hour later Celeste shows up at my door in full drill sergeant mode.

Half an hour after she arrives, I am ready to walk out of the house knowing a lot more about the practical application of makeup than I did when I woke up this morning. She has also found a large tortoise shell barrette with the hair accessories that mom had left earlier and showed me how to pull back my hair on the sides and clip it back. I admit that it looks quite nice and keeps the hair out of my face.

“You still need a lot of practice with the basics,” she reminds me. “You are not ready for the big leagues yet.”

I look in the entry hall closet for a suitable coat. Mom hasn’t failed me. I find a mid-length hooded down coat perfect for today’s cold weather. I find a stylish grey knit cap with a girlish pompom on top and matching pair of feminine gloves stuffed in one sleeve.

Mom thinks of everything.

I slip on the coat and hat, shove the gloves in the coat pockets, and retrieve my new black nylon purse before heading for the garage.

Ready or not, it is time to meet the office staff as the new me.

----<0>----

So, I am a couple of hours late getting to the office. No big deal, right?

Apparently, not right.

I nominally occupy my father’s private office right next to my partner, Jim, in what passes for an executive suite in our mid-sized firm of about forty people. The suite is adjacent to the entry atrium. Celeste and another woman, Darlene, work from desks outside our offices but where they can keep an eye on the receptionist and lobby. The conference room is also just off the lobby. A hallway leads from the entry atrium towards the back of the building. On the west side of the hall we have a large open area, with cubicles, where most of our engineering takes place. This is where the design engineers and draftsmen/women reside.

On the east side of the hall, there is another large office space, with cubicles, where the surveying department bases their work. They have easy access from their space to an equipment storage area and to the vans and trucks in the back lot that are reserved for the survey crews. There is also a server room where our small IT staff works adjacent to the surveyors. The hall exits the backside of the building into a large parking area. Across the parking lot, in another building, we have a soils testing facility overseen by a senior geotechnical engineer with a staff that includes two junior geotechnical engineers and five field technicians.

I spend most of my time with the design engineers where I have a second workstation. From day-to-day I look pretty much like any other junior design engineer. Most of my coworkers tend to forget that I authorize their pay checks as I try to not make a big deal about my firm ownership. Jim is the face of the company.

Today, my plan is to make a beeline to my executive office and hide.

Somehow, word has gotten out that I had a sex change over the weekend. When word spreads through the office that I had arrived dressed as a woman, it seems that everyone suddenly has an urgent need to consult with me “over this detail in our current project.” It is obvious that my coworkers are checking me out, but fortunately, they are professional enough to stick to business. I try to act like nothing had changed.

After the third such visit, I realize that everyone wants to see me for themselves and are impatiently waiting for the promised lunch buffet, still an hour away.

Sighing, I get out of my office and do a walk through the design office, taking time to chat with people as I go. A few start to ask questions about my personal life, but I just smile and tell them that I will reveal all at lunch.

Walking through the survey department, most of the surveyors are there and stop what they are doing to stare at me.

“Jamie said that you had transitioned,” one of the women surveyors observed, “I expected to see a guy in a dress. You look damn good. Somebody did a great job on you.”

“I’ll tell all about it at lunch in the conference room.” I inform them.

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” another surveyor says.

I give them a little wave before quickly walking the short distance to the soils lab. I have to walk quickly because I forgot to bring my coat and it is cold outside.

George looks up from his work as I enter the lab.

“Karla?” He asks with a questioning look.

“It’s me,” I admit with a smile.

“Wow,” he says, drawing the attention of everyone else in the lab.

“You looked the part yesterday,” he tells me, “But today… wow!”

“Damn,” the lab supervisor says, “George said that you were transitioning, but I didn’t expect this. I don’t mean to be disrespectful boss, but you turned out very nice. I just can’t understand why you are doing this.”

“Come over for lunch and we’ll talk about it,” I invite them. “That includes all of you. I’m buying.”

There are grins all around. “We’ll be there boss.”

While they are grinning about lunch, several of them seem to take a second to check me out. Not everyone seems pleased.

“Your transformation appears to be complete,” George says quietly as everyone else returns to their tasks.

“Not quite,” I blush, “but it is getting close.”

“Say George,” I change the subject. “I hear that you have a date with Joanna this weekend.”

“My,” he blushes, “word gets around.”

“She is a good friend,” I inform him. “She is also a very special woman. She may appear to be tough and prickly on the outside, but she can be very soft and loving when she wants to be. I need to warn you, however, to be on your best behavior. She doesn’t tolerate even the slightest misogynistic macho attitude. She represents women in divorce and harassment cases and has a very low opinion of what she terms as asshole men. She’s had some bad experiences with men outside work as well. She will bust your balls and walk home if you act like an asshole. So don’t strut your manly stuff.”

George blanches a little, “Maybe I should call it off.”

“Don’t,” I advise. “Just treat her as an equal and show some interest in her and all will go fine. You can do this.”

“I think she likes you,” I add with a wink.

----<0>----

Hiding in my office as the lunch hour approaches, I work on a short PowerPoint presentation to present the evidence of my transformation. At least the impromptu meetings went away after my walk through the office.

I text my girl friends: Wish me luck. I am coming out to the office in a company wide lunch at noon.

Anita: I thought you were staying home today???

Me: I planned to, but the firm leadership decided that I need to confront this head on to stay ahead of the rumors.

Joanna: Good plan. Let me know if you need any legal assistance. I love to prosecute civil harassment cases.

Jane: You've got this girl. Show them what you got. There is nothing to be ashamed of.

Anita: Jane is right. You've got this. Let us know how it goes.

As the final minutes tick by, I am sweating bullets, afraid that this whole meeting will blow up in my face. I will definitely need a shower when I get home.

Long before I am ready, Celeste pokes her head in my office, “I think everyone is in the conference room. It is very crowded but we saved you and Jim seats at the head of the conference table. I think everyone has filled their plates and they are wondering where you are.”

Jim is standing outside my office door after I take one last look in my office mirror before facing my coworkers.

“I still can’t believe this,” he admits, “But the evidence is staring me in the face. How about we go explain our anti-discrimination and harassment policy to our staff?”

I almost have to fight my way into the conference room. It is packed to standing room only. The crowd parts as I walk through the door to the head of the table.

The conference room is a fairly large room with a table that seats 20 with more chairs around the perimeter. There is a large spread of food along a buffet table at the far end of the room and it looks well used. There is not much left, not that I am hungry. I think that the butterflies in my stomach would push out anything I tried to eat.

Jim pulls out my chair for me, being the gentleman that he is, but I decline and invite Celeste to sit there. I prefer to stand during my presentation. Standing is a much better position to bolt from if I get the urge, which is not an impossibility. Also, it gives everyone a good view of my changes.

Before the meeting, I had asked one of our computer techs to warm up the computer and big screen. I find it ready to go, so I log in and bring up my presentation on the screen behind me.

First up is my corporate headshot that was taken just a month ago. With a click of the remote, a selfie that I took while making the presentation appears to the right of my first image. Below the corporate image is my name: Karl Louis Bronson. Under the selfie is my new name: Karla Louisa Bronson.

“Does anyone see any difference?” I ask the crowd.

“I didn’t know you had sister,” one woman says.

“I don’t,” I explain, “The image on the left is what I looked like a week ago. The other is a selfie that I took an hour ago.”

“You have a great makeup artist,” a woman from engineering comments with a hint of distain.

“There is no way this was done with makeup,” one of the other engineers rebuts before I can get out a response. “No one could have changed so drastically without hormones and surgery. Look at the pictures. Among other things, her jaw line has changed dramatically and her cheekbones are higher. That can’t be makeup.”

“And I worked with him, ah her, several times last week,” one the administrative staff pipes up. “A lot of you were on vacation last week, but Karl was here. Not in a hospital. Those of us who worked with him saw his hair grow out dramatically and his features soften as the week progressed.”

“So what DID happen?” one of the senior engineers asked. “If not surgery and hormones, what else? There is no such thing as magic.”

The next slide shows mom's first note by an image of the Christmas tree with the card and small gift under it.

“Christmas morning, I found a Christmas tree in my living room that I did not put there,” I explain. “With the tree was this note and the topaz necklace that I am wearing today. Pay particular attention to the last paragraph. I will read it for you.”

“Tomorrow is the first of the twelve days of Christmas. Each of those days, you will experience change that will prepare you to find your one true love. The changes may seem strange each day, but all will come into focus on the day of Epiphany.”

I let them read the note.

"Friday is the day of Epiphany," I point out.

“Someone was pranking you,” came from halfway down the table. “Not to be insensitive, but your parents died a year ago.”

“That’s what I thought too,” I admit. “Those of you who were in town will recall that it snowed overnight Christmas Eve. When I went to investigate, there were no sign of foot prints in the new snow. There was no evidence of a break-in either.”

I pull up the next slide which contains the second note.

“This note I found in my bathroom the day after Christmas,” I continue. “With it were bottles of shampoo and conditioner of the same brand that my mother used. My old shampoo was gone as were my shaving supplies. Fortunately, I guess, I didn’t need the shaving supplies. For the first time in a decade, I didn’t need to shave and I haven’t had to shave my face since. As the day progressed, my hair grew at a noticeable pace.

“I also found that my mother’s jewelry box, with all its contents, was back in my parents’ room." I put up a slide showing mom's jewelry box open on her vanity. "Her hair accessories were also back where they had been when she died. I called the jeweler that I had sold the jewelry to, and he said that he has already sold the pieces to a wide variety of customers. It would have been impossible to track down every piece to reform the collection that returned to mom's vanity.

“By this time, I was getting annoyed by whoever was pranking me. So, I set tells on all my doors and windows in case someone was coming in the house when I was gone or asleep.

“And the note was correct about the Mayor,” one of the senior engineers added. “I was in the meeting and the Mayor was being difficult until Karl asked him about his secretary.”

“Thanks,” I offer.

People are pretty quiet now. You can tell, however, that there are still some that are not yet believers.

“This is the last note that I will show you,” I inform them as I put the third note on the screen. “The notes get increasingly personal as the days go on. There is enough evidence here to make my point.”

“I checked all my tells that morning and none were broken, but there was the daily note along with the body wash mentioned in the note." I put up an image of the new body wash products. "My normal soap was gone. Later in the day, I found moisturizer, feminine razors, shaving cream, and deodorant in the master bathroom.

“Instead of following my mother’s advice,” I continue, “I went to my normal barber and had a business haircut. By the end of the day, it had grown out again and was a mess.”

“I told him to get it fixed,” Jim mentions.

“Pay particular attention to the part about meeting my old friends at the coffee shop for lunch.”

'You should go to the coffee shop today. Your old high school girlfriends, Anita and Jane, will be there. You should join them for lunch."

Continuing on, “Coming back to the office after my haircut, I was passing the coffee shop when I coincidentally bumped into my old high school friends, Anita and Jane. They invited me to join them, just as the note had prophesied. I took my mother’s advice and had a great visit with them. I told them about the bizarre happenings. Anita has always been interested in the supernatural, so she invited herself to my home that evening see for herself.

“Anita noticed that my skin was unusually smooth and soft for a male and that the body hair on my arms and chest had a softer, more feminine feel, than they expected on a man. And no, I did not let her examine me any further.”

“Too bad,” muttered a woman off to my left.

“Jane and Anita have been in the loop every day since,” I continue suppressing a grin, “Anita brought her friend Joanna over the next night to hear the story and view the evidence. Both have been over daily since then to see what ‘gifts’ my mother has left and to see what physical changes I have experienced. Jane has also joined us when she can. All three of them have had been with me throughout my transformation.”

“It looks as you have completed the transition,” one man observes.

“Not quite,” I smile sadly. “I am currently somewhere in between.”

“But you have the breasts and butt of a woman,” one guy points out.

“Yeah,” a woman points out, “but he doesn’t have any curves to speak of.”

“Padding can make up for some of those deficiencies,” I grin as I pat my butt.

“And,” with an evil grin I put a hand down my blouse and pull a breast form from my bra to gasps around the room, “silicone can make up for more.”

“I can’t believe you just did that,” Jim mutters behind me.

As I stuff the form back in my bra, “If the notes are correct, I won’t need the padding or the silicone much longer.”

“What about down below,” one young woman asks with a blush.

“I am not going to show you that,” I smile gently back at her. “But let’s just say that I am technically still male there. However, there are major changes in progress as we speak. I don’t expect to remain male there much longer.”

Jim pipes up, “I will thank you to keep that to yourself.”

There is a general chuckle around the room in response to Jim’s comment.

“There is a lot more that has happened along the same line,” I mention in closing, “However, I think I have presented enough facts to show you that what is happening to me defies rational explanation. And, before someone asks, I have not been a closet transsexual. Never in my life have I considered becoming or being female. This is not my choice, however I must admit that I am not distraught over it either. As near as I can tell, slightly over half the world’s population lives successfully as women. If you women can do it, then maybe I can as well. I don’t have any personal relationships that will be damaged by the change, so I don’t need to worry about a major reshuffling of my life. I just have a lot to learn.”

“I’ll say!”, a woman from the back calls out, earning chuckles from the women in the crowd.

“That’s about all I have for you,” I conclude. “If you still don’t believe that this is supernatural, then I invite you to supply another explanation that fits the facts. Until last week, I didn't believe in the supernatural either. Now I find it hard to deny.”

“There is still some food back there,” I remind them, “so help yourselves. We have a little time for questions still. I will answer what I can. Thank you for your attention.”

"Have you sought help from the medical profession?" Comes from one of the surveyors.

"Yes," I tell them, "I met with my family doctor twice last week. After examining me, he confirmed that I was still male at the time but my blood tests showed hormone levels consistent with a woman my age. He did an ultrasound and did not find any female reproductive organs so he is mystified by the results of the blood tests. He did, however, chronicle changes to my body that made me appear more feminine. He also could not account for the phenomenal growth of my hair nor the loss of my facial hair."

Some idiot calls out, “Are you still going to sit for your licensing exam in the spring?”

I didn’t have to answer that question. One of our more senior women engineers replied in disgust. “And why wouldn’t she, Carlos. She is just becoming female, not having her brains sucked out.”

I just raise my eyebrows. A woman near me mutters, “What an asshole.”

Jim takes this opportunity to stand up and remind everyone of our anti-discrimination and harassment policy. He pointed out that no one is irreplaceable. If there is verified discrimination or harassment against anyone for any reason that behavior is grounds for dismissal and possible court action.

I add, “My good friend, Joanna Goodheart, attorney at law, has volunteered to help us prosecute any civil discrimination or harassment suit. She has a very good track record with those types of cases.”

“Oh shit,” Carlos groans. His recently divorced ex-wife did quite well in the settlement with Joanna representing her.

As people file out, I head to what is left of the buffet. I notice that the men give me a wide berth, and a few of the women. I do get encouraging words from several of the ladies, most offering to help with my feminine education.

When everyone has returned to work and the administrative staff starts putting the conference room back in order, Jim, Celeste, and I adjourn to Jim’s office.

“I hope that some work gets done this afternoon,” Jim mutters.

“Don’t worry about it,” Celeste dismisses his comment. “You know how it is, everyone is coming back from a long weekend and/or vacation. It will be slow today regardless.”

Turning to me, Celeste says, “I think that went well. I was a little worried up front that Carlos and some of his buddies would be assholes, but everyone else seemed to take it in stride. I think you did the right thing putting everything on the table. It will keep the wild rumors down. People appreciate it when you respect them enough to be straight with them. Throwing out the challenge to find another explanation that fits the facts was a good move.”

“Yes,” Jim agrees, “It went better than I thought. I was watching a few people who appear to still be skeptical. I think we have several conspiracy theorists in the firm and they are thinking that you are fabricating facts to hide whatever is really going on. Fortunately, you have a reputation of being honest and straight with people, so hopefully that will sway them.”

“I agree,” Celeste smiles, “Everyone likes you. Integrity is important in our business and by putting everything on the table, everyone will respect you that much more. I actually expect that, as a result of your presentation, people will be even more loyal to the firm than they have been. They like to know that we trust them.”

“Thanks for your support,” I say with unexpectedly watery eyes, “both of you. I couldn’t ask for better colleagues. I really appreciate you helping me get through this.”

“I still can’t believe that you pulled that breast stunt,” Jim shakes his head.

“It was perfect,” Celeste disagreed. “It lightened the tension in the room and showed how open Karla is. She came across as being fun as well as honest.”

We spend a few minutes more analyzing the meeting before moving on to more mundane stuff, like where to house a couple of new structural engineers and a structural draftsman, how to drum up enough business to keep them busy, and other business development challenges.

Eventually, we all have other work to do. As Celeste and I get ready to head back to our desks, Jim asks me to stick around for a minute.

When Celeste is gone, he asks, “Not to be crass like Carlos, but is this transition going to change any of your professional plans? We need to look to the future of the firm.”

“No,” I assure him with a frown, “my professional priorities are the same. Do you think this transition will change that?”

“Who can tell?” He shrugs. “Major changes in a person’s life sometimes cause a shift in priorities. I just need to know what is on your mind. While I am effectively the managing partner because of my experience and the fact that you are not fully licensed yet, you are the majority owner and could technically change all that. I just need to know where I stand. You also know, as I told you after the death of your parents, I am willing to buy you out if you want to do something else. Your father and I built this firm from the ground up. It is everything to me and I really don’t like feeling vulnerable.”

“Jim,” I assure him, “you were my father’s closest friend. I hope that we can be friends too, even with the age, and now, gender differences. Dad trusted you with everything and I do too. You have always been like a second father to me. Some day I hope to be a truly equal partner as I grow within the profession but as long as you are still around, you will always be the true leader of the firm. We both know that I am not ready to take control, but you are mentoring me, which I appreciate that more than you know. I can see that ten or twenty years from now, you are going to want to retire. I hope to pick up the load and carry on from there as the second generation of leadership, but I need your help to learn the ropes. As long as we can work together with respect, I don’t see things changing. Jim, you are the one non-replaceable person in this firm. I promise that I won’t do anything to push you out of the way.”

“That’s good to hear,” he visibly relaxes. “But I want you to know that the offer to buy you out is always on the table.”

“Thanks, Jim,” I smile at him. “Have you thought of what would happen if we become a certified Woman Owned Business? We could land more government contracts. We should look into that once I become a certified genetic female with a full engineering license.”

I can tell that the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He leans back in his chair with a thoughtful expression. “We will have to look into that,” he says contemplatively.

----<0>----

When I get back to my office, there is a note to return a call from my friend John at the local paper.

“Hello John,” I greet him when answers the phone, “what’s up?”

“Who is this?” He inquires.

“Sorry,” I apologize, “my voice has changed. This is Karl Bronson returning your call.”

“It sure has changed,” John is surprised, “but the voice change fits with a tip that I received about an hour ago. Someone called me say that you came out as a transgendered woman at work today. They thought that it would make for an interesting story.”

“Come on John,” I sigh, “We talked about this at the New Year’s party. I am not transgendered, but I am morphing into a woman. It is not anything that I am doing to myself, and I fully expect to be a genetic woman, right down to the chromosomes, when this is over. So, I don’t think that the label transgender really applies. Whoever called you wasn’t listening too close to our informal lunch meeting. Why should it be newsworthy anyway? Transgenderism is nothing new. I bet you can find plenty of transgendered people around town. And like them, I don’t really want to splash my status across the front page.”

“Like it or not, Karl,” he starts.

I interrupt him, “I go by Karla now, John. I will get my name legally changed once my physical changes are complete.”

“Sorry,” he says, “It should be easy enough to remember the new name, Karla.”

“As I was saying,” he continues, “Like it or not, Karla, you are important to this city. You are the majority owner of a company which is growing and brings high-tech jobs into our community. You can’t hide that, and neither can you hide your changes. My source tells me that you look completely female now. By the way, I can’t believe you really pulled a silicone breast out of your bra in front of the whole office. He sent me a video clip of that stunt. I found it to be hilarious but there a people out there who will be offended. If I were you, I would look to see if it gets posted on YouTube. The video was creatively edited to look pretty crass, not what I have come to expect from you. Anyway, what I am offering to do is to put the record straight in a public forum. I think that my source wants to discredit you. Give me an exclusive interview and I can tell your story for you in a better light than a gossip rag.”

“I don’t know, John,” I reply indecisively.

“Think about it, Karla,” he presses his point, “This is basically just doing what you did for your office, just for the whole community. It is gossip control. The best way to squash malicious gossip is to get everything out front. It is best to be ahead of the curve. And I have to tell you, if my source is right, misinformation is already spreading. We need to get this in Sunday’s edition before the misinformation sinks in too deep.”

I sigh, “You make a great point. How do you want to do this?”

“I can come by your house when you get off work this evening and we could go over your evidence and you can tell me your story,” he sounds excited.

“I can’t tonight,” I firmly tell him. “I have a commitment that I really can’t break. How about tomorrow afternoon at my house, say 4:30 or 5? I might be able to have a couple of creditable witnesses to share their observations.”

“That will put me in a deadline time crunch,” he says, “But it can still work. Are you sure that you can't reschedule your evening tonight?"

"That is not negotiable," I firmly inform him.

"Okay, Okay, I get it," John relents. "I will see you at 4:30. You are still living in your parent’s house, right?”

“Yes, I am. See you then,” I agree before hanging up.

While I was talking with John, my cell phone was pinging like crazy.

Anita: I can’t believe you did this. She has a YouTube link embedded in the text.

Jane: OMG!

The message from Joanna seems to come from a tiger waiting to be let loose.

Joanna: Carlos is an asshole. Let me sue him for you!

I click on the link and find a video entitled: "Is this the leadership our community wants?"

I watch a 20 second video of myself patting my butt with a big smile and saying, “Padding can make up for some of those deficiencies and silicone can make up for more” as I pull out my breast form.

It is on Carlos’s YouTube channel and already has a thousand hits. The video is going viral.

Me: Sue him Joanna.

Me: I am going to see if I can fire him.

With that, I head off to see Jim and our small HR department. Both agree that Carlos has crossed the line.

Jim ends up calling Carlos to his office for a meeting with HR. I stay out of it.

After meeting with Carlos, Jim reported back to me that Joanna had gotten to him first, threatening to sue him into oblivion if he didn’t take down the video immediately.

Carlos had deleted the video from YouTube by the time he was summoned to Jim’s office.

The office asshole was seen cleaning out his desk shortly after his meeting with Jim and HR.

He was fired for violating the company policy on discrimination and harassment.

I informed my text group that: Carlos is looking for a new job. Thanks for your help, Joanna! Send me the bill.

Word of Carlos’ firing got around the office at light speed. I don’t think that we will see any more issues as everyone else seems to like their job.

----<0>----

I am running a little late by the time I pull into my garage. I notice Anita’s car at the curb and Joanna pulls into the driveway as I shut the garage door.

I find Anita up in the master bedroom examining the outfit that mom left for me to wear on my date with Sam and making sure that all the right makeup is arrayed on the Vanity.

“We don’t have much time to get you ready,” Anita seriously announces.

“And I want to hear your side of the story about your office antics,” Joanna says.

“I really need to take a shower,” I complain. “I was sweating bullets at work today.”

“Well then strip off,” Joanna says, “I want to see your changes anyway.”

“Ah…” I start to stammer.

“Come on girl,” Anita rolls her eyes. “We’ve both seen you naked before.”

Kicking off my shoes, I start to strip down.

As the bra comes off, I sigh in relief.

“It feels great to take your bra off, doesn’t it?” Anita knowingly asks.

I just nod a positive response.

“We all feel that way at the end of the day,” Joanna informs me.

Once naked, the ladies have me stand still while they walk around me examining today’s progress.

“What a shame,” Joanna says, fondling what is left of my genitals.

“Not much left down there,” Anita sighs. “And your testicles really are gone.”

Joanna runs her hands over my chest. “I think I can detect the start of breast growth.”

Anita also runs her hands over the same region and pokes at my nipples. “I think that you are right. Do they itch, Karla?”

“Yes, it’s been getting worse as the afternoon wore on.” I admit.

“I don’t think that you’ll be needing those breast forms much longer,” Anita comments with agreement from Joanna.

“I hate to break it to you, Karla,” Joanna informs me, “but you really need to shave your legs before you slip into that panty hose your mother laid out.”

“You might as well do your underarms as well,” Anita points out. “And you really do need to get in the shower soonest. There is not much time. Don’t forget to wash off your makeup.”

They crowd into the bathroom to talk to me while I am in the shower.

At their instance, I go over my day in some detail. I told them how Celeste really pushed for me to come in today and how she came over to help me with my makeup. They both agreed that the office meeting was a good idea, but that I should have skipped the demonstration.

Joanna told us about her conversation with Carlos. He was defiant at first, but Joanna reminded him of her success during his divorce negotiations and he wisely acquiesced to her demand to take the video down. I told them about his firing. Neither one felt sorry for poor Carlos.

I told them about my conversation with John. Both agreed to meet us here tomorrow as soon as they can get away from work. It will be nice to have some witnesses to reinforce my tale.

I was very careful shaving my legs and arm pits as we talked. Those are not areas that I have ever shaved before. It took a lot longer than doing my face. When I exited the shower, they showed me how to wrap my hair in a towel to absorb most of the moisture. Anita handed me some moisturizing cream to rub on my freshly shaved legs. She mentions that I might want to look into waxing. Apparently, I can go longer without shaving if I wax regularly.

Mom had set out another padded panty for this evening’s use. It doesn’t take much to tuck what is left of my penis away as it has continued to shrink during the day. I get instruction on the proper technique for putting on the panty hose that we found on the bed. Tonight’s bra is much lacier than the one I wore to work and is a perfect fit for the breast forms.

Next comes the dress. It is a lined dark blue and purple dress that falls just below my knees. I am told that the outer layer is chiffon, and that it has an empire waist, perfect for hiding inadequate curves. The dress has very short fluttery sleeves and a high neckline. The very silky lining feels light and airy, sending shivers across my skin. The shoes are black pumps with a short and moderately wide 2-inch heel. Fortunately, they have a closed toe as we don’t have time for toenail painting.

I am seated in front of the vanity and the ladies double team me. Joanna uses the hair drier and brush to dry and style my hair while Anita starts adding nail polish to my fingernails. Anita moves to my face as the polish on my fingernails dry, trying to explain what she is doing but she might as well have been speaking Japanese for all I understood her. Anita finishes up my makeup about the same time that Joanna finishes putting my hair into a very fancy French braid. She adds some sparkly butterfly hair pins from my mom's collection.

While all this is going on, we engage in non-stop chatter analyzing my day and discussing tonight’s date.

Somewhere in the conversation, I tell Joanna about the counsel that I gave to George in anticipation of their Friday night date. I have to assure her that George is really one of the good guys. To myself, I just hope that he doesn't make a liar out of me.

Anita tells me how depressed Sam has been since Karen’s passing and how much he has changed in just the last day. She begs me to not crush his feelings.

When they finally declare me ready, I stand in front of the floor length mirror and my mental self-image experiences a major shift. The woman staring back at me is amazing. I twist and turn to view as much of me as possible, making the dress sway. It slowly sinks into my subconscious that this is me. The new me. The tall, willowy (I’ve lost at least forty-five pounds and have a much finer bone structure than I used to have) brunette with the long slender neck and shapely legs is me.

The sensations are like nothing I have ever experienced.

The feel of nylon on my freshly shaved legs is delicious and sexy. Having never worn a dress before, the feeling of it swishing around me as I move is a newly discovered sensuous delight. I resist the urge to do a twirl.

The heels on my shoes are taller, and narrower, than I wore to work today. I find the extra height to be a little disconcerting. The shoes don’t seem practical for winter weather, but they do look stunning.

When seeing a woman in heels pick her way across a snowy parking lot, I have often wondered why they don’t wear more sensible shoes. I am starting to understand why. The shoes look incredibly sexy.

This being a woman gig certainly has its perks. A big smile slowly grows on my painted lips.

“Somebody likes what she sees,” Joanna grins as she stands behind me looking in the mirror.

“She should,” Anita retorts, “We’ve spent an hour and a half creating this masterpiece. I just wish she had pierced ears. That pair of dangly diamond earrings in her jewelry box would be a great finishing touch.”

My two best friends grin and give each other a high five.

“We better take some pictures,” Joanna points out. “A girl’s first date is something to remember. Let’s go downstairs and use the fireplace as a background.”

It only takes a few steps for me to realize that, while the shoes may look sexy, it takes skill that I don’t have to walk gracefully in them. I have to keep a firm grip on the handrail to keep from falling down the stairs.

“Walk more on your toes and take small steps,” Anita advises.

After posing me for pictures in the living room, Joanna has me sit on the couch.

“I wish we had more time to work on your mannerisms,” she sighs. “You move like a man in a dress.”

She sits down beside me explaining how to smooth the skirt of my dress as I sit.

“And for god’s sake,” Anita adds pushing my knees together, “Always, always, keep your knees together.”

The doorbell rings, signally an all to early end to my lessons.

Joanna motions to me to stand up while Anita answers the door.

“Don’t stand like a man,” she admonishes me. “Feet together. This is not a wrestling match.”

Suddenly, what I am doing comes home to me and butterflies sprout in my stomach. I, a three quarters woman, am going on a date with a man. What am I thinking. Just a few days ago I was having the sex of my life as a man, totally captivated by the women who shared my bed. Not a thought had passed through my mind about spending time with a man. While sex is not on the agenda tonight, I have been gussied up to go out with another man. Another man. Just like me.

Well, maybe not just like me.

No, that’s not right I tell myself. That beautiful woman that I saw in the mirror is me and I am no longer a man. Even with my remaining vestiges of maleness no one will ever call me a man again. I am not quite a woman yet, but my self-image shifted while I was standing in front of the mirror. Deep in my heart I know that I like the new me. The question of the night is, does the new me like men? I suppose that I am about to find out.

I hear voices in the entry before Anita ushers her brother, who is carrying a small bouquet of flowers, into the living room.

When Sam first notices me he stops cold and stares. For a long time.

My god, I think to myself, he’s seeing a man in a dress. I suddenly get the urge to run and hide. All this work and he still sees the man in me. I just stand there with my hands clasped in front of me and look down.

Sam finally speaks.

“Wow, Karla you look amazing,” he says in awe.

“Not like a man in a dress?” I ask nervously.

“All I see here,” he tries to assure me, “are three beautiful women, one whose beauty eclipses the rest.”

Anita gives him a playful slap on the arm, “At least Karen taught you well.”

“Sam,” Joanna directs with all the pride of a mother seeing her daughter off to the prom, “Go stand by Karla. We need a picture to remember her first date.”

He presents me with the flowers before putting his arm around my waist for the picture. I notice that, even in heels, he is at least two inches taller than I am. He is tall and broad. His arm around me feels sturdy and makes me feel secure. And I can’t ever remember having these thoughts about a man.

Joanna and Anita both take pictures like proud parents. When they are done, Anita takes the flowers to put in a vase for me.

“I think we should go,” I suggest.

“It is a work night,” Joanna reminds us, “Don’t stay out too late.”

“Yes, mother,” I say sarcastically, but with a smile.

She just sticks her tongue out at me.

“And be sure to treat her like a lady,” Anita admonishes her brother. “Karla is new to this.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Sam snaps off a salute to his sister.

Sam helps me into my comfortable new winter coat then Joanna hands me my purse. “You don’t want to forget this.”

“Enjoy yourselves,” Anita calls out as I cling to Sam’s arm while making our way to his car.

“Not too much,” Joanna adds.

When Sam holds the door of the car open, I realize that I can’t just gracelessly climb in like I usually do and hesitate.

Joanna and Anita are still watching us from the doorway to my house.

Joanna calls out for all the neighborhood to hear, “Sit first then swing your legs in. Keep your knees together.”

I inelegantly do as she says and am happy when Sam closes the door.

The ten-minute drive to the Carriage House is a bit awkward, reminding me of my past first dates. It takes a little time to find common ground.

I am not sure why I am nervous. I suspect that little bit of me is worried that I will be caught out as a man masquerading as a woman. The new sensations of being dressed up as a woman, particularly in public, are also unknown territory and I am afraid of making a fool of myself.

Sam comes across as being a bit nervous too. Is he worried about being seen with a man in a dress? Or is it that he has not been on a date in a while?

After parking the car, I start to open the door.

“I will get that,” he tells me as he exits the car.

“Keep your knees together, Keep your knees together,” I mutter to myself as he opens the door and gives me a hand out. If not gracefully, I manage the exit maneuver without flashing anyone.

I cling to his arm for dear life as I try walking in heels on an icy path for the first time.

“I take it that this is your first-time wearing heels,” He comments.

“Yes,” I admit, “First time in a dress too. First time in panty hose and today was my first day in a bra. It is all taking some getting used to. I need more girl lessons.”

As I gingerly work my way up the icy steps to the covered veranda, he casually says, “Anita tells me you became somewhat of a YouTube celebrity today.”

The shock of his statement causes me to miss a step and I almost fall down the steps. Grabbing harder to his arm is the only thing that keeps me from going down. “Don’t tell me that you saw that awful video,” I cringe.

“No,” he says, “It got taken down before I heard about it.”

“Thank God for small miracles,” I am really happy that he didn’t see it. As a matter of fact, I wish that no one had seen it, but Joanna told me that it had over 4,000 hits before it was taken down. “The clip was taken out of context. Believe me, in context it wasn’t as crass as the video would make you think.”

Sam smiles, and gallantly opens the door for me as we enter the old restored Victorian home.

The Carriage house is at least a hundred years old, built when lots were large and the homes of the well to do had style. This Victorian house has a large, covered veranda and a turret on one corner with steep gabled roofs. The trim is detailed and finely crafted. The turret tower extends both stories and creates very pleasing nooks in the living room below and what was a bedroom above. The interior has been completely renovated in recent years, staying true to the building’s origins. The hardwood floors creak here and there and seem to magnify the sound of my heels clicking on the wood except where exquisite rugs have been strategically placed. I have never actually been here, but it was my parents’ first choice when they wanted a romantic night out.

The hostess behind the podium greets us and confirms our reservation. “It will be just a few minutes before your table is ready. May I take your coats?”

Sam helps me out of my coat and hands them to the hostess who disappears into an adjacent room while we take a seat on a small bench by the door. Sam taps my knee to remind me to put my knees back together.

I sigh, remembering, once again, that this girl stuff will take some getting used to.

“Thanks,” I blush as I snap my knees together and arrange the skirt of my dress neatly over them. I am just glad that this dress falls to just below my knees. I hate to think how I would manage a shorter cocktail dress. Thanks, mom, for not getting me one of those.

The hostess returns and studies her screen for a few moments before announcing that our table is ready. Wouldn’t you know it, our table is upstairs. It appears that I will get lots of practice in these heels tonight.

We wait for a young couple coming down the stairs before starting our ascent. I have to admire the gracefulness of the diminutive young woman in really tall stiletto heels and wearing a short cocktail dress. She practically flows down the steps modestly and without a care in the world.

I glance at Sam. I think that he is just enjoying her legs.

As the couple nears the bottom of the steps, the girl looks at me with a confused look.

“Miss Bronson?” she asks as if she doesn’t believe her eyes.

I take a closer look at her face before recognition sets in. Theresa is an accounting student at the local college and is interning part time with our accounting department. She also helps with reception when needed. She was also at today’s meeting.

Damn.

“Hello, Theresa,” I greet her cautiously. “How was dinner?”

“Great,” she brushes off my question. She has something else on her mind.

“I am so glad that I ran into you,” she gushes. “I want to tell you how great your presentation was today. That was very brave of you. I was just telling David all about it.”

“Ah,” I don’t know what to say, “Thanks. It needed to be done.”

“I am glad that you did,” she says passionately. “Some of the people were spreading all sorts of nasty rumors about you but you set them straight and you did it with class. Your prosthetics demo was hilarious and really made your point. I will never forget that.”

“I wish you would,” I grimace. “That stunt is already causing me grief.”

“I can imagine,” Theresa commiserates with me. “I saw the video and it was way out of context. But at least it rid us of Carlos. I think that the entire female staff was happy to see the last of that chauvinist bastard. From what I’ve seen and heard, he has been a thorn in the side of all the women in the office.”

She gives me an enthusiastic hug as she says, “On behalf of every woman at the firm, thank you for firing the bastard.”

“You’re welcome?” I gently hug her back, “But Jim fired him. Thank Jim.”

“Whatever,” she smiles at me as we break the hug.

The hostess gives a discreet cough.

“Sorry to hold you up,” Theresa winks at me. “Enjoy your dinner.”

The hostess waits patiently while I negotiate the stairs.

“You must not wear heels often,” she diplomatically observes with a gentle smile.

“First time,” I grimace. “I should have practiced more. Sorry to be so slow.”

“Take your time,” she says with a playful grin. “We don’t want to be filling out an accident report!”

----<0>----

We are seated in a private alcove without further incident. The candlelight and elegant furnishings are very romantic. I certainly hope that Sam doesn’t get any indecent ideas.

After ordering our dinners, we enjoy a glass of wine while we wait.

“Theresa is certainly a fan,” Sam observes. “I am intrigued about this meeting.”

“Really?” I ask. “It is just a part of a day full of new and difficult experiences.”

He just smiles at me.

“Okay,” I warn him. “You asked for it.”

I don’t hold much back. I start by telling him of waking up missing some of my male equipment and the decision to stay home until the change was complete. I continue by explaining how Jim and Celeste convinced me confront the issue head on with our office as a form of controlling the narrative.

It takes a while to give him the details of my presentation when he asks a number of insightful questions. He laughs at my description of the padding and silicone demonstration. He is still chuckling when our meals arrive.

While I pick away at my meal, I recount the flurry of activity precipitated by Carlos’s video. He comments that such quick damage control would never happen in a bureaucracy like the Air Force.

I ask him about his work. He tells me how the Air Force put him through dental school and has had claim on his services ever since, but that his commitment will be done next summer. His first duty station was on the east coast. When he was offered an overseas assignment in Germany, his wife, Karen, had jumped at the idea. She always wanted to spend time in Europe. They did have a great time there until she suddenly fell sick. Within a week, she was rushed into surgery to remove a fast-growing brain tumor. She died the next day.

His eyes stared off into the distance as he recounted his grief and how hard it is to go home each day to an empty apartment.

I reach out to hold his hand across the table when tears start to form in his eyes. After a moment, he regains his composure and looks into my eyes.

“I’m not the only one who has lost loved ones this year,” he acknowledges my own loss, “but sometimes it feels like it.”

I know how he feels.

“You loved her,” I gently say, “losing her leaves a huge hole. Losing my parents left a hole in my life that is still very much there. I can’t imagine losing a spouse with whom you had hopes and dreams. Tell me what makes you smile when you think about her.”

As we finish our main course, he proceeds to speak lovingly of a beautiful young wife who was full of energy and excited to explore the world. He talks of her smile and laugh. He smiles when he recalls snippets of stories about their shared experiences. He talks of how he loved to hold her in bed at night and watch her wake up first thing in the morning with a smile on her face. Every day was a new adventure for her, and she was eager to share it with him.

“In some ways,” he says looking into my eyes, “you remind me of her. You are straight forward, honest, and address problems head on. You let people know where you are coming from. She was like that.”

“I can see why you love her,” I say. “I think that she will always be in your heart.”

“I certainly hope so,” he says with a sad smile, “but my grief councilor tells me that I should start making room in my heart for a new love. He tells me that new love will bring sunshine back into my dark life. I have had a hard time taking steps in that direction.”

I reach across the table again and give his hand a squeeze of sympathy.

“Anita has been telling me about those notes from your deceased mother that you shared with your office. Do they help you move on?”

“They do open the door to believing in an afterlife,” I admit. “It is really nice to know that I have not totally lost connection with them. Thinking that we just might see each other again someday makes me feel much better about their loss."

“Karla,” he says with a seriousness that I haven’t seen in the short time that I’ve known him. “Can I share something with you privately. I haven’t told anyone about something that I think that only you can relate to.”

“I promise to keep sacred anything you want to share with me,” I tell him earnestly. “But don’t share anything with me that you don’t really want to.”

He looks contemplative before saying, “I received a note from Karen last week.”

A chill runs up my spine.

I wait for him to continue.

“She reaffirmed her love for me and said that it hurt her to see me so sad.” He says slowly. “She told me to be assured that she was well and missing me too but that she is in a place of light, happiness, and multiple exciting new adventures. She encouraged me to make some new friends and not to be afraid of new love. She specifically told me that I was going to be invited to a party on Monday and that I should be there. When Anita told me that I was welcome at your party, a chill washed over me. I would not have come to your party if Karen hadn't told me to. I am very glad that I did come because our conversation in your kitchen was better therapy than I have received from my counselor. After we talked, I knew that I wanted to get to know you better. I wanted to see your smile again.”

Oh boy, is this guy falling for me? I like him. He is great to talk to and he has the makings of a good friend, but with my changes can we leave it at that?

“I still feel that way and am sorry to have to leave tomorrow to return to duty. Can I call you from time to time?” He almost begs.

“Sam,” I cautiously say, not wanting to crush his hopes. “Thank you for trusting me enough to share Karen's communication with you. You can be assured that I will keep it to myself."

I hesitate a moment before continuing, "Sam, I feel very comfortable with you and would dearly love to develop our friendship. Where this will go is anyone’s guess. Unfortunately, right now, my life is such a jumbled mess that throwing romance into the mix might just drive me around the bend. I don’t even know where I stand on forming romantic relationships with either men or women. If you are looking for a friend, then I’m your girl. I would love to be your friend. If you are looking for more, I can’t promise anything until I sort out my issues.”

“Fair enough,” he says with hope in his eyes. “Friends is good. I will take it. Just know, however, I’ve felt more alive in the past two days than I have since Karen passed and I credit that to you. Thank you, my friend.”

About this time, the waitress shows up with the bill and hints that they are getting ready to close for the night.

Sam smiles and hands over his credit card.

I am seeing that being the woman has its perks.

----<0>----

When we arrive at my house Sam walks me to the door “to make sure that your heels don’t do you in.”

He waits until I unlock the door and turn the lights on before taking me in his arms. I wasn’t expecting this but do not resist when he gives me a long slow gentle kiss. When done, I find that somehow my arms had found their way around his neck.

They are still there as we gaze into each other’s eyes. I can hardly break the gaze.

He kisses my forehead. “Thanks for a wonderful evening, Karla. I wish I didn’t have to go back to Germany tomorrow.”

I go up on my toes and peck his lips. “I really enjoyed it too. Thank you. Talk to you soon?”

“I can hardly wait,” he smiles softly at me.

I quickly remove my traitorous arms from around his neck and duck into the house.

OMG! What did I just do?

----<Author's Note/Apology>----

Okay... so my initial research into what constitutes the twelve days of Christmas was a little off. The way I understand it, after further research, is that the night of December 25th is the First Night of Christmas, with December 26th being the First Day of Christmas. It doesn't really change the story except in the titles and a couple of minor statements, but once hit counts drop off I will be renaming the chapters with December 25th being Day 0 and January 6th as Day 12. For now, I will let the error persist until all chapters are posted.

All the chapters are written (and have been for weeks) and are just waiting for the correct day to release.

Until the change is made, the day numbers represent the days of the story instead of the Days of Christmas as originally intended.

Sorry!

----<0>----

Update 1/23/2023: I have updated the chapters as outlined above... Enjoy!

 

The Twelve Days of Christmas - Day 10

The Twelve Days of Christmas By Tiffany B. Quinn I quickly remove my traitorous arms from around his neck and duck into the house. OMG! What did I just do?

Wednesday Jan 4, Day 10

It is really hard to get out of bed this morning. I had a restless night with a myriad of disturbing dreams that I’d just as soon forget for now. Most of them involved Sam.

It had taken me almost an hour to get ready for bed last night.

With dire warnings from Celeste, Anita, and Joanna echoing in my mind about the nasty effects of going to bed with my makeup on I had to take the time to remove my war paint. I also had some unusual clothing layers to remove and gently put away before attempting to put my hair into a loose braid for the night.

It felt particularly good to remove my bra and forms. My chest was itching like crazy and the breast forms were in the way of relieving the itch. I couldn’t help but notice the slight swelling starting behind my enlarged areolas.

I already miss the days of kicking off my shoes, stripping down to my underwear, throwing my clothes on the chair, and falling into bed.

The good thing about being a woman, however, is the warm comfy flannel nightgown. The cozy feel of the night dress is almost enough to keep me in bed for the rest of the day.

After shutting off my morning alarm, I lay in bed for a few moments taking inventory of my changing body. As I explore my chest, I am not the least bit surprised to find a small pair of female breasts.

Moving lower across the soft smooth skin of my belly, I find that my penis is now only about an inch long. Reaching past that, my scrotum seems to have shrunk into a semblance of female labia. There is no vaginal opening. Yet.

My bladder makes its presence known and urges me out of bed. Sitting down to pee, I realize that the stream is coming out a new place just below what’s left of my penis. I definitely won’t ever pee standing up again.

When I turn on the shower to warm up, I find a new shower cap hanging from a hook in the shower. I struggle to get all my hair in it but appreciate not having to deal with wet hair this morning.

Standing naked in front of the mirror after my shower, I cannot find any boy left in me. Newly acquired are two perky, but small, breasts and a definite set of starter curves. Turning to look at my rear end, I see that padded panties won’t be needed any longer. My breasts, curves and butt can stand to be filled out more, but they are definitely there. The shape that I see in the mirror is only found on the female of the species.

I head back to my room wondering what outfit mom will choose for me today. As expected, I find a new outfit on the bed along with today’s note.

Dearest Karla,

Your father and I are so happy with how well your date went last night. Sam is a great guy. You should keep in touch with him. Karen is very happy to see him smiling again.

As you have noticed, your transformation is almost complete. And so is your starting wardrobe.

Tomorrow we will tie up most of the loose ends and Friday it will come together on the day of Epiphany.

Your connection with your new self yesterday was a big step. It shows that you have accepted your new fate. This is important.

We know that your life has been hectic the last week, but don’t neglect your exercise. There are some yoga videos in the den. Try one out!

Have a fantastic day and let the world see the love and beauty in your heart.

Love always, Mom and Dad

P.S. Be open with the reporter today. He will write an article that will be very much in your favor.

The clothes today are very similar to yesterdays. The difference being a light lavender colored blouse instead of the white one with a matching black lingerie set consisting of a low-rise panty and a bra that appears to be padded, without silicone inserts. When I pull on the pants, I notice the hem dragging on the ground until I step into the new pumps with a three-inch square heel. As I complete the ensemble, I notice that the pants and blazer are tailored to show off my new feminine assets.

In the master bedroom, I find an array of cosmetics laid out for my use. Remembering my lessons from yesterday, I inexpertly apply the products. I even give myself a spritz of the perfume that the ladies put on me for last night’s date.

Picking up a hair brush I enjoy watching myself stroke my hair and decide to leave it loose today but set aside a hair clip and hair ties to go into my purse, just in case. Also on the vanity are my topaz necklace and a couple of bracelets that I put on. A very feminine watch is the last touch.

It is almost time to leave for work when the text group reminds me to send a picture of today’s note and gifts.

I send an image of the note and a full body selfie to the group.

Me: I have breasts, a butt, and curves. They are small but there.

Jane: No padding or silicone?

Me: No. It’s all me today, but the tag on the bra said it was a Wonderbra. Seems to enhance my new assets.

Anita: Any changes down below?

Me: Almost like yours without the opening.

Anita: Sam is getting ready to leave. He looks very happy. Good date?

Me: Great. Give him a hug for me and ask him to let me know when he gets there.

Joanna: Want to get together for lunch?

Jane: No kids in school yet. Sure, I can be there.

The rest quickly agree.

----<0>----

“Good morning, Miss Bronson,” Theresa cheerily greets me as I enter the office. She is at the reception desk this morning when I arrive at work. “You look very nice this morning. Very professional.”

“Good morning, Theresa, thank you,” I smile back at her. “I love your top this morning. Did your date go well last night? Oh, and you can call me Karla. We’re not that formal around here.”

Her grin gets bigger, “We had a great time, Karla! Isn’t the Carriage House the best?”

We chat about our respective dates for a few minutes before Celeste appears and she gives me a critical appraisal of my appearance. I think that my makeup skills earned a grade of B at best.

“Mr. Sanderson is looking for you,” Celeste says. “You should stop in to see him, Miss. Bronson.”

Theresa gives me a question look about the formal names. I just smile and shrug.

----<0>----

I find Jim going through some papers on his desk. He is not in a good mood.

“Before Christmas,” he growls, “you used to the first one in office. Now you saunter in late chatting with the ladies. Is this a new trend?”

“Things are in a state of flux right now,” I shrug off his complaint. “When I get this girl gig down, I should get back to my normal early arrival routine. At least I hope so.”

He scowls, “About that, it is probably not safe for you to be the only one in the building anymore. Be careful.”

“What do you really want to see me for?” I ask.

“You are not going to be pulling anything out of your bra today, are you?” He continues to scowl. “That stunt yesterday ended up costing me the afternoon. Do you have any idea how much trouble it is to fire someone?”

“No worries about that,” I smile, “this is all me today. I woke up this morning to breasts, an expanded rear end, and some basic curves.” I do a twirl for him. “What do you think?”

“No way,” he exclaims as he looks at me closely. “My teenage daughter used to complain that it took her almost a year in training bras before she graduated to the real thing. You got yours overnight?”

“I’ve become almost a woman in less than two weeks,” I shrug. “so breasts overnight is no big deal. My whole transition should be complete sometime tomorrow, I am told.”

“Anyway,” he gets to the point of our visit, “I think that we need a head shot of your new look on our website ASAP. I asked Celeste to arrange for a photographer to come by this morning.”

I tell him about my interview with John this afternoon and he agrees that it is a good idea. He suggests that I have him come interview at the office where we can arrange for him to talk to some of the people who had been at the infamous meeting.

Why didn't I think of that?

I call John and he is thrilled with the access. He promises to come over this afternoon.

Jim and I spend the next half hour working out some more of the details associated with starting up the new structural department.

The rest of the morning before the photo shoot, I try to spend at my design cubicle getting some actual work done. An unusual number of women stop by to chat for a few minutes each.

I have to call an architect to discuss a detail on a small building that we are working on together. He does not recognize my voice, so I have to reintroduce myself. It turns out that he had heard some misinformation about yesterday’s meeting, so I have to set him straight before we get down to business. From what he tells me, rumors of my transition are working their way through the professional community, and the rumors are not often accurate.

I am suddenly very glad that John will be publishing that article this weekend. I wish that it was sooner.

----<0>----

The photo shoot goes longer than I would have liked. The photographer has brought lights and a makeup artist with him, and she fusses over my face before and during the shoot. She also applies a curling iron to my hair to add some body and create waves. We get shots in the conference room, in my administrative office with my diploma in the background and outside in front of the office building. The photographer insists that the outside shots be done without my warm coat.

Damn it is cold!

As we are wrapping up the photo shoot, the photographer asks me if I would be interested doing a little modeling on the side. Something about my classic beauty being natural for the camera.

I am flattered, but the thought of being a model has never crossed my mind. I think that it would be a distraction that I don't need so I tell him that I already have a job, so probably not.

He counters that he can work around my engineering schedule if need be. Apparently he has a client for whom he thinks my look would be perfect for.

To avoid further pressure, I tell him that I'll think about it.

The long and short of the matter is that the photo shoot has made me late for lunch. The others have already ordered by the time I get there.

“Sorry ladies,” I apologize as I hang my coat over the back of my chair. “Very busy morning.”

“Look at you!” Anita smiles at me, “Do a spin for us before you sit down.”

I do, running my hands down my sides to emphasize my new curves.

“If this keeps up,” Joanna mutters, albeit with a little smile, “I could get jealous. You are starting to look pretty hot, my friend.”

The waitress shows up as I sit down, and I order a cranberry salad and an ice tea.

Jane looks closely at my face, “Did you do your makeup and hair this morning? It looks very professional, if not a little over done.”

“No,” I smile, “It was done by a professional. I just finished a photo shoot.”

“You are taking up modeling now?” Anita looks confused. “All you tall skinny girls get the best jobs. I could start to hate you. When did this happen?”

“I am not modeling,” I assure them. “Jim wanted some new publicity photographs given my change in status.”

“Well,” Joanna drawls, “If engineering doesn’t work out, maybe you can try modeling.”

“And soon,” Jane adds, “Youthful beauty doesn’t last.”

“Knock it off ladies,” I blush. “Any of you would be chosen to model before me.”

Anita, who is just sipping her drink, starts coughing, “Yeah, right. Are you blind? I swear that you’ve been taking some kind of magic potion. You get prettier every day and put the rest of us plain women to shame.”

“You ladies are certainly very attractive,” I correct her, “You and Joanna should try wearing the necklaces that mom gave you. Mine has certainly made a difference.”

“That’s what I am afraid of,” Joanna points out. “I like being a woman. I fear that it is a gender switcher.”

“Maybe it is just a feminizer,” I offer. “Since I didn’t start out female, I had to change for it to work for me.”

Joanna doesn’t look convinced.

“So,” Jane changes the subject, “No silicone or padding today?”

“Nope,” I grin, “this is all me, with a little help from a padded bra.”

“Small but functional,” Joanna comments.

“Hey,” I say, “I know it took you ladies longer that a day to grow yours. Give me some time. Maybe I will catch up to you.”

Jane looks down at her well-endowed D sized chest.

“Well,” I grimace. “Maybe not as big as yours.”

“Bryan likes them,” Jane smiles and admits, “But they are a pain to carry around. C would be optimal.”

“And down below?” Anita prompts.

“Flat,” I blush. “Well almost, there is still a very small vestige of my old ‘joystick’. Last I checked this morning, there are lips but no opening. I expect that to change by tomorrow sometime. My urethra has changed location too.”

“You seem pretty happy about that,” Jane observes.

“I have to admit,” I say, “that I am tired of being halfway in between. Also, I like mirrors a lot more now. I am finding femininity fascinating.”

“Oh no,” Joanna says in mock horror. “Your mother has turned you into a narcissistic nymph.”

I stick my tongue out at her, which earns giggles all around the table.

I proceed to update them on the change in plans with John, how he is coming to the office for interviews today. I also tell them about my conversation with the architect who told me that rumors were spreading within our professional community.

“The community grapevine is alive and well,” Jane informs me. “My neighbor asked me this morning as I was leaving for work if I had heard about the lewd transgendered engineer.”

“This is why you need to make sure that John gets the real story out in a manner that accurately reflects the situation,” Joanna points out. “Unfortunately, I am tied up in a deposition this afternoon and can’t make it, but I would really like to talk to him.”

“And Jane and I have an in-service training the rest of the afternoon,” Anita looks apologetic, “or I would be there too.”

“I think that he still wants to come by the house and get the grand tour and timeline,” I mention. “Why don’t you come over when you can?”

“I want to be there too,” Jane declares. “I will make sure that Bryan collects Amy after work. He can treat her to McDonalds and have some quality father/daughter time.”

“I am sure that I saw an eggplant parmesan in the freezer,” I tell them, “And there is some good wine in the fridge. We’ll make a dinner of it.”

“I will pick up some French bread,” Anita offers.

“I will pick up a pre-made salad,” Jane announces.

“I will find a dessert,” Joanna states.

“Oh,” I grin at them. “You all saw mom’s note. Bring your yoga stuff. We’ll have to work off our dinner.”

They all groan.

“Now for the important stuff,” Anita says enthusiastically. “We want all the dirt on your date with Sam.”

I spend the rest of the lunch answering their questions about my time with Sam. I don’t share with them the note that Sam received from Karen. I try to ignore the good night kiss too.

“So,” Joanna wanted clarification when I start to wrap up in the story, “You pulled the ‘let’s just be friends’ routine on him?”

“Yes,” I affirm. “My situation needs to sort itself out before I can contemplate forming a romantic relationship with anyone, man or woman. I don’t know where my sexuality stands.”

“And he still wants to stay in touch?” Anita asks.

“And you want to stay in touch with him?” Jane smiles knowingly.

“Sure,” I reply mystified as to where this is going.

“Did he walk you to the door?” Jane asks.

“Yes,” I am starting to see where this is going. “He is gentleman as well as a friend.”

“And he kissed you,” Anita accuses with a smile. “Didn’t he?”

My blush tells all.

“And you liked it,” Jane observed.

“Did you kiss him back?” Joanna continues the inquisition.

I can only nod affirmatively. I want to disappear.

“Well,” Joanna looks at our other two lunch companions then back at me. She concludes, “the jury returns the verdict that you are now a heterosexual woman.”

I make a show of glancing at my feminine watch.

“Oh, look at the time. Gotta run. Don’t forget your yoga clothes.” I say as I quickly stand up and pull on my coat.

“Chicken,” Joanna grins at me. “We will continue this interrogation tonight.”

Digging through my unfamiliar purse, I find some cash and drop it on the table to pay for my lunch.

“Bye,” I give them a finger wave and hurry for the exit as fast as my heels will allow.

----<0>----

Back at the office, I wave at Theresa as I head to the women’s restroom to do what women do there after dropping my coat in my office.

Yes, this is my first trip into this particular room. Fortunately, it is empty as I duck into a stall and sit to do my business. Wiping afterwards, I notice that, what had been my penis is only a nub, like an enlarged clitoris. I don’t see any evidence of it when I pull my panty up. This is going to take some getting used to.

While I am in the stall, two women enter the restroom but don’t head for stalls. They aren’t chatting either. After rearranging my outfit, I exit the stall to find both ladies leaning up against the counter obviously waiting for me. They must have seen me duck into the restroom.

“Hello, Rachel, Allison,” I nod at the women as I head to the sink to wash my hands.

“Hello Karl,” Allison returns the greeting and asks sounding genuinely curious, “Is it really true that you are turning into a woman?”

“What do I look like to you?” I ask.

“You showed us what you can do with padding and silicone yesterday,” Rachel reminds me. “Maybe it is all an illusion.”

“Ladies, you were around all week last week,” I sigh, “Take a closer look, did my face look like this? Was my hair this long? Were my shoulders this slender? Didn’t I weigh more? And, by the way,” I lift both breasts, “they may not be much, but they are all me today.”

“What about down there?” Rachel is curious, glancing at my crotch.

“As of this morning,” I blush, “I look just like you. There is nothing extra in my panties. I just don’t have a vaginal opening yet. I suspect that that issue will be resolved sometime tomorrow."

“Really?” Allison says with some disbelief. “That just can’t happen without surgery.”

“I would have agreed with you a couple of weeks ago,” I agree with her. “But I am living it. It is hard to ignore the evidence. The only explanation I can come up with involves a supernatural influence. Do you have a better explanation?”

They both still had unsure looks on their faces.

“What did my chest look like yesterday after I took out the breast form?” I ask.

“We didn’t get a good look,” Allison admits, “but from where I sat, it looked like you were flat chested.”

“I was,” I tell them. “You don’t have any recording devices going do you?”

They shake their heads in the negative.

“Let me see your phones,” I demand.

They extract their phones from their purses and show them to me. I have them put their phones on the sink counter as I unbutton the top couple of buttons on my blouse.

“This is a one-time offer,” I inform them. “We are all women here, mostly, so I will prove that my breasts are the real deal. They were, as you just recalled, non-existent yesterday. In exchange, you have to agree to simply testify to anyone who says otherwise that my breasts are real. You can even tell them that I showed you. Do we have a deal? If not, you can join me at the gym locker room this weekend and watch me get into my gym clothes.”

They looked at each other for a second before agreeing to the deal.

I lean forward and pull the top of my bra out sufficiently for them to see my two small mounds of flesh cupped in the bra.

“Go ahead,” I challenge them, “touch and tell me if that is silicone or something else.”

Both of them tentatively stroke a breast with a finger, causing me to jump. “That tickles.”

Both have the decency to blush.

“Are they real?” I ask them.

“You convinced me,” Rachel admits, “they are real. And you are telling us that you grew those overnight?”

“They weren’t there yesterday,” Allison points out for me.

“Damn,” Rachel says with a pout, “And it took over a year for mine to get that big once they started growing. That is just so unfair.”

Allison and I can’t help but laugh.

“Maybe they will be the same size as yours tomorrow,” I grin.

“Sorry to doubt you, Karla,” Allison apologizes, “but you have to admit that this is all hard to believe.”

“It is that,” I agree as I put myself back together. “No more peep shows though. You are my witnesses if anyone expresses doubts. I have all same the curves and external body parts that any woman in this office has. I can never go back to using the male facilities, don’t you think?”

With that, I wash my hands once more while they pick up their phones and we get back to work.

I decide to work in the privacy of my administrative office.

----<0>----

I am actually doing billable work when Celeste comes for me after the reporter arrives.

“I can’t believe your audacity,” she shakes her head in disapproval. “Did you really show off your breasts in the ladies’ room? Word of your latest stunt has spread throughout the office. Allison and Rachel both swear that it really happened. I just pray that no one videoed it. Please don’t strip down and waltz naked through the office as your next trick.”

I just grin at her, “I made sure that their phones were off, and on the counter where I could see them. They were still unbelievers but now they are converts. They are my witnesses to the miraculous overnight growth of my breasts.”

“Well,” she huffs, “they are definitely converts. They are your two greatest supporters in the office at the present time. Anyway, your reporter showed with his editor in tow. They are waiting for you in the conference room. Please keep your hands out of your bra. I would lock up my daughters if they pulled stunts like that.”

I stop by the ladies’ room to check my hair and makeup before proceeding to the conference room.

Fortunately, there is no one in the restroom to ask for further proof of my transformation.

----<0>----

Entering the conference room, I find Jim chatting with John and a thirty something woman. The woman stares intently at me as I make my way into the room.

“I am glad that you could join us, Karla,” Jim says with a touch of sarcasm.

“Sorry,” I apologize, “I just found out that you were here.”

John stands up to shake my hand, “Well, Karl, you have certainly changed since I last saw you at the New Year’s party. I have to say that you look like your sister, if you had one. The resemblance to your former self is very strong.”

“It is good to see you too, John,” I say. “thank you for taking the time.”

“Karl,” he introduces me to his companion, “I’d like you to meet Anne Barnes, our business editor.”

Turning to Anne, I shake her hand, “Pleased to meet you Ms. Barnes.”

She acts a little distant, but is cordial enough, “Please to meet you too, ah, Karl, or is it, Karla?”

I shrug as I find a seat at the table, “Legally, I am Karl, but the name doesn’t fit me anymore. The guests at my bowl party last Monday took a poll and decided that Karla is currently a better fit. Once my transformation is complete, probably tomorrow, I will work on legally changing my name to Karla. My parents approve.”

“I thought your parents died in a car accident a year ago,” Anne questions me. “I remember editing an article about the impact of your father’s death on the firm he founded.”

“That’s very true,” Jim adds “That is one of the very strange things about this whole mess. Karla, why don’t we start with your presentation to the office yesterday?”

“Oh yes,” John says enthusiastically, “I think that meeting is going to be a legend. I showed the video to Anne, by the way.”

I blush, “Ms. Barnes…”

“Please,” she stops me, “Anne works better.”

“Thank you, Anne,” I then continue “That video was way out of context. Ask anyone who was there, except maybe Carlos.”

Over the next half hour, I reprise my presentation and show them images of all the notes - except Saturday's! - that I have received to date and images of the ‘gifts’ left behind. I also chronicle the daily physical changes that I have experienced, going into far more detail than I did yesterday.

“This is all extremely hard to believe.” Anne frowns. “I came along with John because I want to make sure that the paper is not embarrassed by an elaborate fraud. If this is all true, it makes for a great story, but if we publish it and find out later that it is fraud no one would ever trust the paper again. What can you do to convince me?”

“What we want is to control the narrative,” Jim points out. “We want the truth to be out there for all the world to see in an effort to stem malicious misinformation that will harm our firm and Karla. What will it take to convince you that this is not a hoax?” Jim asks the question that is on my mind.

“Physical evidence of some kind, witnesses to the ongoing changes, competent medical opinion,” She lists her requirements.

“I am not sure what physical evidence we can provide,” I think out loud, “except possibly myself. I have been taking selfies every morning which document the daily changes. Witnesses to my slow transformation are plentiful. In fact, when you come to the house when we are done here, I have three girl friends that have been close to me through the change that will be there to talk to you. In the meantime,” I look to Jim for agreement, “There are a couple of hours left in the workday. You could wander through the office and pick anyone you want to interview. Many of them were out on vacation last week, so your best bet are people that have been here since Christmas.”

Jim nods his agreement. "We'll put out an announcement to the office that you will be interviewing."

“What about medical evidence?” John asks.

“When I noticed things changing, I went to see my family physician, Dr. Lake, twice last week,” I tell him. “He ran a whole bunch of tests. He found that I was male to the chromosome level but that my blood work was unexplainably consistent with that of a mid-20s female. He noted significant physical changes between the visits that indicated that I might be changing gender. After reviewing my mother’s notes, he decided that the changes were outside his ability to reverse. We made an appointment for Friday morning, the day that the notes indicate as the conclusion of the transformation process, to document the full extent of my changes. I can authorize him to talk to you about my condition, if that helps, but we are not scheduled for the full exam until Friday.”

“You are certainly being free with your private information,” Anne observes.

“Since I have not done any thing wrong, I have nothing to hide,” I look her in the eye. “What is happening to me is beyond anyone’s control. I need to get that message out before some bigoted idiots damage our firm’s reputation.”

“Not to mention your own,” she adds.

Anne and John take full advantage of the remaining workday to interview our staff. We agree to meet at my house when they are done there. They accept my invitation to join my friends and I for a working dinner out of the freezer. I tell them that dinner will be informal as the ladies and I are planning on doing yoga this evening. I jokingly offer to let them join us if they want to.

----<0>----

I am running a little late by the time I arrive at my house. The three ladies are already there putting together the dinner when I walk in the door. After a hug from each, I am told to go slip into something more comfortable.

“I can’t wait to get out of this bra,” I complain, “It was loose this morning, but now I feel like I am overflowing the cups.”

“Our little girl is growing up,” Anita teases me with a smile.

“And fast,” Joanna adds melodramatically, “How quickly the years pass.”

I, maturely, stick my tongue out at them.

“I believe your mother has been here,” Jane laughs at our antics. “Someone has laid out some exercise clothes for you upstairs. Go change, they will be more comfortable than what you are wearing.”

