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

Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Revenge is Snowy White by Jennifer Brock Aurora is adjusting to her new life, and learns a few more things about the one who did this to her. She takes care of some of Doug's unfinished business, and gains new friends. Be warned that a fairly sarcastic tone is frequently taken toward some unfairly brutal issues. If that sort of thing offends you, skip this one.

Part 2

I’m back. Ah, that was just what I needed. Remind me to introduce you to Hugo later. He is a maestro in the sack! The things that boy can do with his tongue — pure bliss. Anyway, where was I in my story? Oh yes, I’d just finished having sex with Bill.

We cuddled for a little while, and I could feel the gooey mess dripping out of me. I found my clothes and put myself back together. I went into the bathroom and cleaned up, switching to the other slightly larger pair of panties I’d tucked in my purse, and put in a pad to catch any more leakage. The girls in my therapy group had given me some advice on how to be prepared for my date, and they were right. I was still reeling a little from the realization that I was the kind of girl who puts out on the first date, and I really didn’t want to be known as a slut. Bill was very nice and offered to give me a ride, but I was more comfortable having hi call me a cab. I didn’t want to have to explain him at the hospital, but not because I didn’t want you to know I was dating other men. When my cab arrived, I gave him a big goodbye kiss and got his number, since I didn’t have a phone yet. I assured him that I knew going into it he was only looking for a good time, not a girlfriend, but he surprised me by saying he might just change his mind if I spent more time with him. I’m really not sure if that was a line, or I he was sincere. I never got the opportunity to find out. I guess that’s one of the regrets I have since this whole mess started. But that’s irrelevant right now; I was a woman on a mission and a boyfriend would have just gotten in the way.

The next noteworthy thing that happened was my driving instructor passed me and thought I was ready to get my license. To prove my identity at the D.M.V., I’d need my birth certificate. This reminded me that way back when on Day One, the hospital lawyer guy had told me that they updated my birth certificate, but I’d have to go to City Hall to get a copy, and I hadn’t gotten around to it yet. So I went down there and stood in a line to go to a window to get a form to fill out and take to another line for another window. But really it was just giving a person my name and Social Security Number, and they’d look me up in the computer and print my records. When I gave the lady at the window my info, she said they had four forms on file for this person, and did I want them all? I said sure, and paid $30 for all of them, and they came in a little folder with my name printed on the front. It looked very official. I looked through to see what I had and can you imagine what forms I found? Along with the original, my new revised birth certificate was there — congratulations, Mrs. Connors, it’s a girl! (I wonder what my mom would say if she had the chance to meet Aurora. Would I make my mother proud to have me as her daughter?) Also in the packet was a form that must have been filed by the hospital that gave a certain Dr. Michael Andrews power of attorney over my affairs, which wasn’t too much of a surprise but it let me know I really needed to look into finding out how to cancel that. But the big surprise was a copy of my marriage license — indicating that I’d become the wife of Dr. Michael Evil Bastard Andrews himself. This all must have been some other scheme of yours; to get your hands on my retirement funds or something? Was it some kind of insurance scam that would pay off after you killed me? (I noticed that your little minion Larry was one of the witnesses.) I didn’t know what your plan was, but it infuriated me. I had to walk around the block a few times to calm down before I went to apply for my driver’s license. I swallowed my anger and let it fester to work on my plan for revenge and then went to stand in line at the Registry. It was the usual bureaucratic hell, but I kept my spirits up. I had the certificate from the training course, so I could forgo the driving test and only needed to do the written test which was no big deal. I got my license, the first official confirmation of my identity, and it felt great! If I say so myself, I even looked pretty hot in my photo. When I got back home I was so frustrated, I pleaded with Stefan to have a physical therapy session, just so I could get that relaxing whirlpool bath afterward. He caved.

I’m not sure how word got around, but you found out that I’d been out and about, so you came around to let me know you were ready to follow up on taking me out to dinner. I’ll admit that the daisies were a sweet touch. If I didn’t know more about you than you wanted me to, I probably would have swooned. But instead, like so many other things, you’ve ruined daisies for me forever. I had to get into character and get all shy and give you the flirty glances and it was horrible but I did everything I could to keep it from showing. I graciously accepted the flowers and told you that I didn’t have any plans for dinner that evening, so I’d be happy to join you. I put my all into trying to look nice for you. I wore my little red sundress with the white flowers around the hem, and I did my nails in a matching shade of red, showing off my toes in my white wraparound sandals. It was a warm night so I didn’t need hose. The dress had built-in support so I decided to try going braless, and just for good measure went commando, too. It helped make me feel sexy, and not because it made me imagine how easily you could ravish me. I threw a light white cardigan on top, just in case it got chilly, and it would give me an unveiling moment to capture your attention. I wore my pendant earrings that might be diamonds; knowing you you’d have overcharged the hospital for them and planned to sell them after you’d killed me, or maybe they were cubic zirconias and you’d charged the hospital for real diamonds. Whatever they were, I liked them. I wore my cross necklace just to see if it worked as well on Evil Bastards as it does on vampires. I spent about an hour putting extra curl into my hair and I wore full makeup even though I went with an evening style anyway, just to try for a look you hadn’t seen on me. I didn’t want to wear the face of your sex toy when out on a date with you.

You apparently had been doing your research and must have learned from Stefan that I was a whiz with chopsticks when you suggestion we go to that new dim sum place that everyone had been raving about. You were on time to pick me up, but I made you wait. This wasn’t me playing power games; it just took me that long to fuzz over my hatred of you and put on a false front of excitement. At least your car was a sweet classic Mustang convertible. When I got in and adjusted another uncomfortable seat belt strap, the thought hit me that your skeevy marriage license plan meant that what was yours was mine just as much as what was mine was yours, so one upside was that this bitchin ride could be considered community property. I giggled at the idea of making you pay me alimony for the rest of your life, and you just thought I was having fun and laughed along with me. The food was really good, and I liked the way it came by on little carts, like a reverse buffet. I teased you a little by slipping in a bunch of double entendres about oral sex, like grabbing a dumpling that was supposed to be bite size and commenting that I didn’t think I could put something so big in my mouth, or when I dipped my spring roll then licked the sauce off the tip, but my favorite was when I got legitimately surprised when I bit into a fried thing and it squirted in my mouth. I was having fun flirting. I took my sweater off in the restaurant and it definitely piqued your interest. My bodice wasn’t lewd or anything, but I was showing a good amount of cleavage, and the place was cool enough that the contour of my nipples were hinted at through the fabric. You didn’t even pretend not to look; I must have caught you off guard.

You needed to assert control of the situation so you started steering the conversation, but you only managed to turn it into sort of an interview, and peppered me with questions, asking about how I was getting along in my brand new life. I gave you a brief synopsis, leaving out the nightmares that were still haunting me. I took advantage of the opportunity to vent my frustrations at the way everything depended on everything else: how I couldn’t rent a car without a credit card, but I couldn’t get a credit card without a permanent address, and I couldn’t get an apartment without a job, but I couldn’t get a job without a car. It was all one big vicious circle. Then I switched over to talking about the bright side, of all the things I was learning about being a girl. I picked the example of how my group told me that real women don’t wear matching underwear all the time, that one of the things men pretending to be women do is obsess about having bras and panties in sets, but genetic women just wear whatever does the job. You apologized for making the shopper who filled my wardrobe buy all my delicates in matched sets, but I added that they told me that you want to wear a set when you’re ready to let some man undress you; it’s sexier. I told you that so far I’d only worn matching underwear, since I felt it was very important to have a coordinated outfit. I said that I’d never wear a bottom unless it matched my top. I then leaned in so you got an excellent view down my top and could tell I wasn’t wearing a bra, and I could see the moment your brain put two and two together, as your eyes got wide, you gasped, and noticeably blushed. If there hadn’t been a table in the way, I bet I would have been able to see a sizeable disturbance in your lap.

I decided that I’d done enough talking, so I just sat back and looked cutely contented, with an impish smile on my face. You needed to change the subject, but you scored points with me for listening (that is you would have scored points if you weren’t scum) and said that you might be able to help me with my problem. I couldn’t exactly remember what problem you were talking about, so I cranked up the sex appeal, biting the tip of my finger as I said I was sure you could help me in many ways. I’d flustered you again, but you got back on course by saying that if I needed an address I could move into your guest house, since it would just be sitting empty otherwise. I thanked you for your generous offer and went over and gave you a hug, squashing my bountiful bazooms into you. I said I’d need to think about it; I didn’t want to put you out. In reality, my head was running through a million scenarios, trying to figure out whether it would be easier to get my revenge on you if I stayed close. I bought a little time by saying I’d have to see the place first, and you asked me to give you a couple days so you could get it cleaned properly.

I was slightly disappointed that you brought me home without trying to lure me back to your place for some sex first. Did it mean that you actually had respect for me, or were you just trying to act like the handsome hero doctor that the girl you thought I was was supposed to think you were? Or something like that. We were both operating with secret agendas, on top of all the regular pretense that goes along with dating, that I really don’t think we ever had a genuine moment together. Do you, Sweetie-Pie? But that night you just took me back to my room and didn’t even come in. All you got was a good night kiss in the car. The hospital probably frowns on doctors kissing former patients on the grounds, and you’d never want to do anything unethical in the hospital. Bastard. I was so mad, I had to masturbate my anger away before I could calm down and fall asleep. And, no, I wasn’t fantasizing that my fingers were your big, thick cock sliding into me, driving me hard and fast, and taking me to the peak of passion.

Since I had my ID, my next big mission was to check on the storage space where you’d had all the things from Doug’s apartment taken. I dressed simply, in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, but I still drew looks from the guy who ran the place. He gave me a key, and showed me how to match its number to find the big garage-type door that was my unit. I was a little confused at first, so he graciously offered to show me the way. I thanked him with a kiss on the cheek. He earned it. You must have gotten really good professionals to move my stuff, because it was all nicely packed in there. It was all my belongings, in a space about 20 feet long and 10 feet wide. There was a little aisle down the middle, and on the left side were stacked a wall of brown cardboard boxes, all neatly labeled, and even stacked with the labels showing, although the boxes were three rows deep so I didn’t know exactly where everything was. On the right side were my pieces of furniture, the tables stacked on top of each other, the bed disassembled, the biggest pieces furthest in. I took down one of my kitchen chairs and sat down and had a little cry. It was very overwhelming, even without my emotional hormones. I had to remember what all I had, or what Doug had I should say, and how much of it Aurora would want to hang onto, and how much would just be painful reminders of a guy who doesn’t exist anymore. But I knew what I wanted to find first. After an hour and a half, my storage unit was somewhat less neatly stacked than I found it, as I had rummaged through most of the boxes that said “Office.” I left carrying a large-mouth bass mounted on a wall plaque. It was the last fish Doug had caught with his dad, the summer before he died. But more importantly, it had a treasure inside. Am I being figurative here, and talking about some sentimental value? Nope. Doug had kept some valuables in a safety deposit box, the key to which was hidden inside the fish, with a magnet on the key ring holding it in place. But it had slipped down in there in the moving, and although I could see it, I couldn’t reach it. I needed some kind of tool, another magnet to pull it out with. I thought there was something I could in the kitchenette where I’d been practicing, so I didn’t go looking through Doug’s boxes and make a bigger mess.

The look on Stefan’s face when I brought my fish to rehab was priceless. He tried to avoid asking about it, but I could tell it was killing him. Eventually he bribed me with extra whirlpool time and I showed him the key down inside. He decided that it would be a good therapy exercise for me. I tried using some long spoons and even a kebab skewer, but nothing was working. I asked why I’d only practiced with the kind of tools you find in a kitchen and not the kind you find in a garage, and he said that he hadn’t wanted to confuse me with masculine tasks while I was working on my femininity, and also that if handyman tools had been an important part of my life I would have asked about them sooner. So he showed me a section of the room I’d been ignoring, where there was a workbench. I guess I’d always figured those things were for maintaining the rest of the equipment or something. I found a long screwdriver and reached it back in, and heard the magnet click as it jumped on. I got my key out, and the fish was no worse for wear.

I took my key, the letter I’d gotten from the hospital’s lawyer, my ID, and my birth certificates and went to the bank. I dressed somewhat conservatively, but didn’t overdo the schoolmarm look. I wore my nice peach silk blouse with only two buttons undone, and the skirt from my green suit, but I left the jacket at home. My makeup was subdued, but I did go for some sparkle in my jewelry and wore my “diamonds.” I gave my name and asked to speak to a manager and didn’t have to wait long. Ms. Meriwether was a sharply dressed black woman with a tone of motherly concern about her, the kind that only comes with age. I sat in her office and told her my story, showing the documents I had. I told her that I’d understand if she needed to do more to verify my identity, and I didn’t need to get into my safety deposit box that day as long as I knew that she’d started the process. But she was very sweet and told me that my bank accounts had already been changed into my new name, but they just hadn’t known about the box at the time. She called the hospital and asked to talk to someone familiar with my case, then faxed over a copy of my license to verify the person pictured was indeed me, and she accepted that I was who I said I was, and changed the name on my box. I had to fill out a new signature card for their file, and I was all set. But since I was there, I did some of the rest of my banking. She helped me open a new retirement account, so I could transfer the monies from my old company’s fund. I asked about getting new checks, and she said I needed an address, but she did issue me a new ATM card in my new name that would work as a debit card in most places. I asked about whether I could also get a credit card through the bank, and she punched something into her computer and got me approved. It was weird that I could get a credit card with a temporary address, but my checking account needed a permanent one. I wonder if it’s like that at all banks. I told her that I had some treasury bonds in my box, and asked if I needed to do anything to put my new name on them. She said there was a way to do it all on the computer if I could get the paper bonds for her. She brought me over and waited while I got into my box. I retrieved my pile of bonds. When my folks died and I sold their house, I wasn’t really ready to buy one of my own, so the guy I talked to said I could reduce my taxes if I put the money into government bonds, and they’d end up being worth more than I paid for them. It sounded like a good deal at the time, but looking at a couple hundred little pieces of paper was a little overwhelming. I apologized to Ms. Merriwether, when she seemed surprised by how many I had, but she went ahead and scanned them all into her machine and didn’t even delegate it to an underling. They’d be worth about a half a million total when they matured. I bet you’re kicking yourself now that you didn’t think to raid my assets when you had the chance. I decided to take the penalty and cash in a few of the older ones, so I’d have some money for getting around, and withdrew some from my regular savings account. I had around $20,000 in my purse when I left the bank. It was time to go car shopping.