“Set the table for two more,” I call to them as I ascend the stairs as fast as my heels will allow. “John and his editor will be here soon.”

A quick look in my bedroom shows only a neatly made bed and tidy room. I wonder if mom will continue to clean up after me when the changes are complete. The maid service is much appreciated.

The aforementioned clothes I find laid out on the bed in the master bedroom.

I kick off my shoes and carefully remove my work clothes and hang them in the walk-in closet. With a sigh of relief, the bra finally comes off.

Yes, the girls have grown today. Turning to look at my butt, I am pretty sure that it is even more feminine this evening.

Standing in front of the mirror, wearing only my panties and necklace I am mesmerized by the beautiful young woman smiling back at me. There is no sign of Karl, only the very attractive Karla. I find that I like what I see.

“Do I detect some narcissism?” Jane playfully asks as she walks into the room unannounced.

“Eek!” I squeak in surprise, reflexively covering my breasts. “You scared me!”

She laughs, “There’s nothing here that I don’t see every day. I thought that you might need some help with the exercise clothes. I know that this is all new to you.”

“Excuse me,” I apologize feeling a sudden pressure in my bladder, “I really need to pee.”

As I duck into the en suite bathroom and close the door, Jane calls out to me.

“I am guessing that your mother didn’t teach you much about feminine hygiene.”

“The subject never came up,” I admit through the door as I quickly drop my panty and sit quickly on the throne. The relief is instantaneous as the flow starts.

Calling through the door, she instructs me, “There is an unpleasant situation called yeast infection. You really don’t want to get one.”

“How do I avoid getting one?” I ask as I reach for the toilet paper. I have noticed that wiping after peeing is a new necessity. Everything down there gets damp. Unlike the old days, I can’t just shake it off and stuff it back in my pants.

“When you wipe,” she continues the instruction, “wipe from front to back. Always.”

“Okay,” I try applying the lesson as I dry off my nether region. I feel for a vaginal opening but still don’t find one.

Pulling my panty back up, I call through the door as I wash my hands, “Can you hand through some clothes, Jane?”

She sounds a touch exasperated, “Just come out, Karla. You will probably need some help with this stuff. We are both women here.”

Reluctantly, I open the door and slowly walk into the room.

Jane just shakes her head and sighs. “I just can’t believe your change. In less than two weeks you transform from a modestly handsome geek, to this gorgeous butterfly. I would kill to have a body like yours again and we are the same age. It doesn’t seem fair somehow. I have been fighting to lose weight from my last pregnancy and find myself pregnant again. It will be a battle to ever be slender like you again.

“Anyway, girl, we need to get some clothes on you,” she shakes off her longing and gains a serious expression. “Those nylon panties are great for keeping your clothes from clinging, but they are terrible for exercise, and we are going to get some exercise when your reporter is gone. Take ‘em off. Your mother left you some nice cotton panties on the bed.”

After stripping off my nylon panty, I take the black cotton brief that she is holding out and quickly pull it on.

“One of the banes of the female existence are visible panty lines, or VPL for short,” she teaches me. “I doubt that you noticed, but those panties are seamless and designed to be worn under snug fitting clothes without showing VPL. They are perfect for wearing under your yoga pants. Also, they are black and won’t show through. Never wear colored or patterned underwear when wearing snug or light-colored women’s pants unless you want the whole world to see what you have underneath. Black, white, or nude undies, depending on the colors you are wearing, are best.”

She hands me some kind of magenta bra/top thing. I hold it for inspection.

“That, Karla,” she informs me, “is a crop top with built in bra. It is a little bit of a pain to put on, it but will support your new assets and absorb any sweat you produce.”

“My college girlfriend told me that women don’t sweat, they glisten.” I recall from my past.

“Whatever you call it,” she says while rolling her eyes, “you need clothing that will absorb it.”

It is a struggle, but I pull the tight device over my head. Jane helps me pull it into place and shows me how to settle my breasts.

Jane hands me the yoga pants. “Let’s see you wiggle your cute bum into these,” she says with a grin.

I try pulling them on like a pair of jeans. It doesn’t work.

“You wore pantyhose last night?” she asks.

“Yes,” the light comes on in my mind about how to solve my current dilemma. “I was taught to roll them up my legs. I assume that I should do something like that?”

“You got it,” she smiles. “You are a fast learner.”

Standing in front of the mirror again, the woman smiling back is even cuter than she was when she was only wearing her panties. I can’t take my eyes off myself as I turn various ways in order to see the whole package.

“Definitely narcissistic,” Jane laughs. “Your makeup won’t do well when you start to ‘glisten’, sweetheart. You better go take it off while I change into my yoga clothes.” I hadn’t noticed her gym bag by the door.

I glance at Jane through the vanity mirror as I remove my makeup and as she changes. She complains about her body, but I think that she is still pretty attractive. She could use a little toning, but I see lots of women in much worse shape.

As we finish up, Jane tosses me my alma mater football jersey, “Put that on Karla, there will be a man present and we don’t want him getting too uncomfortable.” She grins. I see that she is wearing a similar shirt.

She tosses me some very short socks and points to the feminine athletics shoes. When we are both dressed, she shows how to put my hair up, like hers, in a high ponytail using one of the scrunchies from my mother’s hair accessories.

I stand, once again, in front of the mirror admiring the young woman that I have become. Jane joins me. She has nothing to be ashamed of. She is cute and I tell her so. I spontaneously give her a girly sideways hug. She is a couple of inches shorter than me and when we to the girl thing of bringing our heads together I find mine on top of hers.

With watery eyes, I tell her, “I love you guys. I can’t tell you how much your support means to me.”

She gives me a squeeze, “I love you too, Karla, but I think we need to get moving. I am sure that dinner is getting cold.”

----<0>----

When we get back downstairs, we find that Jane is right. Dinner is actually on the table where Anita and Joanna are chatting with John and Anne who had arrived while Jane and I were changing.

It turns out that Joanna had helped Anne with her divorce a year ago and they are already friends. John and Anita recognize each other from high school and are comparing notes on common friends and experiences.

John is the first to notice me when Jane and I enter the room and his jaw drops. When Anne notices, she seems particularly surprised by my appearance.

“I have interviewed several post-op transexuals over the years,” she tells me with admiration, “But none of them can rock the yoga chick look like you do.”

I see that she still doesn’t fully understand what is going on here.

Joanna comes to my aid, “That’s because she’s not post-op anything, Anne. Her transformation is not an accomplishment of medical science. Without any assistance from pills or surgery she has been morphing into a female for the last week and a half.”

John adds, “I have known Karl since childhood. Last week, he looked like a very slightly more feminine Karl but was definitely a male. Now, Karla looks like a totally female version of her former self. It is eerie.”

Over dinner, Jane, Anita, Joanna and I go over the events of last eleven days, leaving out certain rather personal and intimate details. We answer a myriad of probing questions from the reporters.

After dinner, we give them the grand tour of the house showing them where notes and gifts were found. Joanna and Anita open every drawer and closet in the master bedroom and explain when each of the feminine items had appeared and the effects each revelation had had on my transformation. John seems uncomfortable around all the feminine accessories, but Anne is very much intrigued and is not shy about examining virtually everything. She notices that all the clothes are brand new.

With a stop at the home office to use the computer there, I scroll through the daily selfies for our guests. This is the most telling evidence of my gradual change. I end up putting the selfies and images of the notes on a thumb drive and hand it to John.

“Please be discreet with all this,” I caution him. “I am trusting you with my reputation. I am hoping that you are professional enough to not turn this into a tabloid article.”

“I will be factual,” he promises.

After we retire to the living room, Anne asks, “Where did you stash your male clothing? I haven’t seen any.”

“It is all gone,” I answer her question. “As each feminine item appeared, the corresponding male item disappeared. It seems that my mother doesn’t want me trying to turn back. She has been burning my bridges for me.”

John asks, “Are you really sure about that the Christmas tree and various gifts aren’t some kind of elaborate prank?”

“John,” I say patiently, “we’ve been over this. I have searched the house high and low, put tells on all entry points, and looked for footprints in the snow. Some of these events happened while I was awake and in the house. I never heard anyone or saw any signs of activity. Even still, if it was an elaborate prank, how do you explain the new me?”

“I get it,” he holds up his hands in surrender, “I believe you. It is just that all this just defies logic. I am not sure how to write this up without sounding like a delusional crackpot.”

“We can work on this together,” Anne tells him. “This may be the most interesting story of the year but we need to get it right.”

Turning to me, she says, “Karla, we rarely get anyone to open up so completely. Thank you for the access. I am like John, I am convinced but this story is shaking some of my thoughts on reality. How do we tell it in a factual, but believable manner is something that we’ll have to sleep on and discuss in the morning. We have a 3 PM deadline tomorrow to get this in Sunday’s paper. Somehow, we will make this work.”

“I am going to start working on this tonight,” John declares. “There is more than enough material to work with and I am satisfied that I know what the facts are. I want to have an outline, at a minimum, ready for you in the morning, Anne.”

“Karla,” Anne asks, “Can you see if you can get a good image from the photographer for the article? I am thinking about something that shows you in your work environment would be best. We probably should focus on the impact of your changes on the business.”

“I will see what I can do,” I promise.

“Thanks for dinner, ladies,” Anne says as she gets ready to go. “We better let you get to your yoga.”

----<0>----

“That went well,” Jane offers after our guests leave.

“I think that we can trust Anne to get it right,” Joanna informs us. “She is a very smart and honest woman and I think that she understands the situation.”

“I certainly hope so!” I wish. “Anyway, it is done. Let’s do some yoga!”

The three ladies have brought their yoga mats and various props with them in large bags. While Anita and Joanna are changing, I loaded up the video and go looking to see if mom left a mat and accessories for me. I find them up in my room. I realize that it doesn't phase me to know that they weren’t there during the house tour.

For the next hour we bend and stretch in ways that I never thought possible. We are all glistening when it was over. The others giggle and laugh at my poor attempts at some of the poses. It is painfully apparent that I just don’t have a feel for how this body works.

“Karla, I can see why your mother wants you to take up yoga,” Jane smiles at me. “You are attacking it like you would in your male body. I think that your new female body reacts a little differently. Yoga will help you to get more in tune with the new you.”

“I agree,” Anita chimes in, “There are still a lot of vestiges of your male mannerisms in the way you move your body.”

“That’s right,” Joanna agrees, “Graceful, you are not. Keep up the yoga and wear those heels to work and you may develop some feminine grace.”

“You might consider signing up for yoga classes at the gym.” Jane suggests.

“I think that I will just practice here for now,” I say. “I’m not ready to be seen screwing up like this in public.”

“Chicken,” Joanna challenges me with a grin.

We all laugh.

----<0>----

After the three ladies leave, I notice a new text message on my phone.

Sam: Made it to east coast. Waiting for the hop across the pond. Do you have time to talk? Leaving in an hour.

Damn… he sent this several hours ago-about the time we were eating dinner.

I don’t know if text messages find their way to Germany, but I send one anyway.

Me: Very sorry to miss you. Busy night with reporters. Let me know when you get to Germany. Thank you for last night. I really enjoyed your company.

----<0>----

I step out of the shower after washing off the ‘glisten’ and find that mom has stuck again.

As I dry myself off, I eye the small pile of flimsy feminine fabric that she left on the counter.

I wrap myself in the towel as I saw Judy do when we lived together before investigating this new gift. It turns out to be a revealing see-through baby doll nightie. The top has a built-in bra with a see through ‘skirt’ that looks like it will barely cover my bottom. The matching bikini panty is also very flimsy and see through. I would be surprised if the whole ensemble weighed more than quarter pound.

I know that it is futile, but I carry the barely there fabric into my room looking for the flannel nightgown that I have been using lately. It is not where I left it. Of course.

When I try to open the drawer containing nightgowns and pajamas in the master bedroom it won’t open. It is stuck. And, it appears, so am I.

It is either go to bed naked, or wear the baby doll.

I sigh as I drop my towel and work out how to get the top on. The panty is a no-brainer but the top takes a little thought.

Looking in the mirror, I see a sexy woman that would have had me drooling just two weeks ago. After a few seconds of posing, I can feel my self-image shifting even further to the feminine perspective. Somehow, I just feel like this is me. This is what I was meant to be. And I like it.

I take a selfie to memorialize the moment.

As I crawl into bed, I am reminded of the first time I was ever with a woman wearing something like this. It was the day that Judy moved into my apartment. I had been delayed at school a little later than usual. When I arrived home, the small apartment was lit by dozens of candles. I found Judy lounging on the bed wearing something not unlike this. She had this hungry look in her eyes. That turned out to be the best night of sex in our short time together.

I wonder what mom is thinking. I am just glad that there is not a male around to see me like this.

I can’t help but feel sexy, and that excites me in a completely different way than when Judy seduced me.

I am pretty sure that I know what Sam’s reaction would be.

 

The Twelve Days of Christmas - Day 11

The Twelve Days of Christmas By Tiffany B. Quinn I wonder what mom is thinking. I am just glad that there is not a male around to see me like this. I can’t help but feel sexy, and that excites me in a completely different way than when Judy seduced me. I am pretty sure that I know what Sam’s reaction would be.

Thursday Jan 5, Day 11

As my morning alarm does its best to rouse me, I groan and snuggle deeper into my bed. Shortly after going to bed, I awoke to a dull cramping in my abdomen. I took it to be indigestion so got up to take an antacid.

That didn’t help.

I wondered what I ate at dinner that didn’t agree with me. I’ve always hated eggplant, but somehow it tasted very delicious last night.

I don’t think it was the eggplant parmesan.

By three AM, the cramping relented and I eventually fell into a deep sleep.

Finally turning off the alarm, I snuggle back under my comforter and enjoy the lack of pain. In fact, I feel a warm satisfied glow throughout my body and revel in all the new sensations. Every part of my body seems foreign and new. And exciting. My barely there nightwear feels very sexy even with my eyes closed.

Without opening my eyes, I can feel the weight of my new breasts and an emptiness in my groin. My new curves rest differently on the mattress than my former male body. My hips are definitely wider and my shoulders narrower. My breasts feel much fuller than they did yesterday. The long hair in a nighttime braid tickles my newly sensitive skin. My sexy lingerie sends tingles over my body. I shiver in delicious pleasure.

I could get used to this, I smile.

Running my hand down my smooth, soft belly, I reach my nether regions and continue over my panty clad crotch. The flatness feels alien to me in a fascinating way. I sort of miss my old friend, but I smile thinking that I can adjust to this. Slipping my hand in my panties, I quickly discover the electrifying pleasure of my new clitoris. Continuing their exploration, my fingers discover the moist opening of my new vagina. I tentatively insert a finger to verify that it is there.

It would appear that my transformation is complete.

Resigning myself to starting my day, I stumble into my bathroom and sit to take care of necessary business.

When I start preparing for my morning shower, it becomes clear that things around the house have changed yet again. The shower curtain is gone. So are all my bathroom supplies. There is just a hand towel on the rack and the water won't run in the shower. Fortunately, the sink and toilet still work!

I get the feeling that someone doesn’t want me getting ready for the day in this bathroom.

Everything I need to start my morning routine I find in the master bedroom en suite so, I start my day there.

With my hair wrapped in a towel after my morning shower, I wrap another towel around my torso before stepping into the master bedroom. On the bed is my ensemble for the day along with the expected note.

Karla sweetheart,

Tonight is the twelfth night of Christmas and tomorrow your journey will be complete. Your transformation began Christmas night and will be complete tomorrow on the day of Epiphany.

Your father and I are so excited for you.

As you have guessed, your transformation is now virtually complete, but you will have one final experience tomorrow morning to complete your journey. Sorry about the uncomfortable night, but we couldn’t find a way to reorganize your internal organs and make final adjustments to your skeletal structure without it.

Yes, you are now 100% female, right down to the chromosome level. There have been some slight adjustments to your DNA, but Dr. Lake will discover that your DNA is a 99% match to the sample he took last week. You should move up your appointment to see him today. I have a feeling that his last appointment of the day will be canceling first thing this morning.

In celebration of your completed transformation, I have chosen an outfit that will unambiguously flaunt your new body. I hope that you enjoy it.

You should consider getting your ears pierced. There are several sets of earrings in your collection that would look great today but you are not prepared to wear them.

Also, it is past time for you to move out of your childhood bedroom. We have taken the liberty of moving everything into this room.

Enjoy your day,

Love always, Mom (and Dad)

P.S. I think that you will be very pleased with John’s article when it comes out on Sunday. He has been working hard on it most of the night.

It takes me almost half an hour to dry my hair, do a barely adequate job of applying makeup, then start dressing. I think that I am going to miss the simplicity of my former life every time I have to get ready to go anywhere.

However, looking in the mirror, I see that all the extra work is worth the effort.

Maybe Jane is right. Maybe I am narcissistic. Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I can’t help but smile at the vision before me. I pose a little, trying to see as much of the woman that I am as I can.

Today’s selfie shows a tall slender woman with a beautiful, fully female, figure and face. She is wearing a stretchy cream-colored knee length sweater dress with a V neck and has a small black belt emphasizing a slender waist and fully feminine rear end. She has on matching tights and black boots with a three-inch block heel. Her long hair is free flowing, and she has a huge smile on her face. The only jewelry that she is wearing is the topaz necklace and a women’s watch.

When I grab my phone to text my three friends, my heart gives a little flutter as I notice a text from Sam.

Sam: Finally made it. Thinking of you, and hope you are doing well. Jet lagged, going to bed early.

The text arrived when I was in the shower.

Me: Sleep well, my friend. My transition journey is virtually complete as of this morning, tonight being the twelfth night of Christmas it will be completely done by tomorrow morning. Thinking of you.

Smiling, I add today’s selfie.

I text the selfie and note to my three friends.

Me: Tonight will be the twelfth night of Christmas and it is almost completely done.

It doesn’t take long for the replies to start rolling in.

Joanna: Goodbye Karl, Hello Karla. Love the smile. I think that we need to start working on changing your legal documents.

Anita: Girl, you rock those boots! I need a pair.

Jane: Awesome! I am jealous.

Anita: Let’s talk about it over lunch. I will do whatever it takes to get away from the school today.

Jane: Me too.

Joanna: I have a lunch gig, but will cancel.

Me: Thanks ladies. You are the best. Usual place and time?

----<0>----

“Setting a new standard, are you Miss Bronson?” Celeste eyes me critically as I walk into the office a few minutes after eight.

“I am trying to be here early,” I apologize for being late, again. “But this girl stuff takes more time than I am used to. I will be back to my normal schedule once I figure it out.”

“I don’t think she’s referring to your punctuality,” Theresa grins. “I love your look. The boots are awesome.”

“Take your coat off and give us a spin,” Celeste directs.

As I am taking off my coat, Rachel arrives at work.

“I should go home and change,” she mutters.

“You and me both,” Theresa agrees.

Jim shows up in the reception area about this time to drop some papers at the front desk.

“Showing off I see, Karla,” He observes. “I take it that everything is real?”

“100 percent according to mom,” I confirm.

“Good,” he says, “now maybe we can get some work done around here without all the drama of your transition. Do me a favor, please, and get your doctor to confirm it. You look good, by the way. Stop in and see me in my office, if you please, when you get done modeling for the ladies.”

When he disappears back into his office, I smile at the women and head to mine to drop off my coat and purse before going to see him.

“I have been thinking about our new structural department,” Jim gets right to the point once I settle into a seat. “We are going to need more work once we hire another engineer and draftsman. Do you have any contacts with New City Architecture? I hear that they are having a hard time finding a local structural firm that they can work with.”

“I’ve met one of the partners, Whitney Owens,” I tell him. “She seems nice enough. I don’t know Rebecca Pierce, the other partner. Word on the street is that they tried working with Mark Holt’s office recently and it didn’t go well.”

“Mark is a good engineer,” Jim contemplates what I told him. “I’ve known him for years. I wonder what went wrong?”

I just shrug. “I hear that he’s pretty old fashioned. I don’t think that he has any women on his technical staff. Maybe that was a problem for New City.”

“New City seems to be getting a lot of contracts these days,” Jim observes. “I’d like you to try to establish contact with them and see if there is a possibility of working with them on a project or two. If we could get one of those, you can start on it and we can have our structural department profitable from day one. Maybe your new feminine status might help.”

“I’ll see what I can do next week after the newspaper article goes out.”

“How is that going?”

“I don’t know,” I admit, “Anne and John seemed to be understanding and cordial when they left last night. Mom said in today’s note that I will be pleased with the result.”

“God,” Jim groans, “I really hope so. This whole thing could blow up on us.”

Before getting into the day’s work, I call Dr. Lake’s office and the photographer.

Sure enough, Dr. Lake can see me at four o’clock this afternoon. No surprise there.

I also ask them to cooperate with my reporter friends. I have to fax over an information release authorization. I don't know why medical offices don't join the 21st century and accept email these days.

The photographer is a little tougher. He has not gotten around to post-processing yesterday's images. When I tell him that it is for a newspaper article, and that he will be credited, he still grumbles that providing me with images so fast will cut into his other commitments. Finally, he agrees to move my images to the front of his queue when I promise to model wedding dresses later this month for one of his clients. He drives a hard bargain, however, when I agree to his deal to model the dresses I insist that I will only do so on the condition that I won't be required to model wedding lingerie. We agree on a fee for the modeling and I receive a couple of very nice images via email about an hour later. I forward them on to John along with telling him that Dr. Lake will talk with him.

My favorite image from yesterday's shoot is a low angle, full body shot taken in front of the office. There is snow on the ground, and I am wearing a white hardhat with the company logo on it. My long hair is cascading in waves over my shoulders. I have my arms crossed under my breasts and have a big smile plastered on my face. Behind me is the front of our office building with the logo and sign plainly visible. It looks like I am ready to take on the world. Since I am not wearing my coat, my feminine curves are there for all to see.

The rest of the morning is spent doing the work that I get paid for. Beside lots of compliments on my attire, it almost feels like a normal day.

----<0>----

Once again, I am a few minutes later than my friends when I arrive at the cafe. This is getting to be a bad habit. Before all this happened, I was never late for anything. Ever. If anything, I was always the first to arrive.

“Damn,” Joanna mutters as I sit down at the one remaining seat at what is becoming our table. “Nobody said to dress up today.”

She is wearing a rather expensive pantsuit with killer ankle boots and looks fantastic.

“I sent you the text of what I am wearing this morning. This is just what my mother set out for me today.” I remind her.

My two schoolteacher friends also look good.

“All of you are very attractive today,” I point out, “as usual.”

Anita rolls her eyes, “I only see one supermodel here, Karla, and that’s you.”

I decide that now is not the time tell them about my upcoming modeling gig.

“Thanks for the compliments,” I respond. “But this is my mother’s fault. She chose my outfit for today.”

“What else did she bring you?” Jane asks.

We are interrupted by the waitress, who takes our orders before we resume our conversation.

“She moved me into the master bedroom as you saw in the note,” I tell them. “I didn’t do an inventory this morning.”

Remembering my sleepwear last night I blush.

“What?” Joanna notices the blush.

“Well,” I blush even brighter. “She did kind of force me into some new sleepwear last night.”

“What do you mean ‘forced’?” Jane asked.

“Somehow, my nightwear drawer was firmly stuck and wouldn’t open so I had to either go to bed naked or wear what she laid out for me,” I continue my blush.

“Don’t drag this out, Karla,” Joanna rolls her eyes. “What did she lay out?”

“It is embarrassing,” I cringe

“Out with it Karla,” Anita demands.

“Okay,” I lean forward and whisper, “a very sexy baby doll set.”

“I bet you took a selfie wearing it,” Jane accurately guesses.

I just nod affirmatively, knowing that they will bug me until I show them. I pull my phone out of my purse then bring up the image before passing it around the table.

“Damn,” Jane says, “you should be a lingerie model. I have a very similar one which I'm sure contributed to both of my pregnancies.”

“I don’t have one,” Joanna declares. “I’ve thought about it, but I think I prefer a nice flannel nightgown this time of year. If not warm, Karla, at least you look very sexy.”

“I have one too,” Anita admits. “My last asshole boyfriend would beg me to wear it, not that it stayed on long when I did. You better not show this to Sam.”

“Speaking of Sam,” Anita changes subject. “Have you heard from him?”

“I’ve had a couple of texts,” I admit. “He arrived safely in Germany. We are going to try a Whatsapp call tonight here, tomorrow morning there.”

The ladies exchange knowing looks.

“What?” I ask.

They all start giggling.

Fortunately, lunch arrives at this point.

The rest of our very pleasant lunch passes chatting about a variety of topics. I enquire into the happenings of their lives. It is nice to shift the center of attention away from me for a change.

Jane and Joanna are both busy this evening, but Anita offers to go with me to the mall tonight to get my ears pierced at some jewelry shop called Claires. She thinks that it will be fun to introduce me to fine art shopping. We agree to meet up at the mall after my doctor’s appointment and grab dinner at the food court after getting my ears pierced.

----<0>----

The afternoon passes quickly as I begin to settle back into the routine of work. Most people seem to have gotten over the novelty of my transition. There are very few questions about my status, but I confirm to those that ask that the change is complete. There are still a few unbelievers out there, but they have more important things to attend to and none of them have been able to explain what they are seeing.

Almost before I realize it, it is time to head off the Dr. Lake’s office.

----<0>----

“Well,” Dr. Lake says removing his latex gloves, “that about wraps it up.”

I am laying on my back in a very compromising position. My legs are in something called stirrups and Dr. Lake, assisted by a female nurse, has just completed my first pelvic exam. It was not at all fun. The weighing, measuring, blood draw, ultrasound, and lots of prodding in sensitive areas occurred before the pelvic exam. The other tests seemed trivial compared to this latest indignity.

“Shaunna will help you out of this torture device and you can dress. Then we can talk,” He tells me.

Damn, but it takes a long time to reassemble a feminine ensemble.

“Well doc, am I going to live?” I grin once we get back together.

He rolls his eyes and sighs. “Back to that again, are we?”

I grin at him. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“I am pleased to announce that you are a perfectly healthy young woman in her mid-twenties,” He gives me the good news. “I am not sure how you feel about this, seeing as you were a healthy male just a week or so ago."

I shrug, “Does it really matter? I am just happy to be healthy. So, no problems?”

“Today’s ultrasound and pelvic exam are pretty clear that you have all the parts of a normal woman your age. I fully expect the blood work to confirm what I see in the flesh. We will check the DNA results against those we took last week and I fully expect a match there.

“In the less than two weeks, you’ve also lost over fifty pounds and your skeletal structure has transformed into that of a female. The changes are nothing short of miraculous.

“With this medical evidence, coupled with your daily selfies, I can categorically testify that the Karl I examined last week is the Karla seated before me now. I can’t say that I understand it, but the evidence is irrefutable. Last week you were male and today you are a complete female."

He smiles, “There is one thing looming. However, given that it has happened to virtually every woman who has ever lived, I don’t classify it as a problem. I just wouldn’t want to experience it myself. I am not a gynecologist, but it appears to me that your first period is imminent.”

Double damn! I should have expected this, but the very thought of monthly bleeding makes me squeamish.

“There’s no way around that?” I ask.

“Nothing short of a hysterectomy or menopause will stop it,” Dr. Lake seems amused. I am not. “Pregnancy will grant you a nine-month reprieve, if you want to take that step.”

“I’ll pass on the pregnancy option,” I am quick to claim. “That would involve sex with a man. I’m not sure where I stand on that issue.”

“I suspect that you will need to deal with the idea sooner than later,” he smiles, “if your hormone levels are still what they were a week ago. Hormones can be powerful motivators. But who knows, maybe you will prefer a female companion. You will have to figure that one out on your own unless you want me to refer you to a counselor.

“I am referring you to your mother’s gynecologist, a lovely woman,” he continues. “The other Dr. Lake. She can talk to you about options for birth control and make sure that I didn’t miss anything during my exam.”

“I suppose that I need some definitive statement that I am genetically female so that I can change records and update my legal identity. Somehow, I don’t think that there is cop in the land who will believe that I am Karl Bronson when they see my driver’s license.” I groan.

“I will work something up, pending the expected results from the lab work,” he assures me. “It should be ready for you to pick up late tomorrow, or Monday at the latest depending on when the lab results are all in.”

----<0>----

Fifteen minutes later, I find myself sitting in my parked car with an appointment card to see Dr. Lake, gynecologist, next Tuesday afternoon.

I’ve known this was coming for the past week and a half. Why do I feel so shell shocked?

Perhaps, in the dark recesses of my mind, I thought that maybe, just maybe, this was a dream or maybe a cosmic joke and I would wake up to find myself returned to the old me. Dr. Lake’s pronouncement of my complete new gender seems to have sunk into my very bones as a life sentence. I suppose it is, and right now it feels as if I will need a lifetime to really learn what I need to know about being a woman.

Is this punishment for neglecting the women around me? I am sure that Joanna could give me a long list of assholes who would be more deserving of seeing life from a new perspective. I am not sure that I am one of them.

Is it an opportunity? I can’t see how. The change has little impact on my major life goals, all of which are professionally oriented. I still want to design great structures and can do that regardless of my gender.

I get a headache trying to figure it out.

I am saved from further mental turmoil by a text notification.

Anita: Heading to the mall now. Where are you?

Me: On my way.

Anita: Great! I will park by the west entrance. Claires is just inside.

Me: See you there.

Starting the car, I think: I better not get pulled over!

----<0>----

Anita is browsing through a rack of hair accessories when I find her in Claires.

“Hi, Karla,” she says brightly. “I let the piercing specialist know that you were coming. Let me introduce you.”

The piercing specialist turns out to be a girl who may be 21, but I have my doubts. Kaylee has me fill out and sign some forms. I suppose that I am guilty of misrepresenting my identity when I sign my name as Karla for the first time, but she doesn’t ask for ID. I look closely at my handwriting and signature before returning the form. I don’t think that my handwriting has changed at all. It is not very feminine.

I have to purchase an ear-piercing kit to get the free ear piercing. Nothing is ever truly free. Kits with diamond studs can cost over $250.00. I end up buying the crystal blue zircon version with a white gold post for only $80. It is close in color to my favorite topaz necklace.

Kaylee tries to talk me into multiple piercing in each ear but I decline, pointing out that all the "free" piercings she wants to give me would cost a small fortune in ear-piercing kits.

Kaylee informs me about a variety of safety and care requirements. The one that I remember the most is that I need to clean each ear daily with a special fluid and I can’t remove the studs for six weeks. Seems like a long time to me, but Anita assures me that it is worth it.

“Your mother left you so many great earrings,” she enthuses. “I guarantee that you will be glad that you did this.”

I sigh, “Do your best, Kaylee.”

The experience is not as painful as I expected it to be.

In all we spend about an hour in the store after getting my ears pierced. Anita introduces me to a dizzying array of hair and jewelry options. I just hope that there is not a test on this later. Under her watchful eye, I select a six pack of hair clips, a hair band, and some sparkly hair pins which she promises to show me how to use.

As a thank you gift, I buy her a pair of inexpensive earrings that she takes a shine to. This starts me thinking about what I can do to show my appreciation to my new best friends for all their help. Nothing comes to mind right away but I am sure that I will think of something thoughtful if I pay attention to what each one likes.

We each find something we like in the food court. As we eat, Anita continues to educate me on all things feminine. I ask her about periods, telling her that Dr. Lake thinks that my first period will occur soon.

Anita gets excited by this bit of news. I’m not sure what is so wonderful about periods but she insists that a girl’s first period is really special as a right of passage from girlhood to womanhood. She says it is scary too, but not as bad as one might think if you are prepared.

Instead of finishing the evening with shopping, we head across the street to the local supermarket. She takes me straight to the feminine hygiene section and introduces me to an overwhelming display of different sanitary napkins and tampons.

Seeing the blank expression on my face, she gives me a reassuring smile. “This is all new to you, isn’t it?”

“New doesn’t begin to describe it,” I inform her. “I am on information overload. None of this makes any sense to me. It is just not something that I have had to think about or to deal with.”

“I don’t image that your mother or college girlfriend ever talked about this?” she asks, already knowing the answer.

“Oh, I know about periods, but they happened to women,” I point out. “There is no need for a man to get into the specifics, so the answer is: no. I don’t think they ever felt it necessary to bring me into the loop.”

In the end, Anita picks out a couple of different pads, “for different flows,” some tampons, “read the box to figure out how to use them,” and panty liners, “For those days with light discharge or moistness.”

Fortunately, we choose the self-checkout kiosk when we are done. I don’t think that I can handle working with a live checkout clerk with this stuff.

Anita’s final words as we hug before we part are, “Call me if you need help when you get your period. A girl shouldn’t have to face her first period alone.”

----<0>----

I find that mom has already stocked the bathroom with feminine hygiene products when I go looking for some place to stash my new purchases. I am looking in the master bathroom for somewhere to store all the products that I purchased with Anita's help when my phone notifies me of an incoming message.

Sam: Are you still up? It is early morning here.

Me: Yes, I just got home from shopping with your sister.

Sam: Are you broke now?

Me: Very funny, not. We just got my ears pierced and picked up a few supplies.

Sam: Do you have time to talk? We can use WhatsApp.

Me: Sure, give me fifteen minutes.

Sam: I have to leave for work in an hour.

Damn. WhatsApp calls are video calls. I quickly check my hair and makeup in the mirror. A quick brush and a touch up of my lipstick and I am ready to greet my latest new friend.

“Hello good looking,” Sam greets me with a silly grin once we connect. “How was your day?”

I roll my eyes. I guess that I am going to have to get used to flirting.

“Besides getting medical confirmation that I am now 100% female,” I deadpan, “not much.”

Over the next half hour, we chat about my visit to the doctor and I ask him about his trip to Germany. We just enjoy each other’s company before he has to head off to do battle with plaque and I get ready for bed.

Fortunately, I have access to my new nightgown drawer again. I pick a another flannel nightgown for tonight. Given Dr. Lake's prediction, I add a pad to my panty for the night. After cleaning off my makeup, brushing my teeth and admiring my new studs, I braid my hair and crawl into my parent's bed wondering what tomorrow’s epiphany will be.

The Twelve Days of Christmas - Day 12

The Twelve Days of Christmas By Tiffany B. Quinn Fortunately, I have access to my new nightgown drawer again. I pick a shorter flannel nightgown for tonight. After cleaning off my makeup, brushing my teeth and admiring my new studs, I braid my hair and crawl into my parent's bed wondering what tomorrow’s epiphany will be.

Friday Jan 6: Day 12 - The Epiphany

The first thing that I notice as I wake up this morning is that I am not feeling well and I don’t want to get out of bed. I am still tired and having mild stomach cramps and my breasts are tender. I recognize these as the signs of PMS that I read about online last night after talking with Sam.

At least I was warned. I am glad that I added one of those sanitary pads to my panty last night.

As I make my way to the bathroom to start my day, I am pretty sure that I am experiencing some drainage down there.

Sure enough, there is blood in the pad when I pull my panty down and sit on the toilet. I put my head in my hands and groan.

“What do I do now?” I ask the universe.

“You fold it over, wrap it in toilet paper, and put it in the trash,” I look up in surprise to see my mother standing in the bathroom doorway wearing a long white flowing dress. She looks absolutely radiant. “Don’t ever flush sanitary products down the drain, sweetheart.”

“Mom?” I ask in disbelief. “You are here?”

“Yes, I am,” she smiles at me, “I couldn’t let my little girl start her first period alone.”

“Oh, mom,” I say with tears in my eyes, “I have so much to ask you.”

“And I have a few things to tell you, my sweet Karla,” she says lovingly, “but let’s get you cleaned up and dressed for the day.”

She guides me through the procedures for dealing with flowing blood while showering and getting ready for the day. On mom’s advice, I take some Motrin which does easy the discomfort from cramping.

As I am dressing, she smiles, promises to see me downstairs when I am ready for breakfast, then fades away.

I quickly finish dressing in the pant suit and ankle boots that are laid out for me. I do a poor job with makeup and fixing my hair before rushing down to the kitchen.

Waiting for me at the breakfast table are my parents. On the table are also my morning yogurt, a banana, and some orange juice along with my coffee. The scene reminds me of old family times.

“Come sit with us, daughter,” my father invites me to the table with them. He is dressing in some kind of white robe.

With tears in my eyes, I cautiously approach the table and sit down, wondering when this dream will fade. “Mom and Dad, I’ve missed you so much.”

Mother gives me a gentle smile in reply, “Karla, darling, we miss you too, but we do get to watch you from afar from time to time. We look forward to the time when we can be reunited but not just yet. We want you to enjoy a long and full life before that happens. In the meantime, we can only stay for a short time. There are a few things that we would like you to know.”

“Yes,” my father agrees, “like why this has happened to you.”

“The question has crossed my mind,” I admit.

“Princess,” my father explains, “The bottom line is that you just haven’t made moves towards your destiny. You’ve been so focused on your career that you have been oblivious to what your real destiny is. Your destiny, and the destiny of others, is greatly influenced by what you choose to do in this life. Your destiny is also dependent of the choices of others. Everyone's choices are interconnected. But you also need to realize that there are only a few things that you take with you when you pass and these are the most important things in life: Your character, your knowledge, and your relationships. These are the things that you should work on above all else. Your choices have a huge impact on these.”

“You have a great heart,” mom picks up the thread. “You are honest and true. You have a track record of acknowledging other people’s feelings, but you are prone to overlook other people’s needs when you are focused on your own goals. I think you will find that your tunnel vision has already caused you to miss great opportunities for your development outside of your career. For one, you have already lost the opportunity to connect with your soulmate. She wanted you desperately, but you were so distracted that you never even noticed that she existed. She eventually gave up and married someone else. Which is too bad because you both would be much happier if you had married her. The man she ended up marrying your friend Joanna would classify as an asshole and he is making her life a living hell. She will be seeking someone like Joanna to help her in the near future. Your choice to ignore relationships has had a very negative impact on her life and the lives of her two children by the asshole.”

“Who was it?” I ask while racking my memories to for someone, “It wasn’t Judy was it?”

“No dear,” mom says, “Judy wasn’t the one. You will never know who she is, but with the loss of that opportunity, there has been a shift in what the future holds for many people. The shift is not necessarily good.”

“We were very disappointed when we found out about your failure in this matter,” dad points out.

“While you may be a rising star in the engineering world, you must not neglect the weightier matters. You must continue in your engineering work, but just realize that it is not to be your most important work.

"By the way, when you get to where we are now, you will find that the world’s knowledge of science and engineering barely scratches the surface.”

Mom picks up from there, “Yes dear Karla, you have a good character and are developing a large store of useful knowledge, however you were not developing the relationships that you should. I tried to push you in that direction as you grew up, but you were oblivious to my best efforts. When we reached our current place, we discovered that you had already missed out on the greatest relationship of your lifetime as a man. Then we were shown the impact of your failure and it isn't pretty. There are a lot of people where we are who fear that your failure will have devastating effects on the lives of many of their loved ones.”

“How can that be?” I ask bewildered. “I am one small cog in the world?”

“You know that it only takes one weak element to allow devastating failure in a structure,” dad points out. “Consider the weakest link theory. One small cog in a machine can be very important, particularly if that cog fails to do its part.”

“Also,” mom picks up the theme, “consider the butterfly effect. A seemly mundane and trivial decision can lead to a shift in the direction that the world takes.”

“And this butterfly made the wrong move?” I said.

“Yes,” mom’s smile is sad, “Missing your soulmate darkened the future for everyone.”

“But,” my father says, “All is not lost. The general opinion is that you, and the world, can have a second chance, but you will have to do it as a woman. The changes that have occurred to you, we hope, will break you out of your single focus life and broaden your perspective. Nothing else has. In your new role you have an opportunity to link with a great man and the two of you will stand together as equals to have a huge influence for good in the world.”

“You have much to learn about being a woman,” mom instructs me. “That is why you have three new best friends. Anita, Joanna, and Jane are meant to be your guides in your journey of discovery. But remember, Karla darling, friendship runs both ways. Stay aware of their feelings and challenges and be there for them in their times of need and they will continue to be there for you. They will, at times, need your support as much as you need theirs. The four of you are destined to be close friends throughout your lives.”

“Your nights of wild passion,” my father continues the line, “were not just random debauchery, but the experience emotionally tied you together with each of the two women. Sex between friends is never casual, especially for women. Remember that as you develop relationships with men. Sex can cause immense emotional damage if incorrectly used. Used correctly, it can bind two people together stronger than any other expression of love.”

“Yes,” mom agrees, “you really should reserve yourself for your soulmate. Anita and Joanna have already given themselves unwisely to men who would never love them and it has affected them deeply. Their time with you showed them what they can have if they hold out for men who truly care for them. They will be much more discriminating in the future. When you find your soulmate, knowing that you have saved yourself for him will make your bond to him so much sweeter and the sex so much better. Sex is best used as a manifestation of a couple’s love.

"Your two nights of wild sex were an anomaly for your two friends," mom continues. "Neither of them have ever participated in casual sex before. I have to admit that we were able to block their natural resistance to the idea, but it worked to emotionally connect you to each of the women in ways that could not have been otherwise accomplished since you were respectful of them and treated them as equal partners. You showed them what can be with the right man. Jane already knows this. Both women have a much deeper respect for your goodness than they had before. They also found that you can be a fun friend. You will see the benefit in the coming months and years.

"Follow your father's advice," mom adds. "Your mission is to find the man who is your soulmate. He is out there. Please don't do anything to screw up again."

"Yes," my dad agrees with mom. "He is out there. You will know in your heart when you have found him."

“I suppose that this is where I enter the conversation,” a very pretty young woman dressed in white fades into view, occupying the fourth seat at the table.

“Yes, Karen,” my mother smiles at her. “Thanks for joining us.”

“Karla,” Karen addresses me, “you have become a very lovely young woman. As you mentally settle into your new reality you will struggle with the new perspective. Even now, though you are doing so well, you don’t really feel at home as a woman. Be patient. Your mind will fully merge with your body and you will come to find, over the next few months, that you will be more comfortable being female. Learning the things that every woman learns growing up from girlhood will help. This just takes time.”

“You are Sam’s Karen?” I question her.

“Yes,” she says, “Sam is the only man that I have ever truly loved and it has been breaking my heart to see him suffer so much since I had to leave him. But I now see things that no living person does and I am no longer sad for myself but I am worried about him. I just want him to move forward and find love again. Love makes life worth living.”

“Am I to be his new love?” I question her.

“Maybe, or maybe not,” she gives me an vague answer. “That will be for the two of you to discover for yourselves. We cannot make that choice for you. It may be a difficult choice for you as you are dealing with the shift to a whole new existence. All that I ask is that you be honest and open with him. Please don’t trample on his heart. If you develop love between you, I will be happy for both of you. If not, if you treat him well, he will see that there is still a chance for happiness in his life. Just listen to your heart and you will know if Sam is the one for you, or not.”

“Karla,” my mother interjects. “Confronting the confusing feelings one experiences as new love is explored will help you to further cement your female identity. Sam is a very good man and will be patient as you struggle. Be kind to him as he is struggling too.”

“Just know,” Karen assures me, “that I am very happy that my beloved Sam has connected with you. It makes my heart soar to see him come out of his misery.”

“Oh, Karla,” my mother says with much feeling, “how I wish I could hug you and assist you through the coming years as a mother should be there for her daughter. Unfortunately, even though you have many questions, it is time for us to leave you. Please follow your heart and find your new soulmate. There is a lot riding on your choice.”

“Will I see you again?” I ask hopefully.

“Not in this life,” my father sadly replies, “but we will see you and love you from afar. Just know that we love you and pray for your success.”

Karen smiles at me, “Again, Karla, please be a true friend to Sam.”

“One last thing,” my father says. “As your priorities change, you will be tempted to sell out to Jim. Don’t do it quite yet. The company will see a large increase in business over the next couple of years, and not only with the new structural department. The firm will be worth substantially more as it grows. Trust Jim to guide the firm's direction - he knows what he is doing. He is an even better business man than he is an engineer, and he is one of the best engineers in the area. If you do decide to sell out, take the structural department with you and start your own firm. You will be glad that you did.”

“Thanks Dad,” I smile back as the three of them start to fade from view.

“And,” mother gets in a last word just before they are gone. “You are on your own now. I can’t help you select your wardrobe anymore. Your friends will help you develop a fashion sense.”

Tears stream down my face as my three special visitors fully fade away.

Damn. I will have to redo my makeup, but I don't care.

I notice four small boxes laying in the middle of the table, each with the name of one of my foursome of friends on it.

Noticing my untouched breakfast, I absently nibble at it as I wipe away my tears and contemplate the meaning of the amazing, all too short, visitation. How I wish that we had had more time!

My contemplation is broken by a notification ding from my phone.

Anita: Did you get a note and gifts today?

Me: No note, a visitation instead. Today’s gift is a bloody period.

Jane: Poor baby.

Joanna: I want to hear about the visitation. Lunch again today?

Me: Same place and time.

All three women quickly agree. Today is the last work day that Jane and Anita have before they return to classes next week, so they can make it.

Looking at the kitchen clock, real life catches up to me.

Damn, I am late again!

----<0>----

I scowl at Theresa as I breeze through the atrium to my office. I don’t feel great, damn period.

I have a short meeting with Jim and Celeste to update them on Dr. Lake’s conclusions before getting to billable work.

Apparently, I am not pleasant company this morning.

A couple of hours after arriving at work, Celeste confronts me.

“Karla,” she growls at me, “what is your problem today? You are not making any friends with your grumpy attitude.”

“Damn period,” I grump.

“Really?” She seems genuinely surprised.

“Really,” I confirm. “It’s a bitch. How do you women put up with this?”

She has the audacity to laugh, “Welcome to womanhood, Karla, you are now truly one of us. I can’t tell you how many times women wish this on men when they poke fun at us when we are on. It has finally happened!”

“Laugh all you want,” I scowl at her. “I am not a man anymore.”

“Apparently not! Well, girl,” she takes on a drill sergeant attitude, “put your big girl panties on and deal with it. It is not going away anytime soon, and it is not an excuse for poor behavior or pity. Don’t let it interfere with your work or responsibilities. Billions of women push through their periods every month. So can you.”

There’s me being told off.

“Yes, ma’am,” I meekly reply. “I will try.”

“Just let me know if you need any help figuring out what to do,” she kindly tells me. “The first time is a real learning experience.”

----<0>----

“Are you alright in there?” Rachel asks with concern through the bathroom stall door.

She obviously heard me muttering to myself as I work out what to do with a bloody sanitary pad and install a new one. I am not quite up to sticking a tampon in me.

“What do you do with a bloody pad?” I ask through the door.

“Really?” She sounds surprised, “you are having a period?”

“Yes, damn it!” I growl back.

“Wow!” is all she says.

“What do I do with this pad?” I ask again.

She instructs me on the proper procedure for disposing of the pad. I was wondering what the extra dispenser in the stall was for. It contains some little wax coated bags made just for this eventuality.

When I finally exit the stall, I put the used item in the trash and go to wash my hands.

Rachel gives me a quick hug, “Welcome to womanhood.”

Rachel, being the gossip that she is, ensures that the news of my condition quickly spreads through the office. Any lingering doubts about the extent of my transformation are dispelled.

Women I meet give me knowing smiles and the occasional, “Welcome to the sorority.”

Most of the men seem to avoid me. A few sexist jerks smirk but are wise enough to keep their mouths shut.

----<0>----

I am the last to arrive, again, for lunch.

As I sit down at the open seat, I find three small gifts at my place.

“What is this?” I wave at the gifts.

Jane smiles, “Those are your birthday presents.”

“My birthday isn’t until next summer,” I point out.

“But today is the birth of your womanhood,” Anita points out. “Your period declares that you are now fully Karla.”

“Also,” Joanna points out, “Today is the Epiphany. The day that tradition holds that the three magi delivered their presents to the Christ child. While you are not the Christ child and we are not three wise men, these three friends decided that you need something to celebrate the birth of your womanhood.”

“Open them,” an excited Jane encourages.

The first is a pair of very beautiful gold drop earrings with three small stars, each adorned by tiny garnets, hanging from each clasp.

“Garnets are January’s birthstone,” Jane gushes, “I hope that they remind you of your new birth.”

The second gift is a small bottle of Chanel No. 5 perfume.

“This is one of the most popular perfumes of all time,” Anita rushes to inform me. “Every woman needs a bottle. I hope that you like it.”

Gift number three is a bottle of Lavender scented bath oil.

Jane informs me, “About a dozen drops in your bath water will not only moisturize your skin, but relax your senses. It is comforting when you are having your period.”

The other women agree.

While not exactly the gold, frankincense, and myrrh described in the Bible, the gifts lavished upon me by my three "magi" are wonderfully symbolic gifts for my emergence as a woman.

Tears well up in my eyes as I reach out to squeeze the hands of this lovely ladies that are my wise counselors.

“I love you guys,” I say with watery eyes.

Our tender moment is broken by the arrival of our food.

Over lunch, I recount this morning’s visitation and we discuss it’s meaning. Anita is convinced that Sam is my new soulmate. I’m not so sure but the thought is not repulsive. For now, I am happy to have him for a friend. I am careful to omit reference to Karen and her part of this morning's discussion.

We all speculate about what great destiny is being affected by my choices.

When I tell them that mom is no longer going to act as my personal maid, all three of them offer to spend a few hours with me tomorrow analyzing my wardrobe and to give advice on what goes with what.

I ask Joanna about her date with George tonight. Apparently, he is taking her to a new Thai restaurant then to a concert by our local small, but proud, symphony orchestra. They will be playing music to the showing of an old Buster Keaton silent film. It should be fun and she is cautiously excited about spending time with George. We all wish her well.

As we are getting ready to leave, I remember the four presents that my parents left behind this morning. Taking them from my purse, I passed them around and we quickly opened them. Inside we each find a necklace with a sterling silver puzzle piece pendant. Our names are engraved on the pendants. When we put the four puzzle pieces together, they form a heart.

With a heartfelt group hug, we disperse to continue our days.

Mine turns out to be thankfully mundane. I have gotten behind on more than one project over the last two weeks so I spend the afternoon working diligently to get caught up. While the work does not totally distract me from my uncomfortable body, I try to follow Celeste’s orders and act pleasant. I am somewhat successful, I think.

Later in the afternoon, I call Dr. Lake's office to see if my letter is ready yet, but apparently not all the test results are back. They ask me check back on Monday.

----<0>----

As I ease my uncomfortable and bleeding body into the hot scented bath, I sigh in relief. The ladies are right. This feels heavenly and the scent is very very relaxing.

My mind wanders over the past thirteen days. It has been quite a ride.

I smile as I recall the daily notes from mom. I will miss those. I decide that I am very grateful for the gradual transformation. If the transformation had to happen, then taking a week and half to ease into it avoided the shock of a sudden change. Not only did it help me, but it helped the people around me accept the change as well.

I wonder what John has written about all this. I have hope that his writing will be helpful to squash any misinformation and lead to greater acceptance, but somewhere in the pit of my stomach I fear a sensationally negative tabloid article. Mom said that it will be good article, so I try to have a little faith and to quit worrying about that.

It seems that my colleagues at work are getting past the shock and are just moving on with business. The unfortunate firing of Carlos has done a lot to discourage any further unpleasantness. I hope that Carlos will learn from his experience, but I somehow doubt it.

Having three close girl friends is a real plus. I have never had such close friends before and I really like it. I feel closer the Jane, Anita, and Joanna that I have ever been to anyone else, short of my parents.

And then there is Sam. What do I do about Sam? He sent me another text this morning but it was midday before I could respond. I apologized and promised to be more available on the weekend.

I reach out to collect my phone which is sitting on the counter. It is very early Saturday morning in Germany, but I send him a text anyway.

Me: Good morning, Sam. What are you up to today?

Almost immediately, I get a reply back.

Sam: Just waking up thinking of you. I wish we could spend the day together. How about a call?

Me: Give me 45 minutes, just finishing up a task.

I am not going to tell him what I am doing. Giving him visions of me lying naked in the tub is probably not a good idea.

Sam: Got it. 45 minutes. That gives me time to get going.

The water is starting to cool anyway, I sigh.

Taking a quick shower to wash off the oil residue, I dress in a very comfortable long flannel nightgown with a fresh sanitary pad in my underwear, loosely braid my hair, and crawl into bed with a mug of hot chocolate to await his call.

My new life has begun. I am grateful for my three best friends who have promised to guide me into this new life within the world of women. It would be terrible to be doing this alone.

I wonder where my new life will take me.

Hopefully, I will make the right choices this time around.

----<0>----

The End
of Karla's transformation (and this story).

The beginning of Karla's adventures in womanhood.

IWAM_01

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! So... what is his reward?

Chapter One: The Accident

A dense fog had rolled in off the Sound while I was sleeping in my tent. I can hear the drone of the occasional small boat negotiating the fjord in the fog—whoever is out there must have radar, a really good GPS, or be foolhardy. They are most likely commercial fisherman trying to make the most of the salmon season. Moisture from the condensing fog is dripping from the trees above the small gravel beach on which I have found rest. This part of the Sound is very rocky and good camping beaches for sea kayakers are hard to find. As fatigue caught up to me late yesterday evening the best I could do was to wait for an hour after high tide to claim a narrow piece of gravel which was exposed by the falling tide. I had about ten hours use of the pocket beach before it was to be covered by sea water again. Fortunately the sea has been calm in the protected cove sheltering the beach. If there had been waves then my time on this beach would have been much more severely limited.

The wet, cold, foggy weather, is a good match for my depressed mood. The only thing missing for a perfect match is the type of steady soaking miserable rain which is common in this area. My life is in a shambles and my depression extreme. The tide is also rising quickly so I must pack up my camp and be on my way.

As I pack the camp and stow everything in my small boat I wonder what it is that I am going to do—not the next part of the trip, but about my life. My life really is very unpleasant right now.

While I like sea kayaking a lot, I am on this trip in response to a very strong spiritual prompting instead of for casual recreation. The prompting had given me hope that on this trip I would find answers to the personal problems I face and guidance concerning next steps in my life. After a week of wandering in the wilderness I am no closer to the answers than when I started.

As I contemplate my next immediate move, I consider the wisdom of making the four mile open water crossing I’ve planned. The fog is still thick and I still hear the occasional passing of a power boat. While I have a state of the art GPS to guide me, I am invisible to other craft. I listen for the deeper noise of a cruise ship but don’t hear one. This passage is used every day or so by large passenger cruise ships taking lazy people to see the many glaciers emptying into the fjord that I’m paddling in. Being struck by a fog blinded power boat would be bad enough but at least they’d know they hit something and maybe attempt a rescue. A cruise ship, however, would never even notice that I was there if they ran over me.

Normally I would strongly recommend against making a crossing in such weather, but given my current circumstances, maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

I am currently about fifty miles from the nearest port connected to the road system but I am not alone. In the past week I’ve encountered several groups of kayakers and have watched a dozen or more power boats and assorted watercraft pass by each day. While this area is considered wilderness there are quite a few people out enjoying it.

This fog is proving to be persistent and thick. In fact it is difficult to tell where the sun is. At least the water is calm. Actually it is almost dead calm. There is not a breath of wind and the only disturbance in the water surface is the occasional long swell remaining from a power boat wake. Without a compass or GPS it would be easy to get turned around and head off in the wrong direction. I am glad that I am prepared.

The morning is chilly and the tide is about to overwhelm the beach so I need to make a plan and get moving. A good steady paddle will loosen and warm the muscles. A steady paddling rhythm can be hypnotic and comforting. On a day like today, not a lot of thinking is required to navigate the boat once the course is set and motion is started. This leaves a lot of time for contemplation. Given my current state of mind, I’m not sure that is a good idea.

Throwing caution to the wind, with the so-what attitude of the depressed, I decide to go for it. I’ve been stood up and I’ve seen about all I want to here. It’s time to head home. I need to cross the fjord opening to cut at least a day’s paddle off of the trip home. Chances are good that I’ll make it across without incident, but even if I don’t it wouldn’t a great loss. I have a Coast Guard approved boat whistle—which is quite loud—that might warn off smaller craft if they should approach. I also have a hand held marine radio which I can hail craft with if needed. The odds of encountering anything big are relatively low.

“This is really a stupid decision, Jerry.” I mutter to myself. How many times have I warned my kids against just such stupidity in past trips? Given my current depression I ignore my own warning. While I’m not really suicidal, death almost sounds like a relief.

With a sigh I finish packing everything into my small boat and shove off just as the last of the beach is reclaimed by the sea. It’ll be another couple of hours before another such beach comes available.

Having made the decision, I check my GPS unit and choose a heading to watch on my deck mounted compass, taking into account the currents caused by the rising tide. The timing is good as the currents will not be much of a factor around high tide. Monitoring the GPS will permit me to alter my course if my calculations are off. This is almost too easy when I recall my pre-GPS days. We used to navigate only by map and compass and would occasionally find ourselves in the wrong place when crossing blind. It would have been extremely fool hardy to attempt this foggy crossing without the modern electronic toys. The crossing should only take an hour or so and, it being at the peak of high tide, the currents shouldn’t be a problem. Dipping my paddle in the water, I head off on my course and settle into a steady paddling rhythm.

While I am fifty miles from my port of departure, I’ve put almost one hundred fifty miles under my keel in the past week. I’ve been paddling in and out of fjords, most of the time without any real plan—I have been searching for something but I’m not exactly sure what. I thought I’d found it yesterday, but the answers weren’t there. Unfortunately, now I have to get back to civilization and find out what new disasters have happened in my absence. I also have a court hearing to attend in a few days.

---< 0 >---

My boat wobbles a bit as the wake of a passing watercraft reaches me. I had heard the boat pass distantly about five minutes earlier. Otherwise all is quiet—almost too quiet. According to my GPS I’m about half way across the fjord opening. The fog ahead of me seems to be thinning somewhat as I can see a strange bright light trying to shine through just ahead of me. I wonder what is producing such a light as I have not heard any sign of another watercraft nearby.

Without notice, I break through into a very unusual clearing in the fog. The clearing is perfectly round, about a hundred feet in diameter and standing on the water right in the middle of it is a brightly glowing personage dressed in white robes. That’s right. He is standing ON the water as if it is the most normal of things to do. My boat is eighteen feet long, so I have to back paddle quickly to avoid hitting this obviously angelic person.

Time seems to have stopped. The water is not moving, there is no sound to be heard, and I get the strong sense that I’m in another dimension.

While it must have been only seconds, it feels like long minutes before the personage speaks to me. In the intervening time he looks upon me with a peacefully serene expression that shows a hint of amusement as if he knows something significant that I don’t. When he does finally speak, he does so with a soft but compelling voice which seems to pierce me to the very heart.

“Peace be unto thy soul, my fellow servant. Thy faithfulness and devotion are acceptable unto the Lord. Thou hast proven thyself in his eyes. Thou hast carried well the burdens which thou hast been given. Those burdens have helped to make thee the person thou art and have given thee the compassion which has made thee a strong instrument in the Lord’s work. They hast also prepared thee to be an even greater instrument in the Lord’s hand than thou has hither to been. No mistakes have been made. The burdens which have plagued thee recently and throughout thine life will now be removed. Take the lessons of thy life and expand upon them to bless the lives of His children and thine. He has much work for thee yet to do before thou art called home to take thy place in his kingdom.”

Without waiting for questions, he begins to ascend upward (towards heaven I presume) smiling knowingly at me again with the expression of one who knows something big is about to happen and he’s not sharing the details.

Before I have time to process his words, a small tour boat pops out of the fog and rams my kayak, shattering the front end and pushing the rest violently aside, rolling me over. As I go into the drink, I get a glimpse of astonished faces peering over the boat’s rail.

I struggle to release myself from the remains of my boat while underwater. All the emergency exit drills pay off and I’m soon free and struggling for the surface.

It looks like I forgot about the daily glacier tour boat.

I do ingest some seawater before breaking the surface. Floating on the surface with the aid of my personal floatation device (PFD) I cough up a bit of salt water. Taking inventory of my body I don’t think anything that is cut or broken. Having never actually been in the water in the past couple of decades of sea kayaking, I have opted not to use either a wet or dry suit. Being in water with a temperature not much above freezing, I hope the boat that hit me returns as I won’t last long before hypothermia gets me. With this in mind, I start blowing on my warning whistle in hopes of attracting attention.

I notice that the fog has closed in again. There is no clear opening. I feel my energy waning quickly but am reassured as I hear the boat looking for me.

Heavens, the water is cold! Very cold! I am shivering violently and losing focus as the tour boat eases into view through the fog. Someone drops a line with a loop in it over the side. I barely get the loop under my arms before a great pain seems to explode in my chest.

Just before I pass out, my last thought is that the angel seems to have gotten things wrong.

 

To Be Continued...

IWAM_02

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! This chapter fills in a lot of background regarding the reason for the darkness in Jerry's life.

Chapter Two: Life’s Burdens

Three months ago, my life was great—well as great as it ever gets. I was anticipating retirement in another year at the tender age of fifty nine with a great pension from a job that I used to like but which had become a burden as I have taken on more administrative responsibility. In addition to the pension, my wife and I were out of debt and had a glorious nest egg built up that could keep us for several lifetimes with careful management. Three of our four children were well launched into productive careers and the other had chosen the life style of a vagabond hippie—living out of her car somewhere in America doing God knows what. We don’t hear from her often. My wife, Aileen, of thirty seven years was in good health and already making plans to keep me busy in retirement. Our relationship was good—we were best friends.

That was three months ago. Now everything is different—life is hell. I have learned that change can happen blazingly fast.

The slide into hell began when Aileen was suddenly killed when a drunk driver decided to ignore the speed limit and a stop light. She died instantly when struck directly in the driver’s side door. The accident happened around 12:30 AM when she was on her way home from helping to tend our granddaughter while the little girl’s parents went out for the evening. The only survivor of the accident, a passenger in the other car, claimed it was my wife who ran the stop light and has filed suit for damages. Aileen was the most careful driver I know. My son testified that she was alert and happy when she left their home and that she was wide awake and stone cold sober —neither of us drink alcohol at all. I don’t put much stock in the claim against us as the other driver had a blood alcohol level that was three times the legal limit. So far no other witnesses have stepped forward to testify as to what really happened. While we filed a counter suit of wrongful death, my lawyer is recommending settling the suit by paying off the idiot’s surviving family with the lion’s share of our life’s savings.

About a week after my wife died and before I returned to work at the State agency which employs me, one of my female coworkers filed a sexual harassment charge against me claiming that I had groped her after everyone else had left for the evening when she stayed late to help me finish a project. She said that this happened just days before my wife was killed. She also claimed harassing emails and had a bunch of fabricated emails planted on my computer along with some pornographic images. Needless to say, there were no witnesses, again, and things are looking dismal for me. I’m not sure why this woman did this as we’ve always had a cordial relationship. The way things are going, I may lose that wonderful pension, not to mention having to pay damages. There’s even been mention of possible jail time. I may have to sell our family home to cover the expenses. The house that Aileen and I had built with our own hands and in which we had raised our family. It is a house full of sweet memories.

Because of the “sex” scandal, my membership in my church is being threatened. This after years of flawless devoted service and leadership in the lay church. You’d think that they’d give me the benefit of the doubt given my years of service. Even my longtime friends are keeping their distance from me. I have become a pariah. My own children are suspicious of me, as if I’ve grown a second head or something. The females in the family are particularly distant. They are keeping the grandchildren away from me as well.

About a month ago I started to have anxiety and blood pressure issues—go figure. The doctors also found that I have a rare heart condition, Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy, which is probably not fatal unless I find myself in a high stress situation. That could be a problem given the circumstances.

Things are looking bleak. I’m not sure how to get out of it. Frankly the idea of never returning from my solo wilderness trip has its appeal. There are lots of cases of people wandering off into the wilderness only to die a lonely accidental death.

These new burdens are just adding to one that I have coped with my whole life. Since I can first remember, I’ve known that something was not as it should be in my life. I should have been born a girl. I don’t know why I feel this way, but the feeling is always strong and gets stronger at certain times. Unfortunately, being a physical female is not the hand that I was dealt at birth. I have made the most of what I was given, but have kept this little secret to myself. I have, instead, done everything—well, almost everything—that I can to live my life as God would like me to—that includes caring for other people, serving faithfully those who God has put in my path, and being as Christ-like as possible.

I have gone through periods where the desire to be female has been overwhelming. This has resulted in private periods of cross dressing using my wife’s clothes when the family is away. Unfortunately, I never did look good in female attire. The clothes felt right. I enjoyed those episodes as long as I avoided mirrors. When I was wearing female clothing, I felt like I was dressed as I should have been and it brought a sense of peace to me. Occasionally, I’d also delve into pornography (at home only—never at work!) so that I could daydream about what it’d be like to be one of the girls—I’d admire the bodies of the nude models, sometimes imagining that I could select the one I could be morphed into. Every time, however, the guilt of sneaking around in my wife’s clothing and delving too deeply into pornography would get to me and I’d do a purge—successfully ignoring the urges for another six to ten years .

Don’t get me wrong, I was attracted to my wife. I really enjoyed our family life and being with her. Even now after the many changes in my life I miss her terribly. I just wish that we could have traded bodies. Consequently, I was probably never as happy as I could have been.

I have always had a close relationship with God. He has been there for me and others many times. I’m convinced—mostly—that my situation is not a mistake. I would just like to know why he has placed this burden on me. I’ve prayed often for him to either make it right or take away the longing. My preference is to make it right.

Now, I’ve been saddled with the additional burdens of losing someone I love, financial and professional ruin, and the loss of my closest relationships. I’m not sure which of the burdens is the heaviest—they all seem to be individually overwhelming. Combining them together is bringing me to my knees.

My lawyer was not happy when I had announced my ‘vacation’ just two weeks before I have a hearing date over the sexual harassment charges. Apparently, if events transpire as she thinks they will, I’ll be out of a job when this is over. She tried to convince me that my only hope was to stick around and look for new evidence which would clear me of the charges or at least cast significant doubt. She figured that my vacation would be better taken after the event—after all I might have lots of time then.

I couldn’t delay the trip, however. For one, I am tired of facing the mounting problems and I needed an escape. This however, is not my main reason for disappearing into the wilderness for a couple of weeks. The real reason is hard to describe in a secular world.

I am a religious man, which can be quite a burden in itself in these times. I have a strong belief in the existence of God and in personal communication with Him. I’ve had a lifetime of experience with receiving gentle spiritual promptings which have guided my life and led me to reach out to other people in need, finding a sense of peace in my life that is otherwise unexplainable. I’ve also had some rather strong revelatory experiences over the years which have led me in unanticipated directions—often in directions that are contrary to my personal desires and contrary to common sense—which have brought me great peace and/or success as I have followed them.

One of those strong revelatory experiences happened to me two weeks ago. I had just arrived home from another frustrating day trying to find ways to fight the false accusations against myself and my departed wife. I had spent nearly the entire afternoon with my lawyer and an investigator going over the evidence in both the traffic accident and in the sexual harassment case. We also reviewed the possible responses—for probably the hundredth time. The investigator has been trying to dig into the harassment charge against me. He is convinced that the woman who filed the charge is being manipulated by someone who is out to do me harm. The problem is I haven’t a clue as to who would want to do me harm. I’ve had long term issues with a couple of professional colleagues over the years—both of them are incompetent fools in many ways. Both of whom, on principle, I had been a lone voice opposing their promotions many years previously. At the time I was out maneuvered and made to look a fool. Both of them have long since publicly proved my objections true and have been separated from the organization as a result of their own incompetence, vindicating me in the end. Neither of them appears to be connected to my accuser.

Anyway, when I arrived home that evening I put together a simple dinner and sat out on my back deck mourning the loss of my wife and generally feeling low over my general predicament. As I sat there miserably contemplating my situation, an almost audible thought came into my heart and my mind saying: “Get thee into the wilderness.” In my mind’s eye, I immediately saw myself paddling through ice fragments near one of the tidewater glaciers commonly found in our area of the world—one that I didn’t recognize. The words seemed to vibrate through my entire soul and I felt compelled to jump up and start making preparations immediately.

The prompting was disturbing. What was wanted of me? I have to admit that I’d been something of slacker in my religious commitments lately. It’s hard to stay committed when your world is collapsing around you and when you feel abandoned to carry several heavy burdens alone. I have not been able to live up to Job’s example as fully as I should. I have felt a growing distance between me and God since all the troubles began—as if He has forsaken me along with everyone else. Still, I have remained basically faithful. This abandonment has been unsettling to me. Since the evening of the prompting, I have scrutinized the revelation many times; however I could detect neither comfort nor condemnation in the summons. At least I now know that God knows that I’m here. The heavens have been silent since then, even when I have petitioned with my whole heart and soul.

Anyway, how do you tell everyone that you’re going camping alone in the wilderness—away from all communication except for by a satellite phone, which I don’t have—for an indeterminate amount of time on the eve of what is likely to be total personal disaster. My legal counsel expressed extreme frustration with my announcement. The office seemed relieved to see me go. My kids wouldn’t answer my messages. Everyone who would talk with me said that it was crazy to go out alone. Regardless I felt a strong compulsion which I had to act upon.

Yesterday, with a sense of déjà vu, I found myself paddling through fractured ice—as I had done many times in the past week—and suddenly recognizing the place as the one which I had seen in my mind after my prompting. My heart had been momentary lifted as I expected answers as to the reason for my summons. It would have been a relief to have been chewed out for being a slacker—if nothing else—as I’d at least know where I stand. But, alas, the heavens remain sealed.

I had hung around watching the glacier calve all afternoon, waiting for further direction. The direction never came. I felt like a fool drifting around waiting for something that never came. Summer was starting to wane meaning that it actually got dark at night now, so in the late evening I had finally left the glacier to find a suitable resting place. I paddled three miles down the fjord before I found last night’s scrap of beach. I spent the evening thinking about the experience. I concluded that I’d done what was asked of me and that it was time to head back home. I’d gone where I was told to go and was stood up. What game is God playing? I asked but got no reply—until now.

To Be Continued...

IWAM_03

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! The angel's promises start to come true.

Chapter Three: The Hospital

As I regain consciousness, the first impression is the smell. It is a familiar smell which brings back bad memories. The smells are quickly followed by the sounds. I don’t want to open my eyes. I’m obviously in a hospital. How can things get any worse? All I can see in my mind is mounting bills and more heartache.

The last time I was in a hospital, it was in the Emergency Room of a small local hospital where I identified Aileen’s lifeless body. I felt then as if my life had been shattered. The smells and the sounds brought it all back to me with an accompanying wave of grief. I can feel tears running down my cheeks.

I must have stirred as I hear someone getting up from a seat.

“Dad… are you awake? You are crying.”

It is the concerned voice of my vagabond daughter. What is she doing here? Last I heard, she was thousands of miles away rock climbing in some inaccessible place in southern Arizona.

“Samantha?” I croak with a raspy voice. My goodness, my throat hurts.

“Don’t talk, Dad, I’m calling the nurse.”

She is holding my hand as I try to open my eyes. Fortunately it is night and the lights are muted, giving me time to adjust.

A nurse bustles in and starts asking questions of Samantha. She tells the nurse that she heard me sob once and saw the tears on my face. This is followed by a round of vitals checking and a few yes or no questions which I can answer with a weak shake or nod of the head.

“Do you hurt?” the nurse inquires.

I feel really groggy but there is an underlying ache throughout my body so I figure that a nod is appropriate.

“Well,” the nurse replies, “now that you’re awake you’ll start to feel the pain. The doctor has ordered some pain medication for when you awake.”

She allows my daughter to give me a little water to ease my throat before she injects something into an IV tube and I quickly fade back into sleep.

------< O >------

I guess that I’m still in the hospital. I smell the smells and hear the sounds, though the sounds are more energetic than before. It must be daytime.

I’m not sure that I want to open my eyes again, but do any way. The room is much brighter so I quickly close my eyes and try again to open them more slowly.

The bed is tipped up a bit and I can see Samantha curled up in a big chair reading a book and sipping coffee. I spend a few minutes just watching her as she reads. I use the time to inventory my memories concerning how I got to be here.

It seems that all my woes raise their ugly heads as I contemplate my predicament. Too bad the boat missed—it would be nice to have all these trials behind me. My depression is as bad as ever.

“Sam,” I croak out quietly.

She puts her book down and quickly comes to my side, pushing the nurse call button when she gets there. She gingerly grabs my hand.

“Oh, Dad,” she says with a mixture of concern and relief. “We thought we’d lost you to! How are you feeling?”

Well, besides aching all over and feeling really groggy, my throat is parched.

“Water,” I manage to croak.

“Just a sip now,” Samantha, my wayward daughter, admonishes me. “You’ve had a rough go of it and you’re not cleared for food or liquids yet. That tube they stuck down your throat for a while must have made things pretty sore.”

I sip a little ice water through the straw before Samantha pulls it away. About this time a nurse bustles in looking all business. He, a male nurse, goes through the vitals check and informs me that my doctor has been notified that I’m awake. He is in the hospital somewhere and will stop by as soon as he can. When he’s done, the nurse heads out to harass some other poor patient.

A few sips more of water make my throat feel better but I am still a bit groggy. I also have a flu-like ache throughout my whole body.

“Gee, Dad,” Samantha says, “you really know how to shake things up. What were you doing out there in the fog? Aren’t you always telling me to be cautious in those conditions? You’re lucky to be alive.”

Nothing like getting to the heart of the matter. Samantha has always been one to say what’s on her mind.

The way I feel physically and emotionally I’m not sure that ‘lucky’ is the right adjective that she should be using for my situation.

Ignoring her questions, I ask “How long have I been here?”

“A week,” she curtly replies. “And the first part of that week you were on life support. Hypothermia and a heart attack are not a good combination. You’re lucky that there was a doctor and an AED on that tour boat and that the Coast Guard helicopter was on maneuvers nearby or we’d have buried you by now. What were you thinking? You must have a death wish to be out in such conditions. Tim tells me you’ve been pretty depressed lately by all the crap you’ve landed in. Where you trying to commit suicide? If so, you’re an idiot and you almost succeeded. ”

Tim is my oldest son, and an ER doctor at our big regional hospital.

“And you lost my favorite of your kayaks,” she adds with some distain. “I was hoping you’d give it to me. But no, you have to go and trash it in the middle of the ocean.”

“Idiot,” she mutters under her breath. I don’t think that she is happy with me.

Samantha likes to tell it like she sees it. That’s probably the reason she has trouble with long term relationships and with holding down employment. She’s quick to tell people what she thinks—often without considering all the issues or their feelings. Tact is something missing from her skill set. One of her middle school teachers once tactfully told us that Sam has “a strong sense of justice” after Sam had, with much directness, called one teacher to task from some perceived violation of school policy.

She seems determined to lecture me on safe kayaking procedures today.

“I love you too,” I manage to croak out. My throat really hurts.

She seems to be become contrite. With tears in her eyes, “I’m sorry, Dad. It’s just that you scared us all so bad. I’m not sure I could stand to lose both you and Mom so quickly. I love you to.” She gives my hand an affectionate squeeze.

About this time, a familiar doctor breezes in with my male nurse in tow. Samantha slips out the door into the hallway.

“Well,” says the doctor while looking me over, “things are looking up. How are you, Jerry? Long time no see.”

Dr. Mike Chadwell and I go way back. We went to high school together and are still close enough that we do the odd hike together and we’d go out to dinner together with our wives once or twice a year. He’s a good man and a good friend. He’s been our family doctor for many years.

I manage to croak out a hello.

“You look like crap,” Dr. C matter-of-factly points out, “but you’re still breathing, which is much better than you were when you came in. It’s good to see you awake, my friend.”

“Thanks,” I manage to get out. “I’m glad you’re here Mike. Tell me what’s happening.”

“Well, to start with,” he begins, “you had hypothermia, some sea water in your lungs, and several heart attacks. You also gave your son a hell of a fright when they wheeled you into the emergency room from the helicopter. You didn’t have any ID on you so they didn’t know who you were when you were picked up. Tim got your case as they rushed you in the door and ID’d you right off. I hear that he cleared the decks to give you everything they’ve got down there. It was touch and go but he stabilized you. Knowing your medical history helped a lot as he was aware of your heart condition and was able to make the right moves quickly.

“Right now, you are one sick puppy. While you didn’t break anything or have any lacerations, you do appear to have done some damage to your heart, but we won’t know the extent until we can get you on the tread mill for a stress test and do an MRI. Also, you started to develop pneumonia from the seawater in your lungs, so we had to drain you and put you on a ventilator for a few days. We are hitting you with some strong antibiotics but you’re likely to be sick for another week from the pneumonia. Hopefully, the pneumonia won’t get much worse. It took a day of pumping you with fluids and wrapping you in warm blankets to get you core temperature up again but now the fever from the pneumonia is keeping you too warm. In fact, you’re warmer than I’d like.

“I don’t think that the hypothermia will cause any lasting effects. It is strange but the hypothermia might actually have helped you survive the heart attacks—we’re not sure on that one.”

Samantha slips back in the room during this summary.

“So,” I painfully conclude, “I’ll be okay in a week or so?”

“Well,” Mike hedges, “there is something else.” He looks concerned. I just look at him enquiringly.

“We’re not sure what it is, but you seem to be losing a lot of weight very quickly,” He informs me. “We’ve upped the calories in your IV and are working to bring your temperature under control, but none of it seems to be working.”

“I could stand to lose about forty pounds,” I point out with great effort.

“Well,” he sighs, “you’re well on your way. You’ve lost twenty pounds in the last week.”

My incredulous look solicits more information.

“Yes, my friend,” he continues, “You’re down twenty pounds since you arrived, which is a lot more than we’d expect.”

No wonder I feel so weak.

“We need to level that off soon,” he says. “We have no idea what’s causing this but suspect that your fever has something to do with it. You’re burning up all your body’s reserves. Unfortunately, it’s not the only strange thing happening here. Your hair has all fallen out—everywhere. I mean, ALL your hair. It’s worse that chemo. We have no idea why this happened.

“In addition to all these physical things going on, my friend, I’m worried about your emotional health. I understand all the stress factor’s you faced lately have driven you to some strange behaviors. We all thought your short notice trip was ill timed but might be good for you. However, the decision to make a crossing in fog is very out of character for you. You know the risks as well as anybody but you still did it. It almost seems as if you were intentionally tempting fate.”

I give him a hard look. I’m not up to this argument right now. I’m feeling very drained and my throat is too raw for more than a few words at a time. So, I just roll my eyes at him and scowl as best I can.

“I know, I know,” he back pedals a little—but not much. “Once you recovered enough I want you to spend some time with a friend of mine who specializes in these things. She might be able to help.”

I just continue to scowl.

“Okay,” he sighs, “we’ll talk more about that later. For now, let me focus on getting your temperature down and weight stabilized. I’m going to start you on a Jell-O diet with lots of fluids for a day to see how your stomach does then bump you up to high calorie solids if everything works out.

“How’s the pain on a scale of one to ten?”

I hold up six fingers as I ache all over.

“We’ll give you a mild pain medicine to help you with that when we’re done here.” He responds.

“Jerry, we’re all worried about you. You’re getting the best help we can provide. I’ve got a number of specialists consulting on your case. Don’t worry, we’ll get this sorted now that the worst is past.

“Janine, says to tell you that she’s praying for you—that’s got to be good for something. I suspect that you’ll be seeing her soon now that you’re awake.

Janine is his wife of 35 years and a good friend. As far as staying awake is concerned, I’m tiring quickly. I think that he can see it too.

He reaches over and squeezes my hand affectionately.

“We’re doing the best we can for you, Jerry.” He continues, “The best thing you can do right now, my friend, is rest and let your body heal. We’ll take good care of you.”

He gives my hand aanother reassuring squeeze.

I squeeze back before drifting off again.

------< O >------

It is evening the next time I come to, and the room is a bit more crowded. All four of my children are here to gang up on me.

In addition to Samantha we have Tim, the oldest, who is still in his scrubs. Mark, the second oldest, is an engineer and is looking pretty casual, as usual. The youngest of the crowd, Bill, is here with his wife, Helen. I suspect that my other two daughters-in-law are taking care of the grandkids.

Mark is the first to notice that I’m awake.

“Hey, Dad,” he grins at me, “the new haircut is a little extreme, isn’t it?”

One hand is taped to a board and has IV needles in it. I cautiously raise the other and rub my head. It is bald. It takes most of my strength to raise that arm so I just let it fall back on the bed.

“I guess so,“ I cautiously reply. My throat doesn’t hurt quite so much now, but still sounds a bit off.

Samantha appears at my side with a bowl of cherry flavored Jell-O.

“Doctor’s orders,” she informs me. “Eat some of this. It might make your throat feel better.”

It did. The cool Jell-O felt like heaven going down. The sips of water also helped.

An awkward silence descends on the group as no one seems to know what to say.

“I hear that I gave you quite a start,” I direct my comment toward Tim.

“You can say that again!” he replies. “I think an ER doctor’s worst nightmare is having a loved one come through the doors on the verge of death. Fortunately we have a great staff and there were no other severe injuries to deal with that afternoon. In fact we thought it was going to a slow day until we got the call from the helicopter. You tested our capabilities big time.”

“I’m glad that you were there, son.” I tell him. “Thank your staff for me, please.”

“Actually,” he admits, “It felt as if someone took over for me that day. I think that God wants you to live—in spite of your stupid stunt.”

I sigh, “Who else wants to take a crack at me?”

“I’m next,” says Bill looking reproachful. “How many times have you told me to THINK before acting? Usually you follow that up with a lecture about the possible consequences of stupidity, but I hear that Sam beat me to the punch. Come on, Dad. What were you thinking?”

“I tell you what he was thinking,” Mark jumps in. “He was thinking that playing roulette just might be a quick way to end all the crap he has had to deal with lately. Am I right?”

“It was a calculated risk,” I hedge. “I’m not exactly suicidal.”

“Well,” Mark continues, “you made the calculation and I’m sure it wasn’t in your favor, but you went anyway. We’re just glad that you survived it. Don’t do that again. You’ll give us grey hair.”

“How do you think I got mine?” I smile back at them. “I apologize.”

“You don’t have any hair,” Sam reminds me. “Maybe it won’t be grey when it grows back.”

“Anyway,” Tim adds, “if you hadn’t survived we couldn’t have given you the good news.”

“That’d have been a waste,” Bill agrees.

“What good news?” I ask.

“Ah, well,” Mark begins after they all look at him. He is usually the designated spoke person for the group. “It seems while you were out hiding in the wilderness that some good things happened. Where to start?

“First of all, it appears that there were witnesses to Mom’s accident after all. A young couple who were out way past their curfew developed a guilty conscience after reading news accounts of the accident and its aftermath. They came forward and testified in their deposition that Mom did have a green light. They were a block behind her when the crash happened. They didn’t stick around because they would get in trouble with their respective parents if they were found to be out too late. Now they’re in trouble for not helping at the accident scene. The long and short of it is that the wrongful death suit has been dropped and your lawyers are begging us to file one of our own against the estate of the other driver. Apparently he was pretty well off.”

I could almost feel a major portion of my load shift with this information.

“What a relief!” I say. “I don’t want to sue anyone at this point. The guilty party is dead, why cause additional heartache for his survivors.”

“That’s what we thought you’d say,” remarked Bill, “so we told your lawyer to just collect her fee from them and let the case drop. I think the other family will be relieved.”

“And it gets better yet,” mentions Samantha with a grin. “Go ahead and tell him about work, Mark.”

“Oh yeah,” he smiles, “it seems that your investigator is pretty good at his job. He managed to somehow prove that the questionable emails you supposedly sent and the porn found on your computer were planted after you took leave to deal with Mother’s death. We’re not really sure how he did this, but I think that it has to do with some system backup files which were compared before and after you left the office. When confronted with the evidence, your accuser tried to bluff her way out of it, but eventually broke down and admitted to being part of a scheme to slander you and ruin your pension. Your investigator had found that she’d deposited a large lump sum in her bank account the day after mother died. She admitted being given a large sum of money to help ruin you. Apparently a former coworker of yours really had it in for you and masterminded the whole thing. Both of them were arrested but are now out on bail.”

“I suppose all is well at work now,” I sighed. “I was worried about missing my hearing date.”

“That’s not an issue now,” Tim pointed out. “I think that we all—or at least me—owe you an apology for doubting you over that issue. We should have had more faith in you. We should have stood by you.”

They all expressed agreement with Tim.

“I think that your Pastor at church will also be apologizing shortly,” mentioned Bill. “You should be back in good standing. We’ve let the gossips know that you’ve been cleared too—it should get around pretty fast since you have been very prominent in the church.”

This is almost too much good news. I guess the angel was right about burdens been taken from me. There is only my old familiar burden left—and that one doesn’t seem so heavy after the other two were lifted. If the rest of the angel’s message is right, then I’ll recover and be about His business soon. I just wish that Aileen was here to do it with me.

We chat for a while longer with all the kids commenting on my weight and hair loss. There are a number of good humored jokes about my weight loss program and the fact that I need to find a new barber. They all try to cheer me up and keep things light. Actually the relief coming from being free from unjust burdens helps considerably.

It isn’t long, however, before I tire and fall asleep while one of them is talking to me.

------< O >------

What a day!

It was only yesterday that I came to and the hospital is already trying to get me out of there. The morning was spent doing a variety of tests to try to get to the bottom of my fever, weight loss, and hair loss. Besides aching all over and feeling extremely weak, I feel pretty good. Any pneumonia that I have has pretty much disappeared—which also baffles the doctors. It cleared up too fast.

I continue to lose weight. I’m down another pound. They measured me today and found that I’ve also lost an inch and a half in height—I am now only five foot ten and a half inches tall. This is another baffling development.

They had me working with a physical therapist in the late morning to help me bring back some strength, but, from my point of view, that session did not go well—I see why they are often referred to as physical terrorists. The therapist, however, thought I was doing pretty good given my accident, a week in a coma, and the loss of so much weight.

The good news is that the IV is gone and I’ve graduated to real food—or at least as real as it gets in a hospital. They are also letting me get out of bed, with assistance, to visit the bathroom. My physical therapist wants me to try walking around the ward a couple of times this afternoon—I’ve tried it once but needed help getting back to bed after traveling fifty feet and almost collapsing.

Right after lunch, my lawyer stopped in for a visit. She was smiling as she confirmed what I had been told by my kids. As predicted, she encouraged me to file suit against the estate of the driver who killed Aileen. She pointed out that there was a high probability of success in obtaining a healthy settlement. I told her that I didn’t need the money and that even a huge settlement would not be adequate compensation for the loss of my life’s companion. What I did agree to was for her to file suit for enough to cover her fees, the funeral costs, and the loss of Aileen’s car.

My legal terrier was not so eager to go after the woman who harassed me at work. Apparently there are no assets to get. All she can see is mounting legal fees that I’d have to pay. After lengthy discussion we agreed to let the prosecutors take care of the culprits in criminal court and leave the option open to file a civil suit if assets come to light. Again, I don’t see the point in adding insult to injury so tell the lawyer that I’m not interested in obtaining more than legal fees from my accuser. In the meantime, I would just bite the bullet and pay off the lawyer and investigator for the great work they did in clearing my name. That’s a lot better than I was hoping for anyway, though it would be nice to have someone else cover my legal fees. In end, we agree that we’ll sue the estate of the driver who killed Aileen for a little more in damages which I can then use to pay the legal fees for my other case.

Not long after my lawyer left, my boss appeared in the doorway. We are reasonably good friends and he spent a lot of the time expressing his pleasure in the outcome of the investigation. He did try to talk me out of my retirement plans as he thinks that it will be hard to replace me. It’s nice to be wanted again. He wished me a quick recovery before he left.

Both the lawyer and my boss seemed to be taken aback by my much thinner body and bald head. So am I. I had a chance to look in the mirror a couple of times today. I hardly recognized myself.

The constant of the day has been Samantha. She has not left my side. I don’t think that she’s had a regular job in years—I’ve never been able to figure out what she does for cash—so she has the time. She scowls at the doctors and nurses whenever they are about. She recommends herbal teas, essential oils, yoga, and meditation as the cures for my ailments. She is of the strong opinion that the modern medical establishment is a bunch of con artists and that natural methods are much better. She likes to ignore research by saying that no research is needed when it comes to natural methods—we just need to listen to the old healers. This attitude has caused endless heated discussions over the years with her brother the ER doctor who points out that scientific research into natural methods has shown that these methods are not very effective.

If she had her way, she’d spring me from the hospital and build a sweat house in the mountains by a clear stream where she’d be sure to make me my old self again. I have to admit that I’m more on her brother’s side of the argument; however it is nice to know that she cares. This has not always been the case.

As she became a young adult, she decided to throw off all the social norms and go discover herself. This involved some questionable men, toying with drugs and alcohol, and living the life of a wandering rock climber. She got involved with the hard core climbing community and disappeared for a couple of years to live in camps all around the western United States doing many of the classic big wall climbs and lots of obscure ones. She basically lived out of her car and slowly depleted a healthy inheritance she received from a grandmother who passed away about the time Samantha was a junior in college. Samantha has exhibited extremely self-centered behaviors coupled with a strong, and vocal, sense of justice which often leads to a variety of relationship problems.

She did manage to finish college with a photo journalism degree but has not done anything with it. She doesn’t even own a camera any more. About a year or so ago, she started to reestablish her relationship with us. She was getting particularly close to her mother and was devastated when Aileen was killed.

Though we’ve always had a reasonably good, if not a little distant, relationship I’m not sure why she came back to support me. Her brothers paid for her ticket to get here and she is nominally staying with Mark and his young family. I’m sure that, with her opinionated insensitive comments, she will wear out her welcome soon. She always does. I suspect that she’ll be moving into the old family home with me when that happens. She’s using my car for now.

It is late afternoon and there is a lull in the activity.

“Samantha,” I say, “I’m glad you’re here. It’s nice to have company, but I have to admit that I not sure why you are here.”

She seems to be a little offended by my comment.

“Of course I’m here,” she huffs. “You are my Dad and we thought we might lose you. I didn’t want to lose you without a chance to say goodbye. I didn’t get to say goodbye to Mom.”

“Well,” I reassure her. “I love you and am glad to see you. I don’t think I’m dying right now.”

“I don’t know,” she observes. “If these quacks don’t do something soon you’re going to waste away to nothing and disappear. If they are so hot, then why haven’t they found out what’s happening? We should get you out of here.”

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I somehow feel at peace about this whole situation. I had an experience just before I was hit by the tour boat which leads me to believe that I have many years ahead of me and much work to do.”

Samantha gets a strange look on her face and asks, “You mean some kind of religious experience?”

Samantha turned her back on her religious upbringing when she left home and began her search for herself. She doesn’t know that we are aware the she formally disassociated herself from the church she was raised in. While she believes in nebulous, indistinct natural earth aura inspirational experiences, she doesn’t believe that there is a God out there.

“Yes,” I confirm, “a religious experience.”

She ponders this for a moment and seems almost embarrassed about something.

“Well,” she waffles for a bit, “I guess that I had one to.”

This surprises me.

“You mean that you felt one of those indistinct impressions you tell us about?” I ask.

“Um,” she hesitates, “no. More like one of the religious experiences you read about in the scriptures. I had a vision or visitation. Have you ever had one of those?”

While I’d had lots of direction from God over the years, until last week I’d never had a visitation.

“Not until last week,” I admit. “I had one too.”

“Who visited you?” She asks.

“I’m not sure who,” I tell her, “but he was standing on the water wearing robes like you’d expect from the ancient times. He had his own clear spot in the fog and he had a brilliant glow around him.”

“What did he have to say?” she asked with interest.

While I’m not normally good at memorization, his words are as fresh as if I were reading them. I’m not sure how much to tell her.

“He told me to be at peace and that my burdens would be taken from me. He told me that I have a lot more work to do before being called home,” I tell her. “Who visited you?”

“It was Mom,” she tells me with an unsettle look on her face. “And it was disturbing.”

It’s as if an arrow has pierced my heart. Oh, how I wish I could have some time with her!

“What did she have to say?” I ask with my heart in my throat.

“Well,” she hesitates, “she told me that she loves me and not to be sad about her death. It was her time to go and, while she misses us all terribly, that good things were happening for her. She told me that she’s sad about the pain my life choices have brought to me and what the consequences will be if I don’t change direction. She told me that I’ve always had what I am searching for; I just need to go back to the teachings of my youth. She also said that there were some big changes coming in your life, Dad, and that I am the only one of your children positioned to help you through them.”

“When did she visit you?” I ask.

“Just before I got the message from Mark to call him as soon as possible,” she says. “It was like five minutes after the vision that the message came. When I got ahold of Mark, and he told me about the accident, I knew I had to be with you. Something inside just compelled me to come home as soon as I could.”

We sat pondering together for a few minutes before she speaks again.

“She looked so peaceful and extremely happy. I could physically feel her love for me.” Samantha reverently whispers.

With her words, a feeling of peace washes over me and I know that she’s told me the truth. Aileen was like that; people could always feel the love and concern she has for them.

“What do we do now?” she asks.

“We wait and see what happens with this illness, I guess.” I reply. “I have faith in the messages we have received. Everything will turn out the way it should.”

To Be Continued...

IWAM_04

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! Going back to work is problematic.

Chapter Four: Going Back to Work

---

 

It’s been a month since the accident. I was in the hospital for a week after regaining consciousness before the medical folks decided that I didn’t need to be there anymore. They still don’t know what is happening with my fever or with my hair, weight and height loss. They ran a lot of tests which returned strangely mixed results. Apparently my hormones are a bit off. My testosterone hormone level is substantially lower than it should be and dropping. My estrogen levels are up significantly and look like those of a very young preteen girl. Other indicators are similarly haywire. Ultrasounds and MRIs are showing signs of some strange happenings which have the doctors totally baffled. Regardless of these funky results I don’t seem to be in imminent danger and there is nothing more they can do for me except give me low grade pain meds to match the low grade fever and help relieve the ache in my bones. For the foreseeable future I have to see Mike once a week for further tests and data gathering.

It only took a couple of days after regaining consciousness for me regain my balance and some semblance of strength. The fever dropped to a little bit lower level and the rate of my weight and height loss tapered off slightly. I was five foot nine and a half inches tall and weighed in at one hundred ninety three pounds when they released me from the hospital. That’s a loss of two and a half inches in height and thirty two pounds in weight in just two weeks.

Now, two weeks after my hospital release, my height and weight reduction seems to be continuing. I stand at five foot eight inches and my weight is down to one hundred seventy seven pounds. I am by far the shortest person in the family now. Samantha is next at five foot eleven inches and the boys range from six foot three inches to six foot six inches. Samantha is pleased to be taller than her Dad now.

A piece of good news is that my hair is starting to grow again and there doesn’t seem to be any grey in it. It is short and looks like a military buzz cut. It is growing back in places which had started to go bald the past few years. It is also growing back under my arms and in the pubic area—which itches some. The nice thing is that it is coming back in the same color of red which I had in my youth. I’ve noticed that my beard growth has not restarted and my arm & leg hair is very fine and light colored. I don’t have any chest or back hair either.

Since none of my clothes fit anymore—and I suspect that they never will—they have been donated to charity. We’ve been cautious about buying more than absolutely needed until my shrinking stops. In fact, much of my new wardrobe has come from the same charity shop to which I donated my old clothes. No sense in investing a lot on clothes which might not fit in a few weeks.

I had lots of visitors during my last week in the hospital. Everyone expresses relief that Aileen and I had been vindicated. I remember that most of them had kept their distance during my dark days, but I don’t hold that against them. I now know, however, who I can rely on in a pinch—pretty much nobody.

Most of them didn’t seem to know what to say regarding my physical changes. Some seemed uncomfortable and acted as if they were afraid of catching whatever disease I have. Others were absolutely intrigued and seemed to have no end of questions and speculations. I heard a wide range of theories on the cause—everything from mysterious seawater viruses to curses cast by sea witches. They all agreed it had something to do with being dumped in the water and nearly dying. Except for the basics that I shared with Samantha, I haven’t shared the whole story with anyone.

I’ve made a couple of trips to the doctor for more tests and follow up work. One of the tests was a stress test and an echocardiogram. Given my weakened condition, I wasn’t able to do the treadmill at the rate I have in the past, but the attending doctor thought that everything looked good. The echocardiogram also showed that my heart is in good shape and that my Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy is actually getting slightly better—this is unheard of. Substantial damage was anticipated as a result of the several heart attacks I experienced after the accident but, remarkably, no damage was found.

I’ve been developing crow’s feet around my eyes in recent years. Those are starting to slowly disappear along with some aging related skin issues. I am starting to look more like I did when I was in my late twenties. A visit to my dermatologist resulted in a clean bill of health—the patches he was watching for potential skin cancer have all cleared up. This apparent reversal in aging of both my skin and heart continues to baffle the doctors. I personally like it.

The blood tests continue to be interesting. My cholesterol levels have dropped to the point that I have been taken off my cholesterol medication—something else I like. My testosterone level is continuing to decrease well below what is expected of a male my age. My estrogen levels are maintaining the level of a young girls’ at the onset of puberty. The doctors tried giving me additional testosterone but it has had no impact on the decline. It seems that the testosterone from the shots does not stay in my blood stream for more than an hour or so. Pills are no better.

Samantha moved in with me and took up residence in her childhood bedroom. That first week home I was so weak that it was all I could do to get cleaned up in the morning and do some basic chores around the house before collapsing on the couch for the rest of the day. I did get stronger to the point that now I’m feeling pretty good—if it wasn’t for the low grade fever and constant ache in my bones. My strength levels are well below what they used to be, so it was good to have Samantha around to help with a home reorganization.

Samantha has cooked up some really strange dishes which I have had trouble eating. She is way into organic foods and vegetables. I miss my meat and potatoes diet. I have been ordering the occasional meat lovers pizza for home delivery which disgusts her no end. As I need to start putting the weight back on, I made a run to the store as soon as I felt up to it and stocked up on a lot of unhealthy, high in fat and calories, American foods.

Eating my normal diet of fattening foods only slightly slows down the weight loss.

I’ve used up a sizeable chunk of my sick leave and there is no reason to delay my return to work any longer. The boss says that everyone is anxious to have me back as several projects are in disarray and they need my talents to settle them down. Apparently the office turmoil associated with my recent troubles was not good for the organization.

So today will be my first day back.

That is if I can manage to find something to wear to the office. Even the clothes we bought late last week are getting to be a little too big for me. Putting on a suit we picked up at the charity shop on our last visit, I look like a kid fresh out of college who borrowed his father’s suit. I opt for business casual instead, but that doesn’t look much better.

“I don’t know,” Samantha frowns as she looks me over. “I don’t care much for business attire anyway, but this looks so wrong on you right now. I’m sorry to say it Dad, but you look like a kid starting his first job. “

Looking me over again with closer scrutiny, she adds: “If you were a girl, it would be easier to do this as girls can get away with just about anything and call it a fashion statement.”

“Well,” I reply with some exasperation, “I’m not a girl, last I checked, so we just need to do the best we can.”

What I don’t tell her is that I dearly wish I was a girl—I always have. I’m not much of a male anymore and that doesn’t bother me at all. Those defining genitals have been shrinking at a rate slightly faster than the rest of me. Even my friendly doctor has commented that, with this and the other symptoms, I seem to be doing a reverse puberty.

In the end we decide to go with casual slacks with the belt pulled in tight (we had to punch extra holes in the belt even though it worked fine a couple of weeks ago when we picked it up at the charity shop), a polo shirt which hangs fairly loose and my new shoes with an extra pair of socks.

“Do you mind if I drop you off at work?” Samantha asks. “I’d like to use the car today to go pick up some groceries and drop off that stuff we boxed up for charity.”

We’ve spent the past couple of weeks going through Aileen’s mountain of clothes and other possessions. We’ve invited family and her friends over to take what they want then we had a yard sale and sold much of the rest. The remainders are going to charity. It has been emotionally difficult for me to get rid of all of this stuff as it is an attachment to Aileen, who I still grieve. Samantha, on the other hand, has been persistently ruthless. I couldn’t have done it without her. I have kept back some special jewelry pieces and other particularly sentimental items; such as Aileen’s wedding dress, to keep her in remembrance. Samantha has decimated my closets as well. The house feels strangely empty. Samantha has worked hard to make it so.

“Sure,” I reply sadly. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”

------< O >-----

What a non-productive day!

It was as if I were the center attraction of a freak show. I got in before anyone else and went straight to my office in order to get a handle on what was happening with our projects. The morning was basically spent answering questions from just about everyone in the office. They’d stop into my corner office one or two at a time to welcome me back. They all seemed shocked when they saw me. Let’s face it—I’m not the man I used to be. A couple of them didn’t seem to recognize me at first. I guess that you can hardly blame them.

I met with the boss and we decided to hold a meeting for the whole office so that we could address everyone’s questions at once. The hope is that the correct information would get out and that everyone would get back to work instead of whispering about me.

“Jerry,” the boss says, “everyone’s in the training room. It’s time.”

With a sigh, I push out of my chair and follow him into the meeting room. Almost all forty of the staff from our division is in the room—the only ones missing are those off on business trips. The noise level drops completely when I enter the room. There is an air of expectation. After all, it’s not every day that one of the senior members of the organization goes through age regression.

“Hi, everyone,” I start. “Judging from the number of visitors in my office this morning I’m sure that you are all interested in what’s happening with me. Before I get started, I want to thank everyone who stood by me during the recent issues with our former co-worker.” Actually there were not any real strong supporters in the bunch, but it’s as nice thing to say in case someone out there was a closet supporter. “And thank you for the condolences for the untimely death of my sweetheart.” There hadn’t been a lot of those either.

“As you know,” I continue, “I decided to take a break and go kayaking for a couple of weeks. As I was starting to head home, I made a stupid decision to make a crossing in fog. The end result being that I was run over by a tour boat. Fortunately for me, they saw me and did a fairly quick rescue. I ingested a lot of seawater, contracted hypothermia, and had multiple heart attacks. There was a doctor on board the tour boat who restarted my heart with an AED and performing first aid for hypothermia. The Coast Guard picked me up from the boat and delivered to me to our regional hospital where the ER doctor on duty (who happened to be my son) was able to stabilize me and get me the help I needed to survive.

“After a week in a coma, I awoke in a hospital bed with a mild case of pneumonia. Again, thank you those of you who sent your regards and/or visited—I sincerely appreciate it. For a reason not yet understood by the medical staff, I was running a high fever and losing substantial weight and height. I really needed to lose a few pounds anyway so I was pleased at first.“ This brought some laughter from the group.

“Oh yeah,” I continue, “and I lost all my hair.” To illustrate the fact, I ran my hand over the red stubble which had grown back.

“Since then, I have continued to lose weight and height, almost like an accelerated reverse puberty. I didn’t like puberty the first time around, I don’t think I’m enjoying its reverse.” This gets a few chuckles. “My heart issues have actually improved. All in all, however, it is nice to feel younger again.”

“As I said, we don’t know what’s causing my body issues, but the regression does seem to be slowing down.”

“Anybody have questions?” I ask.

People seem to be rather nervous about starting the question session, but it warms up after the first few questions.

“How much more are you going to regress?” one curious soul enquires.

“Nobody knows. This is outside anyone’s experience. I’m hoping not much more. The rate of change is tapering off. Hopefully it will level off soon.”

“Is it contagious?” a concerned coworker tentatively asks.

“I doubt it. However, I suggest that you don’t go getting run over by a tour boat! Maybe that’s what triggered it.”

“Are you still planning to retire?” one of the team leaders asks. “We can still use you around here and you don’t appear to be retirement age anymore.”

“Thanks for the compliment. Yes, I am still planning on retiring, but it is not as urgent now.”

“I hate to ask this, Jerry,” one of my closer colleagues points out, “but how do you think your younger looks will affect your ability to work with clients and staff. Let’s face it; you don’t appear to be the sage grey haired professional which has garnered so much respect.”

“That’s a tough one,” I admit, “We’ll have to wait and see. I am the same old me inside with the same education and experience. I can still do the job.”

The questions continue for a while, taking up most of the lunch hour. People are able to relax a little when it started to become apparent that I’m still the same person inside. There are even some lighthearted jokes about the situation by the end of the session.

With their curiosity satisfied, most of the people leave to take advantage of what is left of their lunch hour while a few of my closer associates stay to chat for a while.

------< O >------

“Hello,” I answer my phone.

“Have you heard about what’s happening on Facebook?” our department administrative assistant asks.

It’s only been a couple of hours since the staff meeting, but apparently at least one of my coworkers has updated their Facebook status with their views on the meeting. According to our admin assistant, the post is going viral, especially since they posted a picture of me taken at the meeting. They also posted a “before” shot taken from an old family photo we had posted on my Facebook page.

Don’t you love social media! This going to be a long afternoon.

------< O >------

I was right about the long afternoon. Absolutely nothing of value got done in my office. Going to work today was a waste of the State’s money. The boss pointed out that that would have happened regardless of when I came in.

It was suggested that I make my own Facebook declaration about the events. Essentially posting the statement I made to the staff with answers to the questions asked. So, when I got home, Samantha and I sat down at the computer and drafted our own announcement and posted it on my Facebook account. She arranged for the other kids to share it from their accounts as well. I did not post a picture.

The posting got over 500 like/dislike hits in the first hour. There were tons of comments as well. The majority of the folks liked the post and the comments were generally supportive. A few of the comments had some really creative suggestions for cures. Others are asking for regular progress reports. Some wanted to get in on the deal and reverse their aging processes.

There were a few comments posted by some rather uninformed know-it-alls which chastised me for bringing this on to myself. A couple even suggested that I was being punished by God for unspecified sins. It always amazes me to what conclusions some people can come to with incomplete information—and how sure they are of their views.

I’m a popular guy--mostly.

Once these things get out on the net, they never go away. I’m tagged for life. At least the “true” story is out there. We didn’t mention the visions/visitations—only Samantha and I know about those. Hopefully the furor will die down soon.

------< O >------

Day two at work hasn’t been a lot better than day one. I even have news people calling me now. I put a message on my phone that I’m not taking calls or listening to voice mail. If they need to contact me they can come to my office or email me. I’ve had to delete hundreds of emails which are not work related.

When I get home, my private email account was very full and I spent over an hour deleting most of those as well. The Facebook hits have been out of this world. I’ve quit reading the comments.

I’m exhausted and going to bed.

------< O >-----

I don’t think that I’ve ever been so glad to see the end of a work week. It is Friday night and all I want to do is to crawl under a rock somewhere.

The furor is dying down some, but it has been pretty intrusive. I’ve refused offers for exclusive interviews and appearances from all major media networks and news outlets. I just refer them to my Facebook page for information. After posting a notice that I’m no longer checking Facebook, I’ve stayed away from the computer most of the week. I’ve been vainly hoping for some major natural or societal disaster to take the attention away from my predicament.

By Friday, I could at least get some of my real work done, but not at the level that I need to be because of the continuing interruptions. Hopefully next week will be better.

I had another doctor’s appointment today. I’m now weigh in at one hundred seventy pounds and am five feet seven inches tall. My features are also looking even younger. My temperature is still elevated a couple of degrees above the norm and the aches are still there. Over the counter pain relievers make the aches bearable and I’ve gotten used to the fever.

Samantha has decided to hang around for a while longer—at least until my changes even out. I’ve paid her a little for her help in cleaning out the house so she is feeling comfortable financially—that’s easy to do when you think making more than $5,000 in a year is over working. We’ve had some long talks about where she is going in life. In the past, she has resisted adding structure to her life, but her experience with her deceased mother has her thinking. She even mentioned the possibility of getting a job—a huge step for her.

To Be Continued...

IWAM_05

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! Its time to retire.

Chapter Five: Making the Retirement Decision

“How are you doing today, Jerry?” Mike greets me as he enters the exam room with my latest test results in hand.”

It’s been two months since the accident.

“It seems that you are continuing your changes,” he observes, “but your height and weight changes are tapering off a little. You’ve only lost five pounds and a little less than half an inch this week. Your testosterone level is continuing to decline and your estrogen is consistent with that of pre-teen girl. Your cells’ twenty third chromosomes are almost all XXY now.”

Someone decided to check on my sex chromosomes a few weeks back. They started to see a few cells with XXY groupings. Not a lot but they were there. It is almost unheard of to have mixed chromosomes. This has the medical folks intrigued and concerned. I am secretly pleased.

I haven’t mentioned my gender burden to anyone—even the psychologist that Mike sent me to after the accident—but it appears to me that the angel had more in mind than what I thought when he said that my burdens would be removed. I have started to hope that I am turning into a girl. I am about the right height and weight to be a slightly heavy sixteen year old girl, my looks are starting to get somewhat androgynous, my genitals look like those of a prepubescent boy, and my voice has gotten higher.

My regression has continued to the point that I now look like an older teenager of indeterminate gender. My hair has grown out to be about an inch long so I am no longer the bald guy. In fact the hair is much thicker than it was before the accident. My skin has gotten almost completely smooth. My beard growth and body hair have not returned.

“Seriously, Jerry,” Mike asks intently, “how ARE you doing?”

“In spite the continuing fever and achiness,” I reply, “I’m feeling better than I have in years. My bad shoulder seems to have completely healed, I’m more limber than I can remember, and I sleep better than I have in a very long. What’s not to like about it?”

“Well,” Mike points out, “It looks as if you’re going to slide back into your teen years and you might end up intersexed if your sex chromosomes have anything to do with it. Your life is nothing like it was. Doesn’t that bother you.”

I try not to look pleased.

With a shrug I reply, “What am I going to do? This is outside anyone’s control. At least I still have a lot of life ahead of me.”

“You will have,” Mike retorts, “if you don’t regress right back into the womb.”

I just shrug. “What can I say?”

“You’re taking this way too calmly,” he points out. “I’d be flipping out if this were happening to me.”

“Well,” I point out, “It’s not messing with my marriage relationship as Aileen has gone. I can retire anytime I want if it interferes with my work. I have plenty of assets so I have lots of options.”

“How is your family taking it?” Mike asks.

“That’s interesting,” I wanly smile, “Samantha and I are getting along better than ever. The boys and their families seem to be alright with it, however one of my daughters-in-law seems to be a little distant as a result of the on-going changes. The grandkids think it is a lot of fun now that grandpa has the energy to play their games with them. We’ve had a lot of fun running around together. My mother and siblings aren’t sure what to think. I send them regular updates and reassure them that this is all a natural process—I’m not doing anything to encourage it. They are all as mystified about this as you and your colleagues are.”

It’s true, Samantha and I are getting along much better. She actually got a job—a low level service job well below her training—but at least it’s a job. She and I have spent long hours talking about how to make use of her college education. She has been doing some heavy thinking and soul searching and is starting to see the need to settle down and start making a contribution to society as well as to earn her own way. It seems that the visit from her mother really rattled her foundations.

This is a good thing.

I’ve kept in close contact with the boys and their families too. It is good to have them all nearby. No one is sure what to make of my changes, but they say that I’m still the same old me inside. Maybe a little more patient than I used to be, but essentially the same old person—just in a younger package.

“It’s people who don’t know me well who are the problems,” I observe.

Some people are convinced that I’m messing with nature and that it is an abomination. Others are intrigued and want to know the secret to my anti-aging formula. I’ve gotten the cold shoulder from a number of people I know who are uncomfortable with what is happening to me. I’m not sure if they are afraid that they’ll catch it or if they think that I’m some kind of pervert.

The office has gotten used to me so I’m able to get more of my work done. Unfortunately, however, I’m finding that I’m getting a lot less respect from people outside of our office who don’t know me. Most people think that I am just an intern when they first meet me. They are very surprised to find that I am a senior staff member.

“Some of those who knew of me before or know what happened to me aren’t sure what to make of me,” I tell him. “Some of those that are uncomfortable with my changes have shunned me. Fortunately the publicity died down, so I’m not quite as much of a freak show. Those who don’t know me or anything about me just treat me like a rooky kid. Frankly, it’s easier on me to not challenge their impressions if I don’t have to.”

“It will get to be real problem at work if this keeps up,” I continue. “Not with my coworkers so much as with our clientele. They don’t take me seriously. On occasion, I’ve even had a few ask to speak to someone more experienced. Heck, I’m the most senior and experienced person in the office. I just don’t look like it.”

Another piece of good news, for me--not so much for others, is that there was a major terrorist event in the country a couple of weeks ago and my story has become old news. The public is now looking in other directions. I still have a few weirdoes bugging me, but it’s not like the days just after the Facebook posting.

“Okay, Jerry,” Mike sighs, “I’m not doing much more than monitoring your progress these days. I think we should continue to do that so that I can write a ground breaking journal article once we figure this out” He grins at me with his tongue firmly in cheek. I know that he’s in this for friendship in addition to the glory.

“Actually,” he continues, “I think you should touch base with the psychologist lady to make sure that you’re not about to come unglued emotionally. I’m worried about how well you are taking all this, my friend.”

“Thanks for the concern, Mike,” I reply, “but I’m doing okay. Really.”

Actually, I’m doing more than okay. I love these changes.

------< O >------

“Isn’t there someone more experienced I can talk to young, err, young man?” the woman asks looking at me doubtfully. She also seems unsure as to whether I’m a young man or young woman. “This project will be difficult and you don’t look like you’ve been here all that long. Aren’t you still in high school?”

I want to get up and scream sometimes. I’m at least fifteen years older than she is.

Instead, I politely tell her, “I am a lot more experienced than I look, however, you might feel more comfortable working with Harry. He’s been here for a couple of years now.”

This seems acceptable so I help her make the necessary arrangements. This has happen twice already this week. And it’s only Wednesday.

It’s been nine weeks now since the accident. I’ve only dropped three pounds so far this week and have shrunk less about a quarter inch—I check every morning. Last time I looked in the mirror I definitely look somewhere between a high school senior and a college freshman of indistinct gender. I’m starting to sound like a husky voiced girl too. Maybe it’s time to pull the plug.

The boss’s door is open and he is in, so I rap on the door frame to announce myself.

Looking up, he waves me in.

“What’s up, Jerry?” He notices my frustration. “Let me guess. You had someone else think that you’re too young to do the job.”

“You got it,” I sigh. “I’m thinking that I need to move my retirement up. I’m not much use to you now.”

“That might be a good idea,” the Boss admits sadly. “You are the best we have, but that fact doesn’t matter if no one takes you seriously. I just don’t have a lot of work for you that doesn’t require interaction with clients. I can have you assist the rest of our staff, but that would be a demotion.”

“Yeah, I know.” I respond. “I talked with the retirement office yesterday. They say that they normally require a hundred and twenty days to process a retirement but can cut that down to sixty days in special circumstances. You need to convince them of that. I’ve got forty days of regular annual leave remaining and about seventy days of sick leave. I can probably talk my doctors into saying that my medical issues are interfering with my work, so I propose that we make this my last week. I’ll file the paper work tomorrow and get a note from the doctor on Friday. I’ll take my remaining time as sick leave as I can cash out the annual leave at retirement. Once I file for retirement, you can start recruiting for my replacement. I can help with training the new person if you want me to stick around a little longer. How’s that sound?”

The Boss looks at me reflectively, “I told you before all this that I thought that you were too young to retire. By appearances, that’s definitely true now, but what can I say? You’ve had thirty good years with the agency. You deserve something new. We’ll miss you around here.”

With that, I get to work finalizing the arrangements for retirement and cleaning out my office.

------< O >-----

“Surprise!”

I just about jump out of my skin.

It is mid-afternoon on my last Friday at work and I just got back from seeing Mike again. The office seemed somewhat deserted with I walked in. When I got to my office, I found a note on my desk asking me to meet with someone in the training room. That is where I am finding the entire division plus a number of old friends.

On the wall hangs a banner declaring “Happy Retirement”.

The Boss gets up and makes a short speech. The agency’s commissioner, who is an old friend, also gets up to make a speech wishing me the best during retirement.

With a twinkle in his eye, he says, “And when you grow up again, we’ll have a place for you.” This got a few laughs from the group and from me.

Some joker had put together a trophy consisting of a small mangled sea kayak model mounted on a board with a plaque saying “Best wishes for a long retirement and watch out for Tour Boats”. It was signed by the entire office.

I spend the next hour greeting everyone, eating cake, and drinking punch.

As the party winds down, several co-workers help me carry the last few boxes from my office down to my car.

With a few handshakes and a hug or two, my working days come to an end.

For now, that is. If I ever start aging again I’ll probably start a second career!

To Be Continued...

IWAM_06

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! The changes are becoming apparent prompting actions on several fronts.

Chapter Six: More Changes

“Yes, Miss,” the ticket seller says. “that’ll be fifteen dollars and fifty cents.”

Samantha giggles and pats me on the head while I hand over the cash. We are buying tickets at the movie theater, it is winter, and we’re both bundled up in winter coats and hats.

“Enjoy the show, ladies,” he adds with a smile as he hands us our tickets.

This type of thing is happening more frequently. It’s now been almost four months since the accident. I’m still on sick leave, I recently celebrated my sixtieth birthday, and my retirement should be official any day now.

And the guy thinks I’m a young teenage girl.

I love it.

So I give the guy my sunniest smile and say “Thank you kind sir” before heading into the theatre.

I am now five foot four inches tall and weigh in at one hundred and fourteen pounds. I’ve lost half my body weight in four months. According the height/weight charts I’m about the size of a tall girl between twelve and fourteen years old. My hair is now two inches long. I won’t let anyone touch it as I want it to grow as much as possible. Dr. Mike tells me that I’m pretty much completely XXY now which makes me officially intersexed. The fact that my facial features and voice are becoming more girlish by the day just confirms that fact. The remains of my male genitals aren’t worth talking about, though they are there. The pubic and underarm hair which grew back after the accident is starting to fall out again. The fever and achiness are still both present, but I’ve growing accustom to them.

“Quit flirting,” Samantha admonishes me once we are out of earshot. “It creeps me out to have my father acting like a teen girl.”

“I might as well,” I reply, “I get mistaken for one more often than not. Might as well give them what they expect.”

“You know,” Samantha observes for about the hundredth time, “it is hard to call you ‘Dad’ anymore.”

All the rest of my children and their wives had taken to calling me by my first name long before the accident so they don’t have the same problem. Samantha has been gone and has not taken on that habit.

“Then just call me Jerry,” I suggest.

“I guess so,” she agrees, “but if I close my eyes and picture my father, I have a hard time calling him by his first name.”

“The open your eyes, sweetheart,” I suggest to her.

Samantha is not the same young woman who came back from the desert four months ago. Sometimes I think that her change has been more miraculous than mine. We have been spending a lot of time together. We’ve spent a good part of each weekend skiing or ice climbing together this winter which has given us a lot of time to bond and to talk about life and things. I think that those conversations have helped her to work through a few issues.

Her visit from her mother has had a profound effect upon her. While the change hasn’t been easy—she still rebels against it from time to time—she has made an effort to change her life, her views, and her attitude towards other people.

It is not easy for her.

We’ve had long talks about religion, interacting with other people, and how to set goals.

Her first job after returning home was at a large sporting goods store where she tried to work with people getting outfitted for various outdoor adventures. She’d often come home with disdainful comments about how ignorant and ill-prepared most people are. Her lack of tolerance and lack of empathy have been the trademarks of her character all her life.

When she was judgmental, I’d try to help her realize that these other people haven’t been raised with a family focus on mountaineering, back country skiing, ice and rock climbing, canoeing, sea kayaking and mountain biking like she had been. Few people have her level of expertise—and probably never will—and that’s alright. I tried to get her talking with her clientele about what it is that they do well so that she’ll realize that everyone has value and have expertise that she doesn’t. Her job is to help them learn enough to have a safe and enjoyable experience doing the things that most people dream of. She’d work on it and it wasn’t too long before she started to be just a little less judgmental. She was having trouble with her supervisors as well so we had to talk a bit about working with those in authority. It was a great—and sometimes painful—learning experience for her.

Working through contacts with her old college professors, she managed to land a minor job with one of the local news outlets. The job could work into a real photo journalism position if all goes well. She used some of her newly refined people skills to squeak through the job interview. We’re still working on ingraining the new habits.

She also started going back to church and we spent many hours talking about scriptures that give us guidance in how to be tolerant and respectful while showing love of others. She is often critical of intolerant church members but we talk about the fact that all of us have weaknesses and we need to help each other overcome them. It surprised her when I pointed out her own intolerance of them—something which gave her food for thought.

“Do you know how hard it is to take advice from someone who looks like a teenager?” She asks rhetorically. “When you talk, your voice sounds like a teenage girl, but what comes out is really grown up. It is so weird and incongruous.”

It has been hard to get respect lately!

------< O >------

“Can I talk to you a minute, Jerry?” My Pastor asks. He looks as if he has something significant on his mind. He also appears uncertain about how to approach whatever topic he wants to discuss.

“Sure,” I reply. I can pretty well guess what he wants.

I’ve continued teaching our adult Sunday School class since the accident happened five months ago. I know that it has made a lot of the newer people in the congregation a bit uneasy. The old timers seem to be taking the changes in stride as they all know that the changes in my life are not of my doing. It doesn’t hurt that we’ve respected each other for decades in many cases.

Visitors and newcomers, on the other hand, are totally confused. I’ve overheard, or had reported to me, conversations where folks have asked how a person so young can be so knowledgeable. Recently it’s been overheard that some folks are pretty sure that I’m female. Some of my old friends in the congregation seem to get a kick out of keeping people off balance regarding my age and gender. My baby face is now more on the female side of androgyny. I’ve dressed in male slacks, a white shirt and tie but they hang loose on me, hiding any shape that I do or don’t have. I continue to let my hair grow and it is about four inches long, and while I try to keep it combed in a male style, it is also pretty androgynous.

It has been getting harder and harder to get respect out of the adults. They know that it’s me up there teaching, but their eyes and ears hear a young teen girl instead. It is unsettling to most of them. I’ve been thinking it’s time to step aside and let someone else handle the class.

I’m down to one hundred seven pounds and am just under five foot five inches tall. All the teen boys and most of the teen girls in the congregation are bigger than me. I think that I’d get even less respect out of the kids if I were their teacher.

After settling into a seat in the church office, the Pastor tries to engage in small talk as he looks for a tactful way to broach his subject.

“Pastor,” I decide to help him out, “I’m sorry to say this, but I’m thinking that it’s time to step down as a Sunday School teacher. Maybe there is some place else you can use me where I don’t have to interact directly with most of the congregation. I’ve got lots of time on my hands since I am retired.”

You can see the Pastor relax considerably. I saved him the effort of asking me to step down.

“That’s too bad, Jerry,” he says with relief. “You are—without a doubt—the most knowledgeable person around when it comes to scriptures and church history. It will be a shame to lose you in the classroom, but your condition is getting in the way of your effectiveness.”

Well put, I think to myself. This Pastor may be young, but he knows how to be diplomatic.

“What would you think about producing our monthly newsletter?” He asks. “It hasn’t been the same since our old editor moved out a couple of months ago. You know most of the people and everything that is going on. I think that you’d be good at it.”

What he means is that I can do this by email and with a few phone calls—limiting my face-to-face time with people who are confused by me. I can see his point, and I’m not anxious to create any more waves that I need to. I just want to transition quietly into what I think the Lord has in mind for me.

“Sure, Pastor,” I smile at him, “I’d be happy to.”

------< 0 >------

Samantha has invited the daughter-in-laws over on a Saturday morning. And from the looks of it they have something serious on their mind.

It has gotten to the point where I no longer resemble my old self. It’s been six months since the accident. I stand a bit under five foot four, weigh in at one hundred pounds. My fever and achiness are still ever present though not as bad as at first. Fortunately the rate of weight and height decline is gradually slowing. It is fortunate as I have been worried that I might age regress to infancy. My hair has had a minor growth spurt and is now six inches long—it looks pretty shaggy. I’m still pretty much hair free everywhere else. No one but my doctor and I know that my genitals have receded to nearly nothing with my testacies actually ascending. My penis is only about an inch long—about where a very young boy would be. I haven’t told the family that my sex chromosomes are now mostly a mix of XX and XXY with only a very few XYs. The Y’s seem to be losing the battle. My testosterone output is virtually nil. Estrogen levels continue to be consistent with that of a young girls’. While still appearing to be somewhat androgynous I am on the feminine side of androgyny. I now look more like a preteen girl than a male.

It is funny though, none of my family—immediate or extended—have felt comfortable enough to talk about the implications of the changes.

Samantha, as the my own biological daughter, seems to be the initial spokeswoman for the group. Her boldness and former lack of social tact make her the ideal candidate.

“Dad,” she starts, “or should I say, Jerry. We want to talk to you about something.”

We are all sitting around the living room. The three daughters-in-law are lined up on the couch, Samantha is on the love seat and I’m sitting in my favorite lounge chair facing the bunch of them.

I give Samantha a ‘go ahead’ look.

“It’s pretty apparent to us,” she continues, “that your body is becoming more female every day.”

She takes a deep breath and spits out the bottom line, “We think you should start living as a girl.”

I work hard to keep the smile from my face. I was wondering how long it would take before the subject was broached. I’ve been wanting to make the switch for months now, but did not want to seem too eager.

“And we,” she quickly continues, waving at her sisters-in-law, “ have talked about it and we are prepared to help you make the transition.”

“I’ve been with you when strangers think you are a girl,” Helen, Bill’s wife, adds. “I don’t think anyone meeting you for the first time ever thinks that you’re male.”

That’s true. No one has mistaken me for a boy in a long time. In fact, most people seem to think that I am the tom-boy daughter of one of these women whenever I’ve been out and about with one or more of them.

“You are starting to look like a young teen girl who hasn’t started to develop yet,” Amanda, Tim’s wife points out.

Oh yeah, that reminds me that I can’t drive anymore—actually I can, but it’s too much of a hassle. I got pulled over by a cop a month ago who wouldn’t believe that I was old enough to drive. He thought that I was joy riding in my parent’s car. I don’t look anything like my driver’s license photo so I ended up at the police station and had to have my lawyer come down to prove my innocence. Some of the cops at the station remembered all the hoopla about the change and I was eventually let off with advice to get a new license issued—which I did. That’s a whole other story in its own right—one requiring further legal aid. I’m the only preteen girl in the world with an official driver’s license declaring that I am a sixty year old male.

I’ve been bumming rides off these women for the past month or taking the city bus to avoid a repeat of the hassle. The good news is that I can get away with paying the youth rate on the bus.

I’ve also been accused of skipping school on multiple occasions when out in public on a weekday. Several shop owners have threatened to call the police to take me back to school.

“Even the grandkids are confused.” Debbie, Mark’s wife tosses in.

Not long ago, the oldest grandson, young Frank—a very preconscious seven year old child—loudly proclaimed in a family gathering that I didn’t look like a grandpa anymore and that he was going to call me Jerry from now on. The youngest, Kimberly –a happy go lucky four year old—just wants to play dolls with me after declaring that ‘Papa’ is now a girl.

It’s not only the grandkids who are confused. An eleven year old girl, new to our church congregation, asked me just last week why I wear boy’s clothes and why don’t I attend the youth Sunday School class, or any of the other youth activities, like the other girls my age. One of the other youth who knows me tried to explain to her that I’m actually a sixty year old man. There is no way that the girl would believe that—neither would her parents.

This past week I had a chat with an old friend of mine who has been observing the growing confusion at church. He and I talked for a long time about what all the confusion was doing. Even he had mentioned that I might want to give people what they see if I continue to morph into a little girl. It might make things easier all around.

“So,” I reply with false caution, “just what do you all have in mind?”

They all look nervously at each other before Amanda, the oldest, pipes up.

“We want to take you shopping this morning for some clothes more appropriate to your apparent age and gender,” she states, “and to get your hair done. It’s a mess.”

They all look at me nervously hopeful.

Wow, I think to myself, I wasn’t expecting this. I’ve been wanting to start making the transition. In fact, I’ve managed to purchase a few items myself when none of them were around. I’ve got a pair of girls jeans, a couple of skirts and blouses, and some panties hidden under my bed—some are already too big as I bought them a couple of months ago. Using my credit card is nearly impossible these days, even with my new identification, as all the clerks think that I’ve stolen my father’s card. I can only use it when shopping on the internet. I’ll need to talk with my lawyer about getting my gender status changed and new identification documents secured once the changes settle down.

I make a show of sighing while doing a happy dance inside, “I guess it is inevitable, but I am still changing. We can’t go too wild.”

“We need to go all the way,” Helen points out with a smile. You can tell that she smells an easy victory for the girls. “You need to get rid of that androgynous look and quit confusing people. We don’t need to get much and can go to a Walmart or Target so that we don’t spend too much.”

“Alright,” I agree with another sigh while suppressing a happy smile, “I’ve been anticipating this. I suppose that it’s the right thing to do. Where do we start?”

This kicks off a flurry of happy activity. Amanda—being her normal efficient self (she has an MBA and was a successful business woman before deciding to focus on raising her two sons)—suggests that we start with some measurements and asks me—with a bit of nervousness—to strip down to my underwear so that they can get some accurate measurements.

They all express some surprise as I take off my baggy T-shirt and jeans. My body shape is a cross between that of a preteen boy’s and a preteen girl’s. My thirty inch chest and twenty eight inch waist is pretty typical of a young boy my size, but my thirty two inch hips with slightly rounded bottom is more representative of a young girl’s body.

Turning slightly pink, Debbie hesitantly asks, “Um, where are your male parts? You haven’t totally changed into a girl have you?” The rest of them look more closely at my jockey shorts covered crotch. It is pretty clear that I’m not filling them out.

“Even Frank’s are more noticeable,” observes his mother.

I guess, it’s time to let part of the cat out of the bag.

“Well,” I admit, “my testicles have ascended back into my body and my penis is quite small.”

“It must be.” Samantha agrees. “It doesn’t show in those shorts. I wonder how you’d look in panties. If you can hide it well, this opens up a few more clothing options since girls bottoms don’t leave much room for extra equipment.”

“I think some control briefs with lots of spandex should hold whatever you still have. That is, if we can get them that small.” Debbie mentions. “We’ll have to get some of those first.”

After I get dressed again, we all pile into my big SUV—I let Samantha drive as it looks more natural. And so our girls shopping spree begins.

To Be Continued...

IWAM_07

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! Jeri starts living as a girl.

Chapter Seven: First Steps

What a day!

The daughters-in-law have finally all gone home to their families and Samantha and I are home staring at a pile of shopping bags in my bedroom.

It turned out that I wear a pair of panties about as good as any still-waiting-to-bloom twelve year old girl. My little male appendage did stick a tiny amount, destroying the image. Debbie’s idea of using a control brief was a good idea, so we bought several pair. Helen thought that what I really needed was a size too small nylon/spandex panty to hold things tucked back. That worked too. We added a dozen pair in various colors and styles to my inventory. Chances are they’ll be too big in a couple of weeks, but they weren’t that expensive. Several of pairs of tights in various colors were also added to the inventory—being winter, I’m told that they are nice to have. We got a couple of pairs of girl’s jeans which fit a little snugly in places which would hurt on a guy. The latest trend seems to favor elaborate sparkly embroidery on the back pockets so, of course, that’s what we got. There will be no confusing me with a boy in these jeans. They show off my slightly rounded bottom quite well.

We bought half a dozen tops in various preteen girl styles. I drew the line on tops with girly phrases or other decorations on the front. I don’t want to get uber girly here. I think it is best for those around me that I ease into this. I’m still thinking about what my “style” will be, but I’m pretty sure that uber girly is not it. I’ll probably have to try a few styles before settling on something.

It was decided by the group that I need to have a dress or skirt for church tomorrow. I must have tried on several dozen options before there was general agreement on a final choice. As spring is approaching, we went with a sundress with a long sleeved T-shirt like top under it for modesty and warmth. I have to admit that wearing a dress for real as a girl is a strange thing. None of my closet cross dressing episodes with Aileen’s skirts over the years really prepared me for this. For the first time, dresses look right on me—it’ll still take some time to get used to them. I’m not particularly beautiful, but at least I don’t look like a guy in a dress. And I won’t continue to look like a girl wearing her big brother’s clothes. I look like a typical flat-chested, late blooming early teen girl. They had me get a couple of training bras as apparently girls that age are in a hurry to develop and often start padding things while they wait for the real thing to appear.

Of course we had to buy shoes as well. All my old ones are too big, even those we bought a month ago. Given that I’m still shrinking, we kept it conservative with a pair of trainers and a nice pair of dress shoes with a one inch heal. They also had me purchase some feminine socks to wear with them.