I decided that Aurora wasn’t going to be a gearhead or anything and didn’t want a real performance car; she wanted something cute that was easy to handle and not too expensive. I went to a few used car dealers, and looked around on the lots but nothing really spoke to me, so then I realized that a new life needs a new car, not a preowned. And a cute car would have to be an import. I went to Honda and test drove a sweet little car, but they didn’t have any in stock in blue, my favorite color. It matches my eyes. I tried Toyota and they had a little car that was even cuter, and they had one available in a nice metallic blue, so I bought it. The sales guy had to do a bit of a double take when I told him I was paying cash, but there wasn’t any problem getting my car that same day. I just had to call Larry to get my insurance policy updated. My next stop was to get a new cell phone, since my old one had been in the car when it was wrecked, and I didn’t know where to go or how I would go about getting any of the stuff that had been in my car. On my way home, I decided to drive past the scene of my accident. I’d read the report, so I was sure what intersection it was. When I got there, I had to pull over and take a moment; after all, that’s where Doug died. It’s where the whole mess started.

But actually, the whole mess started a little further away. I decided to retrace my fatal trip and seek out the apartment where my last sex as a man had taken place. It was there that Sandy or Cindy or whatever her name was lost my underwear and gave me her thong panties to wear. That’s what started the whole mess. Yet somehow I didn’t blame her. Quite the opposite, really, I felt I owed her an apology. I put a plan together. I went home and got some things, then I went to the mall, then I went back to the apartment building. I waited in the parking lot, watching to see when she’d come home. I was very nervous; I didn’t exactly know what I was going to say. A couple of times I saw a car with a driver that might have been her, but when she got out I could see it wasn’t her. But then the real her came home. I gave her a little distance then followed her in. In the lobby, I excused myself and asked if her name was something that sounded like “Sandy” or “Cindy” or maybe even “Sadie” and she said it was “Sinder” actually, and wanted to know if she should know me. I said hi and told her my name was Aurora, and that she sort of did know me but it was a long story, and if she had some time I’d love to tell it to her, but I’d rather we were sitting down. Maybe she sensed my sincerity, maybe she recognized something in my eyes, maybe she was just curious; I don’t know. But she agreed to let me in. She even made tea.

We sat at her kitchen table, and I pulled some things out of the tote bag I was carrying. First, I pulled out my surgery scrapbook and removed one of the “before” pictures that showed Doug’s face. I asked her if she remembered this guy. She wasn’t sure, so I told her that he met her in a bar a couple years earlier, and she’d taken him home. She still wasn’t sure, so I had to add that the next morning he couldn’t find his boxers, so she made him borrow her panties, and that seemed to ring a bell, but she acted like she didn’t know him, and she asked if I was his wife or something. I said that no, actually, I was the guy, or I used to be at least. I showed her the facial section of my scrapbook, where slowly you can see Doug’s face turning into Aurora’s, one step at a time. I told her I was sorry she never heard from me again, but I had a really good reason: I’d been in a coma. Although I probably wouldn’t have called her anyway, since I used to be a bit of a dick. I said that I wanted to return her panties to her, but they’d been ruined in the accident, so I got her a gift certificate from Victoria’s Secret instead. I added that the main reason I came to see her was to apologize, as a representative of all the women I’d wronged I wanted to let her know I was certainly being punished for it. Then I broke down and told her everything — the coma, the Evil Bastard, the learning how to be a girl, everything. I hadn’t been planning to, but I guess I just really needed someone I could be completely honest with. When I’d told my story and was just a sobbing mess, she came over and held me and stroked my hair until I calmed down. It felt nice.

When she was helping me clean myself up, she got a funny look on her face and asked if she could see “it.” I had a blonde moment and couldn’t figure out what she was talking about. I made her explain and she blushed a little and said that she’d never met anyone who’d had a sex change before, and was curious about what I looked like down there, as she sort of pointed at my crotch. I giggled and said that I’d let her see the whole thing, but I wasn’t about to get naked in her kitchen. We moved to the bedroom. She sat on the bed and I gave her a bit of a strip-tease, hamming it up for my audience of one. I started by unbuckling my shoes, bending at the waist to show off how flexible my body was. I Then I reached up under my skirt and pulled down my hose and shimmied out of them, apologizing that if I’d have known I would be stripping I’d have worn stockings. With my legs bare, I stretched one out and put it next to her, so she could see how the operation to make my feet smaller made them want to wear heels all the time. She found it amazing, and ran her hand along my shin, impressed by how smooth it was. I told her that you’d used electricity or laser beams or something to remove all my body hair, well most of it. I took my leg back and pulled my little t-shirt off over my head. I showed how my lower ribs had been removed to give me more definition in my waist. To get the full effect, I unfastened my skirt and let it fall to the floor, then stepped out of it. Standing there in only my baby pink t-shirt bra and matching thong, I did a slow turn so she could take in my magnificent booty. I showed how they reset my hips at a more feminine angle after the accident, and then the hormones did their job and padded everything over with the perfect amount of body fat, giving me a nice hourglass figure. I did note that my hourglass had a little more sand on the top than on the bottom, as I reached around and unhooked my bra. I was glad that my 40DD’s didn’t lose too much of their perk when I released them. I told her that I wasn’t sure how much was from hormones, and how much was from implants, but they really seemed like a hassle most of the time. I caught her trying not to reach out and stepped closer, offering to let her touch them if she wanted to. She gingerly gave my left breast a gentle squeeze, and proclaimed it to feel very real. Her fingers brushed me nipple, and I gave an involuntary moan. She commented that my voice sounded very sexy and feminine. I said that when they removed my Adam’s apple, they did something to make my voice higher; I couldn’t sound like Doug now if I wanted to. I leaned down to show her my smooth neck, and she moved her hand up from stroking my breast to touch my throat, then slid it up to my cheek, marveling at how smooth it all was. Then she surprised me by pulling my face towards hers and kissing me.

Her lips parted and I felt her tongue enter my mouth, and it was incredible — not at all like kissing Bill, and yet different than when Doug kissed her. I was just getting into it when she stopped. I was a little worried she’d changed her mind, but instead she said that she didn’t mean to interrupt my presentation, and that I should please continue; she didn’t want to miss the most important part. I slowly eased my panties down my legs until I was standing there completely nude. I pointed out the only strip of hair left on my body other than scalp or eyebrows, but then I had to get on the bed to show her more. I lay back with my head on the pillow and spread my legs. I waved my hands with a flourish like a magician’s assistant and indicated my girl parts with a big “voila.” I asked if she thought it looked real, and she crawled up the end of the bed to get a closer view. She hesitatingly reached out to touch me, and I nodded to let her know it was ok. She carefully inspected every little nook and cranny, every bump and fold, and even let a finger slip between my lips and explore inside. I gave a little shiver, and she realized what she was doing and pulled her finger out. Noticing that it came out sticky, she remarked that she was getting me wet. I explained that it wasn’t quite the same response as with a natural woman, but I was indeed self-lubricating. She asked if that meant it really worked, and I said I wasn’t sure what she meant; I didn’t have ovaries or a womb, so I couldn’t menstruate or get pregnant, but I was completely capable of having sex. I writhed a little when she leaned down and kissed me right on the clitoris. She turned in her verdict that the taste was a little off, but other than that, everything down there seemed perfectly natural and didn’t look at all out of place. I thanked her and sat up to give her a little hug. She kissed me again, and this time she fondled my nipple as she did so, and I let my hands roam over her. I declared that not enough of us were naked, and pulled on her blouse.

She didn’t want her good work clothes wrinkled, so she got off the bed and carefully undressed, removing her shoes, slacks and top, then stood there in her underwear and noticed me watching. She got all embarrassed and said that she felt inadequate compared to me, and that I shouldn’t look at her. I said that while it was true that my body was a work of art and a product of modern science, hers was a force of nature, and that made it sexier. She was self-made and I envied her for it. That did the trick and she peeled off her bra and panties (which didn’t match, by the way) and joined me in bed. I smiled at the idea that I still knew how to charm women. I softly caressed her breast and kissed her throat. She moved my other hand to touch her lower, warning me to be very careful; real lesbians don’t have long fingernails like mine. I asked if that meant this was not her first time with another girl, and she said that she’d been playing both sides of the field ever since she was a teenager. I told her that until she kissed me, I hadn’t really been thinking about women sexually since becoming one. She laughed that her kisses were magic and had the power to turn straight girls that used to be straight boys gay. I teased her that I may not be gay, but I was at least bi-curious. She wanted to test her magic, and pulled me close and kissed me again, taking longer this time. Maybe the magic was working. If I’d still had a dick, it would have been rock hard.

She pushed me down onto the bed and continued kissing me, working her way down my body from my mouth. She kissed my right breast in a spiral pattern, working her way around the entire surface, nibbling and licking, slowly circling in toward the nipple. It drove me wild with anticipation. Just as she reached the areola, her hand reached out and briefly pinched my other nipple. I was awash in conflicting sexual sensations; it was incredible. I cried out in rapture, but she wasn’t finished. With her mouth and her right hand each pleasuring a nipple, she reached her left hand down and began to stroke my labia. I wanted to do something to her to reciprocate, but I was in such heaven I couldn’t move. After her thumb found my clit it wasn’t long before I was screaming in orgasm. And she instinctively knew how to slow down without quite stopping, to keep me there for a while. I was in awe. She changed position and we snuggled for a bit, and then she rolled us over so that I was on top and declared that it was her turn.

Rather than imitate her actions directly, I opted to try a different route, even though I had never been a lesbian before. I tried to remember what Doug had done with women that had gotten the best results. Well, except for that, of course. I started by lightly nuzzling her ears, suckling the lobes, and gently blowing across, but not into, each one. I then went back to her mouth and kissed her again, sucking briefly on the end of her tongue. As we kissed, I started slowly kneading and massaging her breasts with my hands, only visiting the sensitive tips occasionally. I stopped kissing her only for a moment, to lick my thumbs before sending them after her nipples. When it seemed like I’d gotten her warmed up, I scooched down and stuck my tongue in her navel, which unlike mine didn’t have a piercing to get in the way. Then I slowly inched my way downward, kissing as I went, until I had her squirming. When I reached my destination, I blew a little puff of air to get her attention. I delicately licked and nibbled at her lips, breathing in the sexy, musky aroma of a real pussy. I wished I could get mine to smell like that — I’d never had my face that close, but I was sure I’d never given off that unmistakable scent. I’d seen ads for feminine deodorants, but did anyone sell a “feminine odorant?” I wanted to be able to let my man’s nose know when I was on the make. All of which was a strange train of thought to be having while eating a box lunch, as the French say. I kept licking until I was able to stick my tongue inside her as far as it would go. Doug would have switched to a finger then, but since I’d been warned about my nails I wasn’t sure what to do. I gave up on trying to please her from the inside and went in search of that elusive hooded creature that has puzzled man for centuries. A gasp from Sinder told me when I’d found it. I brushed my tongue across her button in different directions, in no discernable pattern, building up speed when her breathing sped up and she started tipping her hips toward me and making a little squeaking noise. She reached down and grabbed my head when she came, holding me still for a moment, then pulling me up to her for another kiss and a cuddle.

When we got our strength back, she said that lesbian sex was ok, but sometimes you just need to be penetrated, and asked me whether I’d played with any toys yet. I must have had a confused look on my face because she rolled over and opened a drawer on her nightstand and pulled out this thing that looked like a purple cucumber, and I understood what kind of toys she meant. I demurely said that I hadn’t tried anything like that. I had been inserting these plastic medical devices, but they weren’t made for stimulation. She asked me if I wanted to see what her toy felt like, and assured me that it had been cleaned since the last time she used it. Did you know sex toys can go in the dishwasher? I was a little scared, but I said ok. She handed the purple one to me, then reached back into her drawer and got a pink one for herself. It was very embarrassing how she made me fuck myself with it, demonstrating on herself first, then having me copy what she’d done. At first I was just too self-conscious, but the way the little nubbly bits rubbed up against me was too exciting so I just stopped thinking about it and did it. I thought it couldn’t get any better, but then she showed me that I hadn’t even turned it on yet, and pushed a little button on the end to start it vibrating. Oh my god! It was amazing! I finally understood all those feminist jokes about who needs a man when you’ve got a vibrator. The next thing you know, I’ll be comparing sex to chocolate. When I told the tranny group about my wonderful discovery of vibrators, they said that it feels extra-good when the vibes hit your prostate, but I wasn’t really sure whether I had one anymore, because I knew my entire pelvic area was restructured. All I know is that it was an incredibly pleasurable sexual experience. Eventually it was just more than I could take, and we had to stop and lay there, sweaty and exhausted. I asked Sin why she had sex with me, and she just laughed and told me it was a little late to change her mind. She said that the opportunity to have sex with the same person as both a man and a woman was too intriguing to pass up, and once she realized that there was still some chemistry between us she had to go for it. I didn’t like to admit it, but I found that it was better for me as a female, and asked her which she preferred. She diplomatically didn’t want to have to choose, and said that there were different aspects that were better each way.