Nightwear was also on the agenda. Debbie is the most girlish of the bunch and wanted to get me in a night gown. While inwardly I smiled at the idea, the rest strongly recommended a flannel bottom and camisole combination popular with teen girls these days. They seem to be worried that I’ll rebel if pushed too hard too fast to be a girl. In keeping with my cover, I buy a whole flannel pajama set and a camisole “just in case.”

The hair salon experience was better than stories you hear. The hardest part was deciding what to do with my hair. There’s not a lot you can do with short full hair. As I expressed a desire to grow it out longer, it was decided by the committee (after extensive conversation and after consulting many style magazines) that a simple part down the middle with a layered look would be best for now since it will grow out nicely. It is definitely a girl’s haircut. The staff at the salon did a fantastic job on the cut. The girls picked out a few barrettes for me and showed me various ways of pinning my hair back and/or up for different looks and occasions.

In payment to the girls, I offered to cover their costs if they wanted to use the services of the salon. Debbie and Samantha took me up on it, getting their rather long hair trimmed and styled. I later paid for clothing items for Helen and Amanda—after all, I’m far from broke. Unlike many preteen girls I have a steady income greater than what their parents normally earn. It’s nice to do something special for each of them.

Now, Samantha and I are sorting and storing my new clothes.

“I guess we can box these up,” Samantha says, waving at the small assortment of relatively new male attire taking up a small portion of the closet space. “And the stuff in the drawers too.”

Due to her ruthless cleaning strategy, my closets and drawers are virtually empty already. The only things we keep are those special items of Aileen’s that I saved during the first purge. Those items are now all too big for me and have been relegated to the back of the closet.

Adding my new items to the closet and drawers doesn’t do much for relieving the emptiness.

“It still looks like I’m living out of a suitcase,” I comment when we’re done.

“That’s a good way to put it,“ Samantha agrees. “Living out of a suitcase on your road to disappearing.”

“I don’t know about disappearing,” I reply. “My calculations show that the way things are going, the height and weight curves should level out somewhere around the size of a five year old girl in about three years’ time.”

“That should be wonderful,” she snorts. “I could become your mother. I’m not ready to be a mother.”

I agree with her about her preparedness to be a mother. While she’s made great strides these past six months, she is still not really ready for that great responsibility.

“Well, you’ve got about two and a half years to work on it,” I tell her. “Most women only get nine months’ notice.”

“I think that I’ll just turn you over to one of your daughters-in-law,” she retorts.

“Ah,” I smile at her, “I doubt that. What did your mother say? Something like you are supposed to help me through these changes? I think that means that you’re to stick this out with me.”

“I’m doing my best,” she earnestly replies.

“I know, sweetheart,” I reassure her giving her a hug, “I’m really impressed with what you’ve accomplished so far. I don’t think that I could have adjusted so well without you. You have been my rock through these changes.”

“You’re adjusting just fine,” she observes. “It’s kind of scary actually. I would have been distraught if something like this happened to me. How can you deal with this?”

“As we both know,” I answer her, “It is in the Lord’s hands. I believe this is happening in response to that angelic visitation. There is no other explanation. So if this is what God wants for me, then he must have a reason for it.”

I’m still holding back about admitting my life-long burden to anyone. As I ponder this, I get a strong impression that now is the time to broach the subject with Samantha.

“Samantha, sweetheart,” I begin, “can you keep a confidence?”

She looks at me enquiringly. “That’s weird. I just got tingly all over and received the impression that what you’re about to tell me is true and should be kept private. So, I guess the answer to your question is: yes.”

I am grateful for the divine assistance. It would be hard to convince her otherwise.

“Well,” I begin with a deep breath, “I’ve always felt that I should have been born female. I’ve tried hard, however, to live the life I’ve been given. I’ve tried to be the best son, brother, husband, and father that I could be but I have always wished with all my heart that I could have been a daughter, sister, wife, and mother. I’m afraid that this longing may have interfered with my efforts to be a good man.”

I start to get some tears in my eyes recalling the struggle. I really did, and still do, want to do what’s right in the sight of God.

Samantha gives me an affectionate hug—something which is out of character for the old Samantha. “You’ve been great. You were nicer to Mom and the rest of us than most fathers are to their wives and children. I always looked up to you as a sensitive caring man. You have been very manly and a good father in ways that few men of my acquaintance have been. I’ve never met another man like you and I’ve always felt blessed that you were my father.”

This does bring tears to my eyes. I never knew that she felt that way.

“I did notice, however, that you watched a lot of girls and women over the years,” she continued. “I thought that you might have a wandering eye but you never seemed lecherous. Most women and girls that I know felt comfortable and at ease in your presence. More so than they are with other men. It always struck me as being odd. How did you come to be married then? Weren’t you attracted to men if you were a girl inside?”

“I had a male body with male hormones,” I point out. “It’s funny, but while I wanted to be a girl and often wondered with sex would be like as the wife, I never saw a man who attracted me. I just couldn’t fathom being with a male as a male. I did, and still do, love your mother with all my heart. I just wish that we could have traded roles.

“And about watching other females, after getting through teenage and early adult years and after settling down with your mother, I don’t think that I ever looked at them as sexual attractions. Your mother was very good at satisfying that part of my life. I would, however, watch them to see if I could figure out what life was like for them and what it would have been like for me if I had been born the way I wished I had. I was very envious of them—often thinking that they probably don’t appreciate how lucky they are.”

“Lucky!” She snorts in disbelief. “Don’t get me wrong, I like being a girl—men are pigs—but have you noticed how poorly women have it? We have to really work at getting respect. There’s still a lot of macho crap out there. Being a woman has not been easy at any time in history.”

“You’re right in a lot of ways,” I agree, “but I’ve notice a few things over the years that might balance that.”

“Oh yeah,” she challenges me, “name a few.”

“Okay,” I begin, “there is my observation that most women do not tend to have the macho pride issues that men do and, consequently, tend to be more effective at getting things done than men. I suspect this is because they have to work harder at it. They generally get the job done when it needs to be done and much more thoroughly than most men. The competent women that I have worked with have almost always raised the standard for performance.

“Also, most successful strong women tend to be more empathetic than men. They are more likely to reach out to someone in need. They make great mentors. They don’t let macho pride stand in the way. This is why you see women flocking to what is perceived as people serving professions like medicine and law. They often are more interested in helping someone personally than in the bottom line. This makes our society a better place. Look at you, for example, once you started to get past the ‘what’s in it for me’ attitude, you started to find ways to make a difference in people’s lives without thought for profit. Remember when you got interested in dance therapy as a way to help troubled souls? There was no money in that but you didn’t care—you just wanted to help people.”

“Well,” she responds with a little disgust in her voice, “look where I am now—in corporate America helping to make the owners of my company rich.”

“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” I admit, “but maybe what you are doing is helping people to understand the current social issues by delivering accurate images and news. If people don’t know what’s going on, they can’t make informed decisions which will help them to live better lives. What your company does is important to our community, even if it does make a few people rich.”

She doesn’t look convinced.

“Let’s look at it this way,” I try again. “What would happen to the community if your news company, or one like it, didn’t exist? How would people know about what’s happening in government? What about knowing what weather is likely to happen over the next few days?”

“I see your point,” she grudgingly admits. “Our company does fill a need, but being male or female is irrelevant in that case.”

“Is it now?” I ask. “Don’t you think that it’s good to have both a ‘male’ and a ‘female’ perspective on things? Also, in your case where you have yet to have input into what is said, don’t you think that an employee who is there to do their part for the community—as opposed to one who solely wants a paycheck—is more likely to help the organization be effective in serving the community? Which employee will get the most satisfaction? The female perspective tends to have the broader view. I’d be more inclined to hire a sincere woman than a career minded man any day.”

“Not everyone shares that view,” she points out. “But I see what you are saying. It sounds as if you think that being a woman is superior to being a man.”

“I could list a few more points in favor of women,” I continue, “but, as a man, I can also point out some of their faults. It’s not that one is better than the other; it’s just that they are both wired slightly different. Personally I think that men and women complement each other nicely. Each couple finds way to supplement each other if they are to be successful as a team. How they do it is up to them, but I think that people are generally happier when they have a companion at their side and with whom they’ve worked out a mutually agreeable way to work together, amplifying each other’s strengths.”

“You and Mom got better at that over the years,” She observes.

“It seems to takes a lifetime,” I respond.

“Speaking of mother,” Samantha observes, “She was very happy when she came to me. She said that good things were happening for her. I’m wondering how that could be as you will become a woman and she will be without you in heaven.”

“There’s another dream I had,” I tell her, “that I’ve only ever told your mother. I think that it will shed light on that.

“A couple of years after we married, we were still struggling to find that complementary balance. One night I had a very vivid dream. In the dream I had died and was on the other side. Your mother had died first so I was looking around anxiously for her. After a time, I saw her walking towards me hand in hand with a very handsome looking man. She was radiant. She was happier than I have ever seen her. Kind of like what you described to me from your visit with her.

“When she got to me, she threw her arms around me and gave me a great hug. Standing back she put her arm around this man and held him close. His arm was possessively around her shoulders and he had a very serene smile on his face. He didn’t say a thing.

“Your mother did speak to me, however. She said ‘Thank you so much for our life together, Jerry. I can’t tell me how much I appreciate it. You were a good man, but I am not yours. Your mission was to prepare me to be worthy of this great man.’ With that they gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes and the vision faded away.

“I couldn’t sleep the rest of the night. I wondered if it was a warning of what I’d lose if I didn’t live my life the way I should. I worked hard the rest of my life to make sure that losing her was not due to my own unrighteousness or inattention to her.“

“So now, you think that she’s met her true companion and you’re free to become the girl you should have been,” Samantha speculates. “Doesn’t that hurt a little?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking and praying about this the past few months,” I tell her. “I believe that I’ve gotten confirmation of what you say. I get the impression that we’ll still be the best of friends—or at least I hope so. While she has found her true love, now—when the time is right—I will need to seek for the man who I can love forever. Yes, I will miss being with her, but I have faith that there are other great things in store which will make up for the loss.”

“So that means that you think this shrinking business will cease and you’ll grow as a girl?” She asks.

“Yes,” I confidently reply, “I do. I just don’t know when the changes will be finished or how old I’ll be when they do. It seems clear that I’m going to have to be a teenager again. I’m not really looking forward to that. Hopefully my sixty years of being a man will keep me from making foolish schoolgirl mistakes.”

“So,” She grins at me, “you don’t think that you are going to be a boy crazy teenage girl like the rest of us?”

“I don’t know,” as I give her a playful shove, “I know a lot more about boys than any of you ever did so they aren’t that mysterious. After all, I was a Scoutmaster for lots of years so I got to know how young men operate. And before you ask, I’ll remind you that I was never sexually attracted to boys or men.”

“We’ll see what happens when you go through female puberty,” she smirks. “Oh yeah, I can’t wait until you have your first period. I think that every guy should have to go through that once or twice. Hormonal swings can do a number on you.”

“At least I’ll have you here to guide me through it.” I smile at her.

She rolls her eyes, “I don’t think that I’m cut out to act as the substitute mother of a hormonal teenager.”

“You’ll do fine,” I tell her. “After all, your mother and I survived it when you went through that stage.”

“Just so you know,” I conclude, “I am not happy to be becoming a girl because of any perceived advantages. I am happy because I am finally becoming who I have always wanted to be regardless of the advantages or disadvantages. I feel at peace becoming a girl”

“Well,” she smiles at me, “welcome to the sorority. I hope that it is everything you are hoping for.”

After an affectionate hug (something very unlike the old Samantha) we finish putting everything away and watch one of Aileen’s old romantic films. I’ve always enjoyed them and it is great to see Samantha start to loosen up and enjoy them as well.

It has been a great day and evening. My first day living as I have wanted all these years—as a girl.

To Be Continued...

IWAM_08

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! Samantha struggles with being perceived as Jeri's mother.

Chapter Eight: Motherhood

Day two is turning out to be interesting.

Samantha and I decided to attend church in the congregation which Bill and Helen attend. They live in the next town down the road—or is that up the road? This is a church that I have never attended as we don’t live in this town. Anyway, I am able to attend without anyone knowing that I’m a sixty year old man. It’s a good first outing fully kitted out as a girl.

After some discussion yesterday, the girls agreed that I could go by the feminine version of my first name without too much issue, so today I am Jeri, a late developing thirteen year old girl. Samantha had me add small baggies of birdseed into the cups of my training bra for appearances sake. I appear to have an almost A cup set of breasts. The loose fitting sundress hides my lack of curves.

I got a few reminders about how to sit, how to get in and out of a car and other little things that girls learn while growing up. For now, I’m being passed off as a tom boy in a dress.

I should point out that Samantha and I have essentially the same hair color and texture. It is something which she inherited from my side of the family. I think that I am taking on the characteristics I would have had if I had been my parent’s daughter. My looks are also morphing in that direction. The end result is that it is very apparent that Samantha and I are blood relatives. As she has also taken on some physical characteristics (i.e. nose and eye shape) from her mother’s side of the family, we are not twins.

“Are you and your daughter joining us or just visiting?” One woman asked Samantha before the service. Samantha is only thirty so she’s not quite old enough to be my apparent mother unless I was born when she was seventeen.

“Just visiting,” Samantha replied after thinking about it briefly. “Actually, Jeri here is a younger cousin of mine. I don’t have any children.”

“Oh my,” the woman looked a bit taken aback. “Sorry about that, she just looks so much like you I just assumed she was yours.”

Standing by the woman was a mid-teen girl who is developing quite nicely. The girl seemed to be proud of the fact as she’s wearing a dress which shows every curve—a little racy for church, in my opinion. The girl is also an inch or two taller than me. She looks bored.

“This is my daughter, Brittany,” the woman introduced the girl. “She can help Jeri find her way to the youth Sunday School after the main service, can’t you dear?”

“Sure Mom,” the girl replied without enthusiasm. “Nice to meet you Jeri, see you after the service.”

Well, that was anti-climactic.

The service was good but the Sunday School class was an eye opener. I have taught teens in several capacities over the years. It’s always been a struggle to get them engaged and the current teacher wasn’t all that experienced. Brittany dutifully escorted me to class and introduced me to a few of the girls. A couple of the boys—to the chagrin of the girls—asked if I was moving in and showed me lots of attention. This is attention that I think some of the regular attending girls wish they were receiving. I suppose it is the new kid complex where the new kid is always more interesting than those who have been around a while.

After the meetings were over, we all went out for lunch at a local chain restaurant.

“…and what can I get for you and your daughter?” the waiter asked Samantha when taking our order. I had to stifle a giggle at that. Samantha just looked daggers at me. She told the waiter that her young cousin could order for herself.

That’s two.

------< O >------

After lunch, Bill headed home to do some home project (probably watching basketball) while Helen, Samantha and I decided to hit the mall for to see if they could augment my clothing supply. I think that they just wanted some girl time.

We were in one of the larger department stores looking at girl’s clothing. Samantha had me hold up a top to get an idea how it would look on me when a sales girl appeared.

“Ooh…,” she commented, “that looks lovely with your daughter’s hair color.”

That’s three.

------< O >------

Eventually, Helen headed for home. As she hugged Samantha goodbye, she said , with a grin: “Bye, Mommy.”

Samantha was not amused but I thought it was funny.

On the way home, I talked Samantha into stopping at the grocery store. While we were in the checkout line, I remembered something I forgot to get just as the checker got to our small pile of stuff.

“Go ahead, dear,” the checker told me, “I’ll just chat with your mother for a few minutes if you hurry.”

That’s four.

“She’s not my daughter,” Samantha corrected the checker. “She’s my young cousin.”

“My goodness,” the checker exclaimed. “She looks a lot like you.”

------< O >------

We’ve been home now for a couple of hours. I haven’t seen Samantha since we got home. She had stomped off to her room and left me to deal with stowing our purchases. I fixed myself a snack for dinner, but Samantha never came out of her room.

I think that she’s taking the mother mistake too hard.

I am pondering going to bed early or just staying up to watch some TV when Samantha finally surfaces. She looks troubled.

“What’s up,” I asked her with some concern.

“Everyone thinks I’m your mother,” she states, “I am not your mother. I am not a mother. I don’t want to be a mother. I would have had to be in my mid-teens when you were ‘born’ by the looks of you. Heck, you look half my age.”

She glares at me.

I don’t think that she’s done, so I just wait patiently.

“It’s your fault,” she huffs at me. “I don’t think that I should be seen in public with you.”

Okay… so the problem appears to be that I am somehow making her life difficult. Apparently she is still somewhat self-centered.

“What’s wrong with being perceived as a mother?” I enquire.

“Mothers have to be responsible,” she informs me. “Mothers can’t be themselves. Mothers have to watch after snot-nosed kids 24/7. Mothers usually have a father around who needs to be taken care of as well. Mothers are servants.”

Well, she doesn’t seem to have much an opinion of motherhood.

“So what’s wrong with be perceived as one of them?” I ask.

“I’m not one of those people,” she says. “I don’t want to be one of those people. I want to be free to do whatever I want whenever I want. Making commitments gets in the way of that.”

“Why do you think that some women do motherhood and wouldn’t trade it for anything?” I ask her.

“I can’t figure it out,” she admits. “They don’t realize what they are missing.”

Where did we go wrong, I ask myself? Samantha just doesn’t get it.

“Maybe,” I suggest, “it’s you who doesn’t realize what you are missing. You might start by trying to look at it through their eyes. Take the time to try to understand them. You have two sisters-in-law who have chosen to center their lives on their families and a third one who probably will soon. You might want to take the time figure out why.”

Sarah just gives an unbelieving grunt in reply.

“Well,” I add with a smile, “being my mother shouldn’t be too bad. After all, I’ve had sixty years of life experience. I can pretty well take care of myself. All you’ll have to do is act like you’re in charge. That’ll be a lot different than raising a kid from scratch. I think you should stop fighting it and play the part.”

“We’ll see,” she huffs without commitment.

To Be Continued...

IWAM_09

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! Jeri finds ways to be productive and finds a new friend.

Chapter Nine: New Employment & A New Friend

It’s now nine months since the accident and I’ve been living full time as a girl for three months. At my last checkup, Mike observed that I’m about 90% female. Because of my physical age and new gender, he has brought in a Pediatrician and a Gynecologist to assist with my weekly monitoring. My penis is essentially gone and my scrotum has started to morph into a set of female vulva. We suspect that a fully functioning vagina is in my near future. I’ve had occasional cramping and an ultrasound shows that I am developing all the appropriate female internal organs. My fever is only slight now and I have only lost two inches in height and twenty six pounds in weight in the last three months. Those pesky Y chromosomes are all but gone now. I am no longer androgynous—I look like a 12 year old girl on the cusp of puberty. I weigh in at ninety pounds and stand a little shorter than five foot two inches. There is no doubt about it—I am becoming a girl. I’m still a little underdeveloped for a girl my apparent age but there is a hint of curves and my bottom is starting to be more rounded. The good news is that the change is slowing.

I’ve worked with my lawyer and medical people to get my legal documents changed to show that I am female since it is pretty obvious where I am heading. I changed my name too—I’m now officially going by the name of Jeri. Since the changes have slowed considerably I decided to get new identification documents (passport and driver’s license) showing me as I am now. I also changed out my credit cards, the deed on the house, my retirement records, college diplomas, etc. The only thing that throws people off is the birth date listed on the documents. Nobody can believe that I’m sixty years old.

Summer has started and I am enjoying a lot more time out of doors. Over the winter, I spent a fair amount of time skiing so I am in pretty good physical shape—for a kid. I’ve taken to mountain biking and hiking in the local mountains. My family is very nervous about my activities as it is not generally considered safe to be out in the woods with bears and moose on the loose even when you are an adult male. Samantha goes with me when she has time off from work and the boys and their wives go with me whenever they can. With my small young body, I can’t keep up with them like I used to but they are patient with me.

I’ve got a lot of time on my hands these days and spend as much of it as I can being active. It is so wonderful feeling young and energetic again!

I have also started to do some online consulting using my old professional skills. I’ve been studying web programming and have developed a couple of commercial educational websites which are starting to get noticed. They bring a little income to add to my savings. I don’t need the money. My retirement income is more than adequate to support me. I just need to keep productive.

A few months ago, I started doing some babysitting. First off, I became the preferred babysitter for my grandkids. It started when Mark and Debbie couldn’t find a sitter for Kimberly one night and asked if I’d help. Pretty soon it became a regular thing. Amanda picked up on it pretty soon and I found myself regularly watching Frank and Warren. One day, Amanda’s neighbor saw me playing with the boys outside and asked me if I was old enough to be babysitting. When I assured her that I was well qualified, she asked what my rate was. I had to grin at that because I was making $60 per hour when I retired—I don’t think she could afford that. Before too long I had become a go-to babysitter for half a dozen families and was starting to turn down jobs frequently. I found that I love working with small children. We would play games together and I would teach them how to work with each other. It was almost like managing an office full of adults.

While I’ve never been one to spend time with friends without Aileen around, it is now virtually impossible to hang out with my old adult acquaintances. It is just too weird being about 12 years old in appearance, hanging out with 50-60 year olds. Neither them nor I know how to break through the weirdness.

The one place where I was weak was in working with my new apparent peer group. My only real interaction with them was at church functions. I met some really nice kids there, but a few not so nice ones as well. None of the kids are what I would call friends. Most of the kids at church—and their parents—know about my past and are not sure what to make of me. I found that I struggled with relating to them on a peer level as they were emotionally and socially at a much different level than I am. The fact that I didn’t go to school with any of them also set me apart from their social groups. When asked about why I didn’t go to school we’d just tell people that I’m being home schooled—which is sort of true: I’m studying web programming on my own.

I’ve gone on a couple of church youth group functions. I have made an effort to be friends with a couple of the 10-12 year old girls—it is little rocky as there is an obvious maturity difference. Add that to the fact that most of them know I was a sixty year old guy not too long ago and it makes it difficult to connect with any of my new age group. Some of their parents aren’t too keen on me, a former male, hanging around with their daughters. I can’t say that I am close with any of the kids.

Tonight I’m going waterskiing with about twenty of the youth. It will be the first time out in my new bathing suit. It is a one piece suit—we must be modest at a church gathering. I am not much to look at as I appear to be your typical preteen girl who only has a hint at curves and no breasts. I don’t think that it will result in making new friends, but everyone will have a pretty good idea of how far the physical changes have really gone.

------< O >------

“This spot taken?” a young female voice asks.

Looking up from my blanket on the beach, I see a cute girl about my apparent age standing there with a towel. She is wearing a swimsuit similar to mine and huge pair of sunglasses. I notice that she is just starting to develop those feminine curves which will start attracting boys as their puberty begins to kick in. There is also a hint of breasts showing through her suit.

“No,” I smile up at her, “Make yourself comfortable.”

“My name is Laurie and I’m twelve,” she informs me as she spreads her towel next to mine. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Jeri,“ I reply. “I haven’t seen you around before. Are you new here?” I’m glad that she didn’t ask my age.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “We just moved here a week ago. You been here long?”

“Yeah,” I respond. “Quite a while.” I imagine that she’ll hear the story soon.

“How come you’re hanging out by yourself?” she asks. “It seems that all the fun is happening over there.” She nods over to where the ski boat is picking up a couple of kids.

I sigh. “I don’t fit in all that well.”

It is not like the others are rude or anything, but most of them know about my transition and are not comfortable around me. Also, I still don’t know how to relate to this demographic who are just starting to figure out how life works.

“Why not?” she asks. “You are a cute girl. You should have lots of friends.”

“How come you aren’t over there then?” I ask her.

She shrugs her shoulders. “I get nervous around guys—I get pretty tongue tied around them and blush way too much when I make a fool of myself. I’d rather get to know some girls my age first. You look like you could use a friend.“

We spend the next half hour chatting—well she does most of the chatting. Apparently her father just got a promotion within a State agency and moved here from another part of the State. She wasn’t too clear on what her father does, but from what she could tell me it sounds as if he is working in my old department. How strange. I might have been her father’s boss if I’d not changed. I don’t want to bring that topic up.

She seems to be nervous about starting over again in a new school and making new friends. It sounds as if she left behind a couple of really close friends. Her father has been here for a couple of months but the rest of the family waited until school let out for the summer to join him. She asks me about the school and church groups and seems surprised when I tell her that I don’t attend the school. I tell her that I am studying at home—I just don’t tell her what.

After a while, a couple of other kids who have had their turn with the ski boat, wander over to meet the new girl. I introduce Laurie to the several other girls and a couple of boys that I am familiar with then lay back to watch new connections form. It doesn’t take long for them to out me.

“Hey Laurie,” asks one girl, I think her name is Cindy. “did Jeri tell you that she is really a sixty year old man?”

Until they forget that little bit of information, it is doubtful that I will ever fit in.

Laurie looks at me with surprise. “No way!” she exclaims. “I may be new, but I’m not that stupid. There is no way that Jeri can be sixty years old, much less a guy.”

I sigh. Here goes another potential friendship.

“It’s almost true,” I reluctantly inform her. “I am sixty years old and I USED to be a guy. I am a girl now. No one knows why,” except for me and Sam I don’t tell anyone, “but is probably due to a freak accident I had last summer.”

She stares at me intently. “You are pulling my leg. I don’t buy it. There is no way.”

Several of the other kids emphatically assure her that it is true. I even drag out my latest driver’s license to show her my age. The fact that I even have a driver’s license freaks her out a little. The picture is of a slightly older version of my current self as I have regressed some since the picture was taken. It says that I am female.

“He used to be good friends with my grandparents,” Cindy informs her. “We’ve watched him transform over the last year. It’s freaky.”

“He’s a she now,” one of the boys points out. “and still getting younger, I think”

“Whatever,” Cindy dramatically rolls her eyes. “It’s still freaky.”

Laurie surprises me by giving me a supportive hug. “Poor girl! Now I see why you need a friend. I’m here for you.”

And thus my first peer friendship is launched.

To Be Continued...

IWAM_10

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! Jeri finds a way to reassure her new peer group.

Chapter Ten: Proving the Point

Over the next month, Laurie boldly continues to be my friend in spite of my past. She works at helping me relate to twelve year olds and I do my best to fit in the role. Puberty is just hitting her and her curiosity about boys is pretty evident and we spend a fair amount of time talking about boys as I reassure her that they are just as nervous around her as she is around them. She has taken a shine to one boy in particular, Joey, and as we speculate about him, I find myself thinking he is cute as well. I am starting see boys differently now. I grin to myself when I make that realization. It is another huge step towards becoming who I’ve always wanted to be.

It turns out that her father does work for my former State agency and would have been in my division had I remained there. He had heard of my transition at work but was still surprised when I finally met him when Laurie invited me over for a sleepover with a couple of other girls. Her mother wanted to meet my parents, but after a bit of discussion, they finally settled for a rather lengthy discussion where they tried to determine my intentions concerning their daughter. It takes a while to convince them that I am not an old pervert in a young girl’s body.

The sleepover is fairly heavily regulated by the parents, but they tire long before the excited girls, leaving us to a girly giggle fest. I have a bit of difficulty relating as some of the things we do seem more than a little immature, but I do the best that I can.

I try to get into the silly games and Disney princess movies that the other girls are into. We play with each other’s hair as they try to show me things that I can do with my now longer hair. I find the hair exercise very educational and practical. It is also interesting and fun when you think of all the things a girl can do with her hair.

“So,” Cindy asks at one point as she works on my hair, “are you really all girl now? You look like it.”

We are sitting around in short nightgowns and panties and sort of watching the latest Disney princess movie as we attempt to braid and style each other’s hair with various hair accessories spread about.

“Almost,” I cautiously reply. I don’t want to scare them off. My penis is now gone, having become a bona fide clitoris. My outer lips look pretty much like any other girls, however the vaginal canal is still developing. From the outside I am formed like any other 11 year old girl.

“Yes,” I assure them that I am now a girl. They don’t need to know the finer details. “Do you know about chromosomes?” I ask them.

“Sure,” Cindy responds. A couple of other girls don’t appear to be too sure on the topic. Biology class is still in their future.

“Chromosomes are parts of our cells which have the genes that give us characteristics from our parents,” I inform them. “What color eyes, the shape of our noses, stuff like that. One set of chromosomes tell us whether or not we are a boy or a girl. Boys have XY chromosomes and girls have XX chromosomes. Medical science has not found a way to change those, but somehow all my former XY chromosomes have become XX chromosomes just like any other girl’s.”

“Yes, yes,” Cindy waves that off, “but are you like us down there?” she points at my panties. From all appearance my panty clad crotch is not any different than any of the others scattered around the room.

“Yes,” I reply with a blush.

“Did you have some kind of surgery?” she persists.

“No,” I squirm a little. “It’s all naturally me.”

“I want to see,” Cindy declares staring me in the eye with a challenge.

“Cindy!” several of the girls gasp at her boldness.

“Well?” she asks the other girls, “Aren’t you curious?”

“Sure,” Laurie replies, “but that is kinda personal, isn’t it?”

Sighing again, I realize this is the best way to put any rumors to rest. These girls will be sure to whisper the news to their other friends and it will spread like wildfire.

Without saying anything, I look around to make sure that it’s only us girls in the room, then slip off my panties and spread my legs as I sit on the floor. The external changes are pretty much complete. The remaining changes are internal with a little redistribution of body mass to match that of the girls.

There are gasps all around.

“Well?” I ask, “Am I girl enough for you, Cindy?”

She just nods her head in astonishment.

I quickly pull my panties back up and sit cross legged on the floor with the rest of them. That was embarrassing. It should, however, make them feel a little more comfortable around me. I imagine that word will spread to other curious people rather quickly.

“Can you get pregnant?” another girl asks in wonder.

I shrug my shoulders. “I suppose I will be able to if my growth rate changes direction. I am still getting younger rather than older, but not as quickly as I was a few months ago. I haven’t had a period.”

“I’ve had one,” Laurie proudly declares. “I had my first one a couple of weeks ago.”

This launches an intense discussion about feminine hygiene which takes the focus off my issues. Thank goodness! It seems that about half the girls present have already had this passage into womanhood and the others are nervous about it.

------< O >------

It would seem that the sleepover was a turning point in my relationship with my apparent age peer group. The girls took it all in stride and have finally accepted me as one of them. I have been included in several girl gatherings since then. The boys are a bit skittish still—I think that some of them fear that what “I have” might be contagious.

Now, eleven months after the accident I am eighty two pounds and five feet one and a quarter inches tall. My vaginal canal is pretty much completed and I look like any other skinny eleven to twelve year old girl. My suite of doctors are really scratching their heads over this. They have fully documented the transition but no solid theories have been developed which fully account for the process. I haven’t shared the divine influence as people are not very accepting of such possibilities.

Samantha continues to be mistaken for my mother and has become resigned to the situation. She is seems to be taking to the responsibility well. At times, I think that she gets into to the role too well. The other day, she threatened to ground me for coming in late without letting her know where I was.

“I worry about you,” she informed me. “I thought you were aware of the dangers to the physical wellbeing of a young girl out on her own this late. If you can’t be more careful I’ll have to put a curfew on you.”

Wow, that is a big step for her.

Talking of big steps, she has also been dating a really nice guy for the past couple of months. It would seem that his being a doctor is causing her some moral dilemmas.

She met him during one of my many visits to the medical profession and there appeared to be some kind of chemistry from first glance. She resisted his first few offers to go out, but eventually caved in after a few long discussions with her sisters-in-law… which is something else that surprises me. She and the sisters-in-law have become a lot closer in the past eleven months.

Anyway, in the past month Sam and Jack have spent every available moment together. When this first happened Samantha would come home and we’d talk about her conflicted moral issues. She really liked the guy but he was part of the medical establishment which is in direct odds to her holistic, nebulous, mother earth, spiritual and herbal healing hippie philosophy. This has caused her to do something she’s avoided like the plague—that is to consider things from a scientific data-driven approach. This undermines many of her pet ideas and she is uncomfortable with the results. Nevertheless, she is drawn to Jack in a way that cannot be ignored. She just needs to reexamine her outlook on the world and possibly make some changes.

I hope that she can do it!

To be fair, Jack has had to reexamine some of his fundamental beliefs as the result Sam’s insistent arguments that the medical community needs to be a bit more open minded.

I think that both of them are better for the experience.

I like him too. He’d be a great son-in-law. He seems to be having a hard time getting his head around the idea of having an 11-year old girl as a father-in-law.

To Be Continued...

IWAM_11

It Wasn't a Mistake by Tiffany B. Quinn How bad can things get? In his darkest hour, Jerry finds out that his life has been one big character test... And he passed! It's been a year since the accident and the changes are complete.

Chapter Eleven: It is Done

It is 5:00 am and I am sitting, alone, on the top of a local mountain watching the summer sunrise. Much like last year, I have felt a strong prompting to be here. It is almost feels like a summons.

Today is also the anniversary of my visitation and accident.

I have only lost a pound and a quarter inch in height during the last month--all of that in the first week. There has been no change in weight or height for three weeks. My fever and achiness have totally disappeared. According to height and weight charts, I am the average weight of an eleven year old girl and the average height of twelve and a half year old girl. We’ll just call me a skinny and tall twelve year old. As the rate of regression has just about stopped, I also seem to have finished my physical changes.

I also had my first period just in the past week. That plus the fact that my breasts are showing signs of early development have solidified my status as a girl and indicates that I am starting to move forward instead of regressing.

As the sun rises I hug my knees to my chest and recall all the events of the past year.

The accident was quite a shock but that was balanced by the resolution of all the problems which had been piling up. The aftermath has been nothing short of miraculous.

As promised by the angel, all my burdens, apparently including my gender challenges, have been resolved. Aileen and I have both been cleared of false charges. I am also a completely formed girl—there are no physical traces that I was ever male. The only thing that shows that I am anything but a twelve year old girl is my birth date.

I have a steady income for life (given that I am, physically, almost 50 years younger than last this time year, this is a sore spot for the retirement folks). Being debt free with substantial assets and a guaranteed income is something that few twelve year old girls can lay claim to. I am also making money from my web business, so there is no real financial worry for the future short of a general societal collapse.

Samantha has changed almost as much. She has reevaluated her life and found that she needs to be broader in her thinking and she is starting to realize that the world does not revolve around her. She has become less judgmental and has started to find fulfillment in responsibility. She came home late one evening a few weeks ago sporting a huge diamond engagement ring. She accepted Jack’s proposal of marriage but is scared of the huge change this will be in her life. In spite of her best intentions, she has fallen deeply in love with him. Hopefully this love will carry her through the changes she needs to go through. I firmly think that her visit with her deceased mother and the months of “taking care” of me have helped her to see the need for change.

My new peers have pretty much accepted me as one of them. In fact, several of the girls have been pressing me to join them in school when it starts up again in the fall. I am tempted to do it, just so that I can have that same teenage social experiences as the rest of the girls. I do find, however, that my life experiences cause me to be much more cautious about certian things than what these girls are. The start of budding breasts and the advent of my period have pretty much convinced all the girls that I am one of them. The boys still keep their distance, however.

It has been a momentous year and I am content.

“Hello Jeri,” a very familiar voice catches my attention.

I look up to see Aileen and a very handsome man coming my way. A closer look convinces me that this is the same guy who appeared to me last year. A strong sense of déjà vu hits me as I am aware that I am living a form of my dream of so many years ago.

“Hello Aileen.” I respond. “It is wonderful to see you again. I have missed you more than you can know!”

She smiles at me. “As you saw in a dream many years ago, our marriage was not to last. It was intended to prepare each of us for greater things. I want to thank you for preparing me to be the kind of person worthy of this great man.” She looks at her companion with love in her eyes has he hugs her close.

“You have always had the spirit of a woman and God made you a man on purpose. The purpose will become apparent as you progress through the rest of your life. You did an admirable job being what you were not. You have been true and faithful and are now rewarded with the opportunity to live your life as a woman but with an understanding that no man or woman has ever had. Your faith has made you whole. Your experiences have made you a much better person that you would have been had you been born female originally and has given you unique skills to do the Lord’s work that lies before you.”

“I am happy for you, Aileen.” I tell her sincerely. “I hope that we can still be the best of friends.”

“I believe that we will be,” she smiles back at me.

“I have been sent to tell you that your Heavenly Father is very pleased with you.

"He has much for you to do in the coming years. You have already greatly blessed the life of our wayward daughter. She will come around and become a great woman. You are to do much more that is good in the world.

“You are also in a position to provide guidance to your new peers. They will need it in the coming years if they are to fulfill their destinies. Stay close to them and be patient. One of your missions in life will be to nurture those around you in a way that will help them find God’s love and bring peace to their lives.

“You should also know that the physical changes you have been experiencing in the past year are complete. You are now a complete daughter of your Heavenly Father. You have much to learn and much to give. You have an exciting life ahead of you.”

“Thank you, Aileen.” I earnestly reply. “I love you and you have been my best friend. I just hope that I can find again what we had together and what you so obviously have now.”

“Oh, you will,” she smiles. “There is a boy out there for you. You will know when you find him. I have seen some of your future and I think that you will be quite happy with him. In the mean time, be patient and learn all that you can about being a woman worthy of a great companion.”

“Wonderful!” I give a joyous squeal. “Who is he?”

Aileen laughs, “That would be too easy and deprive you the fun of the search! Stay close to God and you will not miss your future husband when he comes along.

“That is all for now, Jeri” she tells me. “Have a great life and I’ll be here when it is time for you to return home. We will be the best of girl friends.”

“Please stay for a while longer” I plead, “there is so much I would like to know.”

She just smiles at me and takes the hand of her new man then fades from view.

I am left with a great sense of peace. It’s a relief to know that my prior life was not a mistake and that I had completed that part well.

I am so looking forward to my new life. I can hardly wait to see what is in store.

The End

NotExpected 01

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn A chance dinner date brings echoes of the past. A strong sense of déjà vu has Andi wondering where this will lead.

Chapter 1

I normally like watching snow fall when I am in a warm dry place. But not today. I prefer to be holed up somewhere comfy when it happens.

It started snowing early afternoon and there’s already four inches of the stuff on the ground with another four inches on its way to join it. It is also rush hour. It will take me over an hour and a half to make the thirty minute drive home if I leave now. The commute time will be about forty five minutes if I wait an hour or so for the rush hour traffic to clear.

I am standing in the atrium of the corporate headquarters of Broussard Industries pondering my options while the snow falls heavily outside. I am not the only one. There are about a dozen other people who all seem to be contemplating a solution to the same dilemma. With Christmas a week away, I could go shopping while waiting for the traffic to clear. I could also go out to dinner by myself or even head back to my office to work a bit longer. I have already completed my gift shopping, dinner at a restaurant by myself wasn’t appealing, and I’ve already put in a long day. Sitting in traffic with thousands of other people didn’t sound like fun either.

A young man standing by me sighs and states the obvious. “It looks like we’re stuck for a while.”

Turning to me, he asks, “Andi, I can help you dig out your car if you are leaving.”

“Do I know you?” I asked puzzled.

“Probably not,” he admitted, “But I know who you are.”

That’s not unusual, given that my adoptive parents own the building we are standing in and the company that occupies it.

“Andrea Marie Broussard,” he starts, “computer engineer extraordinaire. High school volleyball star, Prom Queen, and should have been Valedictorian of our high school class."

"Kelley earned it," I pointed out. "Wait! We were classmates?"

"Maybe she did earn it," he admitted, ignoring my question, "but the rumor is that you intentionally blew your final exam in a science class, which dropped you to third in the class. Right behind two of your best friends."

I am not about to admit to anything. "Is that all?"

I take a hard look at him as he continues. He does look vaguely familiar. He also triggers feelings that I have not experienced in a very long time.

"Not hardly" he said, and then proceeded to summarize more of my accomplishments. "You had three high profile patents and a BS in Computer Engineering by the time you graduated from High School. You completed your master’s degree at MIT in Electrical Engineering and Computer Science in two years, adding four more patents in the process. You now collaborate with your father on the development of new medical technologies which your mother then turns into a fortune.

"Depending on which rumors a person listens to, you are either 21 years old or 41.

"In high school, you had a hard time getting a date because you have the scariest parents in the world. The few boys that asked you out were so intimidated by your overprotective parents that they rarely took you out more than once. Rumor has it that you had to pay the biggest geek in our class $1,000 to take you to the Prom because no one else was brave enough, or clueless enough, to do so.

"By the way, afterwards he said that the pay wasn't worth the hassle of dealing with your parents.

"You were elected Prom Queen in part because you were the most beautiful girl in our class, both inside and out, and because you were likeable in spite of being the best at almost everything.

"Oh, and you lead an all female crew in sailing races with great success. Do you want to hear more?”

“Are you stalking me?” I ask while looking at him askew. "And I only paid $500 for the prom date. But I paid for the limousine and dinner on top of it."

He laughed. He has a nice laugh. “Actually, I think that there are a lot of people who know about you. I would be surprised if you remembered me. My name is Pete Campbell. My most notable accomplishment in high school was to be captain of the debate team. I finished tenth in our class.”

I looked even more closely at him. He appears to be a little over six feet tall with rugged good looks. He looks very fit. He has the tan of someone who spends a lot of time outdoors. His bulky winter coat can’t hide a set of broad shoulders. Unbidden, I feel myself being attracted to him in a way that I have never experienced before. I am developing a gooey feeling. I try to shake it off.

Searching my memory, I do remember a serious boy from high school by that name. I think that we shared a few classes together.

I smile at him, “You were always better than me in Government class. As I recall, you made yourself scarce when I came around. I thought that you didn’t like me but could never figure out why. I remember you as being a bit awkward around girls. You’ve changed. What are you doing here?”

His face lit up when he realized that I remembered him. “I am doing a short internship in your legal department over the holidays. I am a first year law student.”

I snort at him with a playful smile. “It’s not MY legal department. It’s my parent’s legal department. I just work here as a lowly engineer-in-training.”

“Yes,” he snorts back with a grin, ‘“with an office on the executive level. I hear that all lowly engineers-in-training have such an office.”

“You are stalking me,” I playfully accuse him. Am I really flirting with this guy? “How do you know about my office?”

“No, I am not stalking you,” he laughs. “It’s just that I went to a meeting about the status of some new patent applications up on the executive level this morning with my mentor. I noticed your name on the door to your office. Your mother chaired the meeting, by the way. She’s a force of nature. I can see why you had trouble getting dates."

Looking a bit nervous, he changes the subject, “I know an old restaurant within a couple of blocks of here. My parents have been going there for decades. It’s really good. Would you consider joining me for dinner while we wait for the traffic to clear? My treat.”

I look out at the falling snow and contemplate wading through ankle deep snow to have dinner with a classmate that I’ve never really met, but who I seem to want to know better. I am glad that I chose to wear boots with a sensible heel today. Unfortunately the knee length dress is not really up to the weather. I decide to take him up on his offer.

I laugh, “Do you have a death wish? Do you think that you are up to enduring the scrutiny of my parents?”

He looks nervous, “Are they still vetting your dates?”

“Let’s just say that they never cease to worry about their little girl,” I grinned at him.

He swallows hard. I catch myself thinking, my goodness, this guy is really cute when he’s worried.

“Let me run up to my office and change first.” I suggest. “I keep clothes up there that are better suited to walking a couple of blocks in this weather. I won’t be a minute or two.”

“I’ll wait.” He smiles broadly, throwing caution to the wind.

Twenty minutes later, we walk into a small restaurant in one of our city’s old landmark hotels and my heart stops.

Twenty years ago I had dinner here with a girl that I had just met while waiting for the traffic to clear during a similarly bad snow storm. A girl with whom I fell madly in love that same night.

Pete notices the blood drain from my face, “Are you alright? You look as if you've seen a ghost,” He asks with true concern.

“What’s the date today?” In somewhat of a daze, I ask my handsome companion.

“The 19th,” he responds, “Why?”

I first truly fell in love at this very place twenty years ago today. Only then, I was the tall, handsome young man. I married that girl the next summer.

The Maitre d' showed us to the very same table that I had shared with Sandra that night long ago. A strong sense of dejavu washed over me.

Can history be repeating itself, after a fashion?

If so, can it turn out differently this time around?

-----<0>-----

Author's note: I've been working on this story for a few months now. It is over 40,000 words and climbing. Watching this story unfold has been truly fascinating for me. I hope that you enjoy it too. I plan on posting chapters of variable length once a week or so as long as there are still readers.

 

NotExpected 02

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn I first truly fell in love at this very place twenty years ago today. Only then, I was the tall, handsome young man. I married that girl the next summer. The Maitre d' showed us to the very same table that I had shared with Sandra that night long ago. A strong sense of déjà vu washed over me. Can history be repeating itself, after a fashion? If so, can it turn out differently this time around?

Chapter 2

Sandra and I became husband and wife in a beautiful wedding ceremony on top of a hill in a park overlooking Lake Michigan in June of 2000. It was the best day of my life. All of our family and friends were there. We were very much in love and the future looked bright.

We had both just graduated from college with our baccalaureate degrees. My degree was in Information Technology and hers in Finance. Over the next two years, Sandra earned her MBA while I was our sole support, having taken a full time job in the IT department at the university. One of the benefits that the university provided was a tuition break for immediate family members, so we were able to afford Sandra’s advanced degree. We lived lean but were happy. Once she graduated (at the top of her class) she was offered a job at the local office of a major investment firm. The plan was for me to go to grad school after she completed her MBA, but that never materialized for a variety of lame reasons. We were both happily busy establishing ourselves in our new careers. When we were at home, we were a great team and loved every minute we spent together. Eventually, more due to her rising salary than my steady one, we bought a three bedroom condominium in an upscale development.

The only fly in the ointment, so to speak, was the fact that we wanted to have a family but were unsuccessful in our attempts. It seemed that the failure to have children only fueled the desire to have them. Sandra became obsessed with the need to get pregnant and have her own children. Sex became a daily task, some times more than once daily, which was fine with me.

For a while anyway.

Our families weren't helping matters either. Particularly our mothers and her three older sisters. My little sister was a problem too. The group of them were constantly providing helpful hints and suggestions on how to get pregnant. All of our sisters were moms and somehow Sandra felt like a second class citizen because of our infertility. Our mothers were the worst. Every conversation with the two mothers ended up focused on our infertility and how to overcome it.

We spent a fortune on infertility treatments only to discover that I was probably the one unable to produce children. The doctors always held out hope that we could find a way around the problem.

They were wrong.

It seemed that no matter what we did, there were no results. We started to venture off the beaten medical path and tried all sorts of procedures that were the stuff of folklore and questionable voodoo magic. It was getting all too weird for me but Sandra would pursue anything that held out the least ray of hope. She became almost single focused and it was affecting our relationship, and bank accounts, in a negative way.

One of the side effects of infertility treatments is that they kill intimacy in a relationship as sex becomes a chore. This proved to be true for us. After a few years, our joyful union had become strained to the point that the joy of our relationship had significantly waned. Sex was pretty much required every time we saw each other and it wasn't about intimacy anymore.

Frankly, I was more than tired of it.

We had discussed a number of options. One was adoption, but Sandra was extremely obsessed with having her own child. Another idea floated about was to use sperm from a sperm bank, but I vetoed that idea as I didn't want to play father to my wife's child by another man. Similarly, neither one of us were fond of the idea floated by one friend who suggested that Sandra have one night stands with other men until she got pregnant, a much cheaper alternative to a sperm bank. It should be noted that one of her sisters offered the services of her husband who was a proven baby maker. Neither of us liked that idea either.

So imagine the fireworks when I suggested that we stop trying so hard and accept the fact that we were going to be childless. I felt that if we could resign ourselves to the reality of the situation that we could work at reestablishing the joy that we had lost. Unfortunately, all reason had long since fled and she could not stand to give up on her dream.

For months after my suggestion, things were very frosty in our home. She even, half heartedly, pitched the idea of divorce and seemed to think that she needed to find a man that could give her what she needs. The only problem with finding another man, she said, was that she still loved me and wanted to keep me in her life. She said when she looked deep in her heart she found that she'd rather be childless with me than find another man to father and raise her children. Things were dark indeed!

One evening, I found her looking at me thoughtfully.

"What do you say to one more try at treatment, Andy?" She asked hopefully. When she saw my frown, she quickly continued, "I promise that it will be the last attempt and it won't take long."

"Sandra..." I began to respond.

"Really," She interrupted me with puppy dog eyes that I haven't seen in a while, "only one more attempt. If it doesn't work, then we resign ourselves to being childless."

I sighed. I've heard this before.

"What do you have in mind" I asked in resignation.

"I have a new client,” Sandra went on to explain, “whose grandmother is some kind of priestess of an ancient religion, voodoo probably, and is a bit unorthodox. He claims that his grandmother can help us find a solution to our problem."

Sandra, as a junior financial advisor, has been developing her clientele base over the past few years as she worked to get herself established. Sandra had been unusually successful and was viewed as a rising star in the industry. She had been making a name for herself by focusing on the medical technology industry and seemed to have an uncanny knack for finding up and coming research and development companies for her clients to invest in. She was, by far, the largest income producer in our marriage. My work on the staff of the IT department at the local university provides a good steady income and benefits, but does not hold the promise of wealth that Sandra's job did.

"Where did you meet this guy?" I asked somewhat dubious.

"A few months ago I was assigned to handle his account at work." She replied with an unusual gleam in her eye. "We've been meeting regularly over the past few months as we work out his investment strategy. He is also starting up a new venture and I’ve been connecting him with interested investors."

"And you told this stranger about our problems?" I asked somewhat indignantly. "I thought that you kept your personal life out of business."

"Well," She admitted somewhat sheepishly, "We've been meeting fairly regularly and he noticed that I was down after one of our recent arguments about stopping infertility treatments. So I mentioned our lack of children. In the course of the conversation, he mentioned his grandmother. He gave me her phone number a few days later after he'd called her to see if she could help. She told him that there was a good chance that she could, so I called and talked with her. She sounds like a very nice lady and she is pretty sure that she can help me have a baby."

What I didn't know then, was that her "meeting fairly regularly" turned out to be Tom finding lots of excuses to have frequent lunch "meetings". I also found out later that Tom had fallen for Sandra the first time he met her. It was love at first sight for him. He did know that she was married, but he felt compelled to see her as often as possible anyway. He was conflicted but did his best to not interfere with our marriage. While Sandra also felt attracted to him at first sight, she was committed to our relationship and she made sure that their lunches were never more than friendly conversation. She did, however, feel conflicted over her growing friendship with Tom and made sure to never encouraged his affections. Tom was a wealthy single guy about our same age with a mechanical engineering degree. He recently came into a lot of money as a result of the sale of his manufacturing company to a big defense contractor. He had a number of lucrative patents and his company had been growing quickly. He was working with Sandra to manage his wealth. He was also using her expertise to explore opportunities in the medical technology industry as he is starting up a new company to manufacture new medical technology of his own design.

"What's it going to take?" I asked with resignation.

"Well, we'll have to go to Louisiana to meet with her." She looked at me with a hopeful expression as she continued with her sales pitch. "Apparently she lives on some backwater Bayou and doesn't like to travel. She says that we should plan on spending a morning with her. If she can help, it won't take too long. We could spend a couple of days exploring New Orleans while we are at it. I hear that it is an interesting city and we could use a little vacation."

"Is this going to be like the guy who claimed to be a Native American medicine man that had us dance wearing only war paint in his tepee while he burned questionable substances before having us perform sex in a convoluted position?" I asked. That had been one weird treatment, not to mention embarrassing.

"I don't know," she admitted, "but I promise that this will be the last time that I bother you about getting pregnant. If this doesn't work I will quit trying and we'll find happiness without children. We will continue to be best friends."

"You promise?" I asked to make sure.

"I promise", she sighed with resignation.

 

 

NotExpected 03

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn "I don't know," she admitted, "but I promise that this will be the last time that I bother you about getting pregnant. If this doesn't work I will quit trying and we'll find happiness without children. We will continue to be best friends." "You promise?" I asked to make sure. "I promise", she sighed with resignation.

Chapter 3

So, within a month we found ourselves bouncing along an old dirt road through moss infested trees looking for Tom's grandmother's house in the backwoods of southern Louisiana. It was an early morning in mid-September 2009 and the weather was comfortable but there was the promise of a hot, humid afternoon.

I had joined Sandra and Tom for a couple of lunches to discuss the situation before fully committing to the idea. Tom turned out to be a geeky looking engineer who was a very likeable guy from southern Louisiana. He stood at 6'1" and had a readily available easy smile. He was broad shouldered and reasonably fit. With a little effort he could have been quite good looking. A real lady killer.  But he had a geek's careless attitude towards his appearance.

Like me he was a techno geek. Unlike me, he had been professionally highly successful. He completed a master's degree in mechanical engineering at a highly respected technical university by the time he was 22 and filed for his first patent that same year. It wasn't long after filing for the patent that he started his own manufacturing company which became quite well known in the defense industry, primarily due to his many inventions and patents. He had also been very successful at recruiting a lot of very bright people to handle the various aspects of the business. About six months before I met him, he'd sold his company to a huge, well known, defense contractor for about $100 million dollars. He went from being very well to do to very rich overnight. Being a workaholic with an endless supply of ideas left to explore, he was on the hunt for new opportunities. A non-competitive agreement kept him out of the defense industry for two years after the sale of his business so he turned to the next most lucrative field for inspiration. He had been flying around the world consulting with medical industry professionals to find a niche where he could have success designing and manufacturing medical equipment and devices. Sandra had provided major assistance by connecting him to the right people in the industry. Less than a year in the business, he had already filed for one patent and was starting to put together another research & development team and a manufacturing operation here in Wisconsin.

At thirty-one years old, Tom was our age and still single. He had been so wrapped up in his work that there hasn't been a lot of time for relationship building outside the profession. I got the sense that work was the center of his life. Tom and I probably would have been good friends if it wasn't for the fact that he was obviously smitten with my wife.

I found out later that he had dated off and on but that girls were not the top of his priority list so nothing came of it. No girl had been able to compete with his first love: work. That is until he met Sandra. Some switch was thrown when he first laid eyes on my wife. It was like a whole new world lit up for him. I could relate to that as the same thing happened to me when I first met her.

Regardless of his attraction to Sandra, I liked the guy and he seemed to really want to help us. It was obvious that he and Sandra were good friends and friends like to help friends.

Frankly, I was only pursuing his offer so that Sandra would finally give up on her dream. Or maybe that is to have her give up on our dream, something that I had already done. I had lost faith. I also noticed the way that Sandra's eyes lit up with hope when she looked at me as we discussed the possibility of having a child with the help of Tom's grandmother. I could see genuine love when she looked at me with pleading eyes. I also saw the deeply rooted desire to become a mother.

The night before we were to meet with Grandma Broussard, we had checked into the local two story clapboard hotel (it wasn't much to write home about). The building looks as if it came out of the late 1800s or early 1900s. It was neatly kept, but very old fashioned and rated two stars, if you were generous. Sandra was excited about the upcoming meeting, telling me that she had a good feeling about this and that she was sure that we'd soon be parents.

Grandma Broussard's house must be a relation to the hotel. It is an old clapboard house built on a raised foundation of cinder block piers. It had a big covered veranda on the front and a large deck on the back. The back deck overlooked a swampy looking Bayou that is about twenty yards away. There is a small pier in the Bayou with a couple of skiffs tied to it. Sitting on the porch in a rocking chair was an old woman in her early 80s who could only be Grandma Broussard.

We parked the rental SUV next to an old beat up pickup truck. An old hound dog who was lounging on the deck greeted us with a half hearted bark. The hound apparently served as an alarm system, if not security. His bark was not enthusiastic and he didn't bother to rise from his reclined position. Only his tail wagged in greeting as we climbed the stairs to the front porch. A quick word from Grandma Broussard, silenced her companion.

Getting up from her rocking chair Grandma hugged my wife and said with a thick southern accent, "You are as purdy as Tom says, Sandra. Welcome."

Grandma looked like your typical poverty stricken old lady. She was wearing a faded old shapeless house dress and had flip flops on her feet. Her gray hair was pulled up into an untidy bun. Her most notable feature were her sparkling eyes with laugh lines around them.

"Thank you, Mrs. Broussard," Sandra replied with a blush.

"You can call me Grandma," she said, "Everyone else does."

Holding Sandra's hands she stared intently into her eyes as if reading her soul.

After a few minutes she turned to me and scanned me from head to toe with interest before taking my hands into hers.

"And you must be Sandra's husband Andy." Grandma said as she searched my soul as she had Sandra’s. I felt a weird tingling sensation as she held my hands.

"Yes," I replied, feeling a little uneasy, "I am Andy."

After a few moments she released my hands and looked away.

"Yes," she muttered to herself, "this will probably work."

She waved to a small round table on which sat a large flat bottomed steel bowl on top of a concrete paver. There were also four candles arranged around the bowl at each of the four points of the compass, "Have a sit, kids."

Once we were settled into two of the three chairs surrounding the table, Grandma was all business.

She asked quite a few questions about our backgrounds, our current situations, and our hopes for the future.

After the questions, Grandma shared her observations. "I sense a great deal of love between you two. It is clear that you have both been very good for each other. Unfortunately I also sense a hole in both of your lives that only a child can fill. Being childless has put a major strain on your relationship and has brought overall sadness to both of you. I also sense that the obsession to have children has impacted other areas of your lives. Sandra, while you are doing well in your profession, your obsession with having a child has been such a distraction that you are not reaching your full potential. Andy, I sense that you are operating well below your potential professionally, in part because of you feel a need to support your lovely wife in her crusade to have a baby. I strongly feel that if you two continue on the path that you are on that you have a fair to good chance of maintaining the strong bond that you have to each other, but without children of your own neither of you will find the fullness of happiness you each seek. Sandra, your need for children is much stronger than Andy's. Andy, you are willing to accept a childless marriage and would remain Sandra's best friend even if you cannot produce a child. Sandra, I fear for your ability to find a happy balance in your life if you do not become a mother. Your lack of balance will ultimately take the heart out of your marriage and you will, at best, just become just two good friends sharing life together. At worst, your marriage will disintegrate and you two will go your separate ways, having broken hearts that may never fully heal. I sense that there are already signs that your relationship is slowly degrading. It is good that you have come to me for help."

She paused for a moment. Sandra and I looked at each other then affirmed Grandma's observations about our current situation. Her predictions were unsettling.

"Let me make sure that I have the bottom line right." She said, taking a radical turn in the conversation, becoming very blunt. Looking at Sandra she said, "You really want to have a baby and it hasn't worked out because Andy here isn't producing what it takes."

And to think that I was starting to like the old lady. This change in attitude had me reevaluating my first impression. I didn't cared much for where Grandma Broussard seemed to be heading.

"You could say that." Sandra replied uneasily.

"You also want Andy to be an intimate part of your life, even if he can't produce." Grandma stated as an implied question.

"Yes," Sandra replied with a frown. I think that she was also confused by Grandma's line of questioning.

"I also understand that you don't want to break up your relationship with Andy through an affair or one night stand with someone who can give you what you want?" Grandma continued.

"I want the baby to be a product of love," Sandra replied testily, "I want the baby to have two loving biological parents. And Andy is the love of my life, so I want him to be a part of this. I am committed to our marriage vows."

"It would seem that you are in a difficult place, my friends." Grandma pointed out. "Are you willing to see what the magic can do to help you?"

"Yes, Grandma." Sandra replied. "Can you help?"

"I think so," she replied with a smile. "I sense that the magic has a plan for you. However, I think that the results will be different than you expect. Can you handle that?"

"Just so long as I can have a baby in the bounds of a loving marriage!" Sandra replied eagerly.

"Just what do you mean by the results being different?" I demanded.

"You will see," Grandma gave me a sad smile. "In time. But I assure you that all will be well in the end. You both will find the happiness that you seek. You will both also more fully fulfill your potential in all other areas of your lives. You will ultimately attain greater peace and happiness as the result of what we do here today."

Turning back to Sandra, she asked, "Did you bring what I asked?"

"Yes," Sandra said as she began to rummage around in her purse. She extracts a half inch diameter bolt and a half inch nut and hands them to Grandma. The bolt is coarse threaded and the nut is fine threaded so they don't actually fit together. "We've kept these on our night stand for the last fortnight as you requested."

Grandma turned the nut onto the bolt so that it barely caught, as will happen when you try to join a fine threaded nut with a coarse threaded bolt. She then placed the barely mated pieces in the middle of the large flat bottomed steel bowl. She then pulled out a padded mailing envelope and extracted a fine threaded half inch diameter bolt that she placed next to the mismatched bolt/nut that we gave her. She started chanting in some strange language as she sprinkled herbs and aromatic wood chips over the bolts and nut.

The mixture smelled of an intense potpourri scent that I've smelled in many feminine shops that I've visited with Sandra. It is not a smell that you will find in a sporting goods store.

Once the bowl was filled to overflowing and the hardware was deeply covered, she proceeded to pour fine brandy over the mixture. She swayed back and forth while chanting. As she continued the chant, she proceeded to light each of the four candles before dropping her long match onto the bowl, lighting the contents on fire. Reaching out to us, she had us hold hands around the table while she continued to chant. The chant got more feverish as the fire flared up. The strange tingling sensation that I had felt earlier returned with a vengeance.

Gradually, the fire burned down and out and we let go of each other's hands. The tingling sensation vanished when we let go. Grandma went into meditation mode, sitting still as a statue with her eyes closed. Sandra and I remained silent while we waited for the old woman to do something.

Grandma eventually opened her eyes and smiled at us. Without saying a word, she blew out each of the candles then proceeded to blow gently on the ashes in the bowl, scattering them about but managed to catch some of the ashes in a small bowl.

As the ashes were removed, four nuts and two bolts were uncovered in the bottom of the bowl. The nut we provided is now fully mated with the fine threaded bolt that Grandma had placed next to ours. The coarse threaded bolt had disappeared. To one side of the mated bolt/nut was a three-eighths inch diameter fine threaded nut. This nut is right up next to, and touching, the mated nut. There were also two quarter inch diameter nuts and a quarter inch diameter bolt on the opposite side of the bolt/nut arrangement from the three-eights inch diameter nut. These items are spread about half an inch apart. I also noted that all of the nuts and bolts were now made of stainless steel. The original hardware had not been before the ceremony.

Grandma, at first looked confused. "This is most unexpected," She commented to no one in particular.

Taking the remaining ashes into the house with a "wait here", Grandma returned in a few minutes with two mugs of steaming liquid. One mug was blue and the other was pink. I was given the blue mug and Sandra was given the pink one.

"Please drink all of this." She instructed us. "This tea is made from the ashes of the ceremony and will activate the magic."

The bitter drink was difficult to get down. Both Sandra and I grimaced after we taste it.

"Please drink all of it." She directed.

It is a tough go, but we did get it all down.

After we've finished the drink, she looked at Sandra, she said, "The results are most unexpected. The signs tell me that in nine months time, you will have a very young teenage girl in your life, but she will not be a child of your body. The three-eights nut represents this girl. This girl will be your companion through both good and trying times and you will love her as a close friend and confidant throughout your life. You will be best friends until death do you part. She is represented by the mid-sized nut that is touching the nut threaded on the bolt. As you see in the center, Sandra, the mated nut and bolt tell me that will you be fully mated with the love of your life in a perfectly matched union that will result in three children as represented by the remaining bolt and nuts. This small bolt and two nuts tell me that you be the mother of a son and two daughters in due time. All these people will bring you great joy throughout your life. Sandra and Andy, you both will attain unimagined levels of love and happiness as your lives progress. Happiness will follow you both throughout your lives and you will never be truly parted. The fact that they all turned to stainless steel indicates that everyone's love will be resistant to the corrosive influences of the world. As a side benefit, every person represented here will be of above average beauty."

"What's my part in this?" I asked pointedly.

Grandma looked at me with slight annoyance. "The love that you share with Sandra will grow in directions currently unimaginable. You will rejoice in this love throughout your life. You will be an integral part of this growing family. You and Sandra will be forever close."

"But will I still be her husband?" I asked.

Grandma just gave me a sad smile and said, "You will see soon enough what your role is. I can only tell you that it is good that you came to me. Without this magic, I fear that in the natural course of things your relationship with Sandra would collapse. There is still a chance that you'd be friends, but I saw nothing but loneliness and sadness. The resulting despondency would have major negative impacts in all aspects of both of your lives. While you would both experience unhappiness and loneliness, in the end, it would be worse for you than for your wife. She would eventually find another man to father her children and fill her need. You would wallow in loneliness. The strain of childlessness, when a child is desired as strongly as Sandra desires one, is more than most couples can handle. That is all that I will tell you for now."

She reached into the pocket of her house dress and extracted a blue crystal which she handed to me.

"You should put this somewhere in your house where you'll see it every day, young man." She directed. "It will be an indicator of the success of our ceremony over time. It will change color as the magic does its work. When it has completely changed color, come talk to me again. You will have many questions."

I just gave a humph as I accepted the crystal. This was all hocus pocus anyway, like all the other odd ball treatments we'd tried so I didn't press her for any more information.

"Well," Grandma said with a smile, "I have done all that I can for you. Maybe you'd like to stay and visit a while."

We did stay. The conversation quickly devolved into girl talk and my mind started to wander which, of course, Grandma noticed.

"My dear boy," she addressed me, "perhaps a little fishing might be of more interest to you than all this girl talk. Why don't you go down to the Bayou and see what you can catch. There are lots of catfish in these waters. There's a pole and bait in one of the boats. Just don't go too far. It's easy to get lost in the swamp."

That sounded like a good idea to me. I hadn't been fishing in a while and never in this area. I am rather good at fishing. I'm just not good at catching. Something about sitting in a boat with a rod and reel is comforting even if you don't catch anything.

So I spent the next couple of hours playing around in one of the skiffs and occasionally trying to catch a fish. I successfully caught three good sized catfish. I cleaned the fish with a knife that I found with the boat and presented them to Grandma when I got back to the house.

"That will make a nice dinner, boy." She smiled at me. "You two should stay and help me eat them."

"Honey," Sandra got my attention. "It is getting a bit late. We are going to New Orleans tonight. We should get going before it gets too late."

I took that as my queue that it is time to go. We said goodbye to Grandma Broussard with hugs and cheek kisses then started the drive to New Orleans.

"How'd you get along with Grandma?" I asked, making conversation as we traveled.

"Great!" Sandra said enthusiastically, "She has lots of family and I think that I heard about everyone of them, complete with pictures in her living room. It appears that Tom is one of her favorite grandchildren which is why she consented to help us. I get the feeling that she has been retired for a while and only helps people when family asks for it."

"Did you feel anything when she first held your hands and during the ceremony?" She asked.

"Yes," I affirmed. "It was weird."

"I did too," Sandra said thoughtfully. "It did feel weird."

"What do you think of what happened?" I asked her.

"I'm not sure what to make of it," she admitted. "You know that she's right about our strained marriage."

"I know," I sighed.

"I'm so sorry, Andy," she gave me an apologetic smile, "It's all my fault. I just can't seem to shake this overwhelming desire to become a mother. I have tried."

"I know you have, sweetheart," I reassured her.

"I will do better," she promised. "I will be a good wife and accept our childlessness if the babies she promised don't come."

"Are you sure that I will be the father of the children she predicted?" I asked her. "It didn't sound that way to me."

"That was confusing," she admitted. "I don't really know what to make of it. However, she did promise that our love would grow and that we'd be close throughout our lives. I can't see anyone else being the father of my children and us still being so close and in love. I want to believe that it will be you. I love you and there's nobody else that I want."

"Not Tom?" I asked.

"That's low," she started to get a little angry with me. "Tom is a great guy. I do like him a lot. While I do find him attractive, he is just a friend. A good friend. Nothing more. He can't compete with you. I know that my baby obsession has caused a strain on our marriage, but don't think for a minute that I would break our marriage vows for anyone. I really do love you more than anyone on earth. I am in this marriage until death do us part. Divorce is not an option. You are stuck with me, Andy, no matter what."

Despite Sandra's good intentions, I still had an uneasy feeling about Grandma's predictions. I wasn't sure why. After all, this ceremony would more than likely to be nothing more than an expensive waste of time. Just like all our other attempts.

"Did you ask her how much we owe for her services?" I asked.

"Oh, she said that wasn't necessary," she replied. "Being friends of Tom's, she thinks of us as family."

In hindsight, that statement should have set off some warning bells for me.

NotExpected 04

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn Despite Sandra's good intentions, I still had an uneasy feeling about Grandma's predictions. I wasn't sure why. After all, this ceremony would more than likely to be nothing more than an expensive waste of time. Just like all our other attempts. "Did you ask her how much we owe for her services?" I asked. "Oh, she said that wasn't necessary," she replied. "Being friends of Tom's, she thinks of us as family." In hindsight, that statement should have set off some warning bells for me.

Chapter 4

We did spend time exploring New Orleans and had a wonderful mini-vacation. The two days of exploring the city together, along with candle lit dinners and evening walks, even brought a little romance back into our lives. Sandra went way out of her way to demonstrate how much she loved me. The sex was the best we'd had in a long time as there was no schedule to keep or pressure to perform. I had hoped that this would bring the child Sandra wanted so badly and repair our strained marriage. The vacation definitely helped our marriage, but did not produce a child.

When we got home, it was back to the same old work grind. We did spend relaxing evenings together and had fun hiking in the woods on the weekends to see the brilliant fall colors. There was little discussion about babies. Life seemed to be settling down. If anything, we were starting to enjoy each other's company more than we had in a long time. Our sex life had also improved dramatically, at least for the first month.

Over the weeks following our return things started to change.

The first thing that I noticed is that my appetite all but disappeared. I started skipping breakfast. After a month the only food that I was consuming was a snack at lunchtime and bird-like portions at dinner. Within two months of our visit to Grandma Broussard dinner no longer held any real appeal to me. I was losing weight at a steady rate. This was not particularly a bad thing as I was a little pudgy around the middle without being significantly overweight. I was in need of new clothes at the end of two months as my old wardrobe was definitely meant for a heavier man. I also lost a little height and muscle mass.

"Andy," my mother looked concerned, "why aren't you eating?"

We were visiting my parents for a Sunday dinner towards the end of October.

"I am," I pointed to the small helping of mixed vegetables and a very small piece of pork chop on my plate. I had barely touched my salad.

"That's not eating," my Father pointed out. "That's snacking."

"Did you eat before coming over?," Mom asked with a touch of accusation in her voice.

"No, Mom," I told her. "I'm just not hungry these days."

"I'm concerned about him," Sandra pointed out. "He's hardly eating anything these days. He's lost over ten pounds in the last month."

"It's a bit concerning," I admitted. "But I can stand to lose the weight. I'm sure that my appetite will come back soon. At least I hope so. And I'm not the only one. Sandra is eating less and has lost a few pounds as well."

"Yes," Mom observed, "She has lost a few pounds and she looks good. While she's not eating much tonight, she took twice as much as you did. She's still eating like a woman should. Your eating is just out of character. And you don't look healthy either."

"I'm doing fine, mother," I responded.

Have you gone to the doctor about this?" Mom asked. "You really should be seen."

"Not yet," I admitted. "If this keeps up another week, then maybe I will."

"Make an appointment tomorrow," my Father directed. "If you don't, you'll never hear the end of it."

Both women at the table glared at him.

"In the meantime," Mom said, "here's some mashed potatoes. You could use with a big helping."

A couple of days later we had dinner with Sandra's parents.

Looking at my tiny portions, my mother-in-law asked, "Is there something wrong with the food Andy?"

Before I could get a reply out, Sandra informed her, "It's not the food, Mom. Andy hasn't been eating anything lately. He has lost his appetite and a lot of weight over the past month."

"The food is great," I managed to interject into the conversation. "I just can't eat much right now."

"Have you seen a doctor?" she asked with great concern. "I hear that people with cancer lose their appetites. Maybe you have cancer. You should get checked out."

I was given a double helping of apple pie ala mode that night 'to help me gain some weight'. It was a struggle to get it down, but I had to do it. My mother-in-law was watching my every bite.

That night, Sandra was feeling exceptionally amours. When we got home, she disappeared into our bedroom, while I turned on the evening news in the living room.

Sandra walked up quietly behind the couch and put her arms around my neck and nibbled on my ear.

"You might want to turn the TV off lover," she whispered in my ear.

She came around the couch as I complied with her request.

She was wearing a very sexy negligee that I had never seen before. I stared at her as she posed before sitting on my lap.

"See anything you like, big boy?" she purred while planting gentle kisses all over my face before planting her lips on mine for the most passionate kiss that I had received in a long time.

Coming up for air, I responded. "Somebody went shopping."

"For your eyes only, sweetheart," she responded with a sexy grin.

I won't go into the details of what happened next, but I did my best to hold up my end of the union.

Later, as we cuddled in bed in the afterglow of our love, she purred, "That was wonderful, Andy. You made me come three times."

"I am happy to be of service, my love," I smiled at her. I loved to cuddle with her and was enjoying being close to her.

"We've had some really great sex since we came back from Louisiana, but I sense that it is getting more difficult for you," she observed, "I just wish it wasn't such a struggle for you."

It appeared that she noticed that I had trouble reaching my own climax. It had been getting progressively harder for the last couple of weeks. It was frustrating, but I could still find ways to help her reach hers. If anything, while I was having more and more trouble reaching a climax, she would reach hers more easily than ever before. It didn't take much to get her motor running. I enjoyed watching her glow after each of our sessions.

"You noticed," I said with a sigh. "It is getting more difficult."

"Am I doing something wrong?" she queried with true concern.

"Heavens no!" I exclaimed. "If anything, I've never seen you so sexy in the years we've been married."

In addition to her weight loss she may even have grown a little taller. She was starting to look more like a fashion model than an investment counselor.

"Then what's the problem?" she asked.

"I don't know," I responded, "I think that it's related to the weight loss."

"Well you better follow advice and go get checked out," she directed me. "I've been feeling more aroused lately and I need you at the top of your game."

I made a doctor's appointment the next day.

It was a week before I was able to get in to see our family doctor. It was in early November, six weeks after our vacation in Louisiana. After giving me a basic physical, she ran a few tests over the next couple of days. She could not find any significant health issues, such as cancer. What she did find was that my hormone levels were out of specs with lower than expected testosterone production and a slight increase in estrogen levels. My hormones weren't too far out of balance but enough to cause concern. She also confirmed that my weight had dropped substantially since my prior visit several months earlier. She was also confused by the fact that I appeared to have also lost an inch in height. She agreed that my reduced sex drive was probably related to whatever health problem I was experiencing.

"Andy," the doctor asked, "have you done anything that accounts for the loss of appetite and mixed up hormones? You're not taking any un-prescribed medications are you?

"No medications of any type," I told her. "Not even aspirin. I don't know what's happening with me. That's why I came to you."

Well, the statement about not knowing what's happening to me was technically true, but I was having my suspicions. I had been noticing a distinct pink tinge developing around the edges of the crystal that I received from Grandma Broussard. I had built a stand for it and had placed it in a prominent place in our bedroom. If Grandma was correct, changes are occurring as the magic takes hold in my life. I wasn't, however, prepared to share with the good doctor my growing suspicion that Grandma's magic was at the heart of the problem. It was, after all, nothing but hocus pocus. Wasn't it? And she wouldn't believe me anyway.

"Well," she continued, "I'm going to have to do some research on this. I've never seen anything like your symptoms. In the meantime, I want you to take two of these testosterone pills every night before bed. Come see me next week and we'll see what happens. Here are orders for blood tests. I need you to get your blood drawn the day before you come to see me."

She gave me the hormone pills and sent me on my way.

The pills had no effect. If anything the balance was even more off on my next visit. I had also lost a lot more weight in the intervening week. She began consulting specialists and we started weekly visits to monitor whatever was happening.

I also found that my need to shave daily was getting to be less pronounced with time. When we went to Louisiana, I had fairly heavy stubble and had problems with five o'clock shadow. Sandra used to make me shave after work if we were going out for the evening. By mid-October, I was no longer needing to shave in the evenings. Early in November, I was shaving wispy hairs about three times a week. My face was also getting much softer. My skin was getting clearer and smoother. The doctor was intrigued by this development. Unfortunately, she had no explanation for it outside the hormonal imbalance.

One evening in November, Sandra asked, "Do you think that Grandma Broussard had anything to do with this?"

"I am starting to think so," I admitted.

"I thought you said that it was all hocus pocus," She responded.

"I did," I pointed out, "but there is no other explanation. But you're not pregnant yet. She promised you three children."

"Grandma said that it would take some time." Sandra reminded me. "We are still looking for that young teenage girl to appear. I get the feeling that the pregnancy won't happen until after she shows up."

"I still don't get that." I replied, "Why do we need a teenage girl best friend first?"

"I don't know, lover," She replied, "but maybe we should paint the spare bedroom lavender or pink, get a vanity, and some frilly curtains and bed clothes for the spare room so that we are ready when she arrives."

"Whatever." I responded with a lack of conviction. I didn't say anything to Sandra, but I was just hoping that we weren't decorating my future bedroom.

We painted the room that next weekend. New bedroom furniture was installed the following week. I think that Sandra was starting to believe Grandma's prophecy.

----<0>----

At my extended family's annual Thanksgiving dinner event, I got ribbed mercilessly about my baby face and loss of weight. I was unable to do the feast any justice at all. I only nibbled at a vegetable tray.

----<0>----

One of the unadvertised benefits of working at a university, for most male employees, is the large number of attractive young women around. Given that it was the start of winter in Wisconsin and everyone was bundled in warm clothing, the coeds still manage to look attractive. While I have never been tempted to pursue any of them, any male will tell you that being around attractive women is a plus most of the time. They are easy to appreciate.

One day in mid-December, while returning to the office after a service call, I walked through the student union where it is common to see a lot of people, including the coeds. In times past, I have enjoyed the feminine scenery while walking through the building. So it came as a disturbing surprise to me, as I was leaving the building, when I realized that I had not noticed a single coed. Not one. Stopping and looking back the way that I had come, I saw several groups of girls. All of them quite pretty. I wondered how I had walked past them without noticing.

That evening, I took a good look at Sandra while we worked together at preparing a light dinner. She seemed happy and looked better than she did a few months earlier in the yoga pants and loose sleeveless top that she had changed into after work. Sandra now had a willowy figure that gave your average fashion model a run for her money. She had recently gone bra shopping as her bust had increased from a B cup to a healthy C cup. That night she was wearing a pushup bra and she was making sure that it got into my field of view as often as possible. No longer the dowdy wife that she had been, Sandra had upgraded her wardrobe to make the most of her new beauty and she looked several years younger than she had when this all started. She was being very tactile, occasionally patting my butt, giving me a hip bump when we were trying to occupy the same space, stealing quick kisses, and dispensing hugs on a whim. She was constantly giving me 'come hither' looks with a playful grin. There was no doubt what was on her mind for after dinner entertainment. At one point, I just gathered her into a hug and we slow danced to a song that we had playing in the background. I realized that I just loved to hold her. I also realized that I was not feeling sexually aroused. Not even a stirring. I just had a warm fuzzy feeling of contentment. That night, I focused on pleasuring her. I never did climax. My sex drive was all but gone, but I enjoyed making her happy.

As we approached the New Year, we'd often spend long hours just talking and holding each other. We both opened up to the other more than we had ever done before. I learned more about her life, hopes, and dreams than I ever had. I found myself opening up more about the things that make me tick. More than I ever had with anyone else. Sandra was a great listener and we'd discuss the relationship challenges at our respective jobs and with our families for hours on end. All the conversation seemed to strengthen the bond between us. Even though sex was a challenge, we were actually closer emotionally than we had ever been before.

The only subject that we avoided was Grandma Broussard's magic and Tom's involvement in it. I think that we both hoped that by not talking about the elephant in the room that it would just go away.

It didn't.

As with most conversational elephants, the more we tried to ignore it, the bigger it seemed to get.

While she didn't talk much about him, Sandra told me that she still met with Tom regularly as part of her job. She insisted that the meetings take place at the office and not over lunch. Sandra would have another associate there whenever possible. Tom seemed to be taking the cooling relations well. Sandra said that they were working well as a team to grow his new business venture and to wisely manage his financial resources.

Reports from the family doctor indicated the hormonal battle going on in my blood stream was being won by estrogen. We tried hormone replacement therapy without success. Testosterone was losing the battle but it wasn't going down without a fight. It was embarrassing, but my doctor started to take weekly measurements of my male genitals when they first showed signs of shrinkage. In December, the shrinkage was not dramatic but it was there.

Sandra, of course, noticed. After all she seemed to want to have as much contact with my genitals as possible.

"Andy?" she asked tentatively one evening towards the end of December after a less than satisfactory sexual encounter. "Are your genitals shrinking?"

"Yes," I sighed. "I've lost an inch in length."

"You've been measuring?" she asked a little surprised.

"Actually," I let her know, "the doctor is taking weekly measurements. My genitals are shrinking."

"She better be the only other woman inspecting your equipment," she said playfully.

I blushed.

"She is," I confirmed.

Sandra starting taking her own measurements to monitor the loss.

As I mentioned, Sandra had been undergoing a few subtle changes of her own.

By the New Year, Sandra had become the most beautiful woman that I had ever known. And she was making the most of it with stylish new clothes, hair, and makeup. Her self image was definitely more confident. She was enjoying being the most beautiful woman in every setting. I now had my very own trophy wife.

The looks of appreciation from other men were causing me jealousy issues. When we were out or at Holiday parties, she was hit on a number of times when guys didn't think I was around and/or listening. I'm sure that it happened a lot when I was not around. The good news was that she always rebuffed advances by flashing her wedding ring and letting it be known that she was happily married. I never saw anything from her that would indicate a roving eye on her part even though our sex life was on the rocks.

My changes were also getting some notice. My coworkers were concerned for my health. My extended family was shocked by my appearance when we had family gatherings during the Holidays. Sandra's family also expressed some concern whenever we visited with them. Everyone said that I looked ten years younger, which is a problem since I had my thirty second birthday at the end of December. Being twenty two again isn't all bad, but it has its drawbacks. Unfortunately, I was not becoming a trophy husband to match my trophy wife.

Both of our families, on the other hand, wanted to know the secret to Sandra's transformation. They were all impressed. The women wanted to know what diet she was on and what gym she was working out in.

At the end of the year, the crystal had very pink ends and the pink was slowly and steadily pushing towards the center. The magic was at work.

So by the New Year, my wife was a babe and I was a shrinking skinny androgynous young adult getting younger every day and with out-of-whack hormones and little to no sex drive. In many ways, our friendship was the best it had ever been as the result of our hours of shared thoughts and feelings. While we still worked at sex, it was getting increasingly more difficult for me to perform sexually.

While we never talked about it, both of us were starting to see where Grandma Broussard's magic was taking us.

Neither one of us were thrilled.

 

 

NotExpected 05

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn So by the New Year, my wife was a babe and I was a shrinking skinny androgynous young adult getting younger every day and with out-of-whack hormones and little to no sex drive. In many ways, our friendship was the best it had ever been as the result of our hours of shared thoughts and feelings. While we still worked at sex, it was getting increasingly more difficult for me to perform sexually. While we never talked about it, both of us were starting to see where Grandma Broussard's magic was taking us. Neither one of us were thrilled.

Chapter 5

As we slid into January, my need to shave completely disappeared and I continued to lose weight, muscle mass, height, and apparent age. Sandra, had grown an inch and was now 5' 7". Only two inches shorter than the new me.

When we went to Louisiana, I was 5' 11". At the New Year I was only 5’ 9” tall. At this point my height loss meant that, when Sandra wore moderate heels, we could look at each other eye to eye. When she wore her tallest heels I had to look up slightly to meet her gaze.

The age regression and gender morphing trend was continuing.

The crystal also seemed a touch more pink each day.

The doctor was puzzled. She was collaborating with a number of specialists and no one could figure out what was happening to me. We've tried dietary supplements, exercise, and hormone treatments to no avail. She tried to get me on a high calorie diet, but that failed too, probably because I didn't feel up to eating any of it. I hardly ate at all, but did drink a lot of water and munched on vegetables. It was as if my body was living off fat reserves. I tried working out in the gym to gain back some of the lost muscle, but the exercise had no effect on the decline.

Sandra would often meet me at the gym after work. While the exercise did nothing for my predicament, Sandra’s exercise toned her body and made her all the more attractive. It also energized her. She was pleased with the results which solidified her resolve to stay in shape.

By this point, we were both convinced that Grandma Broussard's magic was not hocus pocus.

We called Grandma Broussard to see what we could do to reverse my changes, but we only got an answering machine and she was not returning calls. Sandra asked Tom to pass the word that we wanted to talk to her, but he hasn't been able to get a hold of her either.

Sandra told me that Tom had complimented her on her new figure but seemed concerned when Sandra told him about the changes that I was experiencing. He redoubled his efforts to get Grandma to talk. The extended family in the area said that she's doing fine. She just doesn't want to discuss our case with anyone, especially us. She relayed back that she'd talk to us after nine months had transpired.

By early February, new developments had me even more worried. My male sex equipment had shrunk considerably. Sandra was not at all happy about that as, if anything, her sex drive was at an all time high. She tried to stimulate me in every way possible, but nothing worked anymore. I could only stimulate her with my fingers, lips and tongue. Our physical relations were starting to feel more like a lesbian relationship. Something that did not appeal to either of us.

So much for having a child together.

"I'm going to have words with Grandma Broussard when I talk to her again." Sandra said with some force one night after a frustrating sexual interlude. It was the mid-February and we were getting very frustrated. "How can she expect me to have children if my husband can't perform sexually!"

"If you remember," I reminded, "she never really answered my question about my role in all this. I think that we both know at this point that I will most likely become that new girl in your life. It certain looks like that with the way things are going. I was mistaken for a coed again at the university this morning."

Yes, at that point I was shorter than my wife. Not only did I shrink but she'd grown another two inches and become a bit more curvy. I had lost my Adam's Apple, no longer needed to shave, and had much softer features. My arms looked like those of a girl and my upper body and waist was shrinking faster than my hips and thighs. The pitch of my voice had moved up an octave. We had gone shopping for new clothes and found that the women's section provided jeans that fit me better than those in the men's section. It was pretty apparent to those watching this process that I was slowly morphing into a young woman.

"What good does that do?" Sandra asked indignantly. "I need a man for a husband. And I want you, Andy!"

"I love you too, babe," I quietly responded.

Neither one of us said anything, but the elephant in the room had gotten bigger. If Grandma’s prophecy was correct and I became the young girl then that only meant that there would be another man who would take my place as her husband. Neither one of us wanted to broach the subject. I was pretty sure that I knew who the lucky guy would be. I was pretty sure that Sandra also knew. I could see it in her eyes. There was extreme conflict there.

It’s true that we still loved each other. We'd been getting closer and closer emotionally over the past months. In fact I found that we were more in tune on so many more things than we had ever been. We had continued having our talks late into the night about all sorts of things and nothing in particular. It was like we were connecting on a whole new level. Even though we were both frustrated sexually, the removal of sexual tension between us opened up new horizons of emotional intimacy.

One weekend morning, Sandra threw her arms around me and gave me a hug. 

"I do love you, Andy." She reassured me. "Probably more than ever but it is different."

"I have felt it to," I responded with a sigh.

"You probably won't like to hear this," She continued with a grimace, "but you are my best friend. As in best girlfriend. I feel that I can talk to you about almost anything, even most girl stuff."

"'Almost anything'?", I questioned her.

"Well," She replied with some discomfort, "there are a few girl things that you don't have a frame of reference for."

"Yet." I add.

The next time I saw my doctor for my weekly visit, I mentioned the observation that I might be transforming into a girl. She admitted that she had reached that conclusion a few weeks earlier, but did not want to broach the subject until I had arrived at the same conclusion. She didn't see how that could be possible, but the blood tests and measurements were confirming that observation. She decided that it was about time that I started seeing a psychologist with experience in gender identity issues. I told her that I had no problem identifying with my male identity. She pointed out that I might need some help identifying with what appeared to by my upcoming female identity. She had a good point.

When I went home that night, I noticed that only the middle half of the crystal was still blue. I sat and stared at it for a long time.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Sandra asked when she saw my troubled expression as I stared at the crystal.

“I’m becoming a girl,” I stated the obvious.

She sighed, “I was wondering when you’d reach that conclusion.”

“That’s pretty much what the doctor said,” I told her about my visit that day with our physician. “She said that she was waiting for me to come to that conclusion.”

“How do you feel about that?” Sandra asked sympathetically.

“I should be mad, I suppose,” I replied reflectively. “I really would rather be the man I was. It’s what I have been all my life and I liked it.”

“So why aren’t you more upset?” she queried.

“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “Maybe it’s because we are closer than ever before. There is a lot less tension in our relationship now. I don’t think that we’d ever get this close emotionally if things had stayed the way they were. I really like where we are with our relationship. It's actually better than it was before we went to see Grandma Broussard.”

“You might be right about that,” she agreed, “I hate to break it to you, Andy, but you are behaving a little more feminine by the day. When we talk, I almost feel like I’m talking with another woman. It’s just not the same as before. While there is still a lot of male in you, your mannerisms are becoming more feminine. You are walking and sitting more like a woman than a man. There are other signs too. I am not the only one seeing it. Several of the women in our families have commented on it to me.”

“What do we do about it?” I rhetorically asked her.

“What more than we are already doing?” she asked in reply. “You have done everything that the doctors recommend and nothing has even slowed the process.”

“And Grandma Broussard is ignoring us.” I pointed out. “I think that only she can reverse this.”

“And she’s not willing,” Sandra agreed. “We’ve tried everything short of going to Louisiana to find her.”

“And if we did go,” I pointed out, “we would probably never find her unless she wants us to, which she doesn't. Even with the help of Tom’s family. She made it pretty clear that she wouldn't talk to us until the nine month anniversary of our visit.”

We both silently reflected on that for a minute.

I break the contemplation with a change in subject, “The Doctor wants me to start seeing a psychologist to help me accept what is happening to me. I think that she has given up hope of reversing these changes.”

Sandra pulls me into a hug and we shed a few tears together.

“That might be a good idea,” she concedes after a few minutes.

“I don’t want to think about what this means for our marriage,” I sadly said.

“Neither do I,” she agreed. “Let’s not talk about that right now. There may still be some way to reverse this that we haven’t found yet.”

----<0>----

Somewhere in the middle of February all sexual contact between Sandra and I ceased. She is not into lesbian relationships, particularly with a teen. I was actually relieved as I was tired of trying so hard to please her while I was basically sexually inert. We both loved each other but we were no longer lovers. I was, by then, a trusted companion and confidant. I was now a BFF.

I also started seeing a psychologist.

----<0>----

As March began, my various symptoms continued to degenerate. Work was becoming a problem. I found that someone who looks like a 16 year old doesn't quite get the respect in a professional environment that a 32 year old does. Especially a 16 year old girl. Yes, most people were mistaking me for a 16 year old girl by then. My coworkers, who had observed this change, still treated me like a valued colleague. Unfortunately, since we were basically a service department, my interface with people that did not know me wasn't going so well. My boss tried giving me as much shop time as possible by sending others out on service calls whenever he could but he could only do so much. Even with a fairly short haircut I looked like a young girl.

"Hello," I said to a faculty member having trouble with his office computer, "I'm from IT. What seems to be the problem?"

"You're with IT?" the faculty member asked incredulously. "Aren't you a little young?"

I sighed. "I'm older than I look and have years of experience. Now what can I help you with?"

"I've heard that teens are better with computers than us old codgers." He replied before telling me what the problem was.

So went life at work. My boss was getting regular calls questioning my experience. He supported me but things were getting out of hand.

----<0>----

My new psychologist and I had started having weekly sessions at in mid-February. She was very experienced in working with the transgendered, but I was a new challenge to her. All her other patients were in a body they didn't want and were working towards changing that. They were already the other gender in their minds before their body could catch up to it. In my case my mind identified itself with my original gender but needed to catch up to a body that had other designs. We didn't know if I needed to adapt mentally to my changes or work to reverse the changes once they were complete. We didn't even know, for sure, how far the changes would go. I'm pretty sure that the shrink was excited about the unique change in pace. She eventually published a paper, with my permission, about my case. She received a lot of notoriety from the publication.

By the end of February after we had had a couple of visits, she started discussing the option of giving into the inevitable and for me to start embracing my new found femininity. She pointed out that the personality profile testing that we had done indicated that I was not only becoming feminine physically, but emotionally as well. I blamed it on all the estrogen coursing through my body.

“How would you suggest that I embrace my new femininity?” I asked her in resignation.

“The most obvious way,” she began, “is for you to start dressing and presenting as a girl.”

“I’m not ready for skirts, dresses and high heels,” I defended.

“Many girls aren’t either,” she informed me. “There are many girls who don’t even own a dress or skirt much less high heels. What I am suggesting is actually just a subtle change to what you are already doing.”

“And what would that entail?” I asked curiously.

“You are already wearing girl’s jeans,” she pointed out. “Start wearing them with panties underneath. Buy a few non-descript plain girl’s blouses and start wearing them. Your work polo shirts should be fine as I expect that the women in your office also wear them. Also, get some girl's shoes and socks. Low or no heels would be fine. Just make sure that everything you are wearing is made for a girl.”

“Aren’t girl’s blouses designed for something up top that I don’t have?” I pointed out.

“Yes,” she admitted, “but your doctor and I think that you will soon start developing breasts. You could solve that problem by wearing an A cup bra with breast form inserts. Many girls use a little enhancing while waiting for nature to do its part. You could also start shaving your legs and arm pits.”

“That sounds a little extreme,” I told her.

“Think about it,” she said. “It’s just a suggestion, but I think that you should at least give it a try. You might just find that you like it.”

After leaving her office I couldn’t get the idea of dressing in all female clothing off my mind. I could see the logic in her suggestion. It fit my current physical profile. I just didn’t think that I was ready for it yet. I needed some time for the idea to settle on my mind.

Over the next couple of days, the more I thought about the suggestion of dressing completely as a girl the less objectionable it became.

I thought that I might just give it a try.

Someday.

Maybe soon.

We’ll see.

----<0>----

Author's note: I've had some extra time the past few days and I've gone over this chapter way too many times. It screamed to be published before I went crazy.

Enjoy

NotExpected 06

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn Over the next couple of days, the more I thought about the suggestion of dressing completely as a girl the less objectionable it became. I thought that I might just give it a try. Someday. Maybe soon. We’ll see.

Chapter 6

At the first of March, life at home was both good and bad.

Sandra and I continued becoming closer as friends, but with the widening apparent age difference and my definite leaning towards the female persuasion, she was starting to feel more like an older sister than a wife. We both recognized and discussed at length the change in our relationship. We still avoided talking about what it meant for our marriage. I think that we both still held out hope, slim as it might be, that there was some way to undo my changes.

Sandra, on the other hand, was quite pleased with her physical changes. She was now up to 5' 9" in height and quite willowy. She was definitely outshining your average fashion model by then. It would appear that Grandma Broussard wanted a trophy wife for her favorite grandson. We both had admitted some time ago that we believed that Grandma Broussard was behind the changes. We just never talked about the elephant in the room. That second bolt could only have come from Tom.

A few days after the psychologist suggested a change in my wardrobe, as we were getting ready for work, I was donning my normal ‘uniform’ for the day. This consisted of the most conservative female jeans that I could find and the polo shirt that we all wore at work with our department name embroidered over the left breast. I had to regularly get new shirts as I continued to shrink. I still hadn't made the jump suggested by my psychologist into all female attire.

“Andy,” Sandra said tentatively as she watched my pull my feminine jeans up over my male underwear, “I think that we need to do something more with your wardrobe.”

Due to the physical changes we both needed to go clothes shopping regularly. By this point it was apparent to all who knew or saw me that female clothes were better suited to my changing body than male clothes. We'd pick up new girl's jeans in progressively smaller sizes every couple of weeks and a few boy's shirts as I still had a flat chest and was making a vain attempt at looking male. I also had to get new shoes occasionally as my feet were shrinking. Jeans and boy’s shirts were pretty much the only clothes that I wore during this period. I was still wearing boy's underwear, but with my shrunken male bits I didn't really need them any more. Female jeans aren't made for someone wearing male underwear.

Looking in the mirror, I asked, “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“It is pretty obvious that you are wearing male underwear under those feminine jeans,” She pointed out.

‘What’s wrong with that?” I asked confused.

“It just looks wrong,” she points out. “You look like a girl trying to be a boy.”

“It’s been that way since we started buying women’s jeans,” I pointed out.

Sandra sighed in sad resignation, “The contrast has gotten more obvious the last couple of weeks. You used to look like a boy wearing girls jeans. I think that you, and I, need to accept the inevitable.”

“What do you mean?” I asked curiously, already knowing the answer.

She walks over to her underwear drawer and pulls out a package of new white cotton hipster panties and hands it to me.

“You need to start looking the part,” she sadly said. “I think that we need to accept that you are now more girl than boy. I bought these for you a couple of days ago. I’ve been waiting for an opportunity to present them to you.”

“Just so you know,” I said as I accepted the package, “my psychologist thinks I need to start wearing them too. She also suggested that I get some blouses, bras, and small breast forms. She and my doctor both think that real breasts are in my future. She also suggested girl’s shoes and socks. She encouraged me to start wearing nothing but female clothing. She said that I didn't need to go girly, just some subtle changes to what I'm already wearing. No dresses, skirts or high heels. She thinks that it will help me accept the changes.”

"You wouldn't stand out so much," she sadly observed. "Everyone you meet seems to think that you are a girl anyway."

I can see something change in her eyes. It is as if she has made some decision that she has been putting off. There is almost relief there.

She embraces me with tears in her eyes, “I know that this must be hard for you. It’s hard for me. You know that I love you, don’t you?”

“I do,” I let her know, “girlfriend. And I love you.”

She gives me a squeeze, “Well, girlfriend, maybe we should do a little shopping after work instead of going to the gym.”

So that’s what we did.

And I wore panties to work that day. They actual felt much more comfortable than my male underwear.

----<0>----

When we went shopping that evening no one questioned my girl status. If any of the sales people realized that I was male, they never indicated it. I looked like a late blooming skinny teen girl with only a hint at curves.

We picked up some rather plain underwear, including white cotton panties and bras. After buying a pair of A cup breast forms, Sandra had me don one of my new bras so that we could find some tops that fit. We found a couple of suitable tops that weren't to girly. I made sure that they were in solid, not too feminine, colors. They did not hide the fact that I was wearing a bra. We also bought a pair of rather sensible shoes suitable for work and casual use and socks to go with them. She also bought me a couple of plain cotton nightgowns. I wore the shoes and one of the tops, with the requisite bra and forms, as we left the store. For the first time, there was not a stitch of male clothing on me.

Sandra had become something of a girly girl and loved to dress for maximum effect. While we were at the store that evening, we also looked through the dresses for her. As we went through the options, we discussed the pros and cons of each like two longtime girlfriends. I learned a lot more than a guy needs to know about dresses, but as an emerging girl it was something that I would probably want to know sooner than later. No one batted an eye when I accompanied Sandra into the dressing rooms as she tried on several dresses.

She ended up selecting a rather sexy dress that was barely suitable for the office. It wasn’t too short or two low, but it hugged her figure and looked ravishing on her. She looked upscale and sexy in a tasteful way at the same time. She was definitely going to be a distraction in the office if she ever gets brave enough to wear it to work. She also picked up a nice evening dress. She purchased appropriate shoes for both outfits, the heels of which were a bit higher than she would have worn six months ago.

As we were walking through the mall with our purchases, we passed an upscale lingerie store.

“You know what those new dresses need?” I asked Sandra with an evil grin.

“What?” she asked confused.

“They just scream for some lingerie to match,” I say as I incline my head to the lingerie store. The male part of me, what was left of it, could only imagine what a girl would be wearing under dresses like the ones we purchased for her. I knew that she didn’t have a lot to choose from at home. I also knew that I could enter the store as if I belonged there.

She blushed as I dragged her into the store.

We spent over half an hour in the store and ended up getting some lingerie worthy of the dresses.

She insisted that I get into the swing of things, so I walked out with a conservative, yet sexy, satin bra and panty set… in black. Sandra bought me a relatively conservative pink babydoll negligee with matching panty. I don't think that the negligee will see the outside of my drawer anytime soon.

“It will help you get into the role,” she insisted.

As we continued on our way out of the mall, I noticed that Sandra's updated figure and fashion was getting noticed. She acted as if she wasn’t aware of the appraising looks but I am pretty sure that she did. Women stared daggers at her and the men just drooled. She seemed to reveal in the attention. The looks seemed to raise her confidence and made her more self assured. I am pretty sure that she intentionally did the catwalk strut through the mall to tease all the leering males. She was flirting. The husband in me frowned and wanted her out of view knowing what all those males were thinking.

That night, as I lay waiting for sleep to overtake me, wearing one of my new cotton nightgowns, while laying next to a softly snoring Sandra, I shed a silent tear as I knew that I had now crossed a boundary. It was clear that both Sandra and I had given up the fight. We had accepted the inevitable. That meant that our marriage was doomed.

But at least I still had my best friend.

The next morning, I had my best friend coach me in the skill of shaving my legs and armpits.

-----<0>-----

As we moved further into March, I noticed that Sandra was obviously very conflicted. I was pretty sure that it had to do with the implications of my changes on our marriage and Grandma’s prophecy that implied that there’d be a new man in her life. I had no doubt that the new man would be Tom. I didn’t bring it up in our conversations and she kept the topic at arm’s length, but I was getting the impression that Sandra knew that our marriage was effectively over and that her attraction to Tom was growing. I knew that it was tearing her up inside. The guilt and conflict were obvious in her eyes and expressions. It was a heavy burden to carry. Unfortunately, I knew that she needed to be the one to broach the subject, so I just waited for her to say something.

At the beginning of March, my male bits were pretty much gone. I was a eunuch. Only a small nub of a penis remained and that had moved further down to where a clitoris is found on a woman. My balls had long since disappeared, leaving empty sacks behind. My new panties fit perfectly and I was fascinated by my new flat crotch. I still had a boyish figure, but my hips had started to fill out a little while I was continuing to lose overall body mass.

It was at the end of February that I could no longer stand to pee. It had been a challenge for the prior month but now it was an impossibility. It seemed like another part of my maleness had disappeared and I was in a funk for a couple of days. The silver lining to this problem, however, was that I can now use both hands to read while sitting on the throne. There is nothing needing directing anymore, I could just sit and release. It seemed to be a small consolation. This development was probably one of the main contributing reasons that both my psychologist and Sandra encouraged me to embrace my femininity by dressing as a girl.

About the only things missing in my outward physical transformation were a fully girlish figure, breasts and a vagina. The breast forms addressed one of those deficiencies. I suspected that those changes weren’t far away. My chest was beginning to itch a bit. As we neared the six month anniversary of our visit to Grandma Broussard, no one identified me as a boy. I also looked to be about 14 or 15 years old. Undoubtedly, I am the prophesied teen girl.

I should point out, that neither Sandra nor I had mentioned Grandma Broussard's magic to anyone other than Tom. And we didn't give him the details. That includes the doctors, our friends, coworkers, family, etc. They knew nothing about the magic. They all knew that I am morphing but they were all working from the idea that the changes are spontaneously occurring. We decided to keep it that way as no one wants a media circus. Also, the highly educated professionals would likely dismiss the idea of magic anyway. No one would believe us if we attributed the changes to magic. It was easier, and more believable, if we acted confused about a curve ball thrown at me by nature. The doctors had run every test that they can imagine, but no one had found a cause for the problem. They were still searching. The change was happening so slowly that it appeared to a natural process. So far we had been able to limit my direct exposure to the medical community. I normally only interfaced with the family doctor and psychologist. They had been consulting many other professionals, but they were taking the lead in trying to understand what was happening and why.

The concept of morphing gender is not unknown in nature. One expert pointed out that Clown fish are all born male. The most dominant males turn into females (a process known as sequential hermaphroditism). Funny that Disney did not bring that up in Finding Nemo. I'm not sure that I was a dominate male, but the process seemed to be the same for me with the addition of age regression.

In the meeting with my psychologist after I first started dressing as a girl, she asked me a question that had been on everyone's mind, including mine.

"Andy," she started, "Why do you think that you're adjusting so well to these changes?"

I had to sit back for a few minutes to formulate a reply. I had been thinking about this very question for some time.

"I'm not sure that I am," I responded thoughtfully. "I haven't let anyone see me crying when I get depressed about the changes."

"Curious," she responds, "I haven't seen any signs of depression."

I just shrugged. "It's there, from time to time. Less now than at first."

"Actually," I continue after thinking for a few more minutes. "I do have a couple of theories.

"First, I've never sweated things I can't change. I have always just found ways to make the most of situations outside my control. What good does it do to bang your head against a rock? You might find yourself in a situation beyond your control that you don't like, but there is always a silver lining somewhere and you can always find a way to adjust to it. I think the phrase is making lemonade out of lemons.

"I've always been impressed by a quote from Victor Frankl in Man's Search For Ultimate Meaning,  He said, in relation to his horrific experiences during World War II, 'The last of the human freedoms: to choose one's attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one's own way. And there were always choices to make. Every day, every hour, offered the opportunity to make a decision, a decision which determined whether you would or would not submit to those powers which threatened to rob you of your very self, your inner freedom; which determined whether or not you become the plaything to circumstance...'

"I am choosing to make the decision to be as happy as I can be in these circumstances.  The choice to be a victim or not is up to me. I don't want to be a victim.

"Take the infertility issue, for example. At first I was as anxious to be a parent as Sandra was. However, when it became apparent that parenthood wasn't in my future, I was ready to let it go and move on. I chose not to become miserable over something that can't be fixed. Not so with Sandra. She is needy for a baby and won't let it go. Her compulsion was causing friction in our relationship as she became progressively less happy. She wasn't happy that I gave up so soon. I tried to be supportive, but she didn't really think that I was. I tried to help her to find a silver lining in what fate has dealt us but she couldn't stop banging her head against the rock long enough to consider other options. She was getting frustrated with me when I wasn't as adamant about having a baby as she was. We were not being at all successful at making lemonade, but I was trying to. She refused to let go of the lemons. She was becoming a victim of her circumstances. Whether or not she wants to admit it, I can now see that her inability to let go was starting to eat at our marriage.

"As far as my changes go, no one could figure where this was going at first so all sorts of things were tried. There are lots of medical professionals out there who are still trying to figure out what is happening to me and why. None of the test results make sense.

"Once we saw that I was slowly morphing into a girl and there wasn't anyway to stop it, the only real solution was to quit fighting it. You suggested it last time we met. That's why I'm dressed as a girl today.

"Maybe I give up too soon, on occasion, but I have found that it is easier to go around an unsolvable problem than to beat my head against it.

"In this case, the damage is done, so what else can I do? I need to move forward in a positive way or I will become miserable. Nothing good could come from that."

"What is your other theory?" she asked with interest.

"The other theory is a version of the boiled frog scenario. How do you boil a frog? If you drop him straight into hot water he will hop out. If you put him a pot of cold water he will swim around and not notice it as you slowly turn up the heat. He has time to adjust to the temperature and doesn't notice the danger until it is too late.

"In my case the changes have been slow and subtle from day to day. I've had time to adjust. While I don't think that I could have hopped out of the pot at anytime, the slow change has probably helped me a lot. I think that if I had just woken up female one morning I would have really freaked out.

"I think that I panicked when the first hormone treatments didn't work, but at the same time, I started to see some very positive changes in my relationship with Sandra. I think that if we had continued on the path that we were on that bad things were likely to happen to our marriage. I decided that I'd rather be Sandra's girlfriend than be an unhappy ex husband."

"Now, I love Sandra in a whole new way. We have lost the married love, but that would likely have gone anyway. At least our marriage has not gone down in the flames of anger and unhappiness. What I have in its place is a deep bond that brings us both happiness. That is the silver lining."

"Most of my patients are pretty adamant about being the gender that they are most comfortable with," she points out. "I make my living helping people who have a compelling desire to be the gender that they weren't born to. They are very unhappy until things are put as right as modern medicine can make them. Even then, it is often not enough. Most of my patients would give anything to go through what you are going through. You don't seem to be too attached to being male and neither do you seem to long to be female."

"I'm not convinced that being a boy or being a girl is all that important." I told her with a shrug. "Both genders have their ups and downs. It is obviously important to many people, but not so much to me. I am just happy to be alive. There are things that I am already missing about being male and thirty two years old. But I am starting to see opportunity in restarting my life as a teenager, even if it is as a girl. There are a lot of things that I will do differently this time around when, and if, my age quits regressing. I will have the hindsight of experience this time around. It could be interesting."

"I think that your adjustment might be more related to your attitude of going around difficult problems," she observed.

"Might be," I admitted. "All the female hormones coursing through my body might also have something to do with it."

She nodded in agreement. She had something more to consider in her scholarly paper.

The question that she didn't know to ask was whether or not the magic had anything to do with my mental adjustments. Tom was pretty adamant that Grandma's magic only messes with the physical. I wondered. I figured that I would ask her about it, sometime around mid-June.

----<0>----

People were now treating me like the girl that I presented as. That included our families. Everyone had pretty much gotten used to the idea that I would soon be a girl and it wasn't a big deal anymore. I got a lot of sympathy from family, friends, and co-workers. We also heard a large number of off the wall speculations about why this was happening and what to do about it. It was, in its own way, pretty amusing. My younger sister thought it was hysterical when she found out that I was wearing panties and a bra. She had decided that I needed her assistance in learning how to be a girl. I avoided her as much as possible. Fortunately she, her husband, and toddler lived far enough away that frequent visits were inconvenient.

As Sandra and I both had known for some time, my transformation meant that there had to be another man in Sandra's near future to fulfill the prophecy. The subject was eventually broached after we had both danced around the growing elephant for weeks. By the time we finally talked about a new man for Sandra, the elephant had pretty much filled the whole room and would not be ignored. We each had very mixed feelings about this topic. Sandra felt more than a little guilty though we both knew that it wasn’t our fault. She apologized frequently for going to see Grandma Broussard saying that everything would have been fine if she had just left well enough alone.

I was not so sure that things would be so fine if we had stayed home instead of going to Louisiana.

I was not particularly excited about that idea of Sandra finding a new love interest, but we agreed that it would very likely happen. I knew that she wouldn't have to look far for a new man as the requisite new love interest had found her. I knew that Tom was going to benefit from my changes. Sandra admitted that marrying Tom was the likely outcome.

After discussing the situation at length one evening, she told me that she would prefer that things went back to the way they were. I would always be her first choice for a husband, but she admitted that Tom was not a bad second choice if she couldn’t have me. She said  that she would have to get to know him better before she would accept a marriage proposal. After some intense questioning from me, she grudgingly admitted that she was starting to fall for him, but she was quick to point out that she was still hoping that we could repair the damage inflicted on us by Grandma Broussard. Unfortunately I could see in her eyes that she really didn’t believe that we could go back. We both knew that we had effectively given up the fight to save our marriage. What I could see in her eyes was extreme turmoil.

Sandra and I had confronted Tom at one point about that spare bolt used in the ceremony. He admitted that, yes, he had sent a bolt to Grandma when she requested it. He didn't know why she had asked for it. He thought that it was strange that it had to be by his bed for a fortnight. We didn't tell him how his bolt mated with Sandra's nut. What we did tell him was that his bolt was used in the ceremony and that the results were interesting. When pressed to explain, we told him that he would find out the details when we talked with Grandma in June. He already knew that Sandra had been promised children and he knew that I was becoming less likely to give them to her. He looked cautiously optimistic at Sandra. She glowered at him but there didn't seem to be any real conviction to her glower. I could see that the thought of Tom as her new partner was not without appeal for her. However, strange as it might seem, the thought of her with Tom was not totally repulsive to me either. I would like my best friend to find the fullness of happiness I could no longer give her and that she deserved and needed. It occurred to me, during our conversation, that I actually liked Tom. He was good to, and for, Sandra. Things had definitely changed between us.

Sandra seemed to be getting more and more conflicted about our marriage relationship. I would catch her crying at odd times. She told me that she felt as if she was being unfaithful to our marriage vows now that we were no longer lovers. I could tell that she was having trouble resolving her feelings about being married to a teen girl and her growing love for Tom. I think that we both lost touch with the man I had once been.

----<0>----

One night the week after I started dressing fulltime as a girl, after having worked an unusually late evening to support a special campus event, I came home to find her curled up on the couch wearing a very conservative flannel nightgown and crying. She looked thoroughly miserable. She must have been crying for a while as she had gone through two boxes of tissues and her eyes were very puffy and red. When I came through the door, she burst into tears with renewed vigor.

I sat down and took her in my arms. A difficult thing to do when you’re half a foot shorter than you wife.

“I'm so sorry, Andy," she sobbed into my shoulder. "This is all my fault! What are we going to do!?”

"It is not your fault," I assured her, “It's Grandma Broussard's fault."

"But if I had just given up as you wanted me to," she wailed, "we never would have met her and we wouldn't be in this predicament."

"Don't worry about it, girlfriend," I sighed. "Things are good. Just different. Do you want to tell me why all the tears?"

"I've let you down," she bawled. "I feel so guilty. I don't want to hurt you. You are my best friend in the world."

"It will be alright," I tried to reassure her without any real conviction.

“I'm not sure about that anymore,” she cried even harder. “Please, just hold me.”

I didn’t get anything more out of her that night, but as I changed for bed that night, I noticed that her new evening dress was draped over a chair with the matching pumps standing near by. They had obviously been worn.

----<0>----

With all the changes in our relationship and Sandra’s growing internal conflict what happened on the morning of the six month anniversary of our visit to Grandma Broussard was unsettling but not a total surprise.

I was getting dressed for work in my now normal feminine clothes, having already taken a shower, when Sandra’s phone beeped with an incoming text message. She was in the shower getting ready for work so I casually looked at the screen to see if it was anything important. I thought maybe I'd have to tell her to shake a leg. When I read the message, I froze.

The incoming text read: "Looking forward to lunch, sweetheart. We have reservations at Sullivan's for noon. Wear something nice but sexy. Please. We will find a way through this, I promise. Love you forever. XOXO"

The message was from Tom and it was more intimate that I would have expected.

Scrolling through her messages, I saw that this wasn’t the first such text. Her replies were equally as intimate.

Sandra hadn't said anything to me about seeing Tom regularly again outside the office.

 

NotExpected 07

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn The incoming text read: "Looking forward to lunch, sweetheart. We have reservations at Sullivan's for noon. Wear something nice but sexy. Please. We will find a way through this, I promise. Love you forever. XOXO" The message was from Tom and it was more intimate that I would have expected. Scrolling through her messages, I saw that this wasn’t the first such text. Her replies were equally as intimate. Sandra hadn't said anything to me about seeing Tom regularly again outside the office.

Chapter 7

After reading the text from Tom, I quietly left early for work before Sandra got out of the bathroom. I left Sandra a note saying that something came up at work and they called me in early.

I had a heavy heart and needed to think about what to do. I knew that this day was coming, but I had hoped that Sandra would have been more open about it. After all, we had recently talked about this possibility.

As it turned out, the day was going to go downhill from there. It was not to be a good day.

I got to work about half an hour earlier than usual. My supervisor was already there.

"Hey Andy," My boss called to me as I walked past his office on the way to my desk. "Can I see you in my office for a few minutes?"

"Sure," I replied waving my day pack at him, "I'll be there after I drop this at my desk."

After dropping my bag off at my work station, I wandered over the boss's office.

"What's up Boss Man?" I ask in a friendly greeting.

The look on his face told me that this was not going to be a good conversation. He motioned me to sit in a chair.

"Look Andy," he said uncomfortably, getting right to the point. "There is no easy way to say this. You are one of our best techs, but I have to let you go."

"What's up with that?" I asked, feeling as if the world just got jerked out from under me.

"You know that the budget is tight and it is no secret that we're going to have to let someone go," He told me. "Your usefulness is not what it used to be, what with your changes and all. I can't send you out on service calls any more because you look like a 14 year old kid and I get lots of complaints about that."

"But my work is good," I asked, "Isn't it?"

"The best," he agreed, "but that doesn't seem to matter. No one seems to want a kid working on their computers. The higher ups have been getting complaints as well. They want to let you go on the grounds that you are no longer suited to the job."

I sighed in resignation. I had had a feeling that this day was coming.

“And, I gather,” I pointed out, “there are more than a few people who are uncomfortable with my transition.”

He squirmed a little in response to that fact, “I can’t comment on that. Look, Andy, we all know that it’s not your fault. We seen you almost everyday and have witnessed the changes. We know that it’s not what you wanted and that it’s been hard on you.”

I didn’t know what to say.

"Off the record, you know that you don't belong here anyway." He tried to soften the blow. "You have much more potential than is needed for this job. You should have completed the computer engineering program years ago. Your talents are wasted here. I bet that if you had gone after that degree you'd have graduated at the top of the class and would now be making waves in some research facility and with a ridiculously high salary. Maybe this will kick you in the right direction. Someone or something should have done that long ago. You can do much better in life than what this job offers. That's my personal opinion.”

Getting back to the business at hand, he continued, "I've been authorized to offer you four weeks severance pay if you sign this agreement not to sue us for letting you go," He told me as he slid some paperwork across his desk. "And I am just about done writing you a glowing letter of recommendation for another job. I had hoped to have it done before you got here."

"I'll sign the agreement if you get them to extend the offer to three months with health coverage and they make sure that this is characterized as a layoff and not a firing," I told him, "otherwise I will take it up with legal counsel and see if I can get a settlement for wrongful termination. That will cost you a lot more."

He sighed. "I'm in your corner kid. I like you. Let me see what I can do. Those lazy stiffs in HR should be into their offices soon."

In the end the human resources people and administration rolled over quickly and gave me the health coverage to go along with three month's salary. I had the feeling that they expected a counter offer and were ready for it. Maybe I should have asked for more. I had my office cleaned out and a signed agreement in hand by the time I needed to leave for a 10:30 AM appointment with my doctor.

As I cleaned out my desk, several of my coworkers stopped by to express their condolences.

"This is harsh, dude... ah, dudette?" One guy said, obviously not sure how to address my changed physical condition. "I hope that you find something soon. I know that a couple of companies in town are looking for people. You should do fine."

"It's because you are one of us now," one young woman whispered to me. "Women always get the short end of the stick. We figured that one of us would be let go, but not you. You used to be one of them."

"Maybe that's why," the other woman with her quietly added. "Maybe he got let go because he switched sides. You should sue them."

It was good to know that most of my coworkers appreciated me being part of the team. My layoff seemed to take pressure off everyone else. While some were sorry to see my go, they each were glad that it wasn't them.

----<0>----

The news from the Doctor just added to the day’s despair.

"Well, Andy," the Doctor started out as she breezed into the exam room. "Your latest blood tests show that your chromosomes are all now XX. Welcome to the world of women. You are now female."

"Almost," I sighed as I sat on the exam table. "I'm still missing a few parts."

"Let's take a look at that," she said as she started her weekly exam.

"Ah, finally," she said as she checked out my chest. "You are exhibiting the first signs of breast development. Check it out."

She told me what to look for as I felt my chest.

After completing the exam, she said, "As you know, you are still missing a vaginal opening, breasts and feminine skeletal system. Your latest ultrasound would indicate that your testicles have almost ascended to where ovaries would be in a girl. You are missing the rest of the internal plumbing of a woman but there is a hint of change in the images.

"If I were a betting woman, I would wager that these other characteristics will sort themselves out with time. The trend towards total transition seems to be continuing.

"Regardless of the missing elements, you have the appearance of an awkward 14 year old mostly girl.

"I talked with your psychologist yesterday to compare notes. She thinks that you are handling this well."

"I am trying," I said while trying to fight back tears.

"What's wrong, hon?" the Doctor asked with concern.

"It's been a hard morning," I told her.

She patted me on the knee. "You are a tough cookie. Hang in there."

A psychologist she isn't.

"Why don't you get dressed while I finish up a letter certifying that you are now a genetic female. You should be able to use the letter to start changing your records."

She bustled out. While I got dressed, I thought about how I knew that this day was coming but, given the day's events, the definitive news of my new gender felt like another nail in my coffin.

I was back out on the street by 11:30 AM with a letter from the doctor testifying to the fact that I am now genetically female through processes unknown and should be considered female from now on in all legal arenas. She also gave me a referral to a gynecologist who she had been consulting with about my case and who was anxious to meet me.

It was going to be hard to make lemonade out the events of this day. Getting hit with a hat trick of depressing news in one morning is tough to take. As I thought about the situation, it was clear to me that it was about time that I get proactive and take back some control.

As I left the doctor’s office, I decided to crash Sandra's little lunch tryst, but first I needed to do something that I had not hitherto done.

I stopped in an upscale women's clothing store and bought a nice dress appropriate for a 14 year old girl (think mid thigh length), black patterned tights, and a pair of stylish ankle boots with a moderate heel. I bought a matching bikini panty and lacy bra to add a little sexiness to the feel. On a whim I bought a necklace with matching clip on earrings. I decided that I needed to more fully embrace my new gender to do what I intended at the restaurant. I couldn’t do much with my relatively short hair, but I looked good anyway after some help from one of the sales girls who basically messed it up and sprayed it with hairspray. The sales lady called me cute as she helped me prepare myself for my big unveiling, but then again, she was happy with the commission so she'd probably call a cow cute. She talked me into purchasing some mascara and lipstick, which she also applied for me when I told her that I was in a hurry and didn't have any experience with makeup. I also picked up a small purse to carry the makeup, my cell phone, and my wallet in. She did throw in a small bottle of perfume as part of the deal. I didn't have time for a full makeover.

I was as ready as I could be given the short notice.

Arriving at Sullivan's at 12:45 PM, I told the Maitre d' who I was looking for and that I had an urgent message for them. He knew exactly who I was looking for. Apparently they were regulars. He took me to their secluded booth. Sandra's back was to me as I approached. Tom briefly looked up from the obviously intense conversation that he was having with Sandra but did not recognize me wearing the dress. In that brief moment he actually gave me an appreciative look which bolstered my confidence. I did notice that Tom seemed more handsome than when I'd first met him. He was looking fitter. He was also wearing nicer clothes. He was no longer looking like the geeky engineer that I had met six months ago. I actually found him to be very handsome.

I waved off the Maitre d' and approached the table where the very loving couple were holding hands across the table with nearly empty plates pushed aside.

"Hello BFF," I said when I arrived behind Sandra at the booth. "You look delectable in that dress." She had complied with his text request and had worn something especially nice that day. It was the sexy dress that we had purchased on our shopping trip.

Sandra spun about in shock, letting go of Tom's hands.

"What are you doing here?" She almost shrieked. I was pleased that I had pulled off a perfect surprise attack. It would keep her off balance for a few minutes. Long enough for me to say what I had to say.

"I just thought I'd drop in and bring you two up to speed on my latest developments." I said, maybe a little too coldly as I slid into the booth next to Sandra, smoothing the skirt of my dress under me and remembering to keep my knees together.

I picked up Sandra's fork and ate the last bite of broiled salmon that she had left on her plate. It was sufficient for lunch as my appetite was still AWOL.

"That's really good," I commented.

"Who are you?" asked a somewhat protective Tom who still didn't get the message.

"I believe that we've met before," I told him, extending my hand for a shake, "My name is Andy and I am married to this beautiful woman."

They both just stared at me, obviously gathering their thoughts.

"I will avoid the obvious questions and save you the pain of coming up with explanations," I began. "I just want to share with you a few recent developments in my life that neither of you know about. They might just help with your dilemma."

They still had nothing to say, but there were guilty looks on both faces.

"To start with," I continued, "I was laid off today. Something about needing to reduce expenses. I suspect that some of the higher ups also think that I am a poor fit for the job, given my apparent age and gender confusion. The good news is that I managed to negotiate a great severance package."

Sandra finally found her voice again. "No! They can't do that!"

"They did," I informed her, "and I signed an agreement to not sue them in exchange for the aforementioned severance package. But the fun doesn't stop there."

"What else?" asked Tom warily.

"I had another doctor's appointment this morning," I went on, "and it seems that I am now the proud possessor of a full set of XX chromosomes. I am a girl! I am still missing some of the parts that a normal girl has, but the chromosomes define me as female. Do I want to be a girl? Not really, but somehow it doesn't really bother me. I suspect that is part of the magic."

"But Grandma says that her magic can only affect the physical, not mental or emotional." Tom reminded us.

I just shrugged.

I was starting to think that the physical can have a big impact on the mental and emotional.

Turning to Sandra, I continued "The fact that I am now female has rendered me unable to perform my duties as the husband that you married. We both have known for sometime that I can no longer continue to be your husband once I become a girl. It is obvious that you have already started developing a new romantic relationship with Tom. I do not wish to stand in the way of your happiness so I think it best if we consider a dissolutionment at the earliest opportunity. We can discuss this further at home tonight. Once that takes place, then you and Tom can be more open about your relationship. I have to say that I am very disappointed that my BFF wouldn't have been a bit more open with me about her new love. We have even talked about this eventuality. New love is, after all, quite exciting and is usually shared with close girlfriends."

Turning to Tom, I said "I am a true believer in your grandmother's magic. Whether or not you willingly consented to her devious plan, you are now obviously about to take my place as Sandra's husband. I think that you've had designs on my wife ever since you met her but I can’t prove that."

He started to protest, but I just raised my hand in a stop gesture and continued, "I don't know how far you two have taken your relationship, or for how long, but that will no longer be my problem after the dissolutionment. Tom, you might as well ask me for her hand in marriage as her father gave it to me when we were married and I still have a right to it for a little while yet. I will give you my blessing. In fact, I encourage you to propose marriage to her after I leave, if you haven't already. In fact, I will take this," I grabbed their lunch bill, "and pay this in way of an engagement gift for my BFF. Don't forget to get her an engagement ring before you go back to the office. There is a great jeweler's right next door."

Turning back to Sandra, I asked "May I please have your wedding ring? You will be getting a new one soon, I think, and this one would only get in the way of your new engagement ring. I'll give you back mine when you get home. It quit fitting a couple of months ago so I don't wear it any more." She held out her hand tentatively and I slipped the ring off her finger. On a whim, I slipped it onto my ring finger. It fit.

"Oh, and I really liked helping you pick out that dress last week," I observed as I stood up, smoothing down my dress, in preparation for leaving, "I knew that you wanted to look sexy, I just wasn't bright enough to figure out that it was for Tom."

Turning to Tom, I decided to embarrass Sandra, "You should talk her into taking that dress off. The bustier, stockings, and g-string that we bought to go with it are quite naughty. I'd bet a week's salary that she is currently wearing them. They would really get your motor running, if it isn't already. A girl has to dress sexily from the skin out if she really wants to really feel sexy."

I quickly turned away and walked out before they could see my watering eyes. I left stunned silence behind me, paying their rather expensive lunch bill on my way out of the restaurant.

I felt an unexpected wave of relief wash over me as I reached the sidewalk outside the restaurant. Hopefully we had exorcised that particular elephant forever. I just hoped that Sandra could now move forward without so much guilt. I also felt a new sense of freedom.

Sighing, I knew what I needed to do next.

I dug into my wallet and extracted a note with the name and address of a lawyer that my psychologist had recommended to me. She was experienced at handling the legal affairs of transitioning transsexuals. I hoped that she handled divorces as well.

I called the number on the note and was told that, due to a last minute cancelation, that she could see me in about half an hour.

I went straight to the lawyer's office from the restaurant. She said that she could handle the dissolution as well as the other legal issues. By the time I reached home, I had a draft set of dissolution papers, and a petition to legally recognize me as a genetic female and to change my name to Andrea Marie. I had decided to go by Andi. It should make things easier interacting with people that knew me. She also told me how to go about getting an updated birth certificate, drivers license, Social Security card, and other official documents. The lawyer was disappointed that I’d signed an agreement with the University. She would’ve really liked to have sued them for me. She let me know that it would take a couple of months to make the dissolution final. Things must be done in order and the wheels of justice turn slowly. We would start on the dissolution then go about the name and gender changes. All this seemed to fall in place as if it was supposed to be. At least something went right that day. Like all the other professionals that I've worked with, she was really intrigued by my case but restrained herself to sticking to the pertinent facts. The formal letter from my doctor certifying my spontaneous gender change was a first for her. I know that she was bursting with questions. A few months later, as we concluded the various pieces of legal work, she did finally break down and ask me what it was like and what not.

After talking with the lawyer, I just needed to break the news to my family and friends. But that would wait until after my upcoming discussion with Sandra that evening.

The third trimester of my obvious nine month transition had started out with a bang, so to speak.

The middle third of the crystal was still blue, but it was surrounded by pink much like a wagon train circled by attacking Indians in an old Western movie. Somehow, I didn't think that the Cavalry would arrive in time to save the blue.

 

NotExpected 08

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn After talking with the lawyer, I just needed to break the news to my family and friends. But that would wait until after my upcoming discussion with Sandra that evening. The third trimester of my obvious nine month transition had started out with a bang, so to speak. The middle third of the crystal was still blue, but it was surrounded by pink much like a wagon trail circled by attacking Indians in an old Western movie. Somehow, I didn't think that the Cavalry would arrive in time to save the blue.

Chapter 8

Sandra was already home when I got there in the late afternoon. Apparently she'd been too upset to work that afternoon, so she had canceled her appointments and came home to have the heavy talk that we both anticipated.

She'd also been crying a fair amount judging from the empty box of tissues by her side. It was only one box, unlike the two box event a week or so ago. She looked as if she'd already wiped all her runny mascara away, but there were still some traces left. She'd obviously been crying for some time. It nearly broke my heart to see her in such misery, but I knew that we had to go through this to find balance again.

I noticed that she had changed into her favorite comfort clothes: yoga pants and a turtleneck sweater. The yoga pants fit her like a glove. She is the definition of beauty even when miserable and trying to dress down. With her changes, I think that she'd look great in a potato sack.

She was sitting on the couch and I took a seat on the love seat opposite her just as her cell phone went off.

She promptly turned the phone off without even checking to see who was calling.

"Hey there girlfriend." She opened the conversation tentatively through her tears. She was gauging my feelings with her opening statement. "You might want to keep your knees together when wearing a short dress."

It was going to take time before it would become natural for me to sit modestly while wearing a skirt.

"Hey to you too," I responded gently. "Thanks for the reminder. This is my first time in a dress."

I couldn't find it in myself to be angry at her. We both knew that this day was going to come. I was, however, disappointed that she wasn't sharing this part of her life with me since we were now best friends. Best girlfriends.

"I thought we were BFFs," I addressed the new elephant in the room with a gentle accusation and a wry smile, trying to put her at ease. "I understand that BFFs share ALL their hopes and dreams with each other."

She looked very guilty.

"I suppose that I can demonstrate how that works," I relented when she didn’t respond. "First off, I don't know why, but I can't find it in my heart to be devastated about you and Tom. After all, we both have known that our life as husband and wife effectively ended a few months ago. We both know that the other bolt from the ceremony came from Tom and that you are likely to end up marrying him to have your babies. We’ve even talked about this. I am, strangely, okay with Tom being the father of your children. I am not only okay with it, I am actually very happy that he is going to be the father of your children. I think that he will make a good husband and a great father. I find our new love as best girlfriends to be sufficiently satisfying to overcome whatever feeling of loss that I feel for the end of our marriage. We both knew that our marriage needed to end but I guess that neither one of us wanted to be the one to initiate it.

"It is that new love that I have for you which feels betrayed. I am hurt that you didn't share with me your developing relationship with Tom."

Sandra looked appropriately chastised at this point.

"I need to know something," I continued. "Did you and Tom plan this before we went to Louisiana? Was this a convenient way to remove a hindrance from your path to a new relationship? We could have just divorced, you know? I would have hated it, but it is the normal way of things. And I would still be a man."

Tears were continuing to stream down Sandra’s face. She looked absolutely miserable. I couldn't stand it any more so I moved over to the couch and pulled her into a hug. She started sobbing into my shoulder and clung to me for several long minutes. My new dress was getting soaked with her tears and it hurt me to feel her misery. I knew then that there was no easy way to end a marriage, even if you both know that it is the right thing to do.

"I am SO sorry," she sobbed into my dress. "I never wanted things to turn out this way."

I waited as she gathered her thoughts. She slowly pulled back to look me in the eye.