I started seeing her regularly after that. Not always for sex; sometimes we’d just get together for lunch or a movie, or go hang in a club and flirt with men. We developed a real closeness, and at this point I’d say she’s my best friend. With benefits, which doesn’t even get in the way. She’s even the one who started calling me Rory, which felt a lot less like a fake stripper name. You’re probably wondering that if she’s my closest friend, how come I never introduced you? Well, she’s also my confidant. I’ve told her everything about what you did to me, and everything I wanted to do to you. She knows you’re a monster and doesn’t want to be around you. She’s not as good a liar as I am, and didn’t want to jeopardize anything. Plus, she was afraid that she wouldn’t be able to keep from kicking you in the balls if she ever saw you. She’s a good person, probably better than I am. I’m glad to have her in my life, as a counterpoint to all the awful. She even came down here with me; thinking back about our first time almost makes me want to go find her to have a cuddle right now but I think she’s off playing with Hugo. Anyway, back to the timeline. I’d told her that it was most important to me that I stop you from raping and possibly killing more girls like me, if the hospital went through with its plan to offer my procedure as a standard service, and that you’d made an offer to let me live in your guest house, and did she think I should do it. We brainstormed and the plan we came up with was to try to catch you making some kind of confession on tape, that if you could admit to something that would get your medical license taken away, it would be enough. After briefly considering the option of my moving in with her, we decided that I should take your offer so that I could be close to you, and try to flirt with and seduce you to get even closer. Also, I might be able to use my knowledge of our secret marriage to gain control of your assets and ruin you financially, although since you originally started your machinations on me as a way to embezzle money to pay off some shady Yugoslavians, there might not be many assets left for me to plunder.

So that’s why I agreed to see it when you said you’d gotten the place ready to show me. We began with a lunch date, so I dressed in a fun little modified schoolgirl look with a pleated red plaid miniskirt and a white ruffled long-sleeved silk blouse. I wore white stay-up thigh highs and black ankle-strap pumps. To complete the image, I had my hair gathered in bunches on each side of my head. My look suggested without stating it outright that I was a fetish hooker. I think I was trying to embarrass you at the restaurant, but it didn’t work. It just seemed to make you extra-horny. Your eyes were virtually glued to my legs instead of the road; I’m just glad you didn’t wreck the car. We drove to this quaint little café that had awesome soups according to what everyone in the hospital had been saying, and even though it was a ways to go I was looking forward to it. I almost didn’t mind that I was with you. I just fuzzed my brain enough that I could focus on having good soup with some hot guy, forgetting who exactly that guy was. And the vegetarian portobello/barley soup was indeed heavenly, as were their fresh sourdough rolls. You got a strange smile when I ordered a cappuccino with my raspberry tart for dessert, and I didn’t understand it at the time, but I did later after I saw what you’d set up for me. You checked your phone messages before we left and I thought it was some hospital thing, so I didn’t think about it too much. Then we drove back so you could show me the place you wanted me to live.

I wasn’t sure what to expect a “guest house” to be. Your house was very impressive, a big European-style manor in the swanky part of town. Since it was your house and you’d had all that work done, and you were there when I saw it, I really don’t need to tell you this part, but I want you to understand everything that was going through my mind at the time, plus it makes a convenient way of stretching my story out to bother you that I haven’t gotten to the part you care about. You opened the gate with a remote control, and pulled up the driveway. You parked by the two-car garage attached to the house, and led me to the apartment you were offering me, which was over the detached three-car garage across from it. You said you only currently had the one car, so I’d be allowed to park mine inside if I wanted to. We walked around to the side of the garage where there was a regular door. You showed me a little pink key ring with a picture of Sleeping Beauty on it you’d bought at the Disney Store. It was too cute, and also showed that you were way too confident that I was going to accept. You handed me the key and had me unlock the door. Inside there was a little vestibule with a door into the garage, and then stairs going up. You had me go on up ahead of you, and I regretted wearing one of my mini-er skirts. I’m sure you peeked. At the top of the stairs there was a door on one side that led to a glassed-in walkway over to the main house, and you showed me that I could lock it from my side, although I’d be welcome to come across for a visit anytime. You opened the door on the other side and showed me my space. My first impression was that it smelled very new. There was the unmistakable odor of fresh paint, mixing with the plasticky scent of new carpet. I looked around and saw a charming, cozy room decorated in a geniuinely feminine manner, yet not overly girlish. The door opened into a nice living room with country furniture. The wall-to-wall carpet was a rich plush texture in a peachy color that went nicely with the slightly pink walls and crisp white trim. The furniture was a three-piece set of chair, loveseat and ottoman in a delicate print pattern of tiny roses. A vase of pink roses sat on the simple wooden coffee table, welcoming me. An antique replica pie safe on the wall probably concealed an entertainment center. There was plenty of light coming from the two dormer windows, but a delicate porcelain lamp sat on a table by a very comfortable-looking rocking chair, making a nice place to read. In the corner of the room was an old roll-top secretary desk and a nice old spindle chair. There even was a mirror hanging on the wall by the door so I could check my makeup one last time before going out. At the far end of the room, the carpet transitioned to a terra cotta tile floor and became the kitchenette. There was a cute little café table with two chairs. The appliances were small, but they were all there. And it probably would be enough cabinet space for me. I noticed a top of the line cappuccino machine sitting on the counter. I tried to tell you that it was way too much, but you just smiled. I’m sure it was probably just more of your insurance scam, like you convinced Larry to say that I needed a girlie space to live or something, and then you skimmed off the top but it really was a very nice little apartment. I was close to saying yes before I’d even seen it all.

Behind the kitchen, a door led to a bedroom fit for a princess. It was done in my favorite shade of blue, which I didn’t remember telling you. Maybe you just liked because it’s what I wore to our first meeting. There were more hardwood floors here, but you (or your decorator) scattered soft fleece rugs where my bare feet would want to avoid touching the floor. The furniture was in a whitewashed country style that matched the overall theme of the place. A king-size four-poster canopy bed heaped in ruffled pillows dominated the room. It was flanked by a pair of matching nightstands, each of which had a cute little lamp on it, and an old-fashioned alarm clock was on the right one. Opposite the bed was a big bureau with a mirror over it as well as a free-standing full-length mirror. I was tempted to jump in the big bed and just roll around, but then you told me to check out the bathroom, which was through a door on the side of the room. Everything in there was still shiny and new. You must have remodeled the whole place for me. You said that Stefan had told you how much I appreciated my whirlpool sessions after my workout, so you made sure I had one of my own. I was so happy I could kiss you, so I did. Even though it was you. When I opened my eyes I noticed that the vanity counter in the bathroom had been set up with all my brands of makeup. And I looked around some more and the brushes and combs and things looked like mine. And I opened the medicine cabinet, and there were my prescriptions! I shot you a nasty look and asked what was going on. You said that you were so sure I’d love the place that you’d had my things moved in while we were at lunch. You smug prick! But I actually did love the place, and my secret plan wanted me to move in anyway. So I pouted, but not too seriously. You then pulled me back into the bedroom and showed me how my jewelry box was already sitting on the bureau, and led me to my walk-in closet, where all of my things were hanging up, and my shoes were lined up in neat rows on special shelves. But wait! There were things in the closet that weren’t mine. You nonchalantly explained that all of these things had been bought for me while I was sleeping, but my entire wardrobe didn’t fit in the closet at the hospital. There were so many things there that I wanted to try on! You were an evil bastard, but sometimes you really did know how to make a girl feel happy.

And then you opened the drapes in the bedroom, and showed me the French doors that led out onto my own little balcony. It gave me a nice view of the courtyard behind your house, and I saw the pool. It had been so long since I’d been swimming! You saw my eyes light up and said I was welcome to use it any time I wanted to; it was heated so it was usable three seasons out of the year. I gave you a big hug and wanted to run down there and jump in, but I paused first to ask you if I had a bathing suit. You said I did, but you didn’t know where they’d put it. I opened a couple of drawers and didn’t see anything, but didn’t want to disturb my pretty things by searching, so I had an impish thought and sat down on the bed to take off my shoes and roll down my stockings. I then unbuttoned my blouse and unfastened my skirt and took them both off. You stood there sort of dumfounded seeing me in my pink lace bra and panties. I scampered off and ran down the stairs and out into the backyard. I did a shallow dive into the pool and it was lovely! For some reason, ever since I became a girl I have loved getting submerged in water. I swam a coupe of laps and discovered that my lingerie was really uncomfortable when it got wet. I took off my panties and bra and laid them on the edge of the pool, then went back to swimming in the altogether. It was so warm and wet and wonderful it was like a giant bathtub. I could have just stayed in there all day. I heard you clear your throat and looked up to see you standing there with a towel and my robe for me. I teased you that you had a nude woman in your pool and your instinct was to cover her up, so maybe you were gay. You said that you had to go back to work unexpectedly, and extended a standing invitation for me to join you for dinner over in your house. I waved bye-bye as you left and then realized two things: I’d never actually agreed to move in, and my car was miles away from me. But since I was prepared to accept I just shrugged it off.

So left alone for the rest of the afternoon, I took some time to explore my new environment. When I finally got tired of swimming, I dried off and threw my robe on, finding that you’d put my key in the pocket. Sometimes, you really could seem thoughtful. It’s too bad you often used your talents for nefarious purposes. I went back to my little place and dropped my wet delicates in the kitchen sink. I took a shower to wash off the pool chemicals even though I was tempted to try a bath. I browsed all the new things in my closet for something to wear. I settled on a light black and white polka-dot dress. It had a halter top, so I had to find a convertible halter bra to go under it. I found the drawer where they’d put my bras, and they weren’t in any kind of order so it took a while to select this nice soft wireless toffee-colored one. And then of course I had to sift through the panty drawer and find the matching pair, which turned out to be a low-rise bikini. As I sat there in my panties switching the bra straps to the halter position, I realized how ordinary it all seemed. Nothing about being a woman seemed alien or wrong anymore. I had accepted my gender, and just wanted to do the best job of it I could. Once I had my dress on I noticed this cute pair of mules that would go well with it, and then I popped in my black and white dangly ball earrings. My hair was still damp so I just let it float loose to air dry. Then it was time to start claiming the place as mine. The first thing I did was empty my bra drawer and panty drawer and match up all the sets, then ran the bra through the panty leg and hooked them so each set would stay together. I used the old bra drawer for sets with standard underwire and full-coverage bras, and the old panty drawer for sets with specialty bras. I liked asserting my own control over how my underwear was arranged. I then went through the place opening all the drawers and cabinets, just to see where everything had been put.

A thing in the kitchen that I’d thought was a closet turned out to contain a small stacked washer/dryer pair, so I did something horrible and threw my pool-soaked lingerie in the dryer on the delicate setting. I got in all kinds of trouble when I mentioned doing this at my group meeting. First, I needed to wash them out before drying, and I was supposed to always only hand wash my dainties. Also, apparently you’re never supposed to put a bra in the dryer, and only dry them flat. I really didn’t care that much. Probably if I’d actually had to pay for them I’d have been more careful, but these were things you’d bought or at least arranged to have bought, so I didn’t really want them to last forever. Some more poking around my apartment revealed that the desk in the living room contained an overly cute little pink notebook computer. A post-it note stuck to it told me my password and said how to get on your wireless internet. I poked around and looked at some transgender sites for a bit, and then I saw that the little envelope had been dancing to let me know I had mail. I clicked it and saw that you’d even set me up with an email account, and my first mail was a note from you welcoming me to my new place. I replied to it thanking you for being so generous. I went back to exploring my space and saw that you’d gotten me a good photo-quality printer, so I looked around in the desk drawers and found the camera I’d known you’d have gotten to go with it all. I’d been catching on to how your schemes worked.

I opened the entertainment center and saw that I had a nice plasma-screen HDTV, but not offensively large like a guy would have, just the right size for watching a nice movie. I had a bunch of CDs by female artists in a variety of genres, and a dozen or so romantic movies on DVD. I turned on the machine just to find out what my system could do, and found that someone had “While You Were Sleeping” all cued up and ready to go. Cute. I also discovered that I must have a decent set of speakers hidden somewhere in the room. It was a sweet movie, so I got suckered into watching it. When it was over, I switched over to seeing how many cable channels I had, and considered checking out some girl-on-girl porn on Pay Per View, but thought the better of it. Since you were an evil creep, I had the notion that maybe speakers weren’t the only electronics hidden in my walls. I wouldn’t have put it past you to bug my place, either because you were worried that I knew something, or just because you wanted to get off on watching me on a hidden camera. I vowed to myself never to break character when I was at home, just in case. I’d gotten used to the security cameras at the hospital, so it wouldn’t be hard. I went back to exploring my space and when I found my fish on the top shelf of a broom closet I kicked myself for not worrying about it earlier. I’d just been having too much fun playing house. The key in the fish was safe, so I didn’t panic.