"No, we did not plan this. When we went to Louisiana, I truly hoped that you and I would become parents together." She continued, "Yes, there's been chemistry between Tom and I since we first met, but that doesn’t mean that I wasn’t committed to our marriage. I suspect that everyone finds more than one person attractive over the years. I am pretty sure that you found little Amy Hunter more than a little attractive. Maybe you still do."

She had me there. Amy was a coworker that I was pretty attracted to at one point. There was some moderately strong chemistry between us, but she could never have replaced Sandra. Up until this morning we were still coworkers but we had both moved away from our mutual attraction.

Sandra relaxed a little and continued, "Tom isn't the first guy that I have found to be cute and to be attracted to. Because of my love for you, I was able to resist my attraction to Tom just as successfully as I had with the others. That is until recently. I finally quit resisting when I gave you your first panties. Handing you that package caused me to finally accept, in my heart, that there was no going back and that we couldn’t go on as husband and wife. For me, it was the symbolic end our of our marriage.

"While you are, and always will be, my first love that love has morphed into something just as wonderful. It is no longer the love of a married couple but the love of best girlfriends, which can be almost as intense as married love.

"When Tom and I started having regular lunches together soon after we first met it was all business. I could tell that he was attracted to me and I found that flattering since I also found him attractive. He has since told me that he fell head over heels in love with me the first time we met but he was resigned to loving me from afar. Looking back now, I think that I fell for him at the same time, but I just assumed that it was another one of those fleeting attractions and brushed it off as best I could. I have to admit now that I wasn't very successful at putting him aside. You get to know a lot about someone when you work closely with them. As we got to know each other our friendship grew deeper. I convinced myself that Tom was just one of those harmless attractions, even though I could tell that he was thoroughly smitten with me. I tried to stop seeing him, but we really did need to work together and we became good friends and business confidants, but nothing more than that. As I have repeatedly told you, I was still devoted to our marriage.

"You already know the story, that after one of our arguments at home about discontinuing fertility treatments, I expressed my frustration to him as a friend. I was so mad at you that day that I wasn't seeing straight. You already know this, but when he said that maybe he could help us, I wanted to hear what he had in mind. I wanted a baby so badly. I still do. He told me that he might know a treatment that would bring you and I children and he wanted to know if I was interested. I told him that everything else had failed but I still had hope that we'd find a way. He assured me that this method was different than all the others. Then he told me about his grandmother and all the miracles that he had seen her perform. I was intrigued and told him that I doubted that I could get you to cooperate since you had decided to quit pursuing having children. I told him to go ahead anyway and find out if she could help us. A few days later he told me that Grandma had consented to help us. I called and talked with her for a long time and she assured me that she had the means to help us. She made the strange request about the nut and bolt without saying why she needed them. While she didn’t share with me the specifics of the ceremony, the whole thing sounded as far fetched as some of our other attempts. After talking with her, I almost dismissed the idea of going to see her. But as I thought about it, I figured it couldn't do any harm so what the heck. We needed a quick vacation after all the stress we’d been under so I thought what we might as well give it a try. That's when I approached you.

"I was surprised that you agreed to go. I really meant it, at the time, when I agreed that this would be our last attempt. I did not want to lose you over the pregnancy obsession, and I realized that I had put our marriage in jeopardy by my compelling need for a baby. Looking back, I have to admit that I don't think that I could have kept my promise. I still feel an overwhelming need to get pregnant and I'm afraid of what would have happened to our marriage if I couldn't get pregnant with you. I am so sorry, Andy, I just can't help it," she sobbed again.

I pulled her into another hug without saying a thing. She settled down after a couple of minutes and I let her continue her story.

"When we met with Tom to talk about his grandmother before we committed to seeing her, I never sensed that he was trying to break up our marriage.

"Just so you know, I still haven’t told him about the mated bolt and nut, so he doesn’t know about the prophesized marriage. He only actively pursued our romantic relationship after I recently told him that I was open to a relationship with him since my marriage to you was effectively over and we’d given up on reversing your changes.

"When we left for Louisiana, I was truly ready to suppress my urges to become pregnant and move forward with you and without children if this treatment failed. I was so much in love with you. I was sure that I wanted you more than I wanted children. While I was good friends with Tom, I had no intention of ever leaving you for him. For Tom’s part, he has assured me that he never wanted to break our marriage and I believe him. He saw that we were basically happy. Tom feels badly about how this has all come about, particularly for you. He knows that none of this would have happened without Grandma's interference.

"When we were at Grandma Broussard's I got an uneasy feeling when she produced that second bolt and laid it next to our barely mated nut and bolt. After the ceremony was over, I was pretty sure that that bolt represented Tom. As this was all hocus pocus, as you put it, I was determined to kill my feelings for Tom and give him a piece of my mind when we got back. I really didn't expect the ceremony to amount to anything.

"While you went fishing, I had a nice visit with Grandma and settled down somewhat. She told me a lot more about her family and Tom in particular. Apparently, Tom is a favored grandson and the family was very disappointed that he still hadn't married by the time he turned thirty. I think that his family was resigned to the idea that he would always be a bachelor. He has always been a geek who is more devoted to his work than to relationships. Grandma told me that many of the local girls had tried their hand with him over the years, but to no avail. Tom had told her about his attraction to me shortly after meeting me for the first time. He had also told her that he honored my marriage vows. Being a favored grandson, Grandma said that she was inclined to help him anyway she could. She confided in me that she felt that Tom wouldn't stay single much longer. I was happy to hear that thinking that if he were to marry that he would be over his feelings for me. I did have a brief uneasy feeling that the ceremony we had just participated in was somehow tied to her prediction. I didn't let it worry me too much since the ceremony appeared to be as much hocus pocus as many of our other attempts."

"You never told me some of this." I pointed out. "You’ve known all along that you’d end up with Tom?"

"No," she defended, "Grandma never said that I would end up marrying her grandson. She just said that he wouldn't be single much longer. I didn't realize what she meant until much later. You were the only love of my life at that time and I couldn't see how we could stay so close, as she predicted, if we weren't continuing to be husband and wife. If we were to remain married, then it logically followed that you would be the father of my three children. I honestly wanted to believe that your bolt had transformed and we were mated and the other bolt divided and became the young girl and three children. I never once considered that you would morph into the young girl and that I would find love with Tom. So, no, I did not know from the beginning that I would end up with Tom. I would have begged her to undo the magic if I had known where this was headed."

"That first month after we got back from Louisiana was like heaven. I loved you more than ever and just knew that we would be lovers forever. I tried to eliminate my attraction to Tom by distancing myself from him. I even introduced him to a couple of single girls in the office thinking that one of them might fulfill Grandma's prediction for her grandson. He went out with one of them a few times, but nothing came of it. I was pretty standoffish with Tom for a couple of months. I actually tried to hand his account off to someone else, but he talked to my boss and threatened to take his rather substantial account somewhere else if I wasn't managing it. My expertise in the health industry is a perfect match for his investment and business strategy and he didn’t want to lose that connection. He also admitted to me recently that he couldn't bear the thought of not seeing me regularly. We actually compliment each other very well, professionally speaking. I was told that I would need to manage his account if I wanted to keep my job. I made sure that our contact was purely professional. We met at the office and I always tried to have someone else present when I met with him."

"You didn’t mention this either," I pointed out.

She paused for a minute as tears started to stream down her cheeks again.

"No, I didn’t. I didn't lie to you about it either. I have never lied to you. I just haven't told you everything. I am so sorry about that. I thought that everything was under control and I didn’t want to worry you.

"Then the changes started to happen. Your ability to perform sexually eventually disappeared. Our love morphed into that of close female friends instead of that of husband and wife.

"One morning last month I woke up and saw a girl in our bed and it hit home that what we had once was gone. I felt a great sense of loss. That's when I bought those panties for you, knowing that our marriage was over. I still felt a strong need to get pregnant and knew that you'd never be able to do the job. I needed a man in my life. One who would love me and our children. Looking at you, a young girl, sleeping in our marriage bed it was clear to me that you were no longer that man. The depth of what Grandma Broussard had done hit me hard and renewed my anger towards Tom. Unfortunately, I was, by then, a believer in the magic and knew where things were going. I felt powerless to stop what was happening to you and the feelings growing in my heart for Tom. I found that I didn’t really want to stop things. The guilt of that realization just about killed me. I found Tom constantly in my dreams, day and night, and I couldn't forget him. I finally admitted to myself that I loved him, and probably had, to some degree, since we first met. The feelings I have for Tom reminded me of when you and I first met. You were always there in my mind and that excited me and brought joy to my heart. This time, however, the realization that I was in love again brought guilt and anguish instead of excitement and anticipation.

"It was all very confusing. I felt dirty and unfaithful. It has been awful. I still feel very guilty about it, but eventually I realized it's not my fault or yours. Your changes caused us to lose our marriage and opened a way for my new love while still being close to you. It was as if the male you had been had died and I was essentially a widow with a close girlfriend. I did talk with a grief counselor who told me that people who lose someone they really love almost always feel as if they are being untrue to their lost loved one when they discover new love. Many don’t make the transition and push the new love away and wallow in their misery. She helped me to realize that you and I can never go back to what we had. Andy has effectively died and isn’t coming back. I tried to find a way back to what we had. We tried. Tom tried. You know that we tried contacting Grandma, but she won't talk to us right now. Tom is not happy with her and she isn't talking to him either. She has said, through other family, that she would talk to us after nine months had expired. We still have three months to go.

"So I did the easy thing, and gave in," She gave another sob at that. "The same day that I gave you your first panties, I resolved to move forward on my feelings for Tom. I called him that morning and asked to meet him for lunch. At lunch I told him that I still wasn't happy with his grandmother's interference with my marriage but that our marriage was effectively over. I told him that I will always love my Andy, but that he is gone now and isn’t coming back. He’s been replaced by a wonderful young woman who is my best friend in the world. I told Tom that I found myself attracted to him and that, if you and I could no longer be a married couple that I would be willing to explore a relationship with him. He needed to understand that nothing serious would happen between him and I until you and I legally resolved our marriage. As I mentioned, I still haven’t told him that he and I were mated in Grandma’s ceremony. I don’t want him thinking that a marriage between us is a given.

"My marriage to you means a lot to me and I am not about to be untrue to my marriage vows while they are in effect. Well, that’s not quite true. I suppose that I have been emotionally untrue lately as I’ve started to develop my relationship with Tom without your expressed consent. I have felt guilty about seeing him without talking to you, I have been struggling to think of some way to break the news without damaging my new relationship with you. I know that we’ve talked about this possibility, but I just couldn’t see how you could not be hurt by my new love for Tom.

"You should have given me some credit," I quietly told her. "Yes it hurts, but not as much as I would have thought. I love where we have come as friends. You’ve hurt me more as a BFF than as a husband. The husband in me disappeared a while ago. From what you've said, you've kept a lot from me recently."

"I’m sorry, Andy," she teared up again. "I really didn’t want to hurt you."

"I know, girlfriend," I reassured her.

"I can see now," she sadly reflected, "where keeping my secrets has not kept you from pain. I promise to be more open in the future and trust the strength of the bond between us. I never want to lose you, girlfriend."

"And I don't want to lose you either," I assured her. "I will get over it. I know that your intentions were good."

"Anyway," Sandra continued the story, "our regular lunches started up again. We've been meeting for lunch dates almost every work day since then. Last week, when you had to work late one evening, we went out for our first romantic dinner date and took a walk in the city park. He was so handsome and I loved hanging on his arm. We were strolling along the river when he turned to me, took me in his arms, and gently kissed me for the first time." She got a dreamy look on her face.

"And you kissed him back," I said more as a statement than a question.

The guilty look returned to her face and she sheepishly replied, "I did. I was caught up in the moment and had pushed the guilt to the back of my mind."

"And you enjoyed it," I observed.

She hung her head and tears started again. "I did. I didn't want it to stop. I'm so sorry, Andy."

"That's okay, girlfriend," I consoled her. "What happened next?"

"He ruined everything in the most beautiful way," she sighed. "He took my hand, got down on one knee, and told me that he loved me. Then he held out a ring and asked me to marry him. It was so romantic, but all I could do was cry. I wanted to accept his proposal with every fiber of my being but all I could do was cry as the guilt of what we were doing crashed in on me. I love you, Andy, and I just can't hurt my best girlfriend and husband. I didn’t know what to do but I knew that I had to be true to you until we could talk about how to gracefully end our marriage. I told him that I loved him too, but that I couldn't accept his marriage proposal until you and I resolved our situation. You found me crying on the couch when you came home that night.

"Tom’s proposal put the pressure on me to legally end what was already gone. I still haven’t figured out a graceful way to end our marriage. I guess that I am a coward and have been afraid to broach the subject with you. I knew that we were no longer lovers but I didn't know how you’d feel about me loving Tom while still being married to you. I know we've talked of this, but the conversations were clinical. I didn’t really know how you’d feel about ending our marriage. When you arrived at the restaurant today, we were discussing ways to break the news to you without upsetting you. I guess that you took care of the problem for us."

"Until today," I told her, "when the Doctor declared me to be female, I wasn’t completely ready to admit defeat. I knew that we were no longer lovers. The day you gave me those panties and we went shopping for my new wardrobe I knew that our marriage was doomed but there was still a shred of hope left in my heart. I watched your torment grow and knew that we needed to resolve this soon or you'd go crazy, but, like you, I didn’t know how to break the news. I knew that your future was coming into focus. I felt that you needed to be the first to make a move to end the marriage so that you could move forward with your obvious new love. I don’t know where I am heading so there is not a compelling need on my part to end what we have. When I saw the text from Tom this morning, I realized that it was past time to end our marriage. I wanted to set you free to relieve your pain. The news from the Doctor only reinforced the notion that this was the time. I knew that I had to bring things to a head if you wouldn't."

"I was wondering how you found us," She sighed.

"That text really bothered me at first. When I read it I felt betrayed. Not as a husband but as a best friend. I knew then, for sure, that you were seeing him with marriage on your mind and you hadn't told me, your supposed best friend, about it. It explained all the torment that you've had lately. I could see your pain and my heart ached for you. You didn't have to hide your love for Tom from me. It is hard to hide the glow of new love and that glow has been increasing, even through your anguish, for a few weeks now.

"Looking in the mirror each morning and watching Andi emerge, I have come to realize that I can no longer give you the happiness that we once had. I am standing in your way of finding that kind of happiness again. I found myself strangely pleased that my BFF was finding love but felt betrayed in that she wouldn't share her new found happiness with me."

"Andi?" She asked. She caught the nuance of the name change.

"I am having my name changed to Andrea Marie," I told her.

"That's a pretty name," She gives me a wane smile. The tears were drying up. I think that we both were coming off our emotional high, realizing that there are no hard feelings between us now that all the cards are on the table.

"I remember that evening last week," I reflected with a sigh, "when I came home and saw your tears and red puffy eyes. It was hard to miss the empty boxes of tissues. I also noticed your new evening dress hung over the chair in our room. You were distressed but didn't want to talk about what had happened. I figured that I'd just give you time and that you'd confide in me when you were ready. That's what best girlfriends do, or so I'm told."

"I am SO sorry," she said again sheepishly.

"Anyway," I continued, "getting let go at work today and hearing about my new chromosomes were the last two straws. I could no longer watch you suffer. I knew what I had to do. And I knew what I needed to do it. I decided to embrace my new girlhood and confront the situation head on.

"So I went shopping, bought this new outfit..."

"You look wonderful in it, by the way," She interrupted me. "It’s a great first dress. I love the hose and ankle boots too. I can see, however, that I need to help you learn more about makeup and how to sit like a lady in a dress."

"Thanks," I continue, "I think. The sales lady at the store said that it looked nice on me and helped me with the makeup. It was a rush job. I put it on your credit card, by the way.

"Anyway, I needed to feel as far away from being your husband as possible and this seemed to be the best way to do it. I knew that it was going to be hard and I needed the reminder of my new gender status to make it a little easier for me to get through. I also knew where you both were, so I went to Sullivan's and confronted you. It wasn't meant to be an angry confrontation. I hope that it didn't come across that way, though I am very put out at Tom for his and his grandmother's role in all this. I knew that I needed set you free and let you two get on with your lives. It was clear to me, as I approached your booth, you both have a strong romantic love for each other. I hate to admit it, but you seem to be a well matched couple. Ending our marriage is a little easier knowing that you are marrying a man who adores you and that we will continue to be best friends, that is if you still want to be."

Sandra eagerly nodded to confirm her desire to remain friends.

"Anyway, after I left the restaurant, I tracked down a lawyer who, amazingly, had time to help me this afternoon. It's like the stars aligned since it usually takes weeks to get into see her. She helped put together the dissolution paperwork, a petition for legal recognition of my new gender and a petition for a name change. She also told me how to change my name and gender on all official documents.

"So," I finally asked, "Did he propose again?"

Holding up her left hand, she showed me an engagement ring that made the one I had given her look like it came from the dime store.

"I see that he took my advice," I noted dryly. "That's quite a rock. Did he get to see your lingerie?"

She turned a bright red as she exclaimed, "No! He didn't, he hasn't, and he won’t until we’re married. I am still a married woman and adultery is not something that I am ready to add to my list of sins no matter how much I want a baby. He’s had the ring in his pocket since his first proposal, waiting for me to say yes."

"Now that we need to dissolve our marriage, however," She continued sheepishly, "he wants us to get married as soon as legally possible. And I guess that I do too."

"Do you really love him?" I asked earnestly.

"Yes," she admitted with a grimace, "I do. As I said, I just didn’t admit it to myself until recently because I loved you, as my husband, too. But our love has changed and opened the door for my love for Tom. It’s all been so confusing."

"Is he a good kisser?" I asked trying to lighten the mood.

"I don’t really know," She blushed. "Until today, he has only kissed me that one time on our date, just before he first proposed. That was a nice kiss, but I could tell that he doesn't have any real experience with kissing. I’ve been in such turmoil since then he hasn't tried again until today. He gave me a quick kiss after he slipped the ring on my finger after lunch, but I was so upset that the romance just wasn’t there. I'm afraid that I didn't kiss him back like he would have liked. I will need to do more research on the topic before I can render an informed opinion."

"Well," I said with resignation, "We are still married, but as I’m okay with the engagement, I suppose I’m okay with some kissing. Give him a big one for me."

I reach out and gave her a big hug while trying to stifle a tear or two of my own. "I love you girlfriend and wish you great happiness."

"I love you too," She started crying again. "Andi, can I ask a favor?"

"Sure, girlfriend," I responded.

"Can I have my wedding ring back?" She asked hopefully.

"Why?" I asked confused. "We won't be married. You need to wear Tom's"

"We are still married," She pointed out. "I would like people to know that I'm still a married woman."

"Won't your wedding ring get in the way of your new engagement ring?" I was confused. "I think that Tom would rather have you wearing his ring."

"A widow friend of mine," she explained, "put her wedding ring on a gold chain and made a necklace out of it to keep her old love near to her heart. She never wants to forget what she once had. I'd like to do the same. I don't want to forget what a great love we had as husband and wife. I can wear the necklace while still displaying my new commitment to Tom."

"Don't you think that Tom will object?" I asked.

"I don't think so," she replied. "Once we are no longer married, I won't wear it every day and he knows that I cherish the memory of my marriage to you."

I smiled as I slipped her ring off my ring finger and returned it to her.

We hugged again and I whispered "Thanks" in her ear.

When she came home the next night, she was wearing her new wedding ring necklace. She brought home an extra gold chain and we made a necklace for me with my wedding band on it. Sandra she wore that necklace, and her engagement ring, every day for the remainder of our legal marriage. I, similarly, wore my new necklace daily.

Breaking the hug, I reached down by my side and pick up the pile of papers that I had brought with me. "If you want that wedding, we have some work to do. The lawyer says that it could take up to two months for the dissolution to become final. That is if we can agree on terms and get this paperwork filed."

We were up late that evening working through the many details required to legally end our almost ten years of marriage. Fortunately, we were able to work out the details without much disagreement. She was feeling quite generous as a way to make up to me for her betrayal of my trust. It also occurred to me that assets would be the least of her worries after she married the apparently very wealthy Tom. We were reasonably well off but didn't have a lot and she wouldn't lose much, relatively speaking, by just walking away from it all. We had spent most of our money on useless fertility treatments and there wasn’t a lot in the bank. I was going to be the big loser on the monetary front as I would no longer have access to our combined incomes. I had just lost mine and she'd be taking her much larger income with her. I would need to find a new job soon. It was a melancholy evening for both of us.

"You know that you are my best friend?" she reminded me as we wrapped up the dissolution negotiation. "Thanks for making this hard time easier."

"That's what best friends do," I observed, "You've been doing that for me for a long time now. I need to be thanking you. I can never repay you for the support that you have been these last few months."

"Oh, but you have," she smiled. "You paid me back at lunch, and again this evening."

"How did I do that?" I said in confusion.

She warmed me with a smile as she explained, "You lifted the anguish from my heart and the torment from my mind when you set me free. It is the best payment that you could give me under the circumstances. You have also given me your friendship, something that I will always treasure. I know how much this has cost you."

This declaration resulted in another round of hugs and tears. There were a lot of those going around that evening.

Sandra helped me to move out of the master bedroom and into our teen girl room, as we had come to call it. It was, after all, made for me.

Going through the closet and my drawers, all male clothing that we encountered went into trash bags for delivery to a charity shop. After we sorted out everything, I didn’t have much left to move over to my new closet and drawers. Much of my newly acquired female clothing was already too big for me. I was still shrinking.

"It looks as if we need to go shopping again," Sandra observed.

"It better be the charity shops," I sighed, "until I can find another job."

She gave me a hug and replied, "I can help. We agreed that our incomes will be shared until the divorce is final. We’ll make sure that you have an adequate wardrobe before we’re done."

"We better wait until we know what size I will end up as," I pointed out. "We probably won’t find out until June. You will probably be remarried by then."

"Good point," she looked at me sadly.

Continuing to share her income until the end was one of the generous concessions that she offered to make. She insisted that we split what’s left in the accounts the day before the dissolution is final. Over the next couple of months, Sandra did her best to make sure that I had everything I needed. She spent almost her entire income from that period getting me set up for the future. She really didn't take much more than her car, clothes, and accessories when all was said and done.

By the time we had finished working together that evening, I could see that Sandra's torment was pretty much gone. I am pretty sure that there was some residual guilt, but she seemed truly happy for the first time in weeks. Both of us felt that a great burden had been lifted from our lives.

As I moved the last of my things out of the master bedroom, I closed the door behind me. Sandra was calling Tom to let him know the outcome of the evening's discussions.

I set the crystal on my new nightstand where I could keep an eye on the blue’s losing battle, knowing that the Cavalry would never come.

As I contemplated the meaning of the changing crystal, I decided to change my perspective. From then on, I would be watching the pink’s progress towards eventual triumphant victory instead of focusing on the blue's ultimate annihilation. I was going to embrace my new reality, embrace the pink, and find happiness in unexpected opportunity. There had to be opportunity somewhere in this mess and I wanted to find it. There would be no good to be found dwelling on what was lost. I needed to determine what I had gained instead.

Most of all, I just wanted the transition to be over so that I could truly move forward with my life. I sighed as I braced myself for another three months of transition.

That first night in my new room was lonely. It would take some time to get used to being alone in bed again. I was sure that Sandra was having the same problem, but her bed would not be lonely for too much longer.

----<0>----

With the help of my lawyer's office, I filed the dissolution, gender, and name change petitions the next day. There would be no looking back.

 

NotExpected 09

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn Most of all, I just wanted the transition to be over so that I could truly move forward with my life. I sighed as I braced myself for another three months of transition. That first night in my new room was lonely. It would take some time to get used to being alone in bed again. I was sure that Sandra was having the same problem, but her bed would not be lonely for too much longer. ----<0>---- With the help of my lawyer's office, I filed the dissolution, gender, and name change petitions the next day. There would be no looking back.

Chapter 9

After taking care of our legal business, I had taken my old clothes to the charity shop. While I was there, I had browsed their selections and had picked up some new-to-me jeans and a couple of blouses in my current size. Sandra and Tom were going out tonight so I decided to skip my gym workout to spend time at my childhood home. I fiddled around in the kitchen and fixed my parents dinner while waiting for them to come home from work.

"Something smells wonderful," My mother called out when she walked in the front door.

"Hello Mom," I called out. "I'm in the kitchen."

"Is that you Andy?" She asked sounding confused as she walked into the kitchen, "you look like a young girl."

I sighed. "Yes, Mom, it’s me."

I hadn't been home for over a month.

"Let me get out of these work clothes," she said. "I'll be back in a jiffy to help. Your father should be home soon. Where's Sandra?"

"She has other plans tonight," I replied.

"It's still progressing, isn't it?" She asked when she returned to the kitchen, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, Mom," I replied, "and I have a question."

"What's that dear?" she asked.

"What would you have named me if I'd been born a girl?" I inquired.

"I knew it was coming to this," she sighed as she started setting the dinner table for three. "We would have named you Susan, but your sister got that name. Have you picked a new name?"

"As you can see, you have another daughter," I told her. "The Doctor told me yesterday that my chromosomes are all now XX so I am giving into the inevitable. All my old male clothing went to the charity store today. There is no going back. As you know, I’ve been living as a girl for several weeks now so a new name sounded appropriate. I chose Andrea Marie."

"You poor dear," Mom gave me a quick hug as she tried to comfort me. "That’s a pretty name. Being female won't be all bad. Most of us women rather enjoy the experience. I think that you might just like it."

"I hope that you are right. I also have the stature of a thirteen-year-old," I pointed out.

"That is a problem," she admitted. "You look like one of my eighth graders."

Mom was the current Principal at the middle school that I attended as a child. She had been a gym teacher when I was a student there. She knew a lot about tweens and younger teenagers.

"A couple of other things happened yesterday," I began the real reason for the visit.

"Why do I get the feeling that they were not all good," she asked suspiciously. My Father chose that moment to walked in the door.

"Because they're not," I replied. "I will fill you and Dad in over dinner."

Fifteen minutes later we sat down to eat and I began to give them the lowdown on getting let go at work, the visit with my doctor, my little shopping trip, my confrontation with Sandra and Tom, the visit to the lawyer, and my heart-to-heart conversation with Sandra when I got home. They asked a lot of questions along the way. It was a very long conversation. We were finishing bowls of ice cream when I got to the end of my narrative.

"That was quite a day," Mom understated when I finished relating the events. "I’d love to see your new outfit. Do you want to move home?"

I hadn't really thought about that option. "Why would I do that?"

"Well," my father said, "We haven't really been in a divorce situation, but it seems that the couples separate when they decide to split the sheets."

"I'll have to think about that," I pondered the question. "Sandra and I are still best friends. We are just not lovers anymore. I did move into our spare bedroom last night. We are roommates now."

"Actually," Mom observed, "The last few times I've been around the two of you, I thought you had more of a mother/daughter relationship going, given the great differences in your apparent ages."

"Its funny that you should say that." I smiled to myself, "Others have noticed the same thing."

"So you're intent on living as a girl for the rest of your life?" Dad enquired.

"It doesn't look like I have much of a choice," I responded, "does it?"

"Maybe it’s none of my business," Mom observed, "but your conversation and actions, while more feminine than they were, seem out of alignment with your current body. It is as if you are a mature man in a young girl's body.”

"That's true," Dad contributed.

"That’s probably a pretty accurate assessment,” I admitted.

"You may physically be a girl now,” she continues, "but I don’t think that you really know how to BE a girl. You've missed a lifetime of training in the feminine arts. As I have watched you this evening, I have been trying to think of how we can help you overcome that little problem. We need to find a way to help you truly be a part of a woman’s world. If you truly are female from now on, I don't think that you'll ever be completely happy again until you learn how to be a girl. I have a few ideas on how to help you that would probably be easier to implement if you were to move home again."

My psychologist had also referred to this problem, but we hadn't really dealt with it yet outside of subtle changes to my wardrobe. She wanted to ease me into the role.

"Do I want to know what you have in mind?", I cautiously enquire.

Dad was clearly not comfortable with where this discussion was about to go.

"This conversation is getting above my pay grade," He interrupted with a joke. "I'll leave you ladies to it and I will clean the kitchen before finishing a project in the garage. Thanks for a great dinner, Andi."

With that, he got up, gave me a pat on the head like he used to do with my little sister when she was younger, and wandered off taking a pile of dirty dishes with him.

"Men," my Mother sighed. "They get uncomfortable when we start talking about women's things."

"So," I prompted her to get back on track, "do I want to know what you have in mind?"

"Not yet, dear." She replies in reassuring tone, "I need to work on a few things first to see if any of them are actually feasible."

My cell phone chose to ring just then. It was my mother-in-law.

As my mother-in-law had become close friends with my mother after Sandra and I became engaged, I put the call on speaker phone.

Sandra had apparently called and talked to her mother before Tom came to pick her up for their date.

"Sandra called and dropped quite a bomb just now," she stated. "Her father and I are still reeling from it. How are you doing Andy?"

"Remarkably fine," I told her with tongue firmly in cheek. "Besides losing my job, my gender, and my wife yesterday things couldn't be better."

"I hate to break it you, Andi," my mother interjected, "but I think that you lost your gender a while ago, and your marriage went with it. You are just now putting it all together. You've also lost your age."

"Your mother is right," my mother-in-law commented. "I have noticed it too. We have missed our favorite son-in-law the last couple of months. He's been replaced by a very nice young girl. Regardless, I am put out my daughter. She's moved on to a new man a bit too quickly, in my opinion. I can't help but to think that she's dumping you for a better offer at a time when you need her support the most. Imagine getting engaged to another man while still married to you. She must really want those babies to leave you like this."

"It's not that way. Tom's good for her," I told the women. "They didn't pursue their romantic relationship until it was apparent that the marriage was over. I gave them my blessing yesterday when we decided to dissolve our marriage.

"Give him a chance," I told my mother-in-law. "Tom is a good guy and he is good for Sandra. I think that you will like him."

"The jury is out on that one," she grumbled. "We'll sure miss you, Andy. We wish that things were different."

My mother-in-law and I have always been good friends. I had gotten lucky in the mother-in-law lottery. She told us that Sandra had tried to explain that this was not a case of simply leaving me for another man, though that is how it is turning out. I tried, several times, to assure her that I was okay with how things were developing as I was no longer the man that her daughter had married. It took her, and my mother, a while to finally realize that, since I will never be a man again, her daughter was entitled to find a new partner and that I was okay with that.

"As your mother pointed out," my mother-in-law stated, "you lost your gender a while ago. From what I've seen, however, you don't really know how to be a girl. You need some training."

I sighed, "Mom mentioned that."

"What do you say," my mother proposed, "that we get the women of our families together to discuss the issue. Andi could use the support. I think that we should include the teenagers as they are a bit closer to current trends among young women."

"Great idea," my mother-in-law agreed. At that point I was sidelined as these two strong willed women made arrangements for a family feminine summit. I had a feeling that I was going to lose control of part of my life.

As word spread about our dissolution, it wasn't long before each of the women in our immediate families called me to offer their condolences and assistance. I got the sense that I have a bunch of new mothers.

I also got the sense that Sandra would have to work hard to convince them that she's not dumping me. As a whole, they did not seem to be happy with her. I did my best to reassure each of them that things were not as they seemed.

The men, on the other hand, were totally silent on the subject of my change and had little to say about my pending divorce. Even after talking with my father and older brother, they were both pretty unhappy with Sandra for dumping me so quickly for another man. Again, I came to Sandra's defense. They didn't want to talk at all about my transformation. As everyone thought this was a spontaneous transformation, I think that the men were uncomfortable that it might just happen to them if they got too close to me.

-----<0>-----

Sandra and I decided that it did no good to try to hide my changes and the imminent demise of our marital status. We knew too many people. While we didn't advertise the changes, we were up front about them with people who asked or noticed. We just characterized my new age and gender as a spontaneous change and didn't make a big deal out of it. We tried to convince everyone that this was not something that either of us had wanted or sought. Those close to me tended to be supportive if not understanding. Particularly the women in my life. There were also quite a few people who just didn't know how to deal with the transformation and kept their distance. We couldn't give them any reason for the spontaneous change and that made some people nervous, leading to all sorts of strange speculation about what had actually caused my changes. While we're sure that it all started with Grandma Broussard, Sandra and I decided not to mention the ceremony and its impact. No one would believe us.

When people saw us together they understood the reasons behind our change in our marital status. We looked more like mother and daughter than husband and wife. What they had problem with was Sandra's quick engagement. Most people automatically assumed that Sandra had been unfaithful and was dumping me for a better offer before our dissolution became final. Dealing with that issue actually became more of a problem than dealing with my changes. I felt sorry for Sandra and stood by her whenever I could.

----<0>----

My weekly visits to the doctor and the psychologist continued.

At my next appointment, my psychologist was impressed with how I had handled all the devastating news on that fateful day and how I had resolved my problems with Sandra.

"How do you feel about it now?" she asked.

"Much better," I smiled at her, "Sandra's torment was hard for me to watch. It was hurting me too. Since we've put everything on the table, the tension has disappeared. We now understand how deep our bond is and will work hard to protect it. No more guilty secrets."

"How do you feel about it from the perspective of the injured husband?" she pressed.

"What husband?" I replied. "There has been no husband in our marriage for months. He died a quiet death.

"Sandra put it well," I told her, "We now have a widow being supported by her best friend. The husband in me has died and has been reborn as a supportive girlfriend. The supportive girlfriend is very happy for her best girlfriend who has found new love."

She made some notes before continuing, "How do you feel about the death of the husband?"

"I often miss him," I replied after a moment's thought. "I miss being an adult. It is frustrating being treated as a kid again. I do miss the marriage relationship that I had, but I think that we are deluding ourselves if we only remember the good things. If we are truthful, the marriage was strained before all this happened. Maybe what has happened to me was the best way to end something that might have died a slow death anyway. So, how do I feel about the death of the husband? I am sorry to see him go, but it appears to have been for the best."

"So," she pressed again, "you are not bitter to have been dropped by your wife for a better offer?"

The woman was starting to annoy me.

"Sandra did not drop me for a better offer," I corrected her. "The 'better offer' was not made until after her husband effectively died. She did not pursue or accept the better offer until after her marriage had effectively ended. How can I be bitter about that? It would be like a dead man being bitter when his widow rediscovered love with another man after he had passed. It doesn't make sense. I am happy for her."

She looked at me for a few moments before returning to writing in her notes.

"Let's talk about your transition," She changed the subject. "How do you think that is going?"

"I wish that it was over," I shrugged. "I am tired of being in between genders. As far as presenting as a girl goes, I am comfortable in my girl's clothing. I know that I pass convincingly as a female now."

"Do you think that dressing as a girl is helping you to feel more like a girl?" she asked.

"What does a girl feel like?" I asked, "I just feel like me. I am being accepted as a girl everywhere now and it feels natural. I blend in better now that I am wearing girls clothes."

"You told me that you bought and wore a dress with all the accessories to confront you wife and her new man," she commented. "Did that make you feel any different? Did it change the way you approached the couple?"

After thinking for a few seconds, I replied, "I guess it did, to some extent. Dressing up made a statement to Tom and Sandra that the marriage was truly over. The dress felt awkward since I had never worn one before. Sandra had to remind me how to sit without exposing myself. I gather that, in some ways, I looked like a guy wearing a dress for the first time, even though I do have a mostly female body. My mannerisms haven't caught up with my body yet."

"So," she reflected back, "are you saying that you haven't developed the mannerisms of a girl?"

"Yes," I admitted. "I think that's right. I don't have any real experience being female so it is hard to act like one."

"We should explore this," she commented as she wrote more in her notes.

"Would you be willing to wear your new outfit to our next visit?" She asked. "I think that we could learn a lot if you did."

"I can do that," I told her.

"You might want to consider adding a few skirts and dresses to your wardrobe," she advised. "Maybe some practice wearing them will help you adjust quicker to your new reality."

"I will take that under consideration," I promised her, thinking that the water in the pot just got turned up a notch. This frog was well on his way to being cooked.

Sandra and I went shopping for the suggested additions to my wardrobe. We picked up a mid length skirt and another dress. I would sometimes wear them at home, but it took some time before I was comfortable enough to wear them with ease.

I did wear my first dress to my next appointment.

----<0>----

The first Sunday in April our mothers called a meeting of all the females in the family over sixteen. The purpose of the gathering was to see what could, or should, be done to help me adapt to my new age and gender situation. It also gave the women a chance to really connect with the new me. Sandra tried talking me into wearing one of my two dresses or my skirt but I went to the meeting wearing jeans and a nice top instead. I felt more comfortable that way.

The assembled women knew that Sandra and I were dissolving our marriage because we were both female now, not because we wanted to leave each other. At that meeting Sandra and I did our best to convince the non-believers of the family that this is not something that we sought, but something that just was. We had not consciously done anything to turn me into a girl. We also tried to make it clear that Sandra and I would always be BFFs and love each other as sisters. We did our best to convince them that Sandra wasn't just dumping me for a better offer. It took a while before everyone seemed to be convinced. Once our relationship was clear, the focus shifted to exploring ways to help me fully adapt to my changes.

My mother started the discussion by pointing out that even in that evening's discussion, my behavioral patterns had a strong tinge of mature male that did not resonate with the young girl that I had become. I was much too mature and my thought patterns had an obvious male influence. While I had been becoming more feminine in my behaviors in recent months I still had a ways to go to be completely believable as a young girl. Much in my mannerisms were incongruous with my physical presentation. The other women agreed. They also agreed that I needed to become even more feminine if I were to operate in the world of women as a peer.

I was also very deficient in my training in the womanly arts. I didn’t know much about female clothing styles, hygiene, grooming, social interactions, etc.

"You don’t know much that a young teen girl would have learned growing up as a little girl,” my sister pointed out.

"Yes,” one of Sandra’s sisters added, "Do you have any idea how to style your hair? Not that you have much to work with, but every girl has played with her hair since she was a toddler. A teen can do amazing things with her hair without even thinking about it.”

"Have you ever painted your nails?” another woman asked before I could answer the prior question. "Every teen girl that I know has been doing that since she could hold a nail brush.”

"What about how to wear a dress?” someone else asked. "I don't think that any of us have ever seen you in a dress or skirt. Do you even own a dress? You probably don’t know how to protect your modesty while wearing a short skirt, or how cool it feels to twirl in the right kind of dress.”

"These are things that a girl your age would know,” my mother pointed out.

"Yes,” agreed my mother-in-law, "You should know these things if you are going to be a woman.”

"But I didn't ask to be a woman," I finally got a word in edgewise.

"That's moot," one of Sandra's sisters responded. "According to medical science you are a genetic girl. Do you know a way to change back?"

There were nods around the room supporting her statement.

"Medical science has been less successful at changing women into men than the other way around," another one pointed out. "From what I hear the results are less than satisfactory."

Not really sure that I wanted to know, I asked, "I’ve already purged my wardrobe of anything masculine. So what do you recommend that I do next?"

That question opened the floodgates.

There were almost as many suggestions as there were women in the room. There were, however, some commonalities. The primary commonality was that I needed to let go of any attempts to be male and start building a reservoir of female experiences. Of course that meant that I needed to get rid of all male clothing and start dressing as a girl, which I had already done. Unfortunately, the general opinion was that my wardrobe should be as girly as possible until I had eradicated any remnants of masculinity from my system.

I also needed to start accumulating experiences related to the other things that contribute to the making of the psyche of teen girl. As they compared their experiences from their girlhoods it became apparent that dress up games, playing with their mother's clothes, makeup, and accessories were a large part of the learning of young girls. Then there were the sappy Disney movies, teen chick flicks, playing with hair, and hanging with girlfriends. Some of the girls admitted to devouring teen girl magazines every month for tips on hair, makeup, clothes, boys, etc.

It is said that our character is the sum total of our experiences. I was sorely lacking in the experiences that make up the character of a teen girl. A lot of time was spent discussing the activities that I needed to do to start accumulating those experiences. A curriculum for a form of girl boot camp slowly emerged.

They felt that an overcorrection might speed up the process. I could always back off when I was finally completely presenting the behavioral patterns of a girl. Since I'd already had a couple of months to work up to the idea of being female, the suggestions of jumping into the role were not a big surprise nor repulsive.

I wasn’t so sure, however, that I liked the idea of jumping as deeply into the role as was being suggested. I wondered what my psychologist would think about these suggestions. While she was now encouraging me to start experimenting with skirts and dresses, she seemed to be easing me into the role instead of throwing me into the deep end, as these women suggested.

Amongst other things, it was agreed by the assembled women, that I should stick to dresses and skirts for the foreseeable future. I also needed to start experimenting with hair styling, fashion, and makeup. The assembled women felt that total immersion in girl culture would be the best way for me to make the transition and learn what I need to know to really BE a girl. I needed to start accumulating the experiences that every girl has. Kind of like language immersion when you want to learn a new language. It became apparent to me that all this would cost me more than a few dollars. I pointed out that funds were tight, but Sandra had already offered to bankroll the basics. As did my mother.

There was some disagreement about makeup. The younger women were adamant that I needed to spend a lot of time learning the fine art of makeup. After my first experience with the stuff, I tended to agree that I needed a lot more education in that arena if I was going to do it right. The older women were firm in the opinion that, if my age continued to regress, that I would be too young for more than the basics. I could learn makeup skills along with other girls in my new peer group once I started to grow up again.

I would end up spending every moment of free time studying one or more of these girl skills over the next few months. It was hard to cram twelve years of girl training into a few months.

The next commonality in the suggestions was that I needed to start spending some time with my new peer group. The idea of connecting with a peer group prompted a round of speculation as to how young I would be when the transformation was complete. Based on Grandma’s prophecy, which no one but Sandra and I knew about, I felt that the youngest I could be was thirteen but I was already there. Others pointed out that if age regression continued until my body completed the last remaining changes, that even younger was possible. We just didn’t know. As so few changes remained to be completed, it was decided that we’d assume twelve-years-old for now and adjust as needed. That age prediction turned out to be spot on when I finished my skeletal changes in mid-May.

Connecting with a peer group was felt to be important since girls band together as friends to learn as they experiment with their femininity in their early teen years. It was decided to wait until the changes were complete before pursuing this idea much further. There were a number of ideas floated on how to accomplish my peer socialization. Several of the women there had daughters who were just entering their teen years and offered to connect me with them. That idea didn't really sound right to me and a little awkward. How would it go down when I was introduced as their thirty-two year old uncle who was now a teen girl? I’m not sure that I would integrate well with young girls who knew who I had been. I was thinking that I needed to find girl friends who didn't know the old me.

My mother, bless her soul, came with the strangest idea of all as a solution to my non-contact with girls. As a middle school teacher and administrator for her whole career, she has worked with budding teenagers her whole life.

Mom's suggestion was that I enroll in middle school for a year. The grade would depend on what my final apparent age would be. This would totally immerse me in girl culture and give me a crash course in becoming one. No one had to know what or who I once was. She insisted that middle school is a time of transition where young girls start to figure out who they really are, just like I apparently needed to do. It is a time of confusion and experimentation. It is a time when no one really knows how things work. My awkwardness would not be out of place and could be easily explained as me being a tomboy. I pointed out that I already had a college degree. She said that I would be going to get educated in the feminine arts, not to get a new diploma.

She got a devilish grin on her face. "I'd love to see a male navigate the treacherous waters of middle school girl culture where, at any given time, a large portion of the girls are trying to deal with PMS."

My dear mother spent about half an hour convincing the other women that this was a good thing. In the end she won over just about everyone but me. I didn’t like the idea of going back to middle school. The first time through was bad enough. I didn't think that the academics would be a problem. My memories of middle school revolved around being a social outcast. I had been a geek and didn't fit into the social fabric of middle school all that well. I had few friends and the few friends that I did have banded together more for self preservation than out of true friendship. We were just a group of misfits trying to survive. It was interesting, however, that all of our little band of misfits were generally more successful in our chosen careers twenty years later and probably better adjusted than most of the bullies and mean girls that had ruled the middle school social structure.

As a way to squash the idea, I pointed out that, as I was getting the condo in the dissolution, I needed to make a living to pay the mortgage on the condo and for other living expenses. Middle school would get in the way of that.

Several of the ladies promptly jumped in and offered their homes to the "visiting cousin/niece/granddaughter" that would be my cover. They pointed out that I could sell or rent out the condo. Sandra mentioned that, without her income, I would probably not be able to make the mortgage payments even if I did find a decent job.

I should note that Sandra had offered to pay me alimony, which would have helped, but I had turned that down. I wanted to stand on my own two feet and not be a burden to her. I wanted our marriage split to be clean. I wanted us to both walk away unfettered. I should be able to do this on my own. I would have if we had never married. I think that my male pride was showing through during the negotiations.

In the afternoon's conversation, Sandra and my mother both offered to take me in. Those women with young girls in the house were particularly adamant that their homes would be the best place for me to gain my girl education. I think that at least one of them really just wanted me to be a live-in babysitter/nanny.

To appease the crowd, I said that I'd think about it when no further progress was being made in the discussion.

Sandra thought that the whole affair was entertaining. She got a gleam in her eye when we talked about my girl training. She was excited to do her part.

When we got home that night, we talked more about how to connect me with my new peer group. Neither one of us came up with any ideas better than what my mother had proposed.

Six weeks later I was still "thinking about it". During those six weeks, however I was taken clothes shopping on multiple occasions by several of the women along with their age appropriate daughters. The goal was to help me find clothes that a typical young girl would choose.  While my age regression seemed to be slowing, I still had to go shopping more than once to to find smaller clothes. I learned more about feminine undergarments than I ever figured out being married to a woman for a decade. I also learned about the myriad of clothing styles. My drawers and closet were beginning to fill with the colorful adornments of female life even though we tried to keep it to a minimum until we could be sure that my regression had stopped. Many of the clothes that became too big for me would come in handy when, and if, I ever started to grow again.

I also spent a number of afternoons after school let out with some of my teenage relatives getting coached in nail painting, hair styling, and makeup. They were brutal taskmasters and were satisfied with nothing less than perfection.

----<0>---

"That's too loose," one of my taskmasters said in frustration one afternoon. "It will fall apart in no time. Take it apart and try again."

I was trying to braid her younger sister's hair. I had to admit that my attempt looked nothing like what she had demonstrated.

"This is hard," I sighed.

"No it is not," she firmly informed me. "This is the easiest thing you can do short of making pigtails."

I had screwed that up too.

"I will show you one more time," she patiently instructed me, then she made a perfect braid in seconds flat.

"Wait until you try making French braids," she warned me. "Those can be tricky at first."

Oh joy!

----<0>----

Looking in the mirror, I stated the obvious, "I look like a clown."

"Yes you do," one of my high school aged teachers agreed. "The eyeliner needs to have a more consistent width and the mascara is unevenly clumped on your eyelashes. The eye shadow could be a lot more even and symmetrical. The colors don't really match your outfit either."

Her friend handed me a makeup wipe, "Why not clean it off and try again? You will get it. Eventually. You should practice more at home. Remember how long it took for you to learn how to apply lip gloss correctly?"

And I had been told that lip gloss was a no-brainer.

----<0>----

It took awhile for my young instructors to forget that I was their thirty-two year old uncle before I started hearing a lot about the happenings in middle and high school while we worked together on my girl education. I learned who broke up with who, what fashions were in style, who dished who, the crazy dumb stunts that boys used to try impress the girls, who the cutest guys were, what a drama queen the most popular girl was, how cute the track star was, etc. It was like no other world that I had ever encountered.

One of the upsides of shopping with, and being trained by, the women of the family is that they became more comfortable with the new me. Each time I went shopping with someone new, I had to overcome their reservations about my female status. After a few hours of shopping, however, they would relax and I was soon just one of the girls. Getting nearly naked in front of them in a changing room usually generated stares and questions the first time around, but they soon realized that my body was pretty much the same as theirs and everything became normal. It wasn't long before some of the bold ones were changing in front of me while they tried on new outfits. I had been changing in a women's locker room at the gym for some time, so the nearly naked women were not an issue for me.

Sandra started subscriptions to several popular teen girl magazines so that I could read about the concerns and interests of tween girls. In addition to time spent with my personal girl trainers, I spent hours watching YouTube videos on the subjects they were trying to teach me. Who would have thought that being a girl could be so involved? I ended up investing in all manner of the tools, implements, potions, and powders required to perform the tasks that I was learning about.

Following the advice of my various female mentors, I started wearing skirts and dresses almost exclusively in an attempt to get more in touch with my developing feminine side. At first, the new clothes felt very foreign, but with time I came to find that I actually liked it all. The feel of soft skin hugging underwear and the swish of a skirt became desirable. I found that twirling in a dress was kinda cool, as was mentioned in the big family meeting. I wasn't so thrilled about wearing bras as I felt they were constricting, but I was assured that it was better than going without. I noticed the truth of this advice as my own breasts started to fill my A cup bras. When I no longer needed the silicone assistance I was thankful for the support. Sandra had me wearing short dresses and skirts until I learned to sit in a ladylike fashion without giving cheap thrills to any guys that might be around. Without my male equipment in the way, I found that crossing my legs in a feminine fashion was only natural and helped to protect my modesty.

I even had my hair cut into an easy to care for longish curled under bob style. It is amazing what a difference a cute hairstyle makes. The beautician assured me that it would grow out nicely if I wanted long hair.

Sandra took it upon herself to help me with my girl training homework. When Tom wasn't around, we'd spend hours on these activities while she gushed about the latest on the Tom front and the wedding plans. At first it seemed very weird, but I soon started looking forward to these sessions. I was getting even closer to Sandra as a girlfriend, and I liked what these skills did for my looks. I decided that I'd rather be a cute girl than a slob.

Speaking of becoming a slob, Sandra and I had continued our workouts at the gym to avoid that very possibility. After their engagement, Tom joined us most days. He pointed out that he had a gym at his house, but I felt more comfortable at the more public gym that we had joined. I was learning a lot by observing the other women and girls in this setting. When Sandra had first dragged me into the ladies locker room, I had been petrified. Now it was no big deal. The locker room gossip gave me a greater insight into what was important to women. It had never occurred to me how defensive most women feel around men until I started listening to them warn each other about the various predatory males that frequented the gym. It helped me to understand why women's only gyms were becoming so popular.

People at the gym often mistook us for a family, and I guess the roots of one were starting to form. After working out, I would go home or off to do my own thing as the two of them would frequently disappear on dates to do whatever. I didn’t ask.

By the beginning of May, we were still struggling with how to connect me with girls in my new peer group. My work with my subject matter expert instructors helped to a limited extent. Unfortunately no matter how comfortable we became around each other, my mentors still treated me like their thirty-two year old uncle who had decided to become a girl. I was never one of them.

There were, basically, two problems standing in the way of my connecting with a new peer group.

The first being that we still weren’t sure what age group that would be. My doctor assured me that the age regression seemed to have almost stopped at a twelve-year-old stature. She was impressed with the speed at which my A cup breasts had formed and thought that it might be a sign that I would start growing up again. My gynecologist was also optimistic that my transition was well on its way to completion.

The second problem was my insertion into a girl peer group. School was still in session and wouldn’t get out until the week of the wedding, which was fast approaching. It was too late in the year for me to jump into middle school as just another one of the girls. The next term didn’t start again until the end of August. The female family network was still chewing on ideas of how to help me make true new girlfriends but nothing made more sense than being dropped into a school environment.

One of Sandra's nieces, who happened to be one of my hair styling instructors, got talked into inviting me to a Friday night sleepover that she was having for her friends. It did not go well. It seems that the niece in question had, over the past couple of months, been telling her friends of the uncle who was becoming a girl. I was a novelty and was not fully accepted as a girl that night. Some of the girls kept their distance and at least one had chosen to not attend the party because of me. They were unusually reserved while I was there. I could tell that they saw me as a boy in a girl disguise. I stuck it out until the morning, but left before the other girls started getting up. It seems that this wasn't the way to work my way into teen girl culture.

Every once in a while whatever little bit of male that was left in me yelled STOP! I had to take time out for my old favorite past times. I did a little wood working in the garage, skied or hiked some of my favorite trails, read a few action novels, and even played my favorite violent video games. I would have liked to go sailing, but winter in Wisconsin is neither the time or place for that activity. One day, while skiing on the local cross country ski trails by myself, an older guy tried getting a bit too friendly. It felt wrong and creepy. I quickly excused myself and got out of there. Tom and Sandra chided me for being out alone like that when I told them about my experience. I quit hiking and skiing without a companion. Since everyone was either working or in school that meant that I only got to go out on weekends if I could talk someone into coming along. It's just not safe for a young girl to be out on her own in today's world.

It came home to me that life as a young girl had its serious limitations, whether or not I liked it.

----<0>----

Author's Note: Thank you for hanging in there! I am pleased that I am not the only one who likes this story. I will be doing a little international travel over the next week and will not be able to post, so there will be a break in the action. Also, please forgive me but this chapter and the next are not necessarily sequential. Andi decided, as this story is a reminiscence of past events, to address the next parts of her story by topic instead of by sequence. There is overlap in the time lines. The approach is likely to continue. You will see what I mean when you read it. She has tried to give time references as appropriate for the various story elements. Please don't let that confuse you.

NotExpected 10

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn Every once in a while whatever little bit of male that was left in me yelled STOP! I had to take time out for my old favorite past times. I did a little wood working in the garage, skied or hiked some of my favorite trails, read a few action novels, and even played my favorite violent video games. I would have liked to go sailing, but winter in Wisconsin is neither the time or place for that activity. One day, while skiing on the local cross country ski trails by myself, an older guy tried getting a bit too friendly. It felt wrong and creepy. I quickly excused myself and got out of there. Tom and Sandra chided me for being out alone like that when I told them about my experience. I quit hiking and skiing without a companion. Since everyone was either working or in school that meant that I only got to go out on weekends if I could talk someone into coming along. It's just not safe for a young girl to be out on her own in today's world. It came home to me that life as a young girl had its serious limitations, whether or not I liked it.

Chapter 10

It turned out that getting let go from work was a timely thing. I was in pain most of April and the early part of May. While the pain was not excruciating, it was always there. At times the pain was moderately severe and prolonged. Usually at night. I could normally keep the pain under control with over the counter painkillers. Occasionally I had to use something a little stronger that had been prescribed by my doctor. If I had still been working, I would have taken a lot of sick days.

The pains that I endured were similar to what my mother had called growing pains when I was young. For me, however, it was a case of shrinking and realigning instead of growing. During this time period, my skeletal structure slowly and painfully morphed to align with my new chromosomes. My pelvis widened a bit into something more fitting a preteen child-bearing female. My shoulders contracted to typical female specifications and I lost a lot of height. My facial structure morphed to display a very feminine heart shaped face with high cheekbones. If you had known me before the changes, you could still some of the old Andy. I was a much better looking young feminine version of my former self. I developed a graceful, slender, feminine neck. The pitch of my voice rose to be a very definite soprano. I was still eating almost nothing so my weight continued to drop.

My appetite returned, after a fashion, in early May and the structural changes seemed to stop, relieving the pain. My doctor said that I now, at 5' 2" and 90 lbs, possessed the skeletal structure and the stature of a tall, skinny, twelve-year-old girl. Since I was now a preteen, it would seem that Grandma Broussard was a little off in her estimate of the age of the girl that would be Sandra’s best friend.

By all accounts, I had turned into one of the cutest twelve-year-olds that anyone claimed to have ever seen. You had to be one of my doctors to view the only external evidence that I was not complete female yet. I was only missing a vaginal opening to be complete. I had a clitoris, the urethra was in the right place, and the labia were perfectly formed but I didn’t have an opening. My medical support team were fascinated. An ultrasound showed a lot of confusion inside, which accounted for the frequent strong cramping that I had been experiencing.

My gynecologist had been monitoring me since the end of March. In mid-May, she assured me that if the changes continued, and why wouldn't they, I'd be a fully functioning female in short order.

The crystal agreed with the doctor’s assessment. It was getting progressively more and more pink. I found myself urging it to hurry up and complete the transition. There wasn't very much blue left at all. The remaining bluish tinge was only found at the heart of the crystal.

——<0>——

Sandra turned thirty-two in mid-April. I encouraged Tom to take her out for a romantic dinner, but Sandra wanted to include me in the celebration, so we ended up having a quiet dinner at the condo with just the three of us. Tom and I worked together to fix her a nice meal. Tom turned out to be a fair hand in the kitchen, making a very credible Louisianian Jambalaya. I made a birthday cake which we ate it with ice cream for dessert before opening her presents.

I gave Sandra a card with a drawing of two girlfriends walking together, one with her arm around the shoulders of the other. The caption read: ‘Best Friends make the good times better and the hard times easier.’

When she opened the small box that I had wrapped for her she gushed, “I love it!”

My gift to her was a pair of simple necklaces, each having half of a heart. When the pendants were put together the engraving said ‘Best Friends’. They were made of sterling silver and I had one engraved with ‘Sandra’ and the other with ‘Andi’.

“I guess that this one belongs to you,” she said as she hung the one with my name around my neck. I hung hers around her neck and we hugged.

“I love you,” I whispered in her ear. “It’s not much, but it says what’s in my heart.”

“And what’s in mine,” she whispered back. “It is a very thoughtful gift. Actually, you gave me an early birthday present last month when you set me free. That was a true act of love that I can never repay, but these are wonderful too. These necklaces represent our love and friendship, and speaks to your kindness.”

We both cried mostly happy tears for a minute before breaking our hug.

Tom gave her a very nice, and expensive, pair of dangly diamond earrings. She gave him a quick hug and a peck on the lips when she told him that she absolutely loved them.

The poor guy looked confused.

When Sandra was off taking a birthday call from one of her sisters and the two of us were alone cleaning up after dinner, he quietly asked me, “I give her a couple of thousand dollars worth of diamonds and all I get is a quick kiss. You give her a nice, but relatively inexpensive necklace and she hugs you like she got the best thing in the world. What’s up with that?”

I sighed, “First of all, this is not a competition. You’ve already got the girl, but you still have a lot to learn about women, lover boy. She does love your gift. It is impressive. Mine, on the other hand means something special to her. The necklace may not be much, but it represents years of love and shared experience. The necklace, by itself, is not important. The value is in what it represents. Meaning trumps monetary value every time with your girl. You need to remember that.”

“What you are saying,” he reflected back to me, “is that I don’t need to spend lots of money on gifts for her. I just need to select something with meaning.”

“Who said that you were a slow learner?” I grinned as I gave him a poke in the ribs. “The gift should speak to your relationship.”

“This is going to be hard,” he groaned.

“It doesn’t hurt if your gifts are meaningful AND expensive,” I gave him a sly smile. “But, with Sandra, meaning is better than expensive if you can only do one. Money does not mean as much as love to her.”

“Thanks for the tip,” he sighed.

“No problem, lover boy.” I grinned. “Just keep treating her right and demonstrate your love every day and it will all workout. She will pay you back by doing the same for you. Remember that she’s marrying you, not your money.”

——<0>——

Speaking of money, after getting let go by the University, I spent a lot of time worrying about what I was going to do to earn a living. I applied for quite a few jobs without success. The glowing recommendation from my former supervisor usually got me in the door but when I showed up for interviews, the interviewer typically got mad at me for pretending to be an adult.

I thought of going into business for myself, but my current expertise was in helping people with their computers. Since I had to interface with real people, I would run into the same problems with a consulting business that I had at the University.

Not only that, but the only business expertise in the family was leaving me. I have never had any talent for business. I strongly dislike marketing, accounting, and all the other tasks that a business owner must do.

I wasn’t a software developer so I couldn’t hide at home and just write code either.

The clock was ticking on my severance pay. I was getting very worried as the weeks went by without a job. Unemployment benefits would never make up for the lost salary.

As I previously mentioned, I was getting the condo in the dissolution. Sandra wouldn't need it. I knew that I had to find a way to pay the mortgage or I would have to rent or sell it soon. My share of the soon-to-be-separated joint savings and checking accounts wouldn't last too long and it was unlikely that I would find a good enough job to afford the mortgage payments. It had taken both of our incomes to qualify for the loan in the first place.

Sandra did agree to pay rent until she moved in with Tom after the wedding, which helped for a few weeks. I was seriously thinking of putting the unit up for rent when she moved out. I hadn’t made up my mind whether to take up my mother's offer to move back home or to move in with the newlyweds, though I was leaning towards my mother’s offer. It was quickly becoming apparent that I would have to do one or the other.

Sandra had told me, early on, that I could live with her and Tom and become a part of their family, as stated in the prophecy. I wasn't convinced that was in my best interest. She adamantly reaffirmed that she really did want me in her life and had told Tom, in no uncertain terms, that she and I would continue to be close friends and confidants. What she had proposed was a lot like having your wife's best friend and/or ex-husband move in with you as part of the family. That seemed a little weird to both Tom and me. She tried to convince us that her proposal was different because of our apparent age difference. It was more like him marrying a woman with a preteen daughter. The girl is part of the package. I had to think about that idea.

——<0>——

I started having trouble driving my big F250 pickup truck when my height slipped under 5’ 4” at the end of March. It was hard to reach the pedals and to see over the dashboard. It was with great sadness that I traded my favorite truck for a five-year-old Honda Accord, which is much more friendly to short people. The car was a bit worn around the edges, but I eventually came to love it. I even gave it a name: Butterfly. It was a dainty, compared to my truck, beige colored car.

Unfortunately, I was stopped a few times by the police on suspicion of joy riding in my parent's car. Sandra came to my rescue each time since my driver’s license didn't match the person. The letter from my doctor about the changes I had experienced was useful in convincing the police to back off. I had been waiting for the name change to take place so that I could get a license that had a female name to go with the new gender identifier, but finally broke down and got a new driver’s license in the name of Andrew Matthew, female, age 32. My picture on the license was pretty cute, for a change.

I got pulled over a few more times after updating my license. The policemen didn’t seem to be convinced that I really was thirty-two even when they ran a check on my license. They were convinced that I was no more than thirteen. I think that word got around the local police force that it wasn’t worth stopping me. One day when I got pulled over, there was a long wait while the policeman was obviously running my plate through dispatch. Eventually, the policeman turned off his lights and drove away with a wave without bothering to come check my license. The dispatcher must have told him of my circumstance. I didn’t have any more problems with the local police after that. Nevertheless, I wasn’t about to try my luck outside my hometown unless it was absolutely necessary.

——<0>——

After their formal engagement, Tom and Sandra's wedding preparations kicked into high gear. It was decided to hold the wedding in Louisiana where Tom's substantial extended family was centered. As luck would have it, the earliest date that they could hold the ceremony and accommodate the most family was exactly nine months after our first visit to the Bayou State. It was also was on the day that would have been Sandra’s and my tenth wedding anniversary. A pair of coincidences that was not lost on either of us.

I eventually resigned myself to the inevitable, and, as her BFF, was immersed in the wedding planning. We spent many a long evening going over the plans while Sandra gave me girl lessons.

When Sandra and I were married, we were pretty poor and just out of college, so our wedding had been simple. Not so with this wedding. Sandra's commissions had been piling up and she was marrying a wealthy man from a prominent family who was ecstatic that their last child was finally getting married. It quickly became obvious that Tom’s family expected a big wedding and no expense was to be spared. Tom and his family picked up most of the bill. Sandra’s parents had already paid for one wedding for Sandra and, being merely upper middle class instead of filthy rich, weren’t excited about going into debt for another one.

I know that the couple would have been happy with a quick visit to a Justice of the Peace to do the deed, but that would not have gone down well with Tom’s family. Sandra admitted to me that, while she had been happy with our modest wedding, as a little girl she’d always dreamed of having a big wedding. She was excited to finally have one.

I went dress shopping with Sandra and her mother and we looked at dozens of dresses before she decided on a full skirted affair with an impossibly long train that cost a little more than three months of my former university salary. She could have spent a lot more. The dress seemed to be missing a lot of its top, showing her shoulders and a lot of cleavage. I think that we spent just as much time finding the right lingerie to go with it. That wasn’t cheap either. I am constantly amazed that the cost of a few ounces of women’s fine lingerie. Ounce for ounce, it rivals the price of silver. I am pretty sure that Tom knew that he'd won the sexual lottery when he peeled Sandra’s wedding dress off her on their wedding day and baby making began in earnest.

Early in the process, Sandra approached me as her best friend to be her Maid-of-Honor. I pointed out to her that I was a little young looking to be a Maid-of-Honor and too old to be a flower girl. It also just seemed wrong for the Bride to recruit her ex-husband to be the Maid-of-Honor. I wryly suggested that I be the one to give her away as I was the last one to have the honor to "hold her hand". At first, I wasn't sure that I even wanted to go, but I saw that it would mean a lot to her, so I consented to a least being there. She eventually wore me down and I signed on to be the youngest looking ever Maid-of-Honor. This commitment put me even deeper into the wedding planning.

There were endless details to attend to. As Maid-of-Honor, I was obligated to organize a wedding shower and bachelorette party. I had no idea where to begin. Sandra's mother and one of her sisters came to my rescue and helped with the planning. As the rest of the bridesmaids were chosen, they also started to help. I didn't realize just how many women that Sandra was friends with until we started putting together invitation lists. It was daunting and I felt like a fraud with my name next to those of all these real women.

The couple had receptions both in Louisiana the day of the wedding and at the house in Wisconsin right after the honeymoon. The one at the house was an informal barbecue buffet with a couple of hundred of their closest friends and business associates along with family. The parties ended up being the social event of the year in both towns. I nearly choked when I saw the budget allocated for the wedding and two receptions. The budget, covered mostly by Tom, equaled two years of my former annual salary, before taxes, and nobody seemed to care. Hanging out with the rich took some time to get used to.

Pulling off a big wedding in only three months takes a lot of effort. Tom hired a couple of wedding planners, one to handle all the arrangements in Wisconsin and another to handle things in Louisiana. The wedding planners cleared their schedules and worked full time on the wedding, with Tom, Sandra, and their mothers intimately involved in the bigger decisions. I was also dragged into the planning.

The wedding preparations turned out to be a welcome distraction through the first of May. The planning helped to take my mind off the pain of my skeletal restructuring.