I saw that my kitchen was completely stocked with groceries, which were mostly the ingredients for the dishes I had learned to cook as part of my rehab. I decided that instead of accepting your dinner invitation, I would try to cook a meal myself in my new kitchen, and invite you over. I correctly guessed that you would have entered all your contact information into the address book on my computer and called your cell phone. It went to voicemail, but I invited you to dinner anyway. I looked at what I had to work with and decided to do a meat loaf. My oven was small, but not too small. I could fit a loaf pan in there and still have plenty of room for a pair of baked potatoes. There was an apron hanging on a hook on the back of my pantry door, so I put it on to keep my dress neat. It was a ruffled pinafore style printed with little flowers. It was excessively feminine, but I felt nice in it. Somehow I found acting like a housewife to be very comfortable. I think it made me remember my mom, and it was nice to reflect back on a time that I knew I was loved. I tried to be a daughter my mother would have been proud of. I actually felt happy when you called back and asked what kind of wine you should bring. But my mom’s little girl shouldn’t have been smiling at the thought of cooking a nice dinner for her rapist; she would have raised me better than that. I was so confused I had to sit down and sob for a while — I was supposed to be working on my plan to stop you, not imagining myself doing other things to you. It’s a good thing I wasn’t wearing any makeup or it would have been running. I pulled myself together and got back to cooking, cutting open a package of frozen peas. When everything was cooking nicely unattended, I went off to spritz some perfume and put on mascara and lip gloss.

Then I heard my doorbell, which I hadn’t even known I had, and skipped down the stairs to let you in. I debated taking off my apron, but decided it added a cute retro/maid fetish touch to my outfit that might improve my chances with you, although why I was trying I didn’t understand and still don’t. I took your wine bottle from you, thanking you with a kiss on the cheek, and let you watch me climb stairs again, but at least my skirt wasn’t so short this time — you’d have had to try harder to get a peek. I showed you into my living room and had you take a seat while I finished up with dinner. You opted to sit at the kitchen table instead, which I’d set with the best tablecloth I could find, and the very elegant dishes you’d gotten me. You took back your bottle from where I’d placed it on the counter and, pulling a corkscrew from your pocket, you opened the wine and set it aside to let it breathe a while. Having you closer to me made conversation a little easier, when you started to ask me how I was settling in, as I was stirring the sauce. I overflowed with compliments for you about how nice a place it was, and peppered you with a few questions. You let me know my address, and told me that since it wasn’t an actual apartment I’d have to get my mail through you, but you promised not to peek. I let you know that as soon as I found a job I would insist on paying my utilities and some kind of rent, even though you wanted to give me all the time I needed. I figured that meant that Larry’s settlement must be paying for me to live there for a while. You had a door remote for me, and showed me there was one button for the gate and another for the garage; if I was ready when you were leaving the next morning you’d take me to the hospital to get my car.

After I served dinner, you stood up when I came back to the table without my apron, and pulled my chair out for me. Then you served the wine, which meant that I didn’t have to go looking to find the glasses; you knew exactly where they were. You also suavely used the remote for my stereo to turn on some soft mood music. I really had to give you credit for better moves than Doug ever had, although of course you had help. I was flirting at full speed throughout the meal. I told you that I really liked my new room, and could barely wait until I got to try out my new bed. I said I thought it was bigger than any I’d ever slept in before, so I hoped I didn’t get lonely with all that space to myself. I also apologized if I’d embarrassed you earlier that day when I came out of the pool all wet and naked, and you blushed a little. I let you catch me sneaking a glance at your lap, where I could see I was causing a definite reaction. And I frequently touched your arm or your hand while we were talking, stroking slightly before pulling back.

When the meal was over, I put a worried expression on my face and shed a tear, and told you what a bad hostess I was — I hadn’t prepared any dessert. I let you take me into your arms and “comfort” me, as you reassured me that you had gotten plenty to eat. I turned my face toward you and kissed you, lightly at first, like a kiss of simple human gratitude, but I didn’t release your mouth and let the kiss build in intensity. My hands began to trace the muscles in your back, but yours only strayed slightly from my bare shoulders. I came up for air and stepped back, slipping out of your grasp. I put my hands out in front of me and pushed you back down into your chair. With a sly grin I said that you may be full, but I wasn’t, so I’d just have to find something else to eat. My hand went to your zipper faster than you figured out what I meant, and I don’t think the lightbulb went on in your head until you felt my fingers rubbing you through your silky boxers. I kissed you again, with my hand still inside your pants, giving you a sample of what my tongue could do. When I broke the kiss, and lowered myself down to kneel on the floor.

You know, seeing as how you were actually there, maybe I could just skip this part. But on the other hand, maybe if I remind you now of how sex used to feel for you it will make it worse for you now that you can’t feel anything. And if I manage to get you aroused mentally, you’ll be wondering if you’re also aroused physically, and maybe worry if I left you any parts capable of being aroused physically. Yes, I think that would make it worse. So I’ll continue the scene.

Your belt buckle required two hands to unfasten, so I had to let go of you, but only for a moment. When I pulled down your underwear, I got my first real look at The Monster. He was big, and he looked scary. For a second I worried if I was up to the task. I laid a soft, wet kiss right at the tip. I was grateful that you kept everything down there smoothly shaven, but then I realized that it was probably just to avoid leaving hairs at the scene of the crime. I grasped you firmly in my right hand and started licking all around the edge of The Monster’s head, and down the shaft a ways. It tasted clean; you must have taken the time to wash before coming over. My free hand started gently massaging your balls, and while that had your attention I opened my mouth wider and wrapped my soft lips around the end of The Monster and started sucking in earnest. I began to jerk you with my hand, and on each stroke I’d lower my head and take more of you into my mouth. I ran my tongue along that tendon that runs on the bottom of your cock. Is “tendon” the right anatomical term for that thing? You’d know. When my lip hit my thumb, I took my hand off your shaft and realized that I was completely deep-throating you. I bobbed my head up and down, almost backing all the way off, building speed. I could feel you wanting to move your hips, but I held them down with my elbows. I sensed it in your testicles and looked up to your eyes to sort of nod and let you know it was ok. I kept you at full length inside me and swallowed every drop. When I had licked you clean, you buckled your pants and pulled me up to sit on your knee and refilled my wine glass.

You let me have a couple sips before you tried to kiss me; I guess you didn’t want to taste your own spooge. I put my arms around the back of your neck and innocently asked if I did ok, since I really didn’t have any experience doing that. You sweetly reassured me, and said that I was very good, especially as a beginner. I then teased you a little and asked questions I already knew the answers to. I asked if you’d ever thought about me doing something like that when I was lying in my coma and you were my doctor. You said that would have been wrong, so of course you didn’t, while nonchalantly sliding your hand under my skirt, moving it from my knee up to my thigh. I licked my lips and asked if you’d ever imagined while I was sleeping what it would feel like to make love to me, and you just laughed and said that would also be inappropriate. While I traced figure-eights on your chest with my nails, your hand moved closer; I could feel your fingertips brush my panties. I leaned to kiss you and shifted my weight slightly, allowing you to push my underwear aside and touch me directly. I gasped when you slipped a finger or two inside me, making the kiss more intense. You wiggled them around and I squirmed and rocked my hips towards you slightly. I think you were probably making sure my lubrication was working. It was, but I wanted more inside me than a finger.

I stood up and pulled you by the hand into the bedroom. I kicked off my shoes and turned my back toward you and asked you to unzip me. You very readily had not only my dress but also my bra off. I slipped out of my panties and got in bed, posing lustily. You were taking too long to undress, but you made up for it by starting off kissing my knees. Very tenderly, you caressed the back of each knee with your lips. Slowly and carefully, you then kissed your way up my thighs, switching legs with every kiss, moving my knees further apart as you went. You had me twitching in anticipation, and trying to lift my hips toward you. You quickly gave me a single kiss on my mound, then slipped those fingers back inside me. You must have gotten Dr. Powell to give you a map of my most sensitive areas, because it felt like your fingers were finding them all. I couldn’t help but thrust my pelvis forward, trying to get you deeper inside me. Then you brought your tongue into play and started licking my clitoris. I think you might have been doing the old alphabet trick. Whatever trick you were doing it was working. I clutched the bedcovers, arched my back and moaned in ecstasy. I didn’t want you to stop. It was perfect. Even if you were a Lying Evil Bastard, as long as you could do this for me, I was ready to forgive everything. Maybe I could get you just to promise not to rape any more girls and that would be enough, under the one condition that you service me whenever I wanted. That might be a good enough plan for revenge. My mind was straying from my mission but I didn’t care; you brought me to orgasm a couple of times, and I was ready to cave to your will.

When I came down from my sexual high I snapped out of it. You had to be stopped, no matter what the cost. But then you shifted your attention upwards and started fondling my breasts. You started by gently stroking them in a circular motion, but worked your way to more firmly kneading them, letting your fingers occasionally attend to my nipples. When you’d worked me to the point where I was begging, you brought your incredible tongue into play again and teased my breast, then moved your lips down and started sucking my left nipple, sending me to oblivion. I was so ready for you; I needed to feel you inside me; I wanted you to drive into me hard and fast; some mixed up part of my hormone-pickled brain was even preparing to make a baby with you that would nurse me the way you were.

You sensed my readiness and moved your face up to kiss me on the mouth, while your hand went down to my other lips and held me open while you got The Monster lined up. As you pushed into me I could feel your size and worried that you were tearing me open, but of course this wasn’t the first time you’d been in there, so I shouldn’t have feared. When you thrust all the way in I could feel you filling me completely; I fit you like a glove, not unsurprisingly. But I’d made plenty of whatever juices it is my fake pussy makes that you weren’t stuck at all; it was just a satisfyingly tight fit, as I felt you with every sensitive part of me down there. You began to seriously fuck me, working your enormous cock back and forth, into and out of me, as I grabbed your shoulders and pushed my hips towards you and away on every stroke. However, it only took you about twelve seconds before you shot your load and rolled off of me. Now I could hardly complain since you’d already made sure that I had come, and quite completely, but it was very disappointing nonetheless. But I figured maybe that’s why, despite of being a handsome doctor with an impressive package, you had to resort to raping coma patients to get sex. Perhaps word got out about what a lousy lay you were. I kissed you and tried to snuggle for a little bit, so you wouldn’t think I didn’t appreciate it, but fortunately you only stayed a few minutes before getting dressed to go walk back over to your place. I expressed some dismay when I saw that we had made a wet spot on my nice new bedcovers, but you showed me that it was a duvet cover. I could take it off for cleaning, and there were others in my linen closet. I wasn’t sure the soiled cover would fit in my little washing machine, but you said you’d leave the door unlocked on your end of the gallery, (apparently the fancy word for the windowed hallway that connected our buildings) and I could go over and use your laundry room. I kissed you in thanks as you left. I didn’t want your evil semen in me any longer than necessary, so I douched, then took a nice long bath. I was glad my bathroom had been fully supplied for all my hygiene needs.

I took advantage when I was over in your house doing my laundry to snoop around a little. Since it was my first time over there and I wasn’t sure if you had a security camera or something, I didn’t want to do anything too suspicious; I just wandered around looking in every room but didn’t go poking through drawers or opening closets. Your house was incredible! It seemed built for entertaining, even though you really weren’t the type to have close friends. I’d already seen the pool area outside, and inside you had a room with a carved oak bar and a pool table and a classic jukebox, and another room set up just to watch your giant television. You had three different rooms that were all variations on what I’d call a living room, with arranged groups of upholstered seating: one opened to the patio, one had a big stone fireplace, and the other backed up against the kitchen. There was a big empty space in the largest one where I could tell by the indentations in the carpet that you used to have a grand piano. My guess is that you must have sold it for money to pay the gangsters. You must not have been a real music fan, and probably only got the piano to impress people, since everyone knows the sound from a grand sucks if you put it on a deep pile rug. You want a flat surface that will bounce the sound instead of eating it. I learned all this back in college when Doug dated a girl who was a music major.

Your formal dining room had a grand table that could seat twelve, but you also had a more intimate table for six next to your kitchen. That was also impressive, with an imported tile floor and stone countertops and custom-fitted rock maple cabinets and fancy-schmancy commercial-grade appliances. I’m sure I would have been impressed if I was the kind of girl who knows her way around a kitchen. Another room turned out to be your study, with bookshelves covering the walls and a big antique desk dominating the center of the room. I was tempted to try to get into your computer, but I didn’t want to risk setting off any alarms. I’d explored your first floor and hadn’t found the laundry room yet, so I crept up the stairs to look around. I found what I thought was the master bedroom, but then there were two more the same size, all of which paled in comparison to the actual master bedroom. I giggled when I saw that your bed linens were a similar pattern to mine, since I’d thought you’d gone out of your way to make my place girlish. I finally found the laundry room off a door in the upstairs hallway that I’d initially passed on, thinking it was a closet. While my bedspread was in the wash, I changed my mind and decided to poke around your bedroom a little. I was feeling mischievous so I started by stripping naked and rolling around in your bed, just to infuse your sheets with the scent of my perfume, my sweat, and the general ambiance of me. I saw that your master bedroom had “His and Hers” walk-in closets and walked into yours and touched your nice things, appreciating that your taste was decent. Then I tried putting on one of your shirts and looking sexy in that way that a girl can make her man’s shirt look so much hotter, but I’m not small enough for that look; your shirt was too tight on me. I pouted and kept it on anyway, but left it unbuttoned. I couldn’t find anything else in your closet that I wanted to dress up in, so I went looking in the other one, and would not have guessed in a million years what was in there.