Sandra and Tom went on dates as often as they could. Their relationship seemed to deepen with every time they went out. I spent many a lonely evening at home, practicing my feminine arts, while waiting for Sandra to get home. She seemed to love to have someone to share the euphoria of each evening with. If I was asleep when she got home, she’d wake me up to talk about her deepening love for Tom and their plans for the future. It was a bit of a downer for me, but it was good to see her so happy and bubbly. I am pretty sure that, on these evenings, she forgot that she was talking to her soon-to-be ex-husband instead of her BFF. I wondered if she was this way after we got engaged?

Sandra would be moving in with Tom after the wedding, of course. When I was non-committal about joining them, she kept trying to convince me. Tom eventually got on board with the idea and joined forces with Sandra to entice me to become part of their household.

I was invited to his house a few times for war councils as plans were being made for the wedding. They tried enticing me with the opulence of his mansion.

Sandra was truly winning the lottery.

The house was five to six times the size of our upscale three-bedroom condo, sat on ten acres of prime land, and required a housekeeper and groundskeeper to keep things running. The driveway must have been a hundred yards long, after you passed through an imposing security gate at the street. Being located on a hill overlooking Lake Michigan, the house had a stunning view. The grounds were immaculate and there was a private dock in a well-protected cove. Of course, the rich guy had pools, both inside and out, and a court that could be used either for tennis or basketball. There was a large flat lawn out front where it is rumored that helicopters occasionally landed. There was a large nanny apartment over the five-car garage. There were outbuildings that included two small guest cottages, a large shed, and a large barn-like building that had apparently been built as some kind of studio by a prior owner. The studio building had two stories and at least twice the square footage as our condo.

After the first couple of visits to the mansion, I was still not responding positively to their efforts to get me to move in with them. It was on one of the third visit to his mansion that Tom finally dangled the right carrot in front of me.

The first couple of times I visited he showed us all the rich guy stuff that most people are interested in. He also showed me the suite that would be my room. It was amazing, with a sitting area, a king-sized princess bed complete with canopy, a walk-in closet that looked like it could be a warehouse, and a bathroom that you could get lost it. It was all fine and good, but not enough to draw me in. But on my third visit, Sandra suggested that he show me the inside of the studio building.

He had, off-handedly, mentioned that he used the studio as his creative space during our prior visits but didn’t focus on it, thinking that we wouldn’t find it interesting. Sandra went out there once when he needed to get something and one look was enough for her to realize that I would die to see such a place, being the techno geek that I am. I knew that Tom was a fellow techno geek, but I didn't realize just how much of tech wizard he was until he showed me the Studio.

I was bowled over just walking through the door.

"OMG!" I had exclaimed in reverent awe when we first walked into the building.

"You like it?" He asked with a smile.

"This place is amazing!" I enthused as I tried to take it all in.

The ground floor was totally open and had a high ceiling. There was a machine shop on one side of the space, fully equipped with the latest and greatest automated milling machines, lathes, cutters, etc. There were welding machines and everything else that a mechanic/machinist could ever want. He showed me all the equipment and some of the current projects that he and his team were fabricating. He told me that he had several technicians that worked full time with him developing and testing prototypes of his inventions. As he gave me the tour, he explained that the reason that he wanted Sandra to help on the financial side of things is that he was targeting the medical equipment business for his next start up. This I already knew. Her expertise was a perfect fit for his business plan. When he discovered that the medical industry was competitive with the defense industry in wealth, he had decided to focus his energies there. He had spent most of the last year researching the medical equipment and prosthetics industry and toying with new designs for each as he discovered opportunity. He had spent a lot of time talking with medical professionals to see what they really needed to do their job better. He already had several design projects underway.

In other parts of his shop, he had assembly areas, an electronics development area, and even some wood shop equipment. I was amazed at the quality of everything on display.

Upstairs, there was a large room with four state-of-the-art workstations and two top of the line 3D printers.

"We do a lot of design optimization," he explained. "We are trying to design products that are efficient, effective, and cost as little as possible to manufacture. The computing power required to get answers in a timely fashion is very substantial."

He then opened the door into the computer room at the back of the building and I fell in love.

There, in the middle of the room as a small mainframe and rack upon rack of hard drives, switches, air conditioning equipment and other computing parts and pieces.

Having your very own computer center is WAY beyond cool. There are not words to describe it. I about burst into flame with the excitement.

"You weren't joking about needing computing power," I observed when I could collect myself, I was so excited that I felt like hopping up and down and squealing like, well, like a young tween girl at a Jonas Brothers concert. I barely restrained myself.

"Who maintains all of this?" I asked in wondering awe once they peeled me off the ceiling.

"We have a contract with a software guy who manages the center for us," He grinned at me. He and Sandra were both laughing at my obvious excitement. "He maintains the system and optimization software, making modifications as needed. We call the manufacturer if there's any problem with the hardware and they fly a technician in if something needs working on."

I wandered around the room in awe, almost afraid to actually touch anything. I did risk a gentle caress of the mainframe. "I would love to spend time here."

"The university has gone almost exclusively to PCs," I mentioned to him. "But the engineering college has their own mainframe computing center for the bigger projects and simulations. The science researchers use it too. They even let me help them out with it from time to time. I think that your setup is even more impressive"

"Don't be so modest, Andi." Sandra chided me with a grin. "From what you've told me, you even found a way to increase the speed of their machine."

"That was a fluke," I waved off the compliment. "Their technicians just couldn't see the obvious."

I sighed.

"What's wrong," Tom asked with concern.

Sandra answered for me, "What's wrong, is that I think that working with your computer system would be a dream come true for little miss computer geek."

"Really?" Tom asked thoughtfully.

I just nodded.

The rest of the tour was anti-climactic, but impressive just the same. I just don't remember much else as I was overwhelmed thinking about that computing facility.

It had never occurred to me that Sandra was marrying the real-world equivalent of Tony Stark.

I couldn't get that computer system out of my mind. The computer geek in me really wanted to spend some time with it.

Tom promised me access if I moved in with them.

Oh, that was so VERY tempting!

At one-point Sandra excused herself to take care of some detail related to the wedding. I think that the tour bored her. This was one of the first times that Tom and I had ever been alone together.

After she was gone, Tom said with sincerity, “You know that I didn’t intend to take Sandra from you?”

I sighed, “You didn’t take Sandra from me, your Grandmother’s magic accomplished that. We wouldn’t be standing here if she hadn’t turned me into a girl.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, “I feel responsible for that. I know how much your marriage meant to her and to you and I tried to honor that. I did my best to stay out of it until Sandra informed me that the marriage was over. Honestly, I thought you were a great guy. I think that we could have been friends.”

“For the record,” I informed him with another sigh, “I think that you are a pretty great guy yourself. You treat Sandra with respect, and I appreciate that. Your love for her is obvious. I agree that we could have been friends if you hadn’t been so infatuated with my wife. Maybe we can be friends now that there is no longer competition for her affections.”

“Maybe,” he replied, “I’ve never been friends with a young girl before, but I think we can make it work. We do seem to have a number of common interests, beside Sandra.

“I hope that she can come to love me as much as she loves the memory of Andy and their time together,” he said wistfully. “Your love must have been a wonder to behold. I am more than a little intimidated by her memory of what you two had and with the love that you two share now. I don’t know if I will be able to measure up.”

“Just keep treating her right,” I advised him, “and build your own good memories with her. Love grows over time with shared loving experiences.

“If you don’t treat her right,” I added with a stern expression, “you’ll have me to deal with. I’ll be watching you.”

He groaned, “Nothing like a little pressure!”

With a sly grin, he asked, “What should I know about her to stay on her good side?”

I laughed, “You are on your own there, buddy. You need to gain those insights on your own the same way I did. By experience.”

——<0>——

As the wedding plans and my girl training ground on, I kept in touch with my lawyer.

One afternoon at the end of April she called me to let me know that we had a court date set in mid-May.

I let Sandra know about our upcoming court appearance when she got home from work. She broke her date with Tom that night and the two of us stayed home together and ignored the phones.

We pulled out our photo albums and spent the evening reminiscing. That evening we laughed a lot and cried a lot as we talked about the good times that we had shared.

It was a double chocolate ice cream kind of evening. We consumed more than was healthy.

I learned that chocolate ice cream is surprisingly therapeutic.

NotExpected 11

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn As the wedding plans and my girl training ground on, I kept in touch with my lawyer. One afternoon at the end of April she called me to let me know that we had a court date set in mid-May. I let Sandra know about our upcoming court appearance when she got home from work. She broke her date with Tom that night and the two of us stayed home together and ignored the phones. We pulled out our photo albums and spent the evening reminiscing. That evening we laughed a lot and cried a lot as we talked about the good times that we had shared. It was a double chocolate ice cream kind of evening. We consumed more than was healthy. I learned that chocolate ice cream is surprisingly therapeutic.

Chapter 11

"That seems to be a lot for a weekend," I observed as Sandra rolled a large suitcase to the entry of our condo.

She just shrugged, "I don't really know what I'll need. You'll be doing the same thing as you embrace your femininity. A girl has to be prepared for anything. Unlike guys, who only need one or two changes to be prepared for just about any occasion."

It was a Friday in mid-May and the day of the hearing on our dissolution. I also had a hearing on my petition for a name and gender change. Our plan was to drive together to the Courthouse in my car. After the hearing, Tom was going to whisk Sandra away on a corporate jet to meet his parents and extended family in Louisiana. Tom didn’t actually own his own jet but he did subscribe to a corporate jet plan, kind of like a time-share condo. He was entitled to so many "free" trips a year, if you call the exorbitant annual dues free.

With the wedding only a month away, Tom's family was annoyed that they had not met his fiancé face-to-face. Tom and Sandra thought it best to wait until after the dissolution was final before taking her to meet the clan. Tom’s family knew that Sandra was in the midst of a divorce and that she didn’t want to meet the family until she was a single woman again. They could, grudgingly, accept the excuse.

Of course, Tom had already been vetted by Sandra's family as they all live in the area. Sandra told me that the first meeting of Tom with her family had been very tense. Her family hadn’t yet come to grips with my exit from their family circle. I had been a well-loved member of Sandra's family and no one was particularly happy that Sandra had found a new man. At that point they still needed to be convinced that I wasn't being dumped for a better offer. It took time, and some input from me, before her family started to take Tom into their hearts as they had done with me. This was expected. Sandra and I knew that, given the way things had transpired, it would be a while before Sandra's family was entirely comfortable with Sandra's new husband. Being the basically good guy that he is, Tom did eventually win them over. I was pleased, however, that I was so well thought of by my soon-to-be ex in-laws.

Before she left, Sandra and I had talked a lot about her first trip to Louisiana to meet Tom's family. To say that she had been nervous is an understatement. Tom's father was a civil court judge and his mother was a lawyer that specializes in family law. Tom is their youngest child and had been the only one unmarried at the time. His siblings had several children each, with the oldest few of Tom's nieces and nephews being about the same as my apparent age. While he was the richest sibling, his brother and sister were no slouches in the money-making department either. They were an intimidating group.

Sandra had been on the phone a lot with her future mother-in-law as the wedding planning had progressed but had avoided giving her the specifics of how she and Tom came to be a couple. That would all come to a head that weekend. And she was scared to death about meeting the family for the first time.

"Nice outfit," I observed as she grabbed a bagel and orange juice out of the small kitchen.

"You don't think it's too much?" She nervously asked. We must have spent two hours last night pulling outfits out of her closet and debating the pros and cons of each. She finally decided on a conservative skirt suit that would be appropriate for both the hearing and the introduction to Tom's family. We even debated what lingerie she should wear. I suggested that she probably didn't want to feel too sexy when meeting the Judge and Tom's family, so she went with something plain and conservative. She would save the sexy stuff for the honeymoon.

She was also wore her wedding ring necklace. She hadn't said anything, but I knew that the necklace would be replaced before she landed in Louisiana.

I also wore my wedding band necklace to court. I did retire it to occasional use after the dissolution was final, but I waited a few days to do it. I have left it hanging in open sight in my room all the years since as a reminder of the good times that Sandra and I had once had. I also hung my friendship necklace with it to remind me of the wonderful experiences that Sandra and I had had and would have in the future. Both necklaces have been worn fairly frequently.

"We've been over this," I reminded her. "You look great, girlfriend."

She comes over and fluffs my hair a little and said, "And so do you little girl."

We also debated my outfit last night. What does a twelve-year-old girl wear to court when she is splitting up with her wife? I don't think that there is a standard protocol for that. We decided that I needed to wear something that left no doubt that I am no longer husband material, as if my apparent age and gender are not enough. I wore a cute knee length dress with cap sleeves and an empire waist that emphasized my small breasts. My body had stabilized at a height of 5' 2" and a skinny 90 lbs and I don’t appear to be regressing in age any longer. My A cup breasts eliminated any remaining doubt that I was now female. My hair had grown out some, but still didn't quite reach my shoulders. Sandra had shown me how to use a curling iron and I had spent time on it that morning making sure that it looked as feminine as possible. Sandra had me put a barrette with a bow in my hair. I had also painted my finger and toenails to match my outfit and was wearing open toe sandals with a small heel. At the end of April, Sandra had talked me into getting my ears pierced so my still healing ears also sported a cute set of small half carat princess-cut diamond studs set in platinum, a gift from Tom. The man likes diamonds.

Sandra said that I looked too cute for words. Looking in the mirror, I agreed with her.

Standing in front of a full length mirror the night before it occurred to me that we did look like mother and daughter. We had the same color hair and many of the same physical features.

After a couple of months of practice, I was getting pretty good at braiding hair, though I still had a way to go before being considered an expert. I would frequently practice on Sandra's mid-back length hair during our girl lessons. While we were waiting to leave for the hearing, I had her sit down and I braided a fishtail French braid for her. It added another layer of sophistication to her look.

I remember thinking, while I was braiding her mid-back length hair, that I could hardly wait until mine is long enough for braids. It would be another year before my hair was long enough to do some fun stuff with. It eventually grew out to be as long as Sandra's and I love all the hairstyles that I can now put it in.

Eventually it was time to go and we wrestled her suitcase into Butterfly, my Honda car. We had a melancholy discussion about some of the good times we'd had over the years as she drove us to the Courthouse. She apologized to me several times for being at fault for the end of our marriage. I tried to reassure her that it wasn’t her fault, but my assurances fell on deaf ears. I know that both of us were sad that we had been forced into our current situation, but Sandra was also happy about the new love in her life. She still had some guilt issues about how she had come to be in love with Tom but her new love carried her past it.

We met Tom at the Courthouse parking garage and he effortlessly transferred her bag to his Lexus, muttering something about too much stuff for a weekend. Sandra glared at him. Tom still had a lot to learn about women.

I noticed that he only had a small gym bag for his stuff tossed in the trunk of his car.

Outside the assigned court room, we met with my lawyer and doctor who had both come to reassure the Judge that this was a real situation.

There were several other couples on the docket. They all looked like they are going to do great harm to each other as their lawyers kept them apart. It seemed obvious to me that our case would be the easiest one for the judge to solve that day.

The Judge must have thought so too, as we were the first case that he called forward after everyone was settled in the courtroom.

"Where's the husband?" he asked as we all approached the bench.

I raised my hand and give him a little girly wave. "Here, Your Honor."

He stared at me for a moment. "I've read the petition, but I still can't wrap my head around this. Please prove to me that you're not playing a joke on the court."

At this point, my lawyer stepped forward and set out my medical history before the Judge. In it was a series of photos taken every week over the past seven months that I've been seeing my doctor.

"Your Honor, these images demonstrate the husband's transformation over the last six and a half months," my lawyer explained as the Judge studied the pictures. "As you can see, he starts out as a healthy male and ends up as the girl that you see standing before you. Blood tests at the start of this process show Andy as having typical male XY chromosomes. Blood tests taken two months ago, when the petition was filed, show that Andi now has typical female XX chromosomes. In between there was an interesting mix of chromosome pairs, the like of which have never been documented by medical science that we know of. Over the course of the transition period, Andy lost weight and height and started to display typical female sex characteristics, including the loss of male genitalia, by natural means and not surgery, the formation of incomplete female genitalia, the development of female breasts, rearrangement of skeletal structure, redistribution of fat, and loss of facial and body hair. Andi's gynecologist tells me that her internal organs are currently in a state of flux and that it is expected that, if the transformation continues on its current trajectory, that Andi will soon have all the organs and functions of a naturally born genetic female. This has all happened by natural means that have yet to be explained. The only hormone therapy occurred early in this process as an attempt to stop the changes. The therapy was ineffective. Andi has experienced age regression in addition to spontaneous gender change, now having the physical body typical of a twelve-year-old female. As a result of these changes, Andy can no longer fill his/her role as the husband that Sandra married. The situation has forced the couple to jointly request a legal dissolution of their marriage commitment and they have agreed to the attached disposition of assets. There is no fault finding in this case and the applicants will remain the best of friends, but not as husband and wife."

"Doctor," the Judge asked my physician, "convince me that this is not a hoax."

"Your Honor," she began, "Andy came to me six and a half months ago with unusual symptoms and I have met with him/her every week since. It has been a most intriguing case and I have involved the services of a number of specialists in the search for a cause. We know of no scientific basis for these changes. We also recently ran DNA tests on hair samples from a year ago and from a month ago and found a very strong agreement in the results. They are an almost exact match. Her lawyer has also had her current fingerprints compared to those taken several years ago when he was first employed at the University. Aside from the size, the patterns are precisely the same on all fingers. You will find the prints and analysis in my report."

"Young lady," he addressed me, "is all this true?"

"Yes, Your Honor." I replied with confidence.

He looked at me as he was pondering the evidence.

"Tell me about your employment and ability to support yourself if this becomes final." He directed.

"I was let go by my employer two months ago as a budget cutting measure and the fact that I could no longer do the work assigned," I began, "but what they really meant is that my work was excellent but our clients did not want to work with me based on perceptions of my age. I was no longer useful to them. They did provide me with three months’ severance pay and health benefits, which run out in a month. I have been looking for work, but there's not much out there for a twelve-year-old IT technician. I am worried about my ability to support myself. In the interim both my wife and parents have offered me shelter and support until we can resolve the problem."

Looking at Sandra, he continued, "I have reviewed the proposed division of assets and see that it is heavily weighted in your husband's favor. Why is that?"

"I am currently in a position that provides me with great financial security and the potential for a substantial income in the future." She responded, "I want to help Andi to be in the best possible position to move forward in her life. I can recover much better from this dissolution that she currently can."

"Why aren’t you agreeing to pay alimony?" the Judge asked.

"She offered to, Your Honor," I answered in Sandra's behalf, "but I refused it. I want us both to be unfettered by continuing commitments."

"That’s noble of you, young lady," the Judge noted, "Are you sure about that? I don’t want you to come back to the court after changing your mind."

"I am sure, Your Honor," I replied.

"Why do you want this dissolution?" He asked Sandra.

With tears in her eyes, she replied, "I love Andi, and never wanted these changes to happen. If he hadn’t transformed into a young girl, we wouldn’t be here. Unfortunately, the changes have taken place and neither of us can see how we can remain married. She is no longer the man that I married. We both agree that our marriage is effectively over and that this is the right thing to do. What we do still have is a strong friendship. We will be best girlfriends for life."

"I still can't wrap my head around this," the Judge said, "but the facts seem clear that Andy can no longer function in the role that the marriage was originally founded on, through processes unknown and outside his, err, her control. The distribution of assets seems very lopsided to me and I think that Sandra should be paying alimony, but both parties are in agreement that this is what is in their best interests. Having not heard any objections to the petition, I grant the petition for dissolution. From this moment onward, you two are no longer married. May you each find happiness."

With that pronouncement, our marriage officially ended.

Sandra and I hugged and we both shed a few silent tears. She whispered that she still loved me, then left the courtroom hand-in-hand with Tom.

The Judge then picked up the petition for my name and gender change and commented, "I take it that, given our discussions here today, that I need to grant your petition for a name change and decree that you are now genetically female in the eyes of the Law as well as in the eyes of Science."

"Yes, please, Your Honor" I replied.

With that, in addition to being newly single, I legally became Andrea Marie, female.

I had copies of the finalized court decrees in hand before lunch time.

With the dissolution finalized, Sandra was free to pursue her marriage to Tom. At the time, I didn't know where my future would lead me. I did know that I would need to talk to someone after the courtroom experience, so I had scheduled an appointment with my psychologist for right after lunch. She had blocked out an hour and a half for me and I needed every minute of it.

Feeling a little better about the events of the day after talking to the psychologist, I headed to the DMV with the new court approved name change decree in hand to change the name on my driver’s license.

By late afternoon I found myself sitting at my parent’s breakfast table filling in the final blanks on applications to change my various records. I attached copies of the court decrees and the affidavit from my doctor. The applications were ready to go in the mail before my parents arrived home from work. To keep myself busy, if for no other reason, I took the time to fix a nice dinner for my parents. I really did not want to be home alone in the condo where Sandra and I had spent so much time together. I ended up staying the weekend in my childhood home.

A few weeks later I received my new birth certificate. It was a bittersweet experience. The date hadn't changed, just the gender and name. Other changed documents were also trickling in.

The legal process had run its course, and, by the coloring of the crystal, my physical changes would soon be completed.

NotExpected 12

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn A few weeks later I received my new birth certificate. It was a bittersweet experience. The date hadn't changed, just the gender and name. Other changed documents were also trickling in. The legal process had run its course, and, by the coloring of the crystal, my physical changes would soon be completed.

Chapter 12

Late that Saturday afternoon while Tom and Sandra were in Louisiana, I received a rather unexpected and odd phone call. I was at the boatyard with my parents working to get their sailboat ready to launch for the summer season.

"Hello?" I answered the call. The caller ID indicated that the call was being made from a Louisiana number.

"Is this Andy?" An authoritatively gruff male voice inquired.

"Yes sir," I replied, "Who is this?"

"I am Tom's father," he replied. "Sandra gave me your number. I was wondering if you would have the time and be willing to help me understand a few things."

"I'm with my parents right now," I inform him. "Give me a minute and I will take the time."

I muted the phone and let my parents know what was going on. They agreed that I should take the call, so I went to an office in a corner of the boatyard for a little privacy.

"Thank you," he sounded sincere. "I am trying to get to the bottom of what happened to you and Sandra and what role my son played in it."

"While I like Tom, he's not exactly my favorite person today," I told him. Even though I was at peace with the dissolution, I still couldn't completely let go of a feeling of displeasure for the situation and Tom's role in it.

"I can understand that," he says, "and if what I'm hearing is true, he's not exactly high on my list of favorite people either. I might be able to help you if I can find out what's really going on."

Over the phone I could sense his displeasure with his son and felt confident that I could talk with him. So, I did.

We talked for almost an hour. He asked a lot of questions about the visit that Sandra and I had made to his mother, Grandma Broussard, and what happened there. He wanted to know what our marriage was like before the visit. He asked about the impact that these actions had on my life. He specifically wanted to know about how it impacted my employability and my relationship with Sandra.

At one point, my mother had come to join me and was eavesdropping on my side of the conversation. With the Judge’s permission, I put the phone on speaker so that she could join the conversation.

He also asked mom a few questions about me and Sandra. She let it be known that neither she nor my father were happy about losing such a wonderful daughter-in-law and hoped that they would appreciate her as much as they had.

While he was flawlessly polite, the conversation was very much an inquisition. When he was done, he thanked me, and my mother, for our time and frankness. He said that he was impressed with my maturity.

He never said what he was going to do with all the information that I provided. It was a strange conversation.

Then Tom's mother got on the phone. A similar long friendly but firm inquisition ensued. She focused mostly on searching out the nature and status of my current relationship with Sandra and my future plans, which were totally unclear at that point. She also asked about how I felt about my transformation and how well I was adapting to my new reality.

She and my mother also spent time chatting about the situation.

Like her husband, she was polite and thanked me for my time and complimented my maturity and apologized for her son's thoughtlessness and mother-in-law's meddling.

Also like her husband, she made no comment about what they were going to do with this information. Neither of them said anything about what was going on in Louisiana. Judging from the questions, I imagine that they had grilled Sandra and Tom before calling me.

I found out what it was all about when Tom brought Sandra home Sunday evening.

-----<0>-----

Tom brought Sandra home to the condo late in the evening after having gone out for dinner on the way home from the airport.

As they came in the door, I couldn't help thinking what a good-looking couple they were. He was tall, a little over six feet, and was starting to look much fitter than he did when I first met him. The slacks he was wearing looked good on him, as did the open collared shirt and sports coat. Sandra was by now a tall, willowy dark-haired beauty wearing a sheath dress that came to mid-thigh, dark stockings, and matching heels. She was definitely going to be a trophy wife. As I looked at her, I realized that, in many ways, she no longer resembled the plainer, shorter, slightly plump girl that I had been married to. The changes had been good to both of them.

"Do you have a few minutes to talk Andi?" Tom asked me. He seemed to be a bit subdued.

"Sure," I replied, "Come on in."

Tom and Sandra settled on the love seat, of course, holding hands while I took a seat on the opposing couch.

Tom gave Sandra a look and she gave his hand an encouraging squeeze.

Taking a deep breath to steel himself, Tom looked me in the eye and began, "Andi, I know that I've apologized to you before for this mess, but I need to apologize to you again. I understand that my parents called you yesterday and they found out a lot more than what I had told them about how our current situation came to be. My parents had taken Sandra for a long walk earlier in the day and gotten similar information out of her. I was summoned to the study and really raked over the coals before they called you. They opened my eyes as to just how badly I had interfered with your life and marriage. I tried to tell them that I had no intention of causing harm or of breaking up your marriage, that I didn't know that Grandma would do something like this when I set up your meeting with her. I was just trying to help a friend get her heart's desire. They are pretty upset with Grandma too.

"There is nothing that I can do to undo the harm that Grandma and I have done to you. And to Sandra." He gave Sandra a stricken look.

"Tom, your love has made up for much of the harm that you have done to me. I know that it wasn't intentional, and I still miss my Andy. There are still times that I feel unfaithful to him when I am with you, but what can we do about it? It as if he has died and left me behind." Sandra interrupted him. She looked at me with a gentle smile, "The sisterly love that Andi and I now share is different than what we had before all this, but it is good. Very good."

Tom smiled at her and gave her a quick kiss then turned his attention back to me.

Continuing he said, "As you know, my father is a civil court Judge. He spends his whole working day, and many an evening and weekend, trying to help people redress their wrongs to the greatest extent possible. He impressed on me that I need to do the same for you. I can't return you to your adult male status. And with you being a young girl now, I cannot give you your wife back. My father, the Judge, says that in situations such as this, an effort is made to determine what the real monetary damages are and compensate for those. Additionally, punitive damages are determined based on the maliciousness of the act that caused the harm or the need to teach the offender a lesson. My father is convinced that, in this case, my maliciousness is much greater that I think it is, but he's the Judge, so what he says goes. Sandra has tried to be more than fair in the dissolution, but it was impressed on me that I need to do something as well in an attempt to make right the damage you have received as the result of my actions.

"So, this morning before church, Sandra and I had a very long conversation with my parents about what I should do to address the harm that I have done to you."

"Believe me," Sandra interjected, looking a bit uneasy. "Both of us got an earful, but Tom bore the brunt of it."

Tom put his arm around her and pulled her close. She snuggled into his embrace.

"With Sandra's help and the information that you gave my parents, we've arrived at a settlement proposal of sorts." he paused for a minute to look into Sandra eyes. She gave him an encouraging nod.

"The first part of the proposal is monetary." He continued. "Mom acted as your court representative and pointed out that it would be at least ten years before you will be able to enter the workforce at the level you did when you left college and another ten years until you could reach the level of seniority that you enjoyed when you were let go. Over that 20 years that you have lost, your income would only have increased. Adjusting for inflation and a few generous assumptions, we arrived at a figure of $1.8 million dollars as being the lost future income that you would have received if you had continued unharmed. We used twenty years as the time period since that is how long it will take to get you back to where you were before the changes.

"That's a lot of money!" I exclaim. "I hadn't thought about it in those terms."

He held up his hand, "There's more. You will also have expenses and intangible damages that you would not have had, had things stayed the same. For example, the cost of clothing and accessories for a girl or woman is much greater than for a man. You will also lose the benefit of Sandra's future income to improve your situation in life. It can be reasonably extrapolated that you two would have moved into a much nicer home and neighborhood in the not-too-distant future and you would have enjoyed a much higher standard of living than you did when this all started. That future has been taken away from you unless you are fortunate enough to someday find a partner with similar earning potential to Sandra's or change your profession."

Now there's a thought that somehow had never to that point crossed my radar. Would I ever become a wife? In fact, would I ever date a male?

Sandra noticed the shock on my face and correctly interpreted it. "Yes, Andi, as a girl now I hope that you can someday enjoy the love that I have found twice now." She smiled at Tom and snuggled even closer to him. "It is what I want for my BFF. I want you to find the happiness that the right man can give you."

Finally, an upside to my age regression, I remember thinking. I have years to get used to this idea.

Getting back to the topic, Tom held Sandra close and continued. "The intangibles are impossible to predict and to monetize. So, my mother, as your advocate, proposed that I pay off the mortgage on your condo, or buy it outright and give it to you so that you will always have your own space, should you need it. In addition, she suggested that we offer to adopt you as our daughter and thus become responsible for providing your support through your teen years. That would include the expense of maintaining the condo. As our daughter you would enjoy a much higher standard of living than you have at any other time of your life. You will also continue your close friendship with Sandra, only being her daughter instead of her sister."

This sounded a lot like Grandma Broussard's prophecy.

"I could continue helping you to adapt to your new reality." Sandra said with a smile. "It's been fun so far, and you are a quick learner."

She did have a point there. I had to admit that I enjoyed our long chats and girl lessons and had not been looking forward to losing that when she moved in with Tom.

"Also, by acting as our daughter," Sandra pressed the sale of the idea, "You could stop trying to explain to every stranger that you really are a thirty-two-year-old in disguise. You'd have the cover to just be the young girl you portray. That should make things much easier for you."

That had been another great point. I had found myself just going with people's natural assumptions instead of explaining things at that time. I had had no parents to refer to when people ask to speak to one, which had forced me to try and explain my real age. Not too many people had believed me. It had been getting tiresome. If I were to be adopted by Tom and Sandra, I wouldn't have to explain about my age and emancipation status anymore. I could just go with the flow. I could also start gaining the experiences of a teen girl as I work toward becoming a full fledged woman. There were some real advantages to the plan.

There were some downsides to the adoption proposal. I knew that I would definitely have to restart my life. I would have to restart it as a twelve-year-old girl. That meant going back to school, curfews, and daily watching Sandra and Tom live out the life that I had hoped for Sandra and I. I could be grounded, have my friends vetted by Tom and Sandra, and any number of other parental rights could be exercised over me.

I knew that I would have to think about that part of their proposal, and I told them so.

"Well," Sandra sighed, "You didn't outright reject the adoption option as I thought you would."

"I can see some upsides and downsides to that part of the idea," I responded. "We should talk more about that before I make a decision."

Tom continues his proposition with a frown. "Well, don’t take too long to decide. My parents have given me a deadline of Thursday to reach a settlement with you or they will withdraw support for the wedding. We'd have to postpone the wedding indefinitely if I don't work out a satisfactory agreement with you. We have considered eloping but that would cause irreparable damage to my family relations. And I really do love my family. I also really do want to make restitution to you. But, we’re not through with the settlement proposal.

"My Father, the Judge, insists that I pay punitive damages for the malicious nature of my behavior. I agreed, but not to the level that he and my mother proposed."

Sandra gave him a squeeze. "Don't be such a spoil sport, my love. We can more than afford it."

By then I was more than a little curious. "So, what's the bottom line?"

Tom takes a deep breath and laid it out, "I pay off the condo and give you clear title to it. You will always have a place of your own to go to if things don't work out with us. I will also pay taxes, insurance, condo fees, and utilities on the property until you graduate from high school, again. We find a way to become your parents, by adoption, for the next six years and agree to pay all costs normal to the raising of a teenage daughter. If you decide to go to college to retrain, we will cover all expenses. And we will set up a trust fund with a $4.0 million dollar endowment that will pay out $60,000 dollars a year over the next six years. After six years it will pay out $100,000 per year for another ten years. After that period, you will have full and unencumbered access to the remaining funds."

"Who would manage the trust?" I asked.

Smiling at Sandra, he said to me, "That would be up to you, but I can recommend an excellent investment counselor."

"I think that we should take it out of house, so to speak," I replied dryly. Not that I don't trust Sandra, but I think that mixing family and business is not a good idea. "So, I have until Thursday to consider a counter proposal?"

"The sooner the better," Tom looked worried. "We have that deadline of Thursday to make you happy before things go bad with our wedding plans. The wedding is a little under four weeks away and the invitations were sent out last week."

"I'll see what I can do." I promised him. "I'm sure that we can work something out."

"One last question," I gave Tom a sly grin. "If I do agree to the adoption, do I get to play with your computer center?"

He laughed before replying, "Sure, munchkin. I think that we can arrange that."

"I will have it put in the agreement," my grin got even bigger. I felt a giant burden lift from my shoulders.

 

NotExpected 13

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn "One last question," I grinned at Tom. "If I do agree to the adoption, do I get to play with your computer center?" He laughed before replying, "Sure, munchkin. I think that we can arrange that." "I will have it put in the agreement," I grinned. I felt a big burden lift from my shoulders.

Chapter 13

Sandra walked Tom to the door and they shared a passionate good night kiss before he left.

Sandra came back and had a seat on the couch. We looked at each other for a few moments, each waiting for the other to start the conversation.

Finally I asked her, in a friendly tone. "Tell me about your trip, girlfriend. Did you get along with your soon-to-be in-laws?"

She frowned, "They were a bit distant when we first arrived. They were polite but I got the distinct impression that they all assumed that I was a gold-digger. I think my reception was worse than when Tom first met my family. I was on the defense all evening having to prove myself. I swear that the whole parish was there for a barbecue and every one of them was there to out me. Tom's parents live in a large mansion and have a huge patio and backyard. It's where the reception will be held. It's a lovely setting.

"There is no way that I will ever be able to keep straight all the names, much less the relations. Everyone wanted to meet me to determine why I was leaving my husband to marry Tom. The prevailing assumption seemed to be that I am only after Tom's wealth and that I had left you so that I could marry Tom. Many of them were openly exploring that possibility. We didn't mention how your changes were the real cause of our dissolution, we just told them that my marriage had become unmanageable and Tom was there to pick up the pieces after you and I had realized that it was over. As a whole, the people of the area are pretty protective of him. I don't know if I was successful in demonstrating my love for him, but I did my best. Tom felt the pressure too and was constantly there to defend me. He put a few of the more pushy ones in their place. It was intense. The pressure eased off as the evening wore on. It was one of the longest evenings of my life.

"I also heard a lot of embarrassing stories about Tom. I swear that he was beet red all evening. I learned a lot about my fiancée that he had yet to share with me."

"Anything juicy?" I ask with interest.

"Just the normal stupid child and teenager stunts," She waved off the question. "It seems that he's always been a geek. Some of the girls he grew up with told me that he was so distracted as a teenager that nothing they did could get his attention. He seemed to scare easily when they came on to him. We haven't talked about it yet, but I think that he might be the oldest virgin in town.

"I felt way out of my league. You and I never hung out in circles like this. The assembled group represented more money and privilege than I have ever seen in one place. I felt like I was being tested all night. I needed to prove myself worthy of Tom to all these people. It was nerve wracking to say the least. I was never so happy to see a party end. When the last guest was finally gone I thanked his parents, gave him a kiss and fled to my room."

"Not ‘our room?’" I asked with raised eyebrows.

She blushed at that. "Just so you know, miss smarty pants, we stayed in separate rooms. His parents are pretty old fashioned and probably would not have let us share a room. Also, as I said, I suspect that he's never spent the night with a woman."

I raised my eyebrow again at that, "I would have thought you two would have given into your lust by now. You've had plenty of opportunity the last couple of months."

She looked at me a little indignantly, "What do you take me for? I have remained faithful to our marriage vows. Tom and I haven't slept together yet. I've only been single for a couple of days now, but with the wedding only a few weeks off, we can wait and do this properly."

I really raised my eyebrow at that. "I figured that when I stepped aside a couple of months ago that you both would give into the lust that you so obviously have. I just thought that you didn't want to share that part of your relationship with me. I'm mildly surprised that you haven't moved in with him already."

"Don't think that we're not tempted." she sighed. "I've been feeling so horny the last few months that I can hardly stand it. I really need some hot sex with the man I love. Tom tried to get me to go home with him tonight. He suggested that I move in with him this week."

"So what's the problem?" I asked. "I don't think that anyone waits anymore."

"Two issues." she explained. "One, if he truly loves me, a few more weeks won't hurt too bad. I didn't tell you, but he tried to get me to move in with him when we got engaged, but I told him that I wouldn't do that while I was still married to you. As I have said, I couldn't go against our marriage vows, no matter what your current form was. I'm still a little angry with him over what his grandmother did to you and feel that he has a large share of the blame. As far as waiting goes, if things hadn't changed, I'd still be happily married to you and Tom would still be alone in his bed. He can stay alone in his bed until the wedding night. He needs to continue to demonstrate that he wants me for more than my body."

"What's the other issue?" I asked.

"You." She replied with another sigh.

"Me?" I asked in astonishment.

"Yes, you." she sighed yet again. "Remember when we were engaged, we both agreed that we'd wait until our wedding night too. Your integrity and consideration really impressed me, even though I probably would have jumped in your bed in a heartbeat. I was very horny then, too. A girl's sex drive really ramps up when she's around that man she loves. You may discover that someday. Now, I want to follow your example. I think that it was the right thing to do then and that it's the right thing to do now. You are my first love and I now love you deeper than I ever have, just in a different way. I feel that I owe it to you to be a good girl until the wedding.

"Not only that, but I like spending time with you and don't want to leave you alone just yet."

I moved over to her side and gave her a tender hug. "Thanks for telling me, Sandra. I still love you deeply and I have to admit that I am a little jealous of Tom. I try not to think about how he will be taking my place in your bed. He is inheriting what was most precious to me and I can't get it back. Don't get me wrong, our new love has brought us even closer together, but it is not what I had planned."

"He won't be taking your place." She said with tears in her eyes. "He can never replace you. I cherish our years together. He will be making his own place in my bed, not taking yours."

We hug for a minute.

"So," I asked once we have ourselves back together, "something must have happened on Saturday."

"Oh, it surely did," she frowned. "When I came down for breakfast, the Judge and his wife were waiting for me at the kitchen table. After some small talk and a bite of breakfast, the three of us went for a walk down to a pond on their property. We sat together on a bench and the inquisition started. Don't get me wrong, they were polite, but they had a definite agenda."

"I got that same feeling when I talked to them," I observed. "I think I can guess the line of questioning, but tell me anyway."

Sandra then proceeded to give me the low down of the interview in great detail. In many ways it was similar to my conversation with the Broussards on the phone. She said that they were polite but standoffish at the start. They wanted to know her life history and asked pointed questions to get it. When she told of our marriage, our inability to have children, what we went through to try they just nodded and asked a few clarifying questions. They wanted to know how she had met their son and what had attracted her to him. They then asked, point blank, if she had left her husband for Tom and a better chance of having children and wealth. She had admitted that she had been very much attracted Tom when she'd first met him, but was still very much committed to her marriage. She told them that Tom had been the pursuer and she'd only relented to his advances when I was no longer able to be a husband to her. They wanted to know what she meant when she said that I could no longer be a husband to her. It became clear at that point that they did not know about our trip to Grandma Broussard, the Judge's mother, so Sandra explained how Tom had set up the meeting and most of what happened at the ceremony. She point out to them that she thought it was all hocus pocus, but then the physical changes began, mine being the most profound. She told them that when I was pronounced to be physically female that we had filed dissolution papers, which had only become final the day before. When she finished her tale, they had both looked at her with astonishment, but being the legal experts that they both were, it became obvious that they needed to hear the story from the other players.

Tom's mother had asked her when she had first slept with Tom. Mrs. Broussard is not one to pull punches. When Sandra told her that they had yet to do so, Tom's mother looked surprised but pleased. Sandra gave the explanation that, until the day before, she had still been married and that she loved her husband and honored the vows that she had made to me. She was also determined to wait until the wedding night to share a bed with Tom. Apparently her demonstration of integrity to our marriage vows greatly increase her stature in the eyes of Tom's parents.

Sandra sighed again. She was doing a lot of that tonight. "His mother asked me if I realized that we had been played by her mother-in-law, and inadvertently by her son. I told her that it did dawn on both of us after it became apparent what was happening. She then asked me why I wanted anything to do with Tom. I told them that I didn't really have a good answer for that. There was strong chemistry between us and that we seem to be perfectly matched. I told them that I was very unhappy with what Grandma did, but felt that Tom's involvement was well intentioned. She destroyed a perfectly good marriage, but on the up side, I now had the closest girlfriend that a woman could have and the promise of an adoring husband who I had come to love deeply. I told them how our love as close friends had blossomed in ways that never could have happened if we remained husband and wife. I also told them how you'd lost your job and couldn't find good replacement employment and how I was worried about your future. I told them how I did the best I could by you in the settlement, but that I feared that it wouldn't be enough. As the discussion wound down, they both hugged me and said that they were satisfied the I'd make a great addition to the family. They also apologized for having to hold the inquisition and that they were impressed with my integrity. They were, however, very unhappy with Tom and Grandma Broussard."

"When we got back to the house, Tom was up and hanging around in the kitchen reading the paper. When he saw the three of us walk in, with stern expressions on his parent's face, he knew that things were about to hit the fan. Without stopping to chat, his father told him that his presence was required in the study and the three of them disappeared for a long time. At one point I heard Tom's raised voice from the study, but it was mostly quiet. Eventually I was asked to join them. They asked me to go over the visit with Grandma again, probably for Tom's benefit. I did, finally, tell him how my nut had been mated with his bolt in the ceremony. When they were satisfied that they had the complete story from us, they asked if they could talk to you, and I gave them your number.

"Oh, and you know that house where we met with Grandma?" She asked.

I nodded in remembrance.

"That's actually the family fishing cabin," she informed me. "In real life, Grandma is very well to do. She and her husband owned the mansion that Tom's parents live in. She moved to a more "modest" estate after her husband died. I had Tom drive me by her house to see if she was there and, let me tell you, it is a substantial estate. She wasn't home either. The pictures of her in Tom's family study show a well dressed and groomed woman of prosperity, not the poverty stricken old lady we met.

"Tom's parents had been wondering why Grandma did not show up for the barbecue Friday night, but now felt that they understood the reason. Needless to say, they are very unhappy with her. Unfortunately she had made herself scarce and no one was able to find her this weekend. It would appear that this is not the first time her magic has messed up people's lives in unexpected ways. The general opinion is, however, that everything works out for the best for everyone in the end. And, yes, she is well known locally for her witchcraft but she is viewed as a benevolent witch."

She went on to tell me how the extended family had been recruited to find Grandma that weekend, without success. She then told me of driving around town to see where Tom had grown up and meeting a number of his old friends. They went to dinner that night with Tom's parents but there was no more discussion about Grandma and what she had done. When they got home, Tom's parents sequestered themselves in the study and did not surface before everyone went to bed for the night.

Early Sunday morning, she had been awoken by soft knocking on her door. It was Tom's mother who requested her company in the Study once she was able to get dressed. She quickly took care of her morning routine, dressed nicely for church, and went to the study. Tom and his parents were there. Tom did not look particularly happy. In the ensuing lecture, Tom's parents made it very clear that they felt that Tom had seriously harmed us and that restitution was necessary to the extent possible. They all seemed to know that Grandma's work was irreversible so moving forward from where we were was the best we can do. They lectured Tom on his upcoming duties as a husband and let it be known that he'd better love and cherish me for the rest of his life, that is if I would still have him, and that he was to show that love through his actions. He was to tear himself away from his geek passions and spend time with his new family. They then spent a lot of time discussing how Tom could make restitution for my losses. They realized that the harm could never truly be compensated for monetarily, but their experience with civil and family law told them that monetary compensation should be a key part of the restitution for the actions of Tom and his grandmother. Sandra told them about my salary and how I were no longer employable at my prior level. Or any level for that matter. Not even a fast food restaurant would employ me. Sandra also told them what my earning potential would have been had I stayed with my job. She also mentioned that, even with a good job, that I would have to rent or sell the condo since it had taken two incomes to make the mortgage and expenses. That's where they came up with the figures that Tom proposed to me that evening. His mother wanted more, but the Judge felt that extraordinary punitive damages were not necessary as Tom was, after being reamed by his parents, very sorry of what he had done and that he was not fully responsible for the outcome of his thoughtlessness. I don't think that Tom had truly understood the depth of the harm he and his grandmother had caused until this weekend. They floated the idea of also making Grandma pay for her part in the plan, but that might be more difficult without full on legal action. The group also discussed how I would adapt until I have grown into an adult body and that's when Tom's mother suggested including me formally in the family. They're not really sure of the legal basis for making it happen, but the concept was agreed to. Tom is the one who volunteered to pay off the mortgage on the condo. He felt that I needed a safe haven if things didn't work out at their house.

"Why the trust fund?" I asked, "I may look like a twelve-year-old, but am really thirty-two and can manage my own money."

"The idea," she explained, "is to provide you money at the rate that you would have earned it. It seemed ill advised to give a twelve-year-old control over $4.0 million."

"Well," I informed her, "I am not your typical twelve-year-old. I have more than enough experience with money to handle it myself."

"Good point," she conceded, "I am sure that condition could be modified."

"Also," I brought up another point. "Why the adoption? Why not a limited power of attorney to act on my behalf on specific issues, like schooling and youth activities?"

"Again," she explained, "What twelve-year-old do you know who is fully emancipated? By adopting you, we present as a family. You also get all the benefits of being a daughter in a very well-to-do household."

"And the restrictions of being a child." I pointed out. "I will have to seek counsel on that one. What else happened today?"

"We went to church," she continued, "and sat in the family pew. Yes, they have a family pew. I've only heard of one before but have never seen one. Afterwards Tom and I met with the priest to go over the plans for the wedding. When it was done, his parents took us to the parish airport to catch our flight home."

"So," I asked with great curiosity, "Tell me about the private jet."

She grinned. "It's the only way to fly. You'll love it when we travel as a family."

After describing the flying experience in detail, she asked me about my weekend.

I had spent Friday evening and Saturday at my parents house. I had come home late afternoon on Sunday. My parents both got home from work on Friday about dinner time and were surprised to see a meal waiting for them. They picked up on my melancholy mood and asked about the court hearings. I sat crying in my mother's embrace for a long time, reminiscing on many of the good memories from my life with Sandra. I felt much better when it was over.

Saturday, I worked with my parents to get the boat ready for launching. Something about physical activity is soothing to the soul. We talked a lot and I cried a lot. I also spent a substantial amount of time on my cell phone chatting with Tom's parents, as we already covered.

When we got home Saturday evening, my mother had pressed me more about the idea of going to middle school. I had continued to be non-committal. The fall semester was still three months away but Mom had already set the stage. She had worked out a plan with an old friend who was the current Principal at a local private school for me to start the seventh grade there in the fall. After the offer from Tom and Sandra, it looked to me like it would be a good way to learn how to be a spoiled little rich girl.

Sunday morning we launched the sailboat and went for a sail before mooring it in its slip at the marina. It had been therapeutic to get out on the water again. Sandra asked if she could join me for a sail sometime soon, just like we used to do. With the crush of wedding preparations, we didn't get out until a couple of weeks after the honeymoon.

Sandra and I spent another half an hour talking about her trip and my weekend before she gave a huge yawn and said that it was past time for her to go to bed. She had to go to work the next day.

Later, after Sandra went to bed, I kept seeing, in my mind, Tom and Sandra standing there together in my entryway. They looked like the stereotypical rich and powerful couple. What I saw was a very well matched team and their love for each other was glaringly evident. I had an epiphany. It came to me that Sandra was not the same woman that I was married to until recently. While she may be the same person in spirit, in reality the physical changes that she has experienced made it difficult for me to see a resemblance to the slightly plain dowdy figure of a woman that had been my wife for so long. While my wife had been a confident woman, the new Sandra was confident to the point of scary. She was a perfect match for Tom. Looking at them I could no longer feel jealous. Instead of an ex-wife, I was looking at a best friend in love with a man who adored her.

It occurred to me that it was as if my wife had died and left me in the care of a good friend.

I felt gratitude in my heart for Sandra's physical changes. Sandra's changes helped me separate my best girlfriend from the love of my life, much like my changes had done the same for her.

----<0>----

Sleep was slow in coming that night. I had too many things to think about.

Foremost on my mind was whether or not to give up my emancipation status. It seemed obvious that, if I wanted to live the way that the world saw me, it would be the only thing to do. Did I want to be a teen again, under the control of parents? Not really. But was it any worse than trying to live as an adult in a twelve-year-old body? Probably not. I really was tired of dealing with people who couldn't understand how a twelve-year-old could be independent. Giving up my emancipation wouldn't be bad if the parents are reasonable. What kind of parents would Tom and Sandra be? What kind of parents would my mother and father be given the circumstances? There were lots of unknowns.

That night, I had also thought about the first time that I went through my teen years. I had been labeled as an under-achiever and I had lived down to the label. While I was not a failure, I had not excelled either. I had certainly squandered the opportunity. The funny thing was that I couldn't really remember what I had done with those years other than float through. My biggest accomplishments, as I remembered, revolved around computer gaming. In hindsight, I didn't see where that was really significant. I had friends, but not close ones. Just other under-achieving misfits who banded together for self preservation. The lecture that I received from my supervisor when I was let go from my job was just a repeat of similar lectures given to me over the years by a series of teachers and my parents. I realized that if I took the opportunity to apply myself this time around, then these changes might actually turn out to be a blessing. It is not often that you get a do over of this magnitude. I realized that it was up to me grab the bull by the horns and bend circumstances to my benefit. This situation had the potential to be one of the greatest blessings of my life. I had hated to admit it, but I remember thinking that maybe Grandma Broussard's magic had inadvertently, or on purpose, given me the greater blessing. While Sandra and Tom were getting each other without going through the pain of a stressful divorce, I was getting a chance to avoid a relationship disaster and really make something of myself without really losing the one that I loved. I would get to erase all my past mistakes and try again. One of the many questions that night was: Could I do it? With the blessing of hindsight, which had not been available to me the first time around, I was pretty sure that I could. I knew that I would have to give up my emancipation to take advantage of this opportunity. It seemed a small price to pay.

The one privilege that I didn't want to give up was driving. I had a car and a valid driver's license. I intended to keep both.

I thought about teen years being where a person starts to learn who they are and their place in the world. Given my new reality, I was going to have to figure out the new me and learn my new place in the world anyway. As the family council emphasized, I needed to start accumulating the experiences that any woman would have. Six more years of middle and high school would definitely do that. Being a dependent minor would put me on the same footing as my new peers and I could discover myself along with a bunch of other teens doing the same thing. I would accumulate experiences that would turn me into an all new adult. Eventually I could become an adult woman with a cache of experiences similar to that possessed by other adult women. I would become one of them. I knew that there would be many challenges along the way, but the idea of of reliving my teen years started to look like a generally positive idea.

I thought of my strong connection to Sandra and wondered how I could maintain that connection if I chose to move in with my parents. Thinking of my few pre-marriage buddies and Sandra's many pre-marriage best friends, it occurred to me that those relationships had drifted apart when Sandra and I married and we focused on developing our own bond. It's not that we weren't still good friends, it's just that the connection was just not as strong as each of us moved on to other priorities. If I were to move in with my parents, I could see that same softening of relations happening to my new relationship with Sandra. I was pretty sure that it wouldn't be too long before we got caught up in life and it would be a challenge to stay connected. I did not want that to happen.

If I moved in with the newlyweds, it was clear that Sandra and I would be seeing each other every day and we would each be in a better position to support one another as life produced its inevitable challenges. It would not be a relationship of equality, but it could be a close knit one. The family bond would connect us for the rest of our lives in ways that no other relationship could. It seemed a fulfillment of Grandma Broussard's prophecy. What kind of parents would Tom and Sandra be? Only time would tell. I realized that I would need a way out if things did not work out at the Broussard household.

The more I thought about the decision, the more I realized that I did not want to leave Sandra. I also knew that, whether I went with my parents or with the happy couple, that I would be committed to reliving my teen years as a dependent minor for the next six years. I knew that I would have to give up some freedoms that I had come to enjoy. By the time that sleep started to creep up on me, becoming Andrea Marie Broussard was looking like an opportunity waiting to be claimed.  It was not the affluence of the Broussard family that attracted me. Wealth was not the deciding factor. It was the opportunity to stay close to Sandra and the chance to do over my teen years. The money wasn't bad, but I knew that I would have been happy with a lot less as long as I could stay connected to Sandra and could fix past mistakes.

Before I went to sleep, I drafted an agreement between Tom and I and emailed it to my lawyer for comment and revision. I left a blank where the dollar amount was to be listed. I had made a few changes to Tom’s proposal. One major change in my version of the agreement was that the endowment was to be an unencumbered lump sum, to be paid before the wedding. I still didn't think there was a valid reason to put it in a trust fund. I also asked her about the pros and cons of becoming Tom and Sandra's daughter via adoption, given my real age. In the email I told my lawyer that we need to work this out by Wednesday afternoon. I don't like to wait until the last minute.

----<0>----

Monday morning I received a call from the lawyer's office requesting that I come in to discuss the matter after lunch. It was an interesting meeting and I walked out with a rewritten agreement which I promptly emailed to Tom and Sandra. I had decided that $4.0 million was too much, and proposed ONLY $3.0 million in compensation. We also proposed that the money be outside the control of Tom and Sandra as my new adoptive parents. My lawyer favored the uncompensated adoption as a way to hold Tom and Sandra responsible for my care and "upbringing" over the next six years until I became physically of age. We added an insistence that there be an exit clause included to the adoption in case things did not work out for all the parties involved. I had asked if I needed involvement from my natural parents, but was told as an adult voluntarily giving up my emancipated rights that it wasn't necessary. My lawyer had offered to handle the adoption, but we had already decided to have Tom's mother deal with it.

Late Monday afternoon I received a call from Tom's mother.

After greetings, she started talking to me about the proposal that I had prepared with my lawyer’s help. Tom had forwarded the proposed agreement to her for comment. It was obvious to her that I'd had legal counsel assist with the agreement.

"Your counselor was wise to insist on the exit clause to the adoption." She observed.

"I thought that it would be necessary," I explained. "After all, I am really thirty-two years of age and don't need to be treated like an inexperienced teen all the time."

Mrs. Broussard agreed with me.

"Honey," she continued, "It is not common in these negotiations for the injured party to negotiate the award amount downward. I think that you should have asked for more than offered. That is what is expected in these kinds of negotiations. Tom can afford it."

"Mrs. Broussard," I replied, "I am not interested in taking him to the cleaners. In fact, I think that $3 million is still asking too much."

"Andi, You do realize that your ex-wife's fiscal situation is going to soon increase to unbelievable heights?" She asked, "It is my opinion that you are entitled to share in the bounty as the injured party. After all, you both shared everything before my family destroyed yours. By the way, Sandra agrees with me on this one. How about we up the award to $5 million?"

"Mrs. Broussard," I countered, "Sandra is not a gold digger and neither am I. Sandra is marrying Tom for love, not money. She can take or leave the money, she just wants him to love and to cherish. I just want to see my best friend happy and I would prefer not to go into poverty to see it happen, so I think that $2 million would be more than sufficient.

This was the oddest financial negotiation that either of us had ever participated in. In the end I sort of won and we agreed to set the final award at $3 million, as I had put into the agreement in the first place. After hanging up the phone, it occurred to me that Mrs. Broussard could have pressed the negotiation a little harder. Maybe, I thought, she wasn't really intent on having Tom pay as much as she said. I was soon to find out that I had arrived at an incorrect conclusion.

Tom came to our, my, condo for dinner that night. Sandra and I worked together to put together a delightful meal. After dinner, we went over the agreement again and they debated the award, but I stuck to my guns. After signing two copies, we scanned and sent digital copies to his parents and my lawyer. Tom promised to transfer the money by the end of the week if I could tell Sandra, as his money manager, where to send it.

Tom's mother started preparing the legal adoption papers the next day so that they would be ready as soon as the happy couple had tied the knot. She made sure that the adoption included an exit strategy and to put my new found wealth outside the reach of my new parents. Given the unusualness of the case, it was decided to get this legal work done in Louisiana where she and her husband could call in a few favors to get it approved quickly. I was soon to become Andrea Marie Broussard.

----<0>----

Tuesday, I visited a large investment firm that was a competitor of Sandra's. I interviewed a couple of investment counselors before selecting a middle age woman with an impressive track record to handle my investments. We set up an account with my current life savings, which wasn't much, and with a promise to add $3 million to that account by Friday. I sent the information for a wire transfer to Tom and Sandra. Friday I received a call from my new investment counselor to inform me that $6 million dollars had been transferred to my account. She wanted to meet with me to discuss investment options.

Sandra just grinned at me when I confronted her about the money while she was dressing for that evening's date with Tom.

I also noted Sandra was wearing some very sexy lingerie as she slipped into her mid-thigh length curve hugging mini dress and I helped with the back zipper. Maybe someone was getting lucky tonight. She just winked at me when I mentioned my observation.

"Not tonight," She grinned evilly, "I am just ramping up the excitement in preparation for the wedding night. It is only 22 days away and counting. This lingerie makes me feel very sexy. When I feel sexy it turns Tom on. Big time. I want him to have the biggest hard on he can produce every day until the wedding. And from what I can tell, that man has a really big penis. If I were a virgin, I'd be scared."

I was the one to blush at that comment. As a man, I had only been average in that area.

I had heard that women were more open about sex when talking amongst themselves. I had been finding that intelligence to be true as the wedding has gotten closer. Sandra had gotten a lot more descriptive about her anticipation as the wedding day drew near. I wondered, at times like this, if Sandra ever remembered that I was once someone other than her best girlfriend.

After Tom picked her up for their date, I went back to my room and stared at the crystal for a long time. It only had the slightest tinge of blue left. I started to wonder if there was a big penis in my future as well. The thought had not entirely repelled me.

Later that evening I had slipped into a rather sexy, for a twelve-year-old girl, short sleeveless cotton nightie and gone to bed. I didn't stay up to greet Sandra when she came home. I put a "Do Not Disturb" sign on my door so that she wouldn't wake me when she returned.

As I lay there in my short nightie waiting for sleep to claim me, I had placed my hand over my flat crotch and wondered, for the first time, what it would be like…

----<0>----

I called my parents and informed them of the settlement the day after we signed the agreement. I asked my mother to enroll me in that private school. She was happy that I had finally committed to going back to school but was disappointed that I wasn't moving in with them.

“Andi,” Mom said, “You know that we have room for you. Are you really sure that you want to watch Sandra make a life with someone else?”

I sighed, “Mom, we’ve been over this. You know that my relationship with Sandra is different now. Living with them will help me to keep our friendship alive. I don’t see her as a former wife, I see her as a best girlfriend who is marrying a wonderful guy. I am happy for her.”

“Are you really?” she asked.

I thought about it a moment.

“Yes,” I replied thoughtfully, “I am happy for her. She’s not the same Sandra that I was married to. She is now the Sandra who is my best friend. I like Tom too.

“Anyway,” I continued, “I love you guys to death, but I am physically about the age of your oldest grandchild. Do you really want to raise another teenager?”

“You are not a teenager,” Mom pointed out. “It would be different.”

“It would be awkward too,” I pointed out. “Everyone would think that you are my grandparents and wonder where my parents are. We'd have to come up with some story as to why I am living with you and not my fictional parents. Not many people would buy the truth. It will be easier to be the adoptive daughter of Tom and Sandra. You could play the role of my birth grandmother. There is no reason that I would have to give up my real family.”

“I think that whatever you do will be awkward,” she countered.

“You are right,” I admitted, then changed the subject. “You and Dad have never met Tom have you?”

“No,” she replied. “Sandra’s mother has been telling me about him. I think that she’s starting to warm up to him. She says that he is polite and totally smitten with Sandra. She also tells me that Sandra is head over heels in love with him. I am not sure that I want to meet the man who stole our daughter-in-law away from us.”

I could tell that mother still wasn’t convinced that all the changes weren’t simply a matter of Tom stealing Sandra from me. It was past time for my parents to see the three of us together.

“I think you should,” I informed her. “If they are going to be my new parents, you should get to know him. Let me see if I can set something up for a dinner on Sunday. Can you make it?”

“Do you think that is wise?” she asked.

“I think that it is necessary,” I told her.

I had talked Tom and Sandra into the idea of dinner with my parents that Sunday. Tom had suggested that we hold the dinner at his house, but I felt that his mansion would be too much for a first meeting with my parents. So Tom and my father grilled steaks on the small patio while nursing bottles of beer in the condo’s backyard while I joined the women in the kitchen preparing the rest of the meal and setting the table. Over dinner, my parents and Tom spent the evening getting to know each other and seeing our new little family in context.

It was glaringly obvious that my parents did not want to be there when they first arrived for Sunday dinner, but by the time the evening was over they were much more relaxed. Dad seemed to warm to Tom faster than my mother did. At Sandra’s insistence, they agreed to attend the Wisconsin reception where they ended up getting to meet and visit with Tom’s parents. At the reception, the Judge and his wife apologized to my parents for Tom taking away their daughter-in-law. It took a while, but Mom eventually warmed up to Tom and admitted that my living with Tom and Sandra was probably the better option. She still wanted to keep in touch with me, a contact that I also wanted to, and did, continue.

NotExpected 14

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn It was glaringly obvious that my parents did not want to be there when they first arrived for Sunday dinner, but by the time the evening was over they were much more relaxed. Dad seemed to warm to Tom faster than my mother did. At Sandra’s insistence, they agreed to attend the Wisconsin reception where they ended up getting to meet and visit with Tom’s parents. At the reception, the Judge and his wife apologized to my parents for Tom taking away their daughter-in-law. It took a while, but Mom eventually warmed up to Tom and admitted that my living with Tom and Sandra was probably the better option. She still wanted to keep in touch with me, a contact that I also wanted to, and did, continue.

Chapter 14

The next three weeks passed in a whirlwind of activity. In terms of wedding planning, this wedding had been a rushed job from the start. As I was the only one without a job, I found myself running all sorts of wedding related errands that the planners were not covering. I also had two parties to work out and final dress fittings to help coordinate for the Bride and her maids.

The wedding shower was held at Tom's mansion on the Saturday two weeks before the wedding. This party was primarily for the bride's friends, but Tom flew his mother and sister up for the party. Tom made himself scarce during the week by taking a quick business trip to Europe to attend some type of prosthetics convention and he delayed his return until Sunday. His is a wise man.

Having never been to a bridal shower, I relied heavily on Sandra’s mother and sisters. We also enlisted the help of Sandra's bridesmaids which included her sisters, a high school friend, and a college roommate. We decided that the shower needed a romantic theme. The large living room was decorated with lots of flowers, hearts, and pink ribbon. The room was more than big enough to accommodate the thirty women who attended. There were pictures of both the Bride and Groom from various stages of their lives strewn about. I made sure to not include any from my life together with Sandra. There were a couple of pictures of Sandra and Tom together. These had been taken in the past couple of months since their engagement. A case of champagne was on hand and was liberally consumed by everyone but me. I nursed one small glass of bubbly throughout the evening. We played a number of silly, and somewhat embarrassing, shower games and opened presents. Embarrassing stories about both the Bride and Groom were liberally shared. The gifts ran from the sensible to the nearly pornographic. As this was a second marriage for Sandra, they had a hard time embarrassing her with graphic depictions of what to expect in the bedroom. I, on the other hand, was in constant blush mode. The women are definitely more open in their conversations about sex than men are. More than once someone would look at me and suggest to the group that maybe this was too much information for young girl. We had to remind them that I am older than I look and am not without bedroom experience. Just not from the feminine perspective. The women all had a good time but tended to ignore the young girl in the room.

Instead of going home that night, I spent my first night in the Princess room. With Tom out of town, Sandra spent her first night in his bed.

The dress fitting had been held that Saturday afternoon and was a new experience for me. It is said that bridesmaids dresses were chosen to purposely make the Bride the center of attention. Just like at our wedding, Sandra picked some rather plain dresses for her wedding party. We were all to wear knee length sleeveless shifts in a cream color that went well with Sandra's exquisite wedding dress. There would be doubt who the star was at the wedding. We had the fitting while Tom's sister was in town for the bridal shower. We were ushered in to a secluded showroom and each handed our dress. The dresses had been made using our provided dimensions. Then all the girls started to undress. Right there in the open room. It only occurred to me after I had stripped down to my underwear that I had never been in the presence of so many underwear clad women outside of a locker room. After a moment's contemplation I mentally shrugged and said to myself: If the panties fit, wear them. I am a girl now and this is apparently normal.

Sandra almost had a melt down over some obscure detail with her dress, so I was kept busy trying to calm her much of the time. The final alterations would be done by the next weekend, just in time for us to leave for the wedding.

As the days are counted down, Sandra's anxiety seemed to increase. She started to micromanage the details. It was getting on my nerves. Since we were still roommates I had to deal with her daily.

The Sunday after the bridal shower, while she was waiting until it was time to meet Tom at the airport, we had a little heart-to-heart discussion.

Sandra was going off about some wedding detail when I couldn't take it anymore.

"Sandra!" I said sharply, getting her attention. I was getting ready to slap her if necessary. "Were you this much of a basket case last time?"

"I am not a basket case," she said indignantly. "I just want everything to be perfect."

"The only thing that really matters," I told her, "is that the two of you say 'I do' when prompted by the priest. The rest is just window dressing. Take a deep breath and let it go. You have me, your mother, your future mother-in-law, your sisters, his sister and two wedding planners going at full tilt. Just relax or you'll make yourself sick. Or worse yet you'll focus so much on what doesn't go according to plan to revel in the celebration of your love. You'll ruin it for yourself, Tom, and everyone else. Have some faith, girl. We know what you want done and we'll do it. When something doesn't go according to plan, don't sweat it. We'll have you covered. And you can focus on your man."

She sighed, "Am I really that bad?"

"Have you ever heard of Bridezilla?" I asked. She nodded affirmatively. "You are in danger of becoming one. It's time to take a deep breath and step back from the brink."