Since it was designed for the lady of the house, the second closet was much larger. If I had been in your shoes, I would have taken the larger closet as my own. Then I started wondering if maybe you’d had a woman living with you before, a girlfriend or maybe even a wife, and that was her closet, so you just wanted to keep the one you’d been used to even after she left. There was only one thing in there, which I think made it look even emptier. I walked into the back and saw the large, white garment bag hanging on the rod. It was obviously full of something, so I unzipped it. And there was The Dress, a beautiful wedding gown in pure white satin with delicate embroidery and lace accents. It was proof that you’d been married, so I started thinking that maybe she’d screwed you over in the divorce, and that’s what turned you into an Evil Rapist. Part of me wanted to try it on, just to feel beautiful, but the more rational side figured the chances were low that it would fit me. I was wondering if maybe you’d molded me into a replica of your wife, and growing curious about how different our sizes were, when the washing machine beeped, and I had to move my duvet cover to the dryer. Having a moment to clear my head of its romantic wanderings helped. When I got back from the laundry room, I’d planned on just zipping it back up and leaving it alone, but when I closed the bag I saw there was a little pocket on the outside that I’d missed, like a clear vinyl window, with a little card inside showing through. And on that card was written, in very nice calligraphy using gold ink, the name of the lucky bride “Aurora Andrews” with the date of her wedding printed below, a date that had only been a few months before. You fucking prick! You not only filed a phony marriage license, you bought a dress. Knowing that it was “mine” made me want to try it on even more, but I was so mad at you at that moment that I didn’t want to ruin such a work of art. If Stefan hadn’t made me learn to sew I never would have been able to recognize the quality of all the fine work that went into it. Instead I carefully zipped it back up and yelled at you, in absentia. What was weirdest was that the thing that pissed me off the most was that you had the audacity to assume that I would take your last name! I made a mental note to check the wedding license to see if it changed my name.

I almost stormed out of the place, but I had to wait for the dryer. So instead I sat on your bed and started to take your shirt off but got distracted and began playing with my breasts instead. All the anger and frustration fueled my sexual energy and soon I was lying on the bed teasing my nipple with one hand and fingering myself with the other, while still swearing occasionally at an imaginary you. I’d forgotten Sinder’s warning about fingernails and lesbians and scratched myself a little, but I ended up getting myself off four times before the dryer buzzed. I put your shirt in the hamper and got dressed, then picked up my blanket and went home. I became more resolved to stop you, and took some time thinking about what all I had to do to get you, and what things I had to do first. My “To do” list was sort of overwhelming at that point. Not only did I have to work at getting my revenge on you, but I also had to get my life on track. I needed to find a job, I needed to get some new clothes that weren’t slutty, I had to figure out what to do with Doug’s stuff, I needed to become close enough to you to get some evidence to get your license revoked, and somewhere in there I needed to figure out who exactly Aurora was. What kind of person did I want to be? At least I had already figured out that I’d enjoyed sex with both Sin and Bill, so Aurora was definitely bisexual. It wasn’t much, but it was something. And thinking about my lesbian experiment reminded me that I also needed to go out and get me a vibrator.

I made a point of making sure I was out late for the next few days, so our paths wouldn’t cross at home; I wanted to make you miss me a little. I’d spent most of my free time going through all the stuff in my storage unit. Because some of it was the same stuff, it really reminded me of when I had to go through my parents’ house after they died to see what I wanted to keep. And so I broke down and cried a few times during the process. It’s those damn hormones — I tried getting my endocrinologist to adjust the dose to keep down the mood swings, but he wouldn’t listen and said I was having the normal fluctuation in hormone levels for a natural woman my age. I realized that I wasn’t just mourning Mom and Dad; I was also mourning Doug in a way. There were things there that I would never need again, and I had to decide which souvenirs and mementos from my old life I wanted to hang onto. I did the easy stuff first — I set all the boxes with Doug’s clothes aside to go to charity. I found the boxes with my CD’s, movies, and books and took those back to my apartment. I didn’t have enough shelf space for all of it, so I ended up shoving some boxes into the attic space behind my closet.

The next things I dealt with weren’t so easy. I had to decide which of the activities that Doug did for fun I would also do. As much as it would be fun to build myself up so I could punch you in the face, the image of becoming a bulgy-muscle girl did not appeal to me, so I didn’t want to keep my dumbbells. I looked at my skis and could very easily picture myself shussing down the slopes in a cute snowbunny outfit. I concluded that I definitely wanted to try it, but since I’d need new boots anyway, (I was pretty sure I remembered seeing ladies’ ski boots with a raised heel that would fit my deformed feet) I didn’t want to use my old mens’ skis. I’d get some new, more feminine gear when I was ready to go. I also considered trading my golf clubs in for a set of women’s clubs, but I thought about my feet again and didn’t remember ever seeing a high-heeled golf shoe. Maybe there was a tiny market for whores that cater to men with a golf fetish, but I didn’t really want to know. I said goodbye to the clubs. I started thinking about my shoe problem and tried to come up with sports where women wore heels. I figured I couldn’t take up gymnastics, even though they’re barefoot and much of what they do is on tiptoe, because I’d never seen a gymnast with massive hooters — it’s probably a center of gravity thing. I just wasn’t petite enough. I recalled seeing heels on figure skates, but thought the gravity thing might also be a problem there. I decided that I I had two options. I could start cycling, where it’s only the ball of the foot on the pedal anyway. Or I could learn horseback riding, where I could wear boots that would match one of those English riding outfits with the sexy tight pants, or I could dress western in a smoking-hot pair of jeans and cowgirl boots. At any rate, I wouldn’t need my boy stuff. I took them all to a used sporting goods store to sell. The one sport I did keep was all of my fishing gear. I wasn’t sure if I wasn’t too girly to want to touch a slimy, smelly fish, but I had some poles and lures that used to belong to my dad, and I wasn’t about to let those go.

I was feeling so emotionally exhausted after the second day of going through my stuff that I called Sin to see if I could take her out to dinner. She could tell that I really didn’t want to be alone and not only agreed to eat with me, but also took me home with her. That night we mainly just cuddled. Sure we slept with our naked bodies intertwined, and yes her mouth spent some time at my breast, but it wasn’t as sexual as it was emotional. It just felt really nice knowing that someone was there for me. It was good to be loved, not in the sense of by a lover, but more by a friend or a sister. In a way, it made everything not as scary as having to deal with it all on my own. I never really had that before. It was wonderful waking up in her arms the next day, and I almost didn’t want it to end, but she had to get to work and I had to get back to my mission. She gave me a kiss on the nose and a pat on the ass and sent me on my way.

I found a furniture consignment place that would send guys with a truck to pick up Doug’s furniture. I had them take the bedroom set, but they said my other stuff wasn’t quality enough, so I had to arrange for the Salvation Army to come out with their truck for the rest of the furniture. I kept my old laptop in the trunk of my car, just in case I needed to do any computer stuff without you knowing about it. The electronics you put in my apartment were better than what I had before, so I asked if anyone at my group wanted my old stuff. It was decent equipment; it just wasn’t top-of-the-line. Oliver took my old TV and insisted on paying me a couple hundred bucks for it. I told him it had a great screen for watching football, but he just laughed and said he’d be more likely to use it to watch old movies. I tried to flirt with him and said I didn’t have the old instructions, but if he wanted I could come over and try to help figure out where everything gets plugged in, but he brushed me off and wanted to work it out on his own. It blew my mind to find out that he was a woman becoming a fag, I mean a homosexual. We’re not supposed to call them that; all of us LGBT’s need to stick together and all, but I still feel creeped out around gay guys. Well, except for Stefan of course, and Oliver most of the time. But I don’t like when Stefan talks about his boyfriend, and if I picture him sticking it in some man’s ass it’s just ewww! I know it’s kind of hypocritical and all, seeing as how I enjoy eating out my girlfriend, but it just seems wrong.

Arthur, that’s the man who pretends to be Wendy, came to get my stereo and even though I hadn’t seen him in boy clothes I knew him right away. But he had this guy Ben with him to help carry all the components that I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t until he looked around my by that time nearly empty storage space and asked me if he could keep some of his girl things there that I realized that Ben was Belinda’s other self. I gave her a hug and told her I hadn’t realized who she was, and of course she could keep anything she wanted to in my space; I’d just add Ben’s name to the list of authorized persons. I stepped back and took another look and if I tried I could see the vivacious girl I knew in this withdrawn-looking plain skinny Asian guy, but it was only really when she smiled that I caught a glimpse of my friend. She just looked so depressed in guy-mode that I knew I wanted to come up with something that I could do to cheer her up. I added that to my ever-growing “to do” list.

I’d finally gotten the things in my storage space down to just about eight boxes or so, so I just shoved them up against one side in the back. When Bel’s things showed up, they were in three locked steamer trunks, and she put them up against the other wall. Three trunks seemed like a lot of stuff to hide from her folks, but I guess on the other hand since it was all that Belinda really had, it seemed like not very much. I felt a little guilty when I got Lou the storage center guy to cut the padlocks off with his bolt cutters, but my plan required it. I just jiggled a little and told him I’d lost my keys, and he was putty in my hands. Her trunks were very organized. One of them contained her clothes, neatly folded with separate piles for each kind of garment — a stack of blouses, a stack of skirts, etc. She had exquisite taste. It’s a good thing we wear different sizes or I would have stolen her stuff. The second trunk had mesh zipper bags containing different kinds of lingerie; the largest one had some very beautiful nightgowns. Each bag also contained a floral scented sachet. Under the bags, the bottom of the trunk was lined with two layers of plastic shoe boxes. Each contained a pair of lovely shoes that were individually wrapped in tissue paper for protection. She even had a sexy pair of calf-high boots in a big box on the bottom layer, and a couple small handbags in another. The third trunk had an assortment of smaller squarish boxes inside. One was a sort of tackle box that contained all of Belinda’s makeup. Another similar compartmented box had her jewelry, which looked decent but I didn’t think it was as expensive as my stuff. There was an electric makeup mirror in the trunk that had little lights all around it. She had been keeping it in the box it was sold in. There was a pair of small white unmarked cardboard boxes that confused me. I opened them and saw that each one had a weird pink sort-of-triangular thing sitting in a shaped plastic liner. I picked one up and it felt blobby like Jell-o, then I flipped it over and saw that it had a nipple and got very embarrassed when I realized I was holding my friend’s boob. I carefully put it back into its box, and wondered if it would be appropriate to let Belinda know I’d gotten to second base with her. There was a container with some hair styling products, and another big box turned out to have a nice-looking long black wig on a Styrofoam head. Then I got even more embarrassed when I opened the last container and found her collection of dildos. I guess she really couldn’t go out in public with a guy so she had to limit herself to imaginary guys. Sometimes it’s just not fair.

I decided to do what I could to brighten her life. I took me a couple of days to get it all together, but I was so excited on that last day that I wanted to call her right away, but it was so late when I was done it would have been rude to call, so I went home and had a swim and, you probably remember this part, I still had too much energy so I crept over to your place and tried to sneak in wearing just a towel, but I set the alarm off and you had to come down in your pajama bottoms to see what it was. I dropped my towel and proceeded to lead you back up to your room for more of your awesome foreplay followed by pathetic actual sex. When I left you I was smiling but not from anything you did; I was just thinking of how I’d done something nice for my friend.

I waited until after dinner to call the next day, and almost slipped when her mother answered and I had to ask for “Ben.” Now it turns out that that’s not really her name either; it’s really some Chinese name that most white folks can’t pronounce, so he goes by Ben which is sort of close to his actual name. But eventually, the old lady figured out who I wanted to talk to and asked for my name, and I heard her shout something in the background, and I liked the way she pronounced “Rory” with her accent. And Ben came on and he was using his boy voice, so I figured mom must have stayed in the room. He wanted to know if something was wrong, and I said it was closer to the opposite and asked if he was busy or could I show him something I wanted him to see. Was he allowed to date on a school night? He laughed and said he was free, and I could come pick him up in a half hour. When I got there, his mother met me at the door and welcomed me into a little foyer. She was a sweet looking tiny Asian woman who didn’t appear to be as old as I knew her to be. She looked me up and down and shook her head disapprovingly. Then she went into the next room and I heard some shouting in what must have been Chinese, in a few different voices. Then this little old man peeked in and saw me and I smiled at him and he smiled back and waved. He went back into the room and said something and then the bickering voices stopped. Bel told me later that the argument was that her mother didn’t want her son going out with some cheap blonde devil with giant breasts and should find himself a nice traditional Chinese girl, but her father got interested when the subject of giant breasts came up so he went to make sure his wife wasn’t exaggerating. I got the impression that the old man immigrated because he actually wanted to be an American, and his wife just came along for the prosperity. He seemed to think that his son going on a date with a life-size Barbie doll was a great idea, so he told his wife to butt out and gave his thumbs-up. If only they knew. Ben took my arm and I walked him to my car, where he opened the door for me as though it were a real date. His folks must have been watching from a window, so I gave him a little peck on the cheek as I got in.

Belinda wanted to know where we were going, and I said there had been a change in the way things were stored in my unit, so I thought she ought to know. It was really hard relating to her when she looked male. I tried keeping a straight face, but I just couldn’t hold my smiles in when we went to the night guard to get the key. I knew I must have been too confusing, so I said that just like Batman needs a special cave where he can get away from his secret identity, I decided that more than just a place for her stuff, she needed somewhere she could express her other self, so I converted my storage space into a glamour space. I opened the door and showed her what I’d done. I had redecorated my little store room as almost a lady’s boudoir. Now you’re probably going to think it was stupid of me to get rid of all my old furniture just to bring some back, but since you can’t laugh at me in your current state I don’t care. I’d bought some secondhand and cheap stuff just because of my budget, but I think it worked. There was a knockoff oriental rug on the floor instead of the bare concrete, and in the front of the space I’d set up a little sitting area with a chaise lounge and a wing chair grouped around one of her trunks with a lace tablecloth on top to serve as a coffee table, with an assortment of fashion magazines arranged on top. To highlight its purpose as a sort of oasis of femininity, I’d put in a fake potted palm and softened the harsh metal walls by hanging sheer draperies in front of them. I’d set up the back of the unit was a kind of dressing room area. On one side I’d set up a little vanity table, with all of her cosmetics arranged on top, with even her wig on its stand, but under a dust cover. All her baubles were in a real jewelry box. The new mirror, surrounded by fluorescent full-spectrum lights Hollywood style, was larger than her old one, but I kept the old one on the table since it reversed to magnify. I’d screwed an adapter into the fixture in the ceiling where the single bare bulb had been, and run an extension cord duct taped to the beams and around the back of the room. Past the vanity was a large free-standing wardrobe armoire, where I’d hung up all her clothes on those fancy little padded satin hangers, and arranged her shoe boxes on the shelves at the bottom. Next to that was a six-drawer lingerie chest where I’d put the things that couldn’t be easily hung up. Across from them was a three-section full length mirror, serving a dual purpose as a screen to hide my boxes.

I apologized for breaking into her trunks, but she was so happy it didn’t matter. Her eyes lit up and she just gushed, even though she was in drab mode, and gave me a big hug and thanked me profusely. I told her than the unit had been paid for in advance for the year, and I didn’t really need all that space. The very least I could do is give my friend a place she could go to get away from the stress of having to live a lie. It’s a good thing we weren’t wearing mascara, because she started weeping and it must have set off my hormones, because I joined in. Fortunately I’d thought to stock her vanity with tissues and not just swabs and cotton balls and sponges. I carefully then showed her all the little details of where I’d put her things, and told her that I wouldn’t be offended if she preferred some other arrangement. She thanked me some more and I said she could make it up to me by taking me shopping some time; I absolutely adored her taste and sense of fashion! I then suggested that since her folks thought Ben was out on a date we probably had a few hours before he was expected back, so did she want to get dressed and we could go out for a girls’ night on the town? She thought that was a great idea, but rejected my idea of going clubbing since her legs weren’t shaven so she couldn’t wear a short skirt, and thought we could take in a movie instead — the revival house was showing the original Sabrina, and I hadn’t even heard of the remake. Bel was a big Audrey Hepburn fan, and insisted I had to see this movie, so I didn’t get to come up with an alternate plan.

I wanted to watch her transformation, but she made me turn around and look the other way. I thumbed through the latest issue of Vogue while she did her magic, and it only took her about twenty minutes to get ready. She gave a little fanfare noise and I turned around as she asked me how she looked. She had put together a little casual number that was cute and sophisticated. She wore a long navy skirt and a matching silky short-sleeved top with a lace-edged scoopneck that hinted at cleavage that I knew couldn’t possibly be there, and had a white fine-knit cardigan sweater over it to keep out the evening chill. Her tights were white (I felt bad that she always had to wear tights to hide leg hair) and her shoes were a pair of simple navy slides. She had her long hair on, and it really made her look feminine. It was black with a natural shine and hung to the middle of her back. She had a white silk headband just behind her bangs that coordinated nicely with a scarf she wore as a belt. Her makeup was flawless. She’d done something that made her eyebrows look like manicured arches, (I asked about it once and she showed me how she’d just backcomb them bushier when she needed to look like a guy) her lashes were thick and long and lustrous, and there was a hint of silver on her lids, all of which combined to make her eyes seem bigger while not losing their exotic Asian quality. I couldn’t tell if she had any foundation on, but I could see a hint of color in her cheeks. She went with a bright pink lipstick with a shiny gloss that announced to the world that this girl was made for kissing. Her jewelry was a pair of navy and white button earrings, a matching disc pendant, and a navy bracelet. I told her how cute she was and brought her over to the mirrors to twirl. She said that the experts say you should always look over an outfit and remove one thing before you go out, so she opted to take off her bracelet. While putting a handbag together, she asked me if we had time before the movie for her to do her nails. We didn’t, so she brought her buffer along and made her hands all shiny in the car.

We turned quite a few heads on our walk from the car to the theater. Bel insisted on paying for our tickets, but a nice guy behind us in the concessions line covered our Diet Cokes, popcorn and box of Sno-Caps. I wasn’t sure which one of us he was trying to pull, so we both flirted with him a little, but neither of us gave him a number. And luckily, he wasn’t going to our movie so he couldn’t creepily try to sit next to us. After we got our seats we accused each other of trying to pick up that guy. I said she was the prettier one so he was obviously interested in her, but she said men are easier to figure out than that and he’d clearly been trying for the one with the bigger chest, and she poked me for emphasis. We giggled for a while, but settled down before the movie started. It was a sweetly wonderful film, and I won’t say anything else about it in case you’ve never seen it, because you simply have to. I could totally understand Belinda’s obsession with Audrey Hepburn. We stopped at a drugstore on the way back to the storage center so Bel could get a bottle of water, a plastic washtub, and a roll of paper towels. She was used to removing her makeup in the bathroom and wanted a makeshift sink. It didn’t take long for her to turn back into a pumpkin. I wondered if Ben’s folks would be worried if he was out too late, and that’s when she told me about the parents’ different reactions to seeing their son out on a date with a blonde American devil. I tried to flirt and asked if he wanted to try dating for real, but he shot me down and let me know he had no attraction to women. I tried reminding him that I used to be a guy, but all that got me was a playful growl in Bel’s voice and a comment that she was so jealous. It bugged me a little that there wasn’t enough of Doug left to catch the eye of a gay guy, or maybe she was more a straight girl, but either way I wasn’t man enough. I wanted his dad to be happy anyway and think he’d gotten some action, so I mussed Ben’s hair then set about misbuttoning my blouse so it would look like I wasn’t paying attention when I’d dressed.

I drove him home and he said he could see the folks peeking, so I got out of the car with him, and held his hand to walk him to the door. I asked if he was going to invite me in, and pouted when he said he had to get up early the next morning. I caught a glimpse of pink in the corner of his mouth where some of Belinda’s lipstick hadn’t come off, so I insisted on a good-night kiss and pulled him close and worked my tongue on that spot to remove any traces. I even gave his buns a little squeeze. He was breathless when I let him go. I gave him one last hug and said loud enough to be overheard that he smelled like my perfume, so I was sure he’d be dreaming of me later. I made him promise to call me, and I left. We had a few more fake dates after that. I’d pick him up, or he’d get me, and then we’d go get Belinda and the two of us would do something. I offered to serve as an excuse if she ever wanted to meet a guy, but she was too worried about having to keep her life a secret. There did come an incident where I took the charade a little too far. I insisted that if we really wanted to convince the old folks that we were a couple, I would have to stay the night. And of course to really get the impression across that we’d had sex, we’d have to at least get the sheets sweaty, so I got in bed nude, and made my pretend boyfriend do the same. I offered to give Bel a better look at my body, in case she was curious about any of my surgeries, but she was really embarrassed about my seeing her as a naked male, and turned the lights out. She lay there very stiff and uncomfortable, so I tried to do my best to relax her.

I whispered in her ear to close her eyes, and told her to imagine a big, handsome man with broad shoulders, a tight butt, and rock-hard abs was holding her in his arms, describing him as a gentleman of refinement and taste, but who still emanated an aura of raw, animal masculinity. I said that she’d been a good girl and had held out until the fourth date, but she’d been eagerly awaiting this night and all through dinner every time their eyes met, she had felt herself getting moist and ready for him, and in the car on the way to his hotel she had thrown her arms around him and kissed him deeply and passionately, and he had lost enough of his control that he’d slipped a hand into her dress and touched her round, supple breast. At this point, I reached over and gently stroked her nipple, feeling it become erect, as her body relaxed a little. I continued her fantasy. He had led her to his room, where after some impatient fumbling with the key they entered and he threw his jacket at a chair and she kissed him again and allowed her fingers to slip under his shirt and explore his muscled chest, breathing in his manly scent, and not caring that the special pair of tiny sexy lace panties she’d bought just for this date were becoming with her juices. Keeping one hand softly caressing her nipple, I slowly brought my other hand over and lightly touched the growing erection I’d hoped to find. I didn’t sense any objection from her; she actually seemed to shift her weight a little and make a slight moan, so I began running my fingers carefully along the shaft as I kept my story going. I said that she’d quickly gotten his shirt unbuttoned, and he had gotten his hands up under the hem of her dress and was tracing the bare skin where her stocking tops met her garters, and her panties were of course so tiny that there was plenty of bare skin for him to enjoy as moved up to where her thighs became her perfect buttocks and the womanly curves of her hips. She surprised him by stepping back and pushing him away, but only so she could reach down and take off her shoes, then she spun around and guided his hands to the zipper on the back of her dress. Then she turned back to face him and stood there in nothing but her panties, garter belt and stockings. Being a man his eyes were immediately drawn to her breasts, but he managed to look back into her face and tell her how beautiful she was and give her a kiss to show how much he loved her. As he kissed her, she unfastened his pants and dropped them to the floor, and she had to let out a gasp at the massive tent in his silk boxers, but she had to laugh when he realized that he still had his shoes on and had to break the romantic moment to sit down and get his shoes and pants off, and he did have the sense to know that men’s socks aren’t sexy so he removed them as well. I said that while still seated he pulled her over to him and noticed that her breasts were no conveniently at the level of his face, so he lovingly kissed each nipple and then lingered at her left one and suckled it deeply. By then I was seriously jerking her off, so I took a gamble and illustrated my story by leaning over and licking her nipple. It was tricky because I had to make sure my own erect nipples didn’t touch her and spoil the illusion, but I think it worked because she made a little happy noise. Returning to my narrative I told her that as he stood, he easily picked her up in his arms and carried her delicately to his bed. He was pleased that she’d worn her panties over her garters so that he wouldn’t have to work as hard to remove them, but when he moved his hands to her waistband, she shook a finger at him and stopped him, insisting that he go first. He pulled off his boxers and she got her first look at his manhood. It was almost frighteningly large, but she still quivered in anticipation of feeling it moving inside her. A glistening drop at its tip told her that he was just as ready for this as she was; she brought his hands back to her panties and assisted him in pulling them off of her. He had an appreciation for what he saw and parted her knees to lean down and give her tender rosebud a sweet kiss, and then when he brought himself up, she brought her hands to his hips to assist in guiding him into her.

At this point, I got a little selfish and kind of ruined it. My story had been working on myself on just as much as her, and I was getting really aroused. I wanted to touch myself but unfortunately, both of my hands were busy stimulating someone else. The thought briefly flew through my mind that I could try to move Belinda’s hand and see if I could get her to touch me, but then my mind clicked and I realized that I was a horny girl with an erect penis in my hand and there was a really simple solution to my need. I told Bel that her man was making love to her so completely that it was as if they’d become one person; it was hard to tell where one began and the other ended; even as she felt him entering her, it seemed almost as if she was the one entering. And I quickly swung my leg around so I was straddling her and aimed the erection in my hand into my eager pussy. I was a little dry so it was slow going, but I got her inside me and started rocking my hips, and suddenly I wasn’t describing my girlfriend’s fantasy anymore I was fucking my fake boyfriend. He moved his hands up, I think to push me off of him, but I grabbed his wrists and brought his fingers to my nipples. I think eventually he figured that I wasn’t going to get off until I got off, so he started playing with them, and he starting thrusting against me. It was really working for me, so I let out a few moans, loud enough so his parents could hear, since we didn’t have squeaky bedsprings or a rattling headboard to let them know what was happening. We came to climax around the same time, and I rolled off when I was sure he was done. I kissed him and said thanks and tried to cuddle for a while, but he just turned away and I spooned him and fell asleep in the wet spot, letting his essence flow out of me to leave more evidence for his mother to find.