She gives me a hug, "I am sorry. I don't why I'm so nervous. This isn't my first rodeo, so to speak. I just hope that this is the last one. I love Tom so much that I want everything to be perfect for him. I want this to be a day that we can remember fondly for the rest of our lives. Oh, Andi, thanks for the lecture. I suppose that I deserved it. I don't know what I'd do without you."

"It will be a day that you always remember," I pointed out dryly as we break our hug. "Do you want to remember it fondly or with regret? The flowers, table layouts, music, food, wine, etc. are not what you'll remember. At least it's not what I remember from our wedding. I doubt that Tom will remember any of those details from this wedding. What I do remember is my heart soaring as I was standing opposite the most special girl in the world in front of the minister on a hilltop. I remember listening to you pledge your love to me until death do us part. In hindsight we should have added something about until gender changes do us part. The party was fun but all I wanted was it to end so that we could get away from all those people to consummate our marriage and begin to build our life together. I don't remember what colors we chose, who sat next to who, a lot of the things that you are stressing about. Tom probably won't remember those details either. Remember that this is Tom’s big day too. If you keep stressing about this you'll spoil it for both of you."

"I'll try," she promised. To her credit, she did a pretty good job of stepping back. I only had to remind her a couple of times as the day drew closer.

-----<0>-----

My visit the gynecologist that week confirmed what I had already figured out on my own. I now had a vaginal opening. As a result, I was introduced to the indignity of a pelvic examination. After poking around down there and examining the ultrasound results for the day, my doctor reported that it seemed that I was almost completely formed. Things weren't quite up to specs yet, but that would be resolved in only a matter of days if things continued to progress at their current rate.

We scheduled the next appointment for two weeks out since I'd be traveling to Louisiana with Tom and Sandra next week for the wedding. The gynecologist suggested that I start carrying tampons or pads with me. She was fully expecting me to experience my first period once the changes were complete. Oh joy!

I went to the department store and bought a bikini to celebrate. After two months of immersion in female culture, I had learned the value of shopping therapy. A bikini also seemed to be symbolic of the near completion of my transformation. What better way to demonstrate that I am female now. Looking in a mirror, I saw that there could be no doubt that I was all girl.

The temperature was in the low 70s, so I spent the afternoon by the condo association pool working on my tan. I felt very exposed wearing my new bikini out in public however I was soon distracted following up with wedding details on my Blackberry and by reading a couple of technical magazines that I had brought out with me. There were other kids around as school was out for the day, but they were mostly older teens and I was ignored.

The sun felt great on my skin.

Tom and Sandra were fixing dinner together when I went home to the condo wearing the bikini with a flimsy cover up.

"Tom," Sandra poked at her fiancé, "It's not nice to stare at your daughter that way."

"Wow," he said in awe, "I didn't realize just how far the changes have affected you, Andi. You're very cute. I think that we'll be beating off the boys very soon."

Sandra poked him again, and smiling at me said, "That's a really nice bikini, Andi. As Tom's expression will tell you, it suits you. When did you get it?"

I sat at the counter and filled them in on my day, including my doctor's visit and shopping trip. We also chatted about the latest in wedding plans. Sandra eventually suggested that I go get more clothes on. It felt like a normal domestic family evening. It felt comfortable.

After Tom left that evening, Sandra loaned me some tampons and gave me a rather graphic description of how they were used. She even had me practice inserting one. She also gave me a couple of pads and panty liners, which were to be my new friends, to carry in my purse. She went with me to purchase my own stock of feminine hygiene products after the next day's workout at the gym. It was embarrassing.

There was only a faint hint of blue left in the predominately pink crystal.

----<0>----

The following day, I had no particular plans to go anywhere, so decided to spend the afternoon by the pool working on my tan and catch up on some reading. The plan was to read a number of computer magazines that I hadn’t gotten to yet.

Our condominium complex caters mostly to young professionals, like Sandra and I, and there were not a lot of kids about. But there were a few. It was the first week of June and school was not out for the year quite yet, but it would be very soon.

I had been at the pool by myself late in the afternoon after school had let out for the day when a young girl about my own apparent age came in, introduced herself as Kelley and asked if she could lay on the lounger next to me. She dropped her cover up to reveal a one piece swimsuit before stretching out on the lounger. She had a few teen magazines and some sunscreen with her. Eventually other teens and young children with their mothers or nannies filtered in to enjoy the pool.

"I saw you out here from our condo when I got home from school," Kelley pointed to a nearby unit. "I saw you out here yesterday too, but my mom wouldn't let me come out because I had too much homework to do. My parents just bought the condo across the street and we moved in a month ago. I think I've seen you around with your mom but haven't had an opportunity to introduce myself yet. Your mom looks like a supermodel and you look a lot like a younger version of her. She seems too young to be your mother. Don't you hope that you get her looks? I saw you drive by in that cute car the other day. Won’t you get in trouble for driving your mom's car? You are too young to drive. Your mother lets you come to the pool by yourself? Isn't that unsafe? My mom only let me come today because I told her that you were out here by yourself and I promised that I would be keeping company with you. I haven't seen you on the bus. Don't you go to school?"

Kelley can get a lot out in one shot.

I still had the problem of how to integrate with my new peer group and it appeared as if the solution had just presented itself. The problem now was, do I go with her perception or do I tell her that I'm older than I look?

I had decided to see what pretending to be a young girl was like and see if I could make friends with a peer. I would be in school next fall, so I figured that I might as well get started on my girl assimilation.

I smiled at her, "I'm fairly new here too." As a young girl anyway, I thought to myself. "We decided to homeschool to the end of the year since we'll be moving soon anyway." Only a little white lie.

"Oh," she sounded disappointed, "I was wondering why I never see you on the bus or at school. I hate being the new girl all the time. Especially right at the end of the school year. My Dad was military and we moved every few years. He just got out and decided that we needed to move closer to family. Both Mom and Dad are from this area. Why are you're moving?"

"My mom is getting remarried in ten days,“ I informed her, “and we'll be moving in with her new husband when they get back from their honeymoon."

"Does he live nearby?" She asked.

"Not too close," I said, "He lives in a big house just north of town."

"That sounds nice," she sighed. "I wish we could settle down in a big house in the country. Are there horses? Will you be going to the same school as me? Will you have your own pool?"

My head spun at the rapid sequence of questions. I wondered if all girls are like this. I was soon to find out, that teen girls can talk rapidly and carry several threads of conversation at the same time without dropping a thought.

"I think that I will going to go to a private school next year," I mentioned, "He doesn't have any horses that I know of, but maybe I can get him to buy me one. There are actually two pools, one indoors and one out. How about you? Where did you move from?"

Over the next half hour I learned that they had just come from Japan where her father had been stationed as an air force doctor. She loved animals, particularly horses, chocolate ice cream, Taylor Swift, the color lavender, was also going into seventh grade the next year, and a myriad of other details. I tried to keep up and add similar things to the parallel conversations, but it soon became apparent that I was a novice at preteen girl gossip while Kelley was a pro.

Fortunately, two other twelve-year-old girls, Susie and Jenny, showed up. Kelley knows both from her short time at school so she invited them to join us. They also lived in our condo development. The three of them went at it a mile a minute and I tried to keep up, answering questions as they were put to me. I wasn't holding up my end of the conversation at all. Fortunately, the other two girls were lifelong residents of the area and they were happy to share their insights with Kelley and me.

After an hour of non-stop chatter, my brain was in a fog, so I excused myself and retreated to the condo on the excuse that I had to meet my "mom" at the gym. I started to get worried about jumping into seventh grade. I was going to have to figure out how that culture really worked and it appeared to be more complex that I had been expecting. I made a quick run to the local video store and picked up a number of teen girl movies on my way to the gym in a vain hope of getting an education. I knew that girls were more intense than guys, but I never realized just how intense they can be until I tried participating in this afternoon's conversation with three peer experts.

When I related my experience to Sandra as we worked out, she just grinned again. "You have a lot to learn, sweetie. Why don't you invite Kelley over to watch some of those movies with you while I'm out with Tom tonight. She might help you to understand them better."

Kelley had given me her phone number, so I called her when we got home to see if she wanted to come watch movies that evening while my "mom" was out with her fiancé. She was over almost immediately after her parents talked with Sandra to make sure that it was alright with her. I think that Kelley was looking for another new friend. We had to be done early because it was a school night so we only watched one film.

Kelley had kept a running commentary going about what she thought was real and what was fake about the situations presented in the movie. I tried to act like I knew what was going on by making a few comments of my own. Kelley would often look at me funny when I was apparently obviously misinterpreting what was going on in the film. It was a very educational evening.

During the movie we spent time doing some of the same girly things that I had been doing with Sandra and the girls in our families in recent months. I put her rather long blonde hair into a fancy French braid that she really adored. She fussed a bit with my much shorter hair but there wasn’t much we could do with it. The foundation of what was to be a long friendship was established that evening.

Next thing I knew, I had agreed to go over to her house for a sleepover the next Friday night for a repeat of the evening's activities. She invited Jenny and Susie too. This sleepover was much more successful that the last one I had attended at my niece's house. I was treated as one of the girls. It was nerve wracking trying to act like an authentic twelve-year-old girl.

-----<0>-----

Kelley and I ended up spending quite a bit of time together over the next few days, either at her house, mine, or the pool. Susie and/or Jenny would occasionally join us as they were able. I have to admit that it was fun and enlightening. I even started to get a handle on understanding girl speak, but I had a long way to go to become proficient at speaking it. Kelley, without really knowing it, was turning out to be a good mentor.

Kelley was fascinated with my ongoing work on the wedding plans and wanted to help. I couldn’t think of anything for her to do as everything was in its final stages and under control, more or less.

When my mother found out about my new friends, she said that it was a step in the right direction and encouraged me to keep it up. She was pleased that I’d found a way to connect with my age group. She said that it would make things easier when I started school in the fall.

It turns out that the three girls would start attending the middle school that mom is principal of in the fall. It wasn't long before I started to reevaluate the decision to attend the private school. The girls all wanted me to join them at my mother's public middle school.

-----<0>-----

The wedding clock continued to tick by. On the Sunday before the wedding, Sandra and I spent the entire afternoon going through her wardrobe, choosing items for the upcoming trip to Louisiana and the honeymoon. She agonized over every item and we discussed, endlessly, what she might need for various occasions. She wanted my former male perspective on what looked nice and what I thought that she should wear under it to seduce Tom. She had been ramping up the sexual tension and planned to hit him full force with as much sex appeal as she could muster on their wedding day and on the honeymoon. The woman was obviously very sexually frustrated and was looking for all the action she could get out of her man.

She had done similar things in the build up to our wedding ten years earlier. By the time the big day arrived, I was more than ready to satisfy the lady. Somewhere deep inside me, where some small amount of blue still remained, I vaguely wished that this was all for me.

At the same time, the overwhelming pink in me wistfully dreamed of my own big day.

Packing for the honeymoon was a little tricky. We knew what she needed in the bedroom (not much!) but the destination was unknown. Soon after they got formally engaged Tom had asked her where she'd like to go for the honeymoon. As it was cold in Wisconsin at the time, she had promptly said that she'd like to go somewhere warm with lots of sandy beaches. He smiled and said that he would make that happen. He was successful in keeping the destination a secret right up until they left the reception, but he had promised her that the location fit her wishes. So, another trip to the department store found her the possessor of a very skimpy bikini and a see through cover up. I had hoped that the beach is private. I had made sure to slip a bottle of sunscreen into her suitcase.

We also spent time trying to decide what I should take on the trip. I was only going to be gone for five days, but I still ended up with a good sized suitcase to take.

When we had thought we were done, there were three huge suitcases, one of which was mine, lined up by the front door to our condo and her wedding dress was hanging in the hall closet. Monday was her last day at work before the wedding. She would not be back for three weeks since the couple had a two week honeymoon planned. When she arrived home from work that day, she had second thoughts about her wardrobe selections and we took the cases back to her room and started over again. After everything was repacked and lined up the door again, she started to rethink the packing once more. I had given her the evil eye and made her walk away from her cases.

On Tuesday Tom had picked us up and we were soon on board a corporate jet heading to Louisiana. The rest of Sandra's family and friends would be finding their way to the backwoods of Louisiana on their own, though Tom was picking up the tab for commercial travel for Sandra's family. He was also picking up the tab for two floors of a Marriott hotel about half an hour away from his hometown for Sandra's friends and family.

When we arrived at his parent's house late Tuesday, the place looked like a war zone. There were piles of equipment everywhere. A small group of workers was erecting a circus tent in the backyard where the reception dinner party was going to be held. It was huge. I guess that it needed to be for the 400 guests that had been invited. A portable dance floor was to be installed in the middle of the tent. This was a BIG production.

Sandra and I were given a room well away from Tom's. We would be sharing a room until the wedding so that I could assist her as needed.

I was formally introduced to the Judge and, after dinner, the Judge and his wife invited me into their Study. It seemed that the Study is where all the business happens. Sandra gave me a worried look as I wandered off with Tom's parents.

Once we were settled, Tom's mother opened the conversation, "Andi, we have a hard time imagining you as a man. I saw nothing male in you at the bridal shower. All we can see is a darling looking little girl who looks a lot like a younger version of Sandra. Regardless, I feel that I know the mature person from our telephone chats. We just want to see how you are holding up. This must be hard for you."

The Judge nodded in agreement.

"I'm okay," I said, "mostly.  My family, friends, and Sandra have worked hard to help me adjust to my new reality. Sandra has also changed. She is no longer the woman who had been my wife. Instead she is my best friend and I am happy for her. I still wish that I could rewind the clock nine months and undo our visit to Grandma Broussard. Even though our relationship was strained, Sandra and I had a good thing going. But I can't do that and what is done is done. Under the circumstances, I am extremely pleased that my best friend and former sweetheart has found joy in her new relationship and hope that it brings her the joy that I could not give her. And right now, I can't wait until she's off on her honeymoon. She's driving me around the bend."

They both smiled at that. The Judge commented with a smile, "We noticed that she's a bit wound up."

"That's an understatement, if I ever heard one," I commented dryly.

"By the way," I gave them my best glare, but I suspect that it didn't look all that threatening coming from a twelve-year-old, "I have a bone to pick with someone. Tom and Sandra only grinned at me when I try to get them to talk to me about the extra $3 million in my investment account. Did you put him up to it?"

They look at each other briefly before grinning at me and saying "No comment" in unison.

For the next half an hour they probed me about my feelings and future plans. I asked them a lot of questions about Grandma Broussard.

It appears that Grandma resurfaced after Tom and Sandra's visit and the Judge gave her an earful. According to Tom's mother, Grandma took it calmly and said that everything would work out to everyone's benefit. She was confident that time would prove her right. No amount of reason would get her to admit that she'd harmed Sandra and me. When the Judge pointed out that she should also be compensating me for my loss, she apparently said that she already had. It would take time for me to realize it. None of us knew what she meant by that. Grandma also told them that she'd not be talking with me or Sandra or Tom until the nine months was over on Saturday.

When the meeting broke up, I think that a friendship had started. The Judge shook my hand and I got a great hug from his wife.

"Welcome to the family," Mrs. Broussard said as she hugged me. "We are twice blessed by having a wonderful new daughter-in-law and a beautiful young lady joining our family."

That night, as we got ready for bed, Sandra asked me how the interview went. She had been worried that the Broussards would grill me again. I reassured her that all was well and I filled her in on our conversation.

----<0>----

The next three days were a tornado of activity. I stayed by Sandra's side through most of it.

Wednesday we went to the Courthouse and the happy couple got the marriage license.

Thursday included a last minute meeting with the wedding planner and caterers for the rehearsal dinner and reception. There was the meeting with the Priest for final coordination of the ceremony. We also met with the florists to make sure that all was on track for the arrangements at the church and reception. Sandra and I got a sneak peek at the bouquet. It was huge and it was gorgeous, like everything else associated with this wedding. After dinner, Tom and Sandra went to sit by the pond and talk while I sat and visited with various members of Tom's family as they filtered through the house. I was starting to think that Sandra was marrying into a great family. She will fit in nicely.

Friday, Tom went off to do whatever business he had to do. Sandra and I moved to the hotel where her family and friends were gathering. We had rented out the hotel bar for that evening's bachelorette party so I spent time with the staff finalizing the details for that event. By lunch time, all the bridesmaids had arrived and we met in a staging room to make sure that all our dresses and accessories were in order. Several hair stylists would be showing up early Saturday morning to make sure that our hair and makeup were perfect for the main event.

Four PM found us all at the church, rehearsing the ceremony with the priest. That went off without a hitch.

The rehearsal dinner was held at the hotel where several meeting rooms had been combined into a big banquet room. Sandra's parents and Tom's parents spent much of the time becoming acquainted and sharing stories of their respective children. There were a few speeches and wishes for happiness to the lovely couple. I saw Grandma Broussard there and tried to connect with her, but things kept getting in the way. She did smile at me from across the room once when I glared at her, but that was the only communication we had.

Eventually, the bridesmaids and groomsmen told the couple to kiss good night before we whisked them away to their respective bachelor parties. They would next see each other at the church.

Typically bachelorette parties are held sooner than the night before the wedding so that the bride does not show up hung-over for the wedding. We chose to have it at the last minute since there were invitees from both sides of the new family and that is when everyone could be there. This meant that I, as the hostess, had to ride herd on Sandra to make sure that no one got her drunk. It was a challenge.

The first challenge, it turned out, was getting me into the party. The bartender asked me to leave on the grounds that underage children were not allowed in the bar. When I showed him my ID, he confiscated it stating that this was the most blatant use of a fake ID that he had ever seen. He said that he would turn it over to the police if I didn't leave. I was hopping mad. I let him know that I'm the one paying for the party, I was of age, the Maid of Honor, and was going to stay. When Sandra saw me in a heated argument with the bartender she came over to see what the issue was. The bartender didn't believe her either. Our argument was getting attention from the other party goers. Fortunately we had invited the mothers of the couple to the party and Mrs. Broussard came to my rescue. After a few well placed phone calls and a visit from the night manager, the bartender backed off. He also gave me my ID back. He glared at me all night. I smirked at him while nursing one glass of champagne for the night. He did not get much of a tip from me.

The bridesmaids and I each gave a little speech about how special Sandra was then opened the mike for other comments. I have to say, I didn't realize how crude a bunch of slightly drunk young women can be. The presence of the mothers kept things toned down a bit, but when they left around 9:00 pm, things started to get raunchy. We had karaoke, and each of the bridesmaids led a party game. Things were still going strong when I dragged Sandra back to our room so that she could get some sleep before her big day. Of course she had to hug and thank each woman individually before we left. It was a bit after 10:30 PM when I finally got her tucked into bed and I fell exhausted into mine.

----<0>----

Sensing motion in the room, I woke at 3:30 AM to see Sandra standing at the window with her robe clutched around her. She was just staring out the window with tears streaming down her cheeks.

Slipping out of bed, I stepped up beside her, put my arm around her waist and laid my head against her shoulder. She put her arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. With a seven inch height difference, I'm sure that we looked more like mother and daughter than best friends.

We just stood there together for a while before she finally spoke.

"How did we get here, Andrew?" She sobbed quietly.

She didn't use my full name often, and never my former male name anymore.

I gave her a squeeze as I replied, "Grandma Broussard."

"She might have helped," Sandra admitted, "but none of this would have happened if I hadn't been so obsessed with having a baby."

I didn't reply.

After a few minutes, she continued, "I woke a while ago and watched you sleep. I know that my first love is somewhere inside the lovely girl that has become my best friend. I just don't see him. It really does feel as if Andrew has died or disappeared and I miss him terribly. As I watched you, I reflected on how much I am to blame for ruining your life. You should hate me, yet you have been my rock over the past couple of months as I have prepared to marry another man. I don't understand how you can do that. Today should be a celebration of our tenth anniversary, but I am marrying another man instead. How can you not hate me! When I came to look out the window, all the good times we've had over the years started to pass through my mind. You have always been there for me and I was there for you. We were a good team. I feel so bad for having let you down and my heart aches. I am a terrible person for loving Tom when I should still be married to you."

We continued standing there, staring out the window together. We were both silently crying.

Finally, I replied, "You are not a bad person, Sandra. And Tom is a great guy. You and I are both victims, but we don't have to be. We can take what has been done to us and turn it into something positive and wonderful. You are doing the right thing, given the circumstances. Neither one of us are the same person that we were nine months ago. There is no way that I can be a husband to you now. You know that. I know that. Tom knows that. I will always cherish the time that we had together and hope for many more wonderful times together in the future, only different. Now it is time for you to start building happy memories with Tom. I may be your best girlfriend, but now you need to put Tom on the pedestal reserved for your very best friend. Your marriage won't work if you don't. Grandma Broussard has, in a twisted way, given me a gift too. I still have you in my life and I have a chance to go back and not repeat some of the mistakes of my teen years. I need to live life more fully than I did as a geeky kid twenty years ago. I need to be more like you. Hopefully, if I can be more like you, I will find a companion like Tom to love me and with whom I can stand as we face the world together, like you and Tom are about to do. Like what you and I tried to do, without great success. I think that we both have to finally admit that our relationship was heading for the rocks before all this happened. Things are working out well for both of us now. I will to be there to watch your happiness grow and to be your sounding board when you need it. You will be there when I need the same."

She gave me a squeeze, "You can count on me, Andi. Thanks for being my rock." She wiped the tears from her eyes.

"I love you, Sandra," I whispered.

"I love you too, Andi," She whispered back as we turn to hug each other.

We moved the room's couch so that we could sit together while we continued to stare out the window as the night slumbered on.

A sense of peace settle on both of us as we silently sat together, each with her own thoughts.

NotExpected 15

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn She gave me a squeeze, "You can count on me, Andi. Thanks for being my rock." She wipes the tears from her eyes. "I love you, Sandra," I whispered. "I love you too, Andi," She whispered back as we turn to hug each other. We moved the room's couch so that we could sit together while we continued to stare out the window as the night slumbered on. A sense of peace settle on both of us as we silently sat together, each with her own thoughts.

Chapter 15

When the wake up call came at 6:30 AM, I woke with my head on Sandra's lap. She was stroking my hair and still gazing out the window.

That was the last peaceful moment of the day.

First off, I felt a dampness in my underwear. On investigation, there was a spot of blood. It was the onset of my very first period. When I showed Sandra the problem, she grinned and welcomed me to the world of women. I dug the crystal out of my luggage only to find it uniformly pink. There wasn’t a hint of blue. I then knew that the process is complete. It had been nine months to the day since the visit to Grandma Broussard.

I didn't have time to dwell on this new development. We had a wedding to pull off. A BIG wedding.

I still don't understand big weddings. They are a lot of work, just so that two people can commit, before the world, to being one in mind and purpose and forever true to each other. A marriage is just as valid without the window dressing as it is with it. I guess that it is a big celebration of sorts, and we all need a good celebration from time to time, but I can do that in the backyard with a grill, a cooler full of drinks, and tables to put food on.

With that said, a well done big wedding is a beautiful thing to behold. And this wedding was right up there with Royal weddings.

After quick showers, we went down to meet the bridesmaids and hair stylists. We spent the next two hours getting beautiful. After they were done with me, I paused briefly to examine myself in one of the many full length mirrors. A very cute girl stared back. She had piercing blue eyes and short dark hair with a garland of spring flowers on her head. We'd gotten my ears pierced about six weeks earlier so the cute girl had diamond teardrop earrings and a diamond pendant strung around her neck. The knee length cream sheath hid the fact that her curves were just getting started. The small A cup breasts were appropriate to her age. Her long slender neck held up a pretty heart shaped face with a button nose. Slender arms and delicate hands were held up for examination. With the make up, white tights, and two inch heels the girl in the mirror looked to be about fourteen. The thought had crossed my mind that this was me now. My future was going to be different than anything I had dreamed of only nine months earlier.

I had looked across the room to where Sandra's mother was helping to put the final touches together for the absolutely gorgeous bride. Unbidden I had found myself wistfully hoping that I could be in her position some day.

Then I had felt another abdominal cramp and realized that being a woman wasn't all sugar and spice.

By nine thirty, we were informed that the limos had arrived to take us to the church and we all helped Sandra fight her voluminous dress into the vehicle. Sandra, her mother, and I were in the second limo. The other bridesmaids gently entered the other and we were off.

The last stragglers were still outside the church when we pulled up outside. Upon seeing the limos, the groomsmen, acting as ushers, shooed everyone into the building before we were allowed to exit the cars. Only Sandra's father and a cute little guy in a tux, the ring bearer, were left outside.

Being extremely careful not to damage dresses and make up, we had all assembled in the foyer of the church. Sandra looked radiant. When all was ready, the organist was cued and the music started. Each of the groomsmen offered an arm to the appropriate bridesmaid and started down the aisle. I followed alone, with the ring bearer and flower girl behind me. I could see Tom and his best man standing confidently at the altar. As we took our places at the front of the church the wedding march started and everyone stood. It was hard to fight back the tears as I watched the most beautiful bride I've ever seen being escorted down the aisle by her father. She only had eyes for Tom and he for her. You could feel the intense love in the air. I tried real hard to not compare this with our wedding ceremony. I wanted to be happy for Sandra and Tom. It was surprisingly difficult, given that I had been at peace with the proceedings.

The rest of the ceremony seemed to pass me by in a fog. It seemed only moments later that I was handing Sandra back her bouquet and adjusting her train for the recessional. I then found myself following the newly weds back down the aisle with the rest of the wedding party. It was beautiful, but it was harder than I was expecting.

After Tom and Sandra signed the register and the marriage license was completed we spent an hour with a photographer posing for the wedding photos.

After the photos, we had a couple of hours to kill before the before the reception at the Broussard mansion. I found my emotions to be all over the place and I had just wanted to find a nice place to hide for a while so that I could have a good cry.

That wasn't to be.

After the couple had left the church, I was looking for my ride back to the hotel, after having just refreshed my feminine protection in the nearest bathroom, when I ran into Grandma Broussard.

I had groaned to myself when I saw her. All I wanted to do was go back to the hotel to see if a hot bath would help my uncomfortable abdomen. I had a feeling that wouldn't be happening now.

"Hello, Andi," she smiled at me, "do you have some time to chat with an old woman?"

I snorted. "Don't play the helpless poor old woman with me. I fell for it once, I won't do it again."

She nodded knowingly. "You are right my dear. I have found that people are more likely to put stock in the magic with such an act. It is such an unfortunate stereotype. Regardless, it is time for us to talk again. I sense that you are starting to understand what happened but we should talk about it."

I gave a sigh, "I should be really mad a you, Mrs. Broussard."

She waved at a park bench on the far side of the church grounds. "Maybe we should go sit and chat. I think that you will feel better if we do. You might also be able to clear up some of my questions as well."

She patted me on the shoulder as we walked to the bench, "You'll learn to deal with the discomfort and emotional swings, dear. All women do. It is normal to feel irritable and depressed during your time of the month. You will also find yourself crying for no reason, like you want to do right now. Given you emotional state, this might not be the best time to chat, but you have to learn to rise above it. Don't let your period cloud your judgment."

The woman was very observant.

When we were seated, she said, "They make a great couple, don't they?"

I tried to glared at her before responding. I don't think that there was real conviction behind the glare. "They do, but this shouldn't be happening. "

Looking me intently in the eye, she asked. "Why is that?"

I noticed that the thick southern accent has disappeared. She sounds much more cultured, having a more refined southern accent than when Sandra and I first met her.

"Because, on the surface, everything was good between Sandra and I," I replied with a touch of bitterness. I was feeling very irritable. I intentionally ignored the fact that I knew that Sandra and I were on the verge of serious problems when we had visited her. Looking back, I am sure that I was letting my hormones get the better of me. "We had a good marriage and we were making our way in the world together. We came to you for help and you and Tom destroyed what we had instead."

"Did we really my young friend?" She asked me "Think hard about that. Compare then and now. What do you see?"

I wanted to hate the woman, but couldn't. Not after I had realized what a blessing this situation had become. "Nine months ago, I was a man happily married to the love of my life. Things were good. Sure, we had struggles. But what married couple doesn't? Today I am divorced, a new gender, twenty years younger, and just helped the love of my life marry another man who is wealthier and better looking than I ever would have been. It would appear that, as a result of meeting with you, everything I have ever hoped for myself has collapsed before my eyes."

"That's a rather depressing comparison, dear," she smiled, "and I don't think that you really believe it. Perhaps you could try again. This time look at it from the positive side."

I thought for a minute about the conversation I had with Sandra in the night. I thought about where we were nine months ago. I thought about where we were now. I thought about where Sandra and I might have been had things not changed. It was a lot to sort out.

Grandma waited patiently while I reflected on my predicament.

Starting again, I quit trying to hate the woman, "Nine months ago I was married to the love of my life, but she was very sad and it as eating at our marriage. I had hoped that she'd finally accept the cards that we'd been dealt and put her sadness behind her. Our visit to you was going to be the last time we would seek help having a baby. We had hoped that you would help US have a child. I had given up, but I think that Sandra was hanging on to this last hope."

"What do you think would have happened to your marriage if no baby came?" She gently asked.

"I don't know," I shrugged. "When you met with us you predicted that the desire for a baby that would never come would eat away at our marriage. You said that the best that we could hope for is to be two good friends supporting each other through life without the fullness of joy that a family brings."

"I did say something like that," Grandma recalled. "I have seen it happen many times. It is heartbreaking to watch. Did Tom ever tell you what my profession was?"

"Besides being a witch," I snorted, "No, he didn't."

"I was a marriage counselor," She said, ignoring the witch comment. "I worked with many troubled couples over the years. I was not always successful in helping them. The saddest cases were marriages that were strained due to circumstances outside of the couple's control. Things like infertility or the loss of a child. I watched too many marriages disintegrate under the pressure. From your answers to my questions, I was very sure that the same was happening to your marriage. It was early stages, but there would have been a painful, slow disintegration. There was no magic involved in that prediction, just decades of experience helping struggling couples. If things were left to continue as they were, you MIGHT have stayed friends, but it was unlikely. Friendship would have been the best that you could have hoped for. It would be a very sad friendship. I believe that the reason the magic asked for the mismatched nut and bolt was to represent that, while you were technically joined, your relationship was becoming tentative and would soon be dysfunctional."

I sighed as I considered her statement, "You might be right, but we were hoping that we could rebuild our joy after accepting our fate if no baby came."

"It would have been a noble and difficult effort," she replied. "You might have succeeded, but the odds were very much against it. Both you and Sandra are extraordinary people so you had a chance at making it work. A very slim chance. But if you had, there would always be that deep sadness shadowing your relationship and impacting everything else you did in life."

"Have you used magic to help your practice?" I asked.

"Rarely," she admitted, "I only did when I got a feeling that it might work to the advantage of everyone involved. The magic is fickle and I don't control it. I am more of a conduit. The results were often unpredictable, but the end always resulted in the participants finding peace and happiness, like you eventually will. The magic I represent is benevolent and only works to bring peace and happiness to those who seek it.  Sandra has found happiness and is finding peace now."

"Not if there isn't a baby soon," I pointed out.

Grandma smiled, "Oh, I am pretty sure that they are working on that as we speak. Sandra will have conceived before the reception tonight."

"Is that the marriage counselor's guess," I asked with a raised eyebrow, "or the witch's knowledge?"

"It is the insight that I have been given," She replies cryptically with a gentle smile.

Continuing she asked, "We've established where you were nine months ago and the likely outcome without my help. What do you see about the current situation? What has my ‘interference’ resulted in?"

"The most obvious is that I have changed gender and regressed in physical age," I mentioned.

"Yes," she said, "that was most unexpected. I have never seen that happen before. I was expecting that a path to overcoming your infertility would be revealed. Instead, the magic of the ceremony told me that Sandra would be the answer to Tom’s singleness and that Tom would be the answer to her childlessness."

"All at my expense," I said, pointing to myself. "So why did it turn out this way?"

"I really don't know," she sighed. "As I said, I have never seen this solution before. The magic also told me that you would gain the most from the ceremony. Do you have any ideas on why the magic thinks that this was a good idea? I have my guesses, but I have not figured that one out yet."

"Assuming that the goal was for our love as friends to grow but not as husband and wife," I said thoughtfully, "the gender change makes sense. My becoming female definitely ended the marriage and opened the door for today’s wedding without destroying my closeness to Sandra. My being a woman would make it so that my relationship with Sandra would not interfere with her new marriage. Like or not, neither Sandra nor I are interested in same sex marriage. A same sex marriage would not alleviate Sandra's desire to get pregnant within the bonds of a loving relationship. So, that meant that there needed to be another man and Tom was conveniently available. I don't think that magic was responsible for their attraction to each other. While Sandra was doing a good job of resisting the attraction, it probably would have grown as our relationship declined. Sandra was doomed to conflicted feelings regardless of what happened. I think that fate had a lot to do with bringing them together."

"I agree with you," she smiled. "The magic doesn't change the heart. In hind sight, I have come to think that Tom would have eventually married Sandra with or without the magic. It just would have taken longer and been more painful. Sandra's ethics would have meant that your marriage needed to end before Tom could step in to pick up the pieces. Tom's ethics would have kept him from intentionally interfering until the marriage died a natural death. It would have been a painful end and, even with a marriage to Tom, both of you would have carried a heavy burden of sadness and regret for the rest of your lives. You would have suffered the worst without someone to help you pick up the pieces of your failed marriage. I am starting to see how things are better the way they turned out.

"You said that your are not interested in a same sex marriage?" she changed the subject.

"Yes," I sheepishly admitted, "My interest in girls was pretty much gone by Christmas, and if last night is any indicator, I am starting to be more attracted to boys than girls. At the dinner last night, I was finding some of Tom's nephews to be kind of cute. I suspect that as I continue to grow up as a girl, that my new hormones will only make that attraction greater."

I sighed, "I just hope that I don't become boy crazy."

Grandma smiled at that, and patted my knee, "I think that almost all teen girls are a bit boy crazy at some point, whether or not they want to admit it. It goes with the hormonal changes that take place during puberty. It is the natural course of things."

I had groaned at that bit of information, "I really hope not."

She smiled at me and gave my hand a squeeze. "You will survive it, dear. Most of us do. I am pretty sure that the magic made you a complete female in everyway, even to physically reforming your brain to match that of a typical naturally born female of your apparent age so this development is not a surprise."

"What about the age regression?" She continued. "I am most confused about the reasons for that."

"I had a hard time understanding that one for a long time," I admitted, "But I think that I can see it now. What better way to maintain close contact with Sandra than to be her child? We will be together daily and it will not interfere with her new marriage. The family connection will enable us to stay very close throughout our lives. From what I've seen, mother-daughter relationships can be intense and last a lifetime. I needed to be just old enough to be a companion instead of ward, so just entering teen years makes since. Imagine the awkwardness that would exist if I moved in with the happy couple as a thirty-two-year-old woman.

"When we married, Sandra's relationship with her best girlfriend at the time changed because they did not spend so much time together anymore. Eventually their relationship became a bit more distant, though they remain friends to this day. In fact, she was one of the bridesmaids. I think that she was a little put out that she wasn't asked to be the Maid-of-Honor this time around. Being a young girl and part of the family is probably the only possible way that Sandra and I will stay close after her marriage to Tom."

"Good point," she concedes. "this makes sense. Are there any other benefits to the age regression? It seems like an extreme measure to just keep you close to Sandra."

"It keeps coming to me," I tell her, "that the greatest gift of the age regression is the chance to start over again. Just changing gender would not have done that. I needed to restart my life where the decisions have the most impact.

"You pointed out, when we first met you, that I was operating below my potential. The coarse threaded bolt was a good representation - I was not willing to put in the effort to excel, to be like a fine threaded bolt. Your observation was very true. All my life, I have been told the same thing. I was comfortable just getting by and taking a supportive role in our marriage. Sandra was the real driving force in our relationship. I think that my lack of ambition was also a thorn in Sandra's side and contributed, in some measure, to the friction within our marriage. I now wonder if my lack of ambition could also have eventually led to a failed marriage. I am sure that I was sometimes holding her back from realizing her full potential. I don't know how long she would have endured that. In hind sight, I can see where we were not perfectly matched, though we were well enough matched to make a marriage work with effort.

"Becoming a twelve-year-old again has opened a lot of opportunity. First, since I need to figure out the new me and where I fit into the scheme of things, what better way to do that than with peers that are all trying to do the same thing? As you know, people spend their teen years trying out different identities to see what works best for them, hence all the confusion of that period in a person's life. My own identity confusion will be viewed as just another kid trying to find herself. I will be enrolling in seventh grade again in the fall primarily to surround myself with other girls going through similar experiences. While the primary reason for going back to school is social I also hope to also rise to my potential academically. Socially, I will learn how to BE a girl and accumulate girl experiences as I grow into adulthood. Growing up as a girl will be a valuable experience for me, paying dividends as I enter adulthood again. Academically, I can take advantage of the opportunity to excel - it should not be hard since I have been through the process before and even hold a college degree. And I will know why I am there, unlike last time.

"I did not 'live' my teen years the first time around. I was a geeky gamer and squandered my time and energy. I did not take advantage of the opportunities offered. Math, science, and technology came to me without effort, but I practically failed out of my other classes because I would not engage with them. I have often regretted not applying myself. I was not involved in extracurricular activities and had no social life outside of a small circle of similarly inclined geeks and my online 'friends'. I was lucky to get accepted into the state college. I finally came out of my shell when I met Sandra. I know exactly how Tom felt when he first met her. Like him, she opened my eyes to see a whole new world. I still remember that snowy day we went to dinner while waiting for the traffic to clear. I was so smitten that I never wanted to leave her side. She told me later that she felt the same way. It was meant to be. We had a good thing going, at first.

"You were right when you told me that I was operating below my potential." I told her, "All my teachers and professors told me that I really needed to step up my game. My supervisor, when he let me go, said that he was doing me a favor if I would take the opportunity to realize my potential. He felt that my job was beneath me. I do want to change that."

Grandma smiled, "You are an unusually mature young girl."

I snorted at that, "Thirty-two years of life experiences will do that to a girl."

She put her arm around me and gave me a sideways hug, "I have a feeling that things will work out wonderfully for you, Andi. It will also be great to have such a wonderful new great granddaughter. Welcome to the family, dear."

Grandma then took my hands in hers and stared intently into my eyes. That strange tingly feeling returned.

"Yes," she said more to herself than to me. "I see great things in your future."

"What do you see?" I asked curiously has she let go of my hands.

She smiled a knowing smile, "I see accomplishment, strong friendships, love, and happiness in your future. You will be an admirable woman, Andi."

"You are not going to give me any specifics," I asked already knowing the answer, "are you?"

She patted my knee again, "Some things are best discovered on your own, sweetheart. Just follow you desires, work hard, open your heart, have courage, and be kind. You will do well."

"I have a question for you," I told her.

She nodded at me to continue.

"Why did you include Tom's bolt in the ceremony?" I asked.

"That's a good question. When I talked with Sandra on the phone the first time, I had a vision that Tom was going to be part of the solution to the infertility and that I needed his bolt for the ceremony," she explained, "though, at the time, I didn't know how or why. I just hoped that it wasn't to break up your marriage and steal your wife. I am not a fan of intentionally destroying marriages. I hoped that maybe it was that he would, with his medical industry connections, be instrumental in helping you to find a way around your infertility. Given his wealth, I thought that he might even finance whatever treatment was necessary.

"By the way, sweetie," she sidetracked, "your infertility has been cured. Be careful what you do with those cute boys or you will find yourself to be a mother too. It is best to wait until you find the right man and are prepared to raise a loving family. Be patient."

I had blanched at that news.

"It's okay, dear," she had almost giggled at my expression and gave my hand a squeeze, "we all have had that problem."

"Anyway," she got back on track, "I wasn't totally surprised to see his bolt joined with Sandra's nut, and I was relieved that his role was not to be the home breaker, but to be there to pick up the pieces for Sandra after your marriage ended. It is not what I expected, but I think that things are turning out just fine. I am very sure that your marriage would have eventually ended with or without the magic’s help. As you pointed out, with your relationship with Sandra changed, there needed to be another man to fill Sandra's need for a child within a loving relationship. I think that, as it turned out, Tom is a good choice, don't you?"

"I guess so," I had admitted without enthusiasm.

"Do you know of any man who would have been a better choice?" she asked.

As I thought of it, she had a point there. I just shook my head.

"I can see now that including Tom's bolt also solved another problem," she continued. "Shortly after he first met Sandra, he came home for a family event. He took me aside and told me that he had, unexpectedly, met a woman who filled his every dream, day and night. This was good news to me, the boy has been so focused on work his whole life that he has barely noticed that women exist. The family had resigned itself to the fact that he was to be a confirmed bachelor for his whole life. Unfortunately he seemed very conflicted over this new revelation. He went on to tell me that the only problem was that the woman of his dreams was happily married to a fine man. Over the next weeks, after he went back to Wisconsin, he'd call me when his anguish was at its worse and I'd try to help him get past this infatuation. His infatuation was getting in the way of his productivity, which caused its own problems. On one of those calls, he told me of Sandra's frustration with not being able to have children and asked if I could help the two of you. As we were talking, I had the vision of the ceremony that needed to be performed, In the vision I saw that he had a role to play in the saga. I then asked him to send me a bolt. Like any good mechanical engineer, he had one in his workshop. I told him that I could help with the infertility and to have Sandra call me."

"So what you're telling me," I interjected, "is that you knew, from the start, that Sandra would eventually marry your grandson."

"Not at all," she said, "but I knew that there was a distinct possibility that she would. As I said earlier, I was hoping that his role might be something different. After the ceremony, however, I knew. It made me sad as I hate to see marriages begun with love and promise end. However, knowing how the magic operates, I knew that I just had to wait to see how the happy ending would eventually prevail. There is often pain and heartache on the road to joy and happiness. It is often the painful experiences that make you appreciate the joyful ones."

We sat contemplating for a moment.

"You told your son and his wife that I had already been compensated for the changes," I told her. "What did you mean by that?"

"I wasn't sure," she admitted, "when I told them that. The magic had just reaffirmed to me that you had been blessed beyond anything that even I could have expected. Our conversation here has helped me to see how. You have your loving connection with Sandra, but not in a way that you expected or wanted nine months ago. It is very clear to me now that your real compensation is the opportunity to make something of yourself. In addition I just saw into your future and I believe that you will someday bless the day that you and I met. You will feel, with all your heart, that the ceremony was a turning point for you and the start on the road to something great. This change has not done you any real harm. You will eventually realize that."

"I hope that you are right," I sincerely tell her.

She gave a gentle smile as she quietly said, "I generally am."

"How do you feel now?" She asked with genuine concern.

"Besides being uncomfortable and irritable?" I smile at her, "I am actually more at peace. Thank you for helping me put things in perspective, Grandma."

"Any time dear," she smiles again, "Counseling services are free for family. Call me anytime you want to talk."

"You will answer the phone now?" I asked with a touch of accusation in my voice.

She had smiled her annoying knowing smile: "It was important for you to arrive at your conclusions without help from me. I will take your call now that you have come to see the impacts of the ceremony for what they are."

I gave her a hug and thanked her again for helping me see things as they are.

"You helped answer some of my questions, too," she added. "So, thank you."

Grandma gave me a ride back to the hotel where a couple of Motrin pills and the Jacuzzi tub in my room helped to relieve some of my physical distress as my thoughts had dwelled on what we had discussed.

As I had enjoyed the magic of over the counter pharmaceuticals and a good hot bath, I remember thinking that just maybe things were better. What had transpired in the last nine months was just not what we expected when we first visited the Bayou State. Life is full of surprises.

----<0>----

After an all too brief soak in the tub, I caught a ride to the reception the Broussard's mansion with Sandra's parents. We brought Sandra's luggage with us and one of Tom’s cousins hauled it into the house and left it by the front entrance, waiting to be put in the couple's get away vehicle. We arrived early so that we could help wherever necessary.

There wasn't much for us to do as the wedding planners and caterers had everything in hand. It was amazing to watch the efficiency of the professionals.

Not long before the first guests arrived, the newlyweds made an appearance. Sandra had changed into a floor length gown that was a toned down version of the voluminous wedding gown that she had worn at the ceremony. The ceremonial dress would have been too difficult to manage through the reception.

The couple had the glow of sexual satisfaction about them.

I found that I was at peace with the idea of their union. I was seeing a pleasantly satisfied and happy best friend, not an unfaithful ex-wife.

When Tom was otherwise distracted, I went to give Sandra a hug.

"Congratulations BFF," I told her sincerely. "You deserve it all."

"He is a wonderful guy, isn't he." She sighed. "Thanks for everything, Andi. I wouldn't have made it without you."

"By the way," I grinned slyly at her, "I'd go easy on the alcohol tonight if I were you."

She blushes, "We've already consummated the marriage, and we were both sober."

"I know," I continued to grin at her. "And Tom has already given you your heart's desire for a wedding gift."

She looked at me confused.

"You conceived this afternoon." I cleared up her confusion.

"You can't know that," she said uncertainly.

"I can't," I agreed, "but Grandma Broussard can. She told me this afternoon that you'd be pregnant before the reception."

"Oh, I hope so," she said wistfully.

"So tell me, is he as big as you thought he was?" I asked with a wicked grin. "And is bigger better?"

"It's HUGE," she whispers in my ear, "but the geek doesn't really know how to use it to best effect yet. I will have to help him figure that out on the honeymoon."

It was my turn to blush.

"And as far as the second part of your question goes," she continued, "I am not going to make comparisons to you."

After giggling, she gave me a look of concern.

"You talked with Grandma?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied, "And don't worry, all is well. I am starting to like the old lady. You and Tom will need to find time to talk with her."

The look she gave me said that she wasn't convinced.

"I'll tell you all about it sometime," I promise her as Tom rejoined us.

The receiving line seemed to last for an eternity, and I was happy to finally take my seat at the head table when dinner was served.

When it came time for the toasts, I was asked to give one as the Maid-of-Honor.

"I am very happy for my BFF. She is happier than I have ever seen her.

"Since Tom has come into her life, Sandra has become a new woman, literally. Nine months ago she was your average wonderful woman. Tom's love has transformed her into the ravished beauty before you."

There were a few giggles at that line and the couple blushed mightily.

"His love for her has resulted in major changes for me as well, but we won't go there. Today we are here to celebrate their love. Today Tom has taken my place as the most important person in Sandra's life and I am happy for her. For them. May their love continue to grow." raising my glass, I continued, "I give you the happy couple. To their happiness and good health."

Before sitting down, I turned to Tom and added, "As I give her into your care, be aware that if you ever mistreat her you will suffer my wrath."

That threat got chuckles from around the room.

The evening had progressed according the time old traditions. At the appropriate time, I had to dance with the best man, who was a foot taller than me and twenty years older than my apparent age. It was awkward. I danced with Tom but due to height differences I was unable to talk with him. After a while I took him aside and let him know that I thought that he was the best thing that had ever happened to Sandra. I told him that I was happy and at peace with the way things were.

"I was going to tell you to not come home until she's pregnant, but you've already accomplished that." I inform him, "Instead, don't bring her home until she's satisfied. That will be a bit harder to accomplish."

"She's pregnant?" he exclaimed, "We only did it twice this afternoon."

"Well," I snorted, "You must really pack a punch. I tried to get her pregnant for a decade with no success. You accomplished it on the first try. Congratulations Daddy."

He looked at me in a daze, "How do you know?"

I sighed, "Grandma told me."

I noticed that the happy couple managed to corner Grandma Broussard during a lull in the festivities. Sandra later told me that Grandma had given them a condensed version of our earlier conversation. She had told them she felt that their love would have brought them to this place with or without the magic, but that the magic made is so that it was a win-win situation for all of us. She had only smiled her annoying smile when the couple asked her if they were already pregnant. She had told them that only time would tell.

I seemed to be popular that night. Many a young boy asked me to dance. Of course, none knew how. A few of them strutted about trying to impress me with their manliness in the awkward age-old manner of boys all over the world. I remember trying similar stupid stunts when I was a boy at that age.

The rumors of my transformation and past relationship with Sandra had been making the rounds within Tom's family and some of the guests. The rumors weren't entirely accurate but it resulted in a lot of strange looks from the party goers. Several of the bolder family members sought me out over the course of the evening to express their regrets for Grandma's actions, but they were all happy that Tom had found such a beautiful wife. A few asked me how I was holding up. I reassured them that I was at peace with the proceedings.

Eventually, the time came for the couple to leave the reception. The wedding party had all gotten together to decorate the Rolls Royce parked at the top of the circular driveway. It had all the traditional streamers, signs, tin cans, etc. and was ready to go. About the time we finished with the car, we heard the thumping of helicopter rotors approaching. I had slapped my forehead. Of course, I had thought, what does a rich guy do to make a statement?

The helicopter landed on the front lawn and the happy couple was soon airborne and heading into the night to the well wishes of the assembled guests. Before they left, Sandra told me that she still didn't know where they were going.

After Tom and Sandra had made their exit, the party started to slowly break up.

I had been exhausted when I finally slipped into bed at the hotel well after midnight. I fell asleep with a sense of peace and wondering where the happy couple had gone.

 

NotExpected 16

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn Eventually, the time came for the couple to leave the reception. The wedding party had all gotten together to decorate the Rolls Royce parked at the top of the circular driveway. It had all the traditional streamers, signs, tin cans, etc. and was ready to go. About the time we finished with the car, we heard the thumping of helicopter rotors approaching. I had slapped my forehead. Of course, I had thought, what does a rich guy do to make a statement? The helicopter landed on the front lawn and the happy couple was soon airborne and heading into the night to the well wishes of the assembled guests. Before they left, Sandra told me that she still didn't know where they were going. After Tom and Sandra had made their exit, the party started to slowly break up. I had been exhausted when I finally slipped into bed at the hotel well after midnight. I fell asleep with a sense of peace and wondering where the happy couple had gone.

Chapter 16

I arrived back home at the condo the day after the wedding having traveled back to Wisconsin with Sandra’s family. The Broussards had tried to talk me into staying with them while the couple were gone, but I wanted to get home to consider my next moves, I was also looking forward to developing stronger connections with my new girlfriends.

The next two weeks were strangely boring without a wedding to plan, and no job or school to attend to, and Sandra being gone. There was a vacuum in my schedule and I had to work hard to fill it. I spent a lot of the time with the girls. I also spent some time hanging out at the condo gaming when the girls were not available, but found that gaming had lost much of its appeal. Another casualty of the change.

Unfortunately, having time on my hands gave me time to think more about what had happened to me. Intellectually things made sense, if you believe in magic. Grandma Broussard had helped me see how the current situation was probably better than what was likely to have happened.

As I had reflected on my situation, I had been surprised to realize that I was generally comfortable being a girl. Sure I had a lot to learn, but with the slow transition and all the support from family and friends, physically becoming a girl had kind of snuck up on me. I suppose that if the transition had happened overnight, the shock of the experience would have been severe.

I didn’t have too much trouble with the change in wardrobe. In fact, I found the clothes to be an interesting design problem. I actually liked to explore different looks and model different clothing options and combinations. The process is much more involved than for a male, and with good reason. I found that making a girl pretty is a much more interesting challenge than dressing a boy. After all, no one really cares what a boy looks like, as long as he is clean and well groomed.

The first week the newlyweds were gone, the girls and I spent a couple of afternoons trolling the mall looking at clothes and accessories.

The local schools had gotten out for the summer the same week as the wedding so the girls and I started spending more time together after I got back. Kelley was our organizer and made sure that the four of us got together as often as possible. Over the next six years, we were inseparable. Our clique, at school, became known as 'The Posse' for reasons to be discussed later.

Our shopping trips that week were mostly scouting trips. We looked at and tried on many outfits, trying to find a style that worked for each of us. The other girls were also trying to find identities that worked for them. We didn’t buy much. From the looks of things, finding our style would be a long process.

"What do you think?" Jenny asked holding up a pleated mini-skirt.

"That's SO cute." Kelley gushed. "I wish that I had your legs. I could never wear something like that. Go try it on!"

When she came out, the skirt barely covered her underwear.

"I don't know," I started.

"Andi," Susie commented in frustration, "you sound like my mom. I think it's cute and looks great on you, Jenny."

It did look cute, I just didn't think that it was appropriate for a twelve-year-old. It was really short.

Jenny handed a similar skirt to me." Andi, you have the legs for it. Your butt is a little small, but I think that you could definitely pull it off."

"I don't know," I waffled, "I don't think that it's me?"

"What are you afraid of," Kelley asked. "You are a super babe like your mother. You will look really hot in that skirt."

With that, she pushed me towards the changing rooms.

"OMG!," Susie exclaimed when I came out of the changing room trying to pull the hem down. "Kelley was right, you look totally hot in that skirt. You will look hotter when your curves develop some more."

"You SO have to get that skirt!" Kelley encouraged me.

"Where would I wear it?", I countered. "There's not much call for one now."

Practical thoughts, like not having a venue, seemed lost on the girls. If it's cute, then it should be bought, seemed to be the mantra. It is a good thing that the girls had very limited budgets.

In the end, I did not get the skirt on the excuse that I needed to think about it. It was soon forgotten by the other girls as we found more cute stuff to wear. The skirt was just one of more than a dozen equally cute items that we did not buy that day.

When I did think about it, later, I found myself getting used to the idea of the skirt. I even contemplated going back for it.

The girl’s parents weren’t comfortable with me chauffeuring their daughters around so we would have one of the girl’s parents provide chauffeur service whenever possible.

The hardest part of my change, it turned out, was not becoming a girl. It was the fact that virtually no one over sixteen took me seriously. I found myself having trouble doing such simple things as charging on my credit card, driving, shopping, etc. Wherever I went, I was asked "where are your parents?", "are you sure that you are allowed to drive?", "shouldn’t you ask your mother first?", and other similar statements. When I would be with Sandra before the wedding, everyone assumed that she was either my mother or big sister and we found it easier to play to the perception. I didn't have that cover while she was gone on her honeymoon.

----<0>----

While the newlyweds were on their honeymoon, I stayed at my condo, but starting moving Sandra's things into the mansion for her. Sandra and Tom had hoped that I would move in while they were gone, but I decided to wait until they had settled in once they got home. I did not want to get in the way of them establishing their routine. I would have to move in soon enough anyway, once the adoption was complete.

In the crush of wedding planning, we had delayed dealing with my mortgage. Thinking that it would be a small way of paying back some of the excess funds deposited in my investment account, I worked with the bank to retire the note with my own funds while the happy couple were gone. I needed to get it done before I lost my emancipation in the adoption. Getting the bank to work with me, face-to-face was a problem.

"Can I help you, Miss," the receptionist at the bank asked me when I presented myself for my appointment with a mortgage specialist.

"I have an appointment with Mr. Smith," I informed her.

She looked at me and smiled, "Mr. Smith only deals with mortgages, sweetie. If you need to open a savings account, I can connect you with someone else. You will need a parent to co-sign with you."

"I already have savings and checking accounts," I informed her, "I am here about my mortgage."

"You have a mortgage?" She obviously didn’t believe me. "Will your parent’s be joining you?"

"No," I replied a little frustrated. "I am on my own. The mortgage is mine, not theirs."

"Are you sure, sweetie?" She asked dubiously. "The law won't allow someone your age to sign legal documents."

"I am older than I look," I growled at her.

She skeptically picked up her phone and punched in a number, "Your 2:00 pm appointment is here."

After a moment she hung up the phone. "Mr. Smith will be right out."

It wasn’t too much longer that a handsome man in his late 20s came to the reception area and the receptionist pointed at me.

"Are you Andrew?" he looked confused.

"Yes and no," I said, furthering his confusion.  "I will explain it to you in your office."

"Where are your parents?" he asked.

"I am older than I look," I growled again. "I don't need parents to conduct this business."

He looked at me for a moment. "This should be good," he said with a smile. "Come on back."

Once seated in his office, I laid out the court documents for the dissolution and the declaration of my name and gender change. "These court documents and letter from my doctor should help explain things. As you can see from my driver's license, I am actually thirty-two. The short version is that, until recently, I was Andrew but I went through a spontaneous age regression and change in gender. As a result, I have legally changed my name and been legally recognized as being female. I am still thirty-two and am not a minor."

He gave me a skeptical look as I continued, "My physical changes also resulted in the dissolution of my marriage to Sandra. As the dissolution documents show, I was granted ownership of the condominium, and its mortgage, when we divided the assets."

"So," he said slowly. "You want me to believe that you were the man whose name is on the mortgage and you want to change that name and remove the wife's name from the contract?"

He looked at me, "I find it hard to believe that you were ever an adult male. Are you sure that your parents shouldn't be here?"

"I get that all the time," I told him truthfully. "No I don't need my 'parents', as the court documents attest. And no I don't want to simply change names on the mortgage. I want to pay off the mortgage and get clear title to the property in my new name. I provided the documents to establish the change in my identity and the change in ownership of the condo."

"Is there anyone that I can talk to to verify this?" He was trying to be polite, but I could tell that he wasn't sure if this was a hoax or not. I was ready for this.

"My attorney's card is included with the documents," I pointed out to him. "You can talk to her."

"I will," he promised. "How do you plan to pay off the mortgage?"

"I can write a check now from my investment account," I mentioned, "or we can set up a wire transfer. Which do you prefer?"

"Who can verify funds?" he asked obviously doubtful of my proposal.

I handed him the card from my investment counselor. "You should call her."

He did. He kept glancing at me while talking to my lawyer. I could tell that he was still not convinced that I was who I claimed to be but he had nothing but my appearance to refute the documentation. My investment counselor assured him that I had more than sufficient funds to retire the mortgage.

"Well," he said after finishing the phone calls. "I suppose that we can take your check. We have a bit of paperwork to do to retire the mortgage and clear the title on your property. It should take a couple of days for your check to clear and to get everything else in order."

An hour later, I walked out having paid off the mortgage by personal check and with a little more paperwork to complete before the title company could get me a new title. Sandra had to sign over her interest in the property before I could get clear title and that would have to wait until she got back into town. She signed and had the proper papers notarized soon after she got home. The condo was mine, free and clear, before the Wisconsin reception. Tom tried to pay me back, but I refused. When he grinned at me, I knew that he'd find a way to get the money in my account. It was hard to win at this game.

I couldn't help but think that the process could have gone much more smoothly if I wasn't presenting as a twelve-year-old.

I remember thinking that I couldn't wait to grow up again.

By the time the newlyweds had returned I had decided that I didn’t mind being a girl as much as I minded being twelve-years-old again.

----<0>----

While I was trying to fill the vacuum after the wedding, I started thinking about the advice that my supervisor had given me when I was let go. After some searching, I found a couple of reputable universities with online computer engineering programs. Online education was a relatively new thing at the time and there weren’t a lot of options available. While I considered enrolling in one of the two acceptable degree programs that I had found, I discovered an engineering course that I was qualified to take without being admitted to a program. I enrolled in the course which started with the summer term. The nice thing about online courses is that no one had to see what I looked like. Online I was a thirty-two year old woman with a BS in Information Technology going back to school for a second degree. It was refreshing to be treated as an adult again.

I discovered that many of my courses from my prior degree would apply to the new degree program. When getting a second baccalaureate degree you only need to take the required courses that you have not already completed when earning your prior degree. This meant that I could graduate with a second baccalaureate degree rather quickly. As it turned out, I did enroll in one of the programs, but took my time, as a part-time student, and completed the computer engineering degree not long before I "graduated" from high school again six years later.

I could have completed the degree much faster, but why rush things? I needed to grow up before I would really be able to use it anyway. I wanted to spend the next six years focusing on accumulating the experiences of a some-what typical teenage girl instead of working for a living. My main reason for going to middle and high school was social anyway. I already had diplomas from both. I didn't need new ones.

While I didn't technically work for a living, I did occasionally work with Tom and his research team, mostly in the summers and on holiday breaks, through the next six years. My contributions were sufficient to get my name, along with his, on a few patents before I 'finished' high school.

In the end, I completed my Computer Engineering degree with perfect grades. The high marks on my new college degree, coupled with a few patents on my resume, are what ultimately set me up for admission to MIT for my master's and doctorate degrees. My new high school experience had little to do with my acceptance.

----<0>----

One afternoon while trolling a local mall we had quite a lively discussion about what to do that summer. I advocated for sailing lessons. The local Park & Recreation department had a program to introduce kids to sailing with Hobie Wave catamarans. I had an ulterior motive. I had been sailing with my parents all my life. Outside of gaming, it had been my favorite hobby. Unfortunately it is only possible to sail in the summer time in Wisconsin. My plan was to start training crew so when I get permission from my new 'father' to dock my own boat in his little private marina, I'd have someone to help crew the boat. There were quite a few sailing clubs on the Wisconsin side of Lake Michigan and I had sailed Lasers in local races last time I was a teen. This time I wanted to participate in the off-shore races and that requires a bigger boat and a crew. I could now afford the boat. I just needed the crew.

To get the girls used to the idea, I talked my real parents into taking us all out for a sail the Saturday after the wedding. I think that my dad couldn't wait to dock the boat at the end of the day. Spending the day with three chatty twelve-year-old girls, and one twelve-year-old look-a-like, in a confined space was a little much for him.

It was a good sailing day, and we kept the girls busy learning how handle the lines. There were lots of giggles and laughter when someone would grab the wrong line or missed a tack when at the tiller. I think, though, the thing they liked best was jumping overboard for a swim then laying out on the foredeck in their swimsuits catching a few rays.

Jenny wasn't so keen on the idea of sailing at first, but came around when she saw the athletic and intellectual challenge in it. Also, the other girls pressed her to participate as one of the team.

Jenny did, however, put a condition on her acceptance. She wanted us to participate in a beginning cheerleading class. She had taken one the prior summer and thought that it was fun. This time I was the hesitant one, but the enthusiasm of the other girls soon had me reluctantly on board.

That summer, we spent all our free time together either sailing or cheerleading. In the process we formed lasting bonds of friendship. None of us were the designated leader of the group. We were all equals. When we were on the water, the girls looked to me for guidance. When we were jumping around with pom poms, Jenny was our leader. Kelley was our organizer. She made sure that everything ran smoothly. Susie was our girly girl and fashion consultant. Susie also turned out to be remarkably kind and helpful to anyone in trouble. She turned out to be conscience of the group.

----<0>----

As our bond strengthened it didn’t take too long before I couldn’t keep my underage cover intact. Over the years, we were never able to keep secrets from each other.

Kelley had tried hinting that things with me were not adding up, but I was always able to deflect her. Jenny, on the other hand, seemed to have few filters and she broached the subject after we’d all spent over a week hanging out together everyday.

We were hanging out on the patio in my backyard, having just received a warm-up lesson in cheer from Jenny. She wanted us prepared for our first cheer lesson later that week.

"What I don’t understand, Andi," she confronted me, "is how you are allowed to drive. And my mother would never let me stay by myself for more than a day. You’ve been on your own for over a week now. What’s up with that?"

"It’s complicated," I sighed knowing that this would come up sooner or later. I still didn’t have a good cover story for it. It was so hard to keep secrets from friends. "Can you keep a secret?"

That’s a question guaranteed to get the attention of a group of twelve-year-old girls.

They all looked at me with interest. I ran into the house and returned with my wallet. Extracting my driver’s license, I passed it around.

"Take a look at this," I told them.

"You have a fake driver’s license?" Susie asked as she looked closely at the card. "Isn’t that illegal? Nice picture."

"It’s valid," I defended.

"But," Kelley looked puzzled as she did the math after she looked at the birth date, "It says that you’re like over thirty. That can’t be right. You’d be almost as old as my parents. You are way too young to be old."

"Thirty-two is not old," I said indignantly.

"It is SO totally old," disagreed Jenny. "What happened? Did you get stuck at age twelve and, like, never grew up?"

"I grew up," I told them, "but something happened to me recently and I reverted to this age. I guess that I have a do over. I must not have gotten it right the first time."

I tried to refrain from telling them that I had been male and married, but I did eventually had to confess to that too. I ended up telling them almost the whole story, leaving out out many of the details of the magic ceremony part.

"So, like, your mom is really your wife?" Susie asked trying to wrap her head around the news.

"Ex-wife," I confirmed.

"That is like totally messed up," Jenny observed.

We discussed the issue of my age, gender change, and age regression for the rest of the afternoon, and in the end they decided that my story was a tall tale, but that was okay as long as I could be their chauffeur. We had become good friends over the last week and this bit of information couldn’t undo that. They liked the idea that I could be their chauffeur… that is, after I convinced their parents that it was okay.

The girls agreed to keep my secret even though it was common knowledge within my former circles. We decided that we would follow the same path that Sandra and I had been doing. That is, we didn’t bring the subject up, but we did not deny it either if someone found out by other means. We just didn’t make a big deal out of it. I did not want to weave a web of lies if we could avoid it. As it turned out, we couldn't avoid telling a few white lies once school started. The girls were true to their word and never told anyone. It is amazing how loyal girls can be to their friends. It didn't take too long before none of them thought about it any more. I was just Andi, one of their peers and a best friend.

"Like, who would believe us anyway?" Kelley observed. "I’m not sure that I believe your story either."

"Yeah," Susie added. "You do act a little grown up and I was thinking that you must have been a tom boy since there are things that you don’t seem to know about being a girl. So maybe your story is true, but I’ve seen you in your bikini and in dressing rooms at the mall. There is no way that you are a boy now. You are just like us."

"This is a little weird," Jenny pointed out. "Don’t you think? You are too cute to have ever been a boy. I can’t see it. And you had your period last week. I think that we should just forget the part about you having been a boy."

The others agreed.

I opened my arms and we joined in a group hug.

"You guys are totally the best," I let them know.

Susie said, "Yep, you are such a girl."

"Aren't you glad that you're one of us now?" Kelley asked.

I wasn't sure how to answer that question.

Later, after the girls had gone home to spend the evening with their families, I was satisfied that I had a solution to the problem that my ‘advisors’, psychologist, and I had been trying to solve for a couple of months now. I had found a natural way to connect with girls my ‘age’. And, as predicted, it turned out to be a great way to learn how to truly become a girl.

I went to spend the evening with my parents where my mother and I had a long chat about my new group of friends. She agreed that the girls were good for me. She had been impressed with the group when we were on the sailboat together.

I ended up staying the night and the next day was spent doing mother/daughter things with my mom.