I woke up alone and poked around his room for something to wear. I struggled into getting a pair of his boxer shorts around my hips, but once I did, they were loose in the waist and rode low. On top, I stretched out one of his t-shirts which fit kind of like a babydoll and showed off my navel piercing. I tiptoed over to the bathroom, where I kind of regretted not being able to pee without taking off my underwear anymore, but cleaned myself up a little. It was one of the few times I liked being permanently made-up; it would help the parents’ opinions of me that I’m perfectly beautiful in the morning. I wandered in search of a kitchen and eventually found it. I found the three of them sitting, fully dressed, at a small round table. They were sipping juice ad eating some stuff that I later learned was rice porridge. Everyone looked up when I came in. Mom seemed to be getting angry and muttered something that wasn’t English, Dad looked up over his newspaper and was staring with wide eyes at my chest, and Ben just looked embarrassed. I ignored them and walked over to “my lover’s” chair and sat on his lap and draped my arms around his neck and kissed him good morning. I asked if there was any coffee but then remembered where I was and said tea would be ok. Ben’s mother was looking daggers at me, but his father got up and apologized for mistreating a guest, and offered me his chair, then told his wife to go fetch a chair from the next room. He said they were a proud American family so of course there was coffee, and opened a few cabinets before he found a jar of instant coffee and microwaved me a cup. I thanked him and gave him my cutest smile. He tried not to notice how tight my t-shirt was. Being instant it was of course horrible coffee, but I tried to look like it was the best thing I’d ever tasted. I also tried to make sure I kept touching my “sweetie,” either putting my hand on his arm, or rubbing my foot against his, or leaning over onto him. I tried to play the role of a very clingy and possessive girlfriend, the kind that mothers everywhere can’t stand. She was still glaring at me, so I said I hadn’t realized that they were the kind of people that get dressed before breakfast, but I figured it was just family, so coming down in pajamas would be fine, then added that we hadn’t really worn anything to bed, and Ben turned beet red and his dad started picturing me naked and drooling a little, while mom was getting ready to yell at my considering myself family already. I gave my “Cuddlebug” a squeeze, blew Mr. Shun a kiss and left to go up and get dressed. I turned around as I was leaving the room and asked if I had time to take a shower, and flashed another one of my patented smiles when told I could. I decided to reward them by letting them watch my back as I pulled off the t-shirt and stretched. I skipped topless down to the bedroom and grabbed my bag, then went into the bathroom and had a shower. They didn’t have anywhere near the right products for my usual regimen, but I made do and at least I wasn’t sticky anymore. I toweled off and put on a clean pair of panties and the sundress I’d packed for my overnight. I went braless even though it hurt a little when they bounced around unrestrained, so I could give the old guy a little more of a thrill. I popped in a fresh pair of earrings, slipped on my sandals, grabbed my bag and then I went looking for my ride.

I found Ben and grabbed his arm and we went to his car and drove off to the storage parking lot where I’d left my car, and he didn’t say anything to me until after we went into the unit and Belinda got dressed. Then she started yelling at me, asking how could I do that to her. It took me a while to figure out what she was talking about. She had to come right and tell me she never would have expected me to force myself upon her sexually, since we’d already discussed that she had no interest in women. I wasn’t very good at arguing my side; I just crumbled and started crying. I thought we were just fooling around, and I was trying to leave a solid impression on the parents that their son was straight, and I didn’t know she didn’t want it. It seemed like she was enjoying it and I didn’t realize I was forcing myself on her; that was the last thing I’d ever want to happen to anyone else. I said she didn’t have to move her things from the space; I’d leave her alone for as long as she wanted me to, and I hoped she’d be ready to forgive me at some future point. Belinda believed my sincerity when she saw how awful I felt about having hurt her, and gave me a half a hug. I pulled away because I shouldn’t be forgiven so readily, not for something that heinous. She caught on that there was something I wasn’t saying, and I broke down and told her how I’d been repeatedly raped by horrible rapist, and would never ever have wished the same thing on anyone. Piece by piece I ended up telling her the whole thing, all about Doug and the thong and the coma and the evil doctor and his money scheme and murder plan and waking up and learning to be a girl and trying to stop you. We were both weeping by the end and she gave me a full hug and said we were friends again, but we’d have to come up with a different plan because the whole “pretend girlfriend” thing was freaking her out.

Eventually, we did find a solution for her problem. I’d been surfing the web in a cybercafe using the wi-fi connection on Doug’s old computer, reading other transsexuals’ journals, finding out what others have had to go through with discrimination issues, and seeing some horror stories about botched surgeries. I then got the idea that maybe others have had the same problem and went looking for Asians who didn’t want to dishonor their parents, and found creative ways around it. It turns out there’s a serious subculture of gays and lesbians who enter into “Marriages of Convenience” as a way to appease familial obligations, and I searched some personals and emailed Bel the bookmarks. A few days later she told me that she’d been exchanging messages with a dominant lesbian looking for a fake marriage, who only lived two states away. She was an artist, so relocating wouldn’t be a major problem if it got that far. So we staged a big breakup scene in front of the folks — dad was heartbroken, but mom was dancing for joy, especially when Ben ended by saying he maybe needed to find a more traditional girl. Ben met Molly (just like him her real name was something Chinese, but it sounded like Molly so she went by that to the Anglos) at the bus station a month or two later and they didn’t mesh very well, but then he took her to see Belinda, and they hit it off right away. For the week she was visiting, they were pretty inseparable. I think Molly was attracted to Bel even though they were supposed to be faking it. I kind of played up the jealous ex role when I was invited to their fake wedding after their whirlwind courtship, but I was also the maid of honor at their real wedding, held during their fake honeymoon. Belinda looked beautiful in her wedding gown, and Molly was stunning in her tux. There were only a handful of us at the ceremony and only one picture was allowed to be taken, but it was very sweet and a memory that I’m sure we all will cherish. The last I heard, Molly was trying to get pregnant, so they could finally appease the folks. They said that if they can have a grandchild to continue the family name, maybe Belinda would finally feel free to transition.

But now I got really sidetracked and lost track of whose story I was trying to tell. This is supposed to be about me, not my friends. So I’ll have to rewind in time and then take another path to cover what was going on in my life, so that I don’t skip over anything significant.

I guess the next thing I need to describe is the time I went down to the porn store to get myself a vibrator. The place I went was called “Woody’s Video.” I thought it was a hilarious name for a sex shop, but does it sound familiar to you, maybe? I’d never been in a porn shop before, not even when I was Doug and it was more brightly lit than I’d been imagining. It didn’t take me long to find the section I was interested in. I was really embarrassed to be perusing a wall covered with dildos, trying to pick out what I wanted to screw myself with. I tried to avoid making eye contact with the guy behind the counter, because I wasn’t sure what that would imply, but I could feel him looking at me while I tried to make my choice. In the end, I couldn’t really decide where I wanted to be stimulated the most, so I picked up three. I got a lumpy thing that didn’t look much like a penis and had a little doodad on the side that was designed to tickle the clitoris, and I picked out a long skinny one that I could stick up my ass to find out whether I still had a prostate, and I admitted to myself that what I really wanted inside me was a cock and picked out a realistic looking vibrating dildo with a slight curve to it that promised to find my G spot. I wasn’t sure if I had one. On my way out my eye was drawn to a pair of vibrating nipple clamps, so I picked those up too, since some of the sexiest stimulation I’d gotten since becoming a woman was on my nipples. I felt like a big pervert taking my collection to the register, and toyed with the idea of getting some porn while I was there, but because I was worried that you had my place bugged I couldn’t get girl-on-girl, and I wasn’t sure what was sexy about watching other people fucking — I wanted to be the one getting fucked!

The clerk looked at me funny and asked if he knew me from somewhere, and I said he probably confused me with someone. He started ringing me up and it took a while because he had to open each package and test the vibrators before he sold them, since they can’t be returned. To fill time he tried to be funny and asked me if my boyfriend was out of town, but I flipped it around on him and said that my reason for the purchase was that my husband was failing to satisfy me (well, you were technically my husband and you weren’t good at sex) and so I needed help. He apologized for not noticing my ring, but I looked and saw that I didn’t have one and pretended to panic, saying I’d have to call my girlfriend to see if it came off inside her. That got him to laugh. I said that everyone needs a hobby, and my dear doctor husband was at the hospital all the time. Which made something click in his head, and he said that “hospital” reminded him of where he saw me, and he waddled out on his fat little legs from behind his counter over to a spinning rack under a sign marked “Local amateurs.” He pulled out a DVD and brought it with him when he came back, and showed it to me asking, “Isn’t this you?” It was a plain white box with a printed insert slipped behind a clear pocket on the cover. Can you guess what it was called, my darling? It was called “Coma Bride” and the front had a picture of me lying in my hospital bed, wearing my wedding dress, which was indeed as lovely as I thought it would be. The writeup on the back described the plot as a young couple’s wedding night is interrupted when the bride suffers a fall and lapses into a coma, but the groom is forced by his priest to consummate the marriage anyway, or he won’t sign the marriage license. I got livid and made up a quick lie that you’d told me that movie was just for us! I asked him how many copies were sold, and he told me only about a dozen. I asked what I could do to keep him from selling any more, and he said they only had three left so I bought them all. He told me not to worry too much, since my face wasn’t shown very much, and probably only someone who spends eight hours a day looking at that cover would recognize me, especially since I hadn’t used my normal voice in the movie, which threw him. Knowing that this guy had seen a porno movie about me really creeped me out, but I tried to play it cool and then got out of there as fast as I could.

I got in my car and drove off a ways, but then pulled over into a parking lot to scream out my frustrations with you. You not only gave me a stripper name, and the body of a wet dream with ginormous hooters and a too-small waist and feet that can’t stand without fuck-me heels on and overinflated cocksucker lips and the trimmed bush of a centerfold, but you also literally made me a porn star! And I couldn’t figure out why you’d need to do that — even if you wanted to record video footage of you raping me, why did you have to go sell it at the corner porn shop? Were you that hard up for cash, or was it just a power thing? I didn’t understand at all. I’ve never hated you more than I did at that moment. I didn’t really want to, but I knew I needed to watch the damned movie, just to see if there was anything it that I could use to incriminate you. I was hoping that there would be a scene where you were clearly raping a patient for all to see that I could show the board to have your medical license pulled. Taking your practice away would not be enough, but it would be a good start. I vowed to destroy you utterly and completely.

I didn’t want to play your porno at home because you probably had me bugged, and my old computer didn’t have a DVD player, so I asked Sinder if I could watch it at her place. I don’t need to tell you that the movie was worthless as evidence — you started it with a really cheesy voiceover over a still image of a chapel, then cut to me lying in my hospital bed in my beautiful gown, and a guy who was probably you came in, but the camera was behind you and only saw the back of your head, and the audio was more of that voiceover, as your stupid character imagined talking to my stupid character and wondered if she’d let him do this. Then you undressed me, and some sappy music played. The pure white lingerie you had me in under the dress probably would have been very sexy on someone willing and awake, but it really scared me when you stripped it off of me while the camera got really close up on all my personal body parts. And then the stupid voiceover girl started telling her stupid groom to make love to her. I guess it was supposed to be all in his head or something. The camera swung around for more intimate close-ups of me, occasionally including your evil penis (I totally recognized it as you, but it probably wouldn’t hold up in court) or your hands or whatever else you were touching me with, but never your face. And there was some clever editing in there to make it look like you had more staying power, while voiceover girl was moaning or whatever. And she ended by thanking you and saying she loved you, and possibly I died at that point in the story, because you covered my face with a sheet and zipped up (You couldn’t even get naked in a porno) and walked out of the room with your head hanging down. I wondered if you had an accomplice who operated the camera, and maybe I could make him turn on you, but Sinder noticed a wire coming out of your pocket and we figured you had the camera on some kind of remote. You probably stole the audio from some real porn or something. It sucked. You made a stupid porno about me and it didn’t even prove anything. It was a good thing Sin was there with me or I might have tried to hurt myself; I just got so enraged and frustrated at being a powerless victim, and having to watch being victimized on screen, and there was nothing I could do to stop it, and nothing I could do could undo what had been done to me. I just started trembling and sobbing about the unfairness of it all, and she had to hold me and rock me and tell me we were going to get the bastard and make him pay! But it would be a while before we did.

Continuing with the porn theme, I should probably move on to how I got my job. I’ve told you part of this before, but not all of it. I suppose it all started with a trip to the mall with “Sinder and Belinder,” as I was fond of calling them when I was feeling silly. I was looking for some new clothes, since everything I owned had your taint on it. Going shopping with girlfriends was a feminine experience Sin insisted that I needed to have to truly awaken as a woman, so I asked Bel to come along since I really admired her taste. I got some new dainties, and a plain cotton nightgown that I really liked. But when we started looking at real clothes like skirts and blouses, I was having trouble finding things that fit due to my bizarrely shaped body. Anything that fit on top or over my hips was too loose in the waist. I kept having to “cinch” things with a belt to make them fit. It was getting very frustrating until Bel had a brainstorm and turned to Sin and said “Empire waist,” and she agreed and they dragged me off to try on dresses. They explained that an empire waist is a style of dress that is tight right under the bustline, but then flows out in a wide skirt. They are favored by women who think their waist is too big, but it would also solve my too small problem. I do have a little bit of ribcage under my boobs before it goes in. I ended up trying on a lot of dresses, some that made me look pregnant, which was very weird, and I had to take a moment to mourn the babies I would never have. It’s strange; I never really thought about having kids when I was a guy but now I see a family out together, a mother and children, and I just get so envious. We’ve got a baby coming, and I just can’t wait to help raise her. I know I won’t be her real mommy, but I’ll try to be the best parent I can. But now I’m getting off track again. I got a couple of really nice dresses: that yellow one that you like, and a nice blue gauzy one that I wear clubbing, but nothing that I would feel comfortable wearing to a job interview. I just got so irritated that I said something like “Where can I find clothes to fit this goddamned stripper body!” And Bel, my fashion genius friend, made the suggestion that should have been obvious that I should ask a stripper where she buys her clothes, the ones she wears when not on stage.

That brilliant suggestion is what brought me to the sleazy part of town, looking for the classiest strip joint I could find. The outfit I picked was maybe a little too sexy, but I wanted the girls to see me as a peer and know I didn’t feel I was above them. I wore a cute pink babydoll dress that had a built-in shelf bra because I really hate that trampy “visible bra straps” look, with a pair of pink wedges and a nice pair of pink lace panties. I was feeling very pink, and pulled my hair back in a ponytail with a pink scrunchie, and wore pink beaded chandelier earrings, and even put on some long-wearing pink lipstick. I put a little pink-shaped heart jewel in my navel piercing just for completeness, even though no one would be seeing it. I ended up going to Vixens, the strip joint whose building seemed to be in the best shape. The brute at the door told me that the talent is supposed to use the back entrance, and I had to correct him and say that I was just a patron coming to watch the show. I found an empty seat next to the stage and carefully sat down. A few of the dirty old men in the crowd noticed me and watched me cross my legs. I caught the attention of a lingerie-clad waitress and ordered a light beer. When she brought it, I pulled a roll of bills out of my little pink purse and paid her, including a generous tip, and then noticed that the girl on stage had started dancing directly in front of me, so I reached up and slipped a one in her garter. I’d been to a strip club before, so I knew how they work. I made sure I politely tipped all the girls who came before me, until I found one that was more or less my same shape. When the dancer the announcer had introduced as “Jasmine” took the stage, I knew I had found her.

She was a caramel-colored exotic beauty that looked maybe Latina, maybe Thai, although her sharp cheekbones and the shape of her nose seemed to suggest Native American. I couldn’t quite place her and it added to her allure. (Eventually, I learned that her mother was Filipina and her father described himself as “half Italian, half Black, and a quarter Cherokee.” She was sort of the Tiger Woods of adult entertainment, so I probably could have asked her where to get high-heeled golf shoes, come to think of it.) She was tall, and her figure was similar to mine, with ample breasts that I guessed were probably around the size of my double-D’s with a similar unnaturally narrow waist. I ought to admit that her gorgeous ass was better looking than mine, but I reckoned her hip measurement seemed to be in the same ballpark as mine. She wore a tiny bikini covered in turquoise sequins that barely covered her chest and was hardly more than a string in the back. She had a tribal design tattooed on the small of her back that added to her exoticness. I was both glad and surprised that you never had the tattoo artist that did my permanent makeup give me a “tramp stamp,” and I had a moment of panic where I wondered if maybe I did have ink back there. But then I remembered your stupid porno and my lovely derriere was pink and clean when I saw it there. I suppose you could have “branded” me after you made your evil film, but I had my piercing in it, and I’d have thought you would have had those done at the same time. I was still a little paranoid about it for a while, until I got Sin to swear I didn’t have any tattoos, but I did take a picture with my phone once to make sure.

I shook myself out of my funk and drank my girly beer and watched the girlie show. She really knew how to dance, especially when she swung around the pole. Her song was “Genie in a Bottle” so she threw in some belly dancing moves that really showed awesome muscle control. I held a dollar up for her even before her top came off, and she strutted right over to me and kneeled down so I could easily slip it under the waistband of her thong. She got back up and did the next part of her dance right in front of me, and was waggling her tits right at me when she did take her bra off. They were so big they were probably fake, but I couldn’t see any tell-tale signs. I peeled off another couple of ones and put one in each hand, slipping them in on both her hips. She had to go give the men a chance to tip her, but she kept coming back to me, and I kept giving her more. When she was wrapping up her act, I held out a twenty and she had me stick it down the front of her thong. The girls who came on after she left the stage were okay, but I only tipped them a buck apiece. But then Jasmine came back out from backstage, only this time on the floor, circulating through the tables. This time she wore a black lace merry widow over a matching panty, with garters attached to back-seamed stockings that slipped into a tall pair of knee-high boots. It seemed like she was trying to avoid the male patrons, as she sauntered over to me and asked if I wanted a lap dance. I said I did, before even asking how much it cost. It turned out to be $40. I paid her and she slipped the money into her boot.

She took my hand and led me back away from the stage over to a bench seat, kind of like a restaurant booth without a table, and had me sit comfortably, with my knees slightly apart, and my hands at my sides. She started sort of standing, sort of sitting in my lap, and grinding her ass against me. Then she took my hands and moved them to her thighs and had me start unsnapping her garters. This part was different; when I had been a guy the cardinal rule at a place like this had always been “Never touch the strippers.” When I’d unfastened the four in the back, she moved my hands to the two in the front, which were a little trickier since I couldn’t see what I was doing. She placed my hands in her lap right on her panties and danced in place a little bit, doing a little shimmy to the music that was so contagious I found myself following along. She moved my hands up onto her breasts, giving them a squeeze with her hands on top of mine. I thought I could feel her nipples through the lace cups. But soon it wouldn’t matter as she deftly reached her arms around behind her back and unhooked her top, letting it fall into my hands. She took it from me and set it on the bench beside us, then kneeled straddling me and waved her titties in my face. I wasn’t sure where my hands were supposed to go, so I lightly rested them on her waist and exchanged a look in her eye to make sure it was okay. I hadn’t noticed it, but most of the horny men around were now pretty much watching us instead of the stage. The song was about to end, and one of the guys came over and asked if he could pay her to keep going. She said it was up to me and I nodded, figuring what the hell, and he handed her a fifty that she tucked away. She then surprised me by brushing my lips with a nipple. I opened my mouth a little and tentatively licked it, and she looked me in the eye and gave a little nod, so I gave it a more serious kiss. She popped it out and switched me to the other one, while sliding my hands down so they were touching her bare ass, which had continued bouncing around to the beat throughout all of this. I gave it a playful squeeze. This was the wildest lap dance I’d ever had, and it only got wilder!

One of the men went to the bar and a waitress came back with two champagne flutes for us. She sat up a little straighter so we wouldn’t spill, and whispered in my ear, while giving it a gentle lick, asking me if I felt like kicking it up a notch and making these geezers cream their shorts. I leaned over and whispered back that I was game for it if she was, and lightly nipped her earlobe. She took a sip of her champagne, and then kissed me full on the mouth, letting me share the taste. As her tongue met mine, I discovered that she had a stud in it, and wondered why I hadn’t noticed. I took a sip of mine and likewise shared it with her, and let my hands explore a little more of her, just to see what would happen. I reached up to touch her breast, and she didn’t stop me so I lightly stroked her nipple. She laughed and told me to go harder, then shocked me by showing me what she meant and she found my nipples through my dress and gave them each a pinch. A couple more kisses and our glasses were empty. She pushed me back against the bench and stood up and I wasn’t sure if it was over, and maybe our audience wasn’t sure either, but another brave soul snuck over and slipped a couple twenties in her boot so it became irrelevant. She winked and asked me if I was up for more, and I just smiled and licked my lips. She quickly slipped out of her G-string and did a little dance right in front of me, turning around so I could take her all in. She had less hair down there than I did. She had me carefully place my hands on my lap between my thighs as though I was praying, but with my thumbs sticking up. She then went back to kneeling on the bench, but lowered herself onto my thumbs, and started kissing me while fucking my hands. I tried not to move because of the whole fingernail thing, and let her do all the work. I just tried to return her kisses in earnest. She took the scrunchie out and popped it onto her wrist, releasing my hair, which she ran her fingers through sensuously. She started to pull the straps of my dress down over my shoulders, and with my hands trapped the way they were, there was nothing I could do to stop her, even if I wanted to. Much to the pleasure of the watching eyes I’m sure, she brought the top of my dress down and exposed my breasts, then started stroking my nipples. Her hips increased their speed, and she moved her mouth down to my left breast and began sucking. Then she either came or decided to fake it and I felt her tense up. She held still for a moment, but then slowly eased back off and put my boobs back into my dress. She took my hands out of my lap and brought one to her mouth to suck my thumb, tasting all her own juices. I was curious and put the other thumb in my mouth.

That seemed to give her an idea. She went from kneeling on the bench to standing on it, and danced with her crotch in my face. It was so close I could smell it. I leaned forward to better take in that heavenly aroma, and that was all the encouragement she needed. She went to town grinding her pussy against me. Almost instinctively, I opened my mouth and got to work licking, kissing, and sucking on her. She was really gyrating around so I guess it was working for her. It made me nervous she was going to fall, so I put my hands on her legs to keep them steady. She had my head in her hands and was holding it against her as she fucked my face, and I tried to do my best to bring her pleasure; I was pretty sure I didn’t have any of my pretty pink lipstick left on my lips. It was so backwards from the last time I’d been with a stripper — she’d been all about trying to make me come, so she could move on to the next guy. But here I was now trying to give the stripper the orgasm, and she’d hung around for like four songs already. I really couldn’t see much at this point but I’m pretty sure a couple more guys put money in the boot to keep the show going. I was pretty sure I found the spot, because near the end of the song she quivered, then stopped moving and held my head in one place, then gently eased off my face then went back to kneeling, and kissed me, then got off the bench completely and sat in my lap. I must have looked a mess, but she ran her fingers through my hair and sort of put me back in order. She pointed at one of the guys and told him to get us more drinks, and a waitress brought us another pair of champagne flutes. This time we clinked glasses and did the intertwined arms thing you usually see at weddings. It was refreshing, but I didn’t feel like I was getting drunk at all. Maybe the drinks they serve the strippers are designed not to have so much alcohol, so they can remain in control — big horny guy / naked drunk girl would be a recipe for trouble.

I guess to reward the guy that bought the drinks, her next maneuver took it even further. She stood on the floor and run her hands along my legs up under my dress, and pulled my panties off, then before I could react she lifted me by the hips with my shoulders still on the back of the bench and put my thighs on her shoulders. She was pretty strong! I just arched my back and tried to keep from falling off the bench. My dress fell inside out and revealed everything below my bust, so now these guys had seen all of me naked, just not all at the same time. But I really didn’t care because what that tongue stud was doing to my clit felt amazing! For just a second I took my shoulders off the bench and made her support all my weight as I pulled my dress off over my head, but I leaned back down as quickly as I could. I was just so turned on that I needed to play with my nipples, so I did. It helped me resist the urge to clamp my legs around her head. I couldn’t help myself, so I vocalized my pleasure with a few moans. That just seemed to make her go faster, which whipped me up into more of a frenzy, so I cried out a little louder and squirmed against her. She changed the way she was supporting my hips, and I felt her slipping a finger in and out of me while her tongue kept working my button. She brought me to the peak of ecstasy, and I let out a screaming moan of pure satisfaction that the whole room heard, because even the music stopped and they all applauded. I was a little embarrassed, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t the kind of hypocrite who’d go to a strip club and then feel ashamed that all the masturbators saw me have an incredible orgasm.

Jasmine carefully lowered me to the seat, and when a guy came over with more money she said the show was over and she had to take a break. He tipped anyway. She gathered her things and walked away, and I hurriedly pulled my dress back on. I was arranging my boobs back on their shelf when one of the perverts came over and handed me some money, thanking me for the best show he’d seen in a long time. I gave him a sweet smile in appreciation of the compliment. I had my purse, but I looked around and couldn’t find my panties. I figured maybe the stripper took them, and realized that she still had my scrunchie too, so I headed off to the door marked “Employees Only” that I’d seen her leave through. I was already to explain to the burly guy guarding the door why I was going, but he didn’t try to stop me or anything. I guess he figured I was just another stripper. The room on the other side was a very chaotic locker room, with girls in various states of undress changing their skimpy outfits, or fixing their makeup at a long vanity table with a lit mirror. I tried to stay out of the way and found my target sitting on a bench taking her boots off. She was counting her money, and looked up to see me. Before I said anything, she handed me a pile of bills, saying that it was my original forty back, plus my cut. I said that a guy gave me some more after she left and handed it to her. It turned out to be a fifty. She took it and gave me a twenty. She said the total haul was $350, and the house would get $35, I could have $120, and she’d take the rest since it was her act originally. I said I hadn’t expected anything, so that was a fine split; I’d just been looking for my underwear. She said she’d grabbed everything quickly because some of the assholes like to take souvenirs, and gave me my panties. I brought them down to my feet to start putting them on, but she stopped me and said that I ought to wash them first — it’s anyone’s guess how sterile the room out there was. I thanked her and put them in my purse, but then pointed at her wrist where my hair band still was, and asked if she wanted a souvenir, too. She laughed and gave it back to me, and I just put it in my bag.

As I was doing that, an ugly little man walked over to us. He was probably only a few inches above five feet, but had a little paunch and a bunch of gnarled muscles so he may have weighed two hundred. His head was totally bald, but I couldn’t tell if it was from age or shaving, but he had thick black eyebrows that were trying to merge. He introduced himself as Jack Gustav, the owner of the club, and gave me his card. He asked me what club I usually worked at, and asked what he’d have to do to steal me away. I said I wasn’t a stripper, and Jasmine interrupted to tell me that they preferred to be called “dancers.” He was surprised and said that I was a natural, adding that he could tell I’d had some work done (I bet he wasn’t guessing anywhere near half of it) and that wasn’t what he’d meant, and then asked if I was interested in a job. I said I didn’t think I’d be comfortable doing what I’d just done with some strange man instead. He laughed and said that was a good thing, because getting money for explicit sex acts is illegal and he didn’t want to get shut down. I got a scared look on my face so he said, “Don’t worry, Barbie. Nothing you and Pocahontas did out there was a violation. Everything they defined as a sex act in the law requires a dick, so there’s nothing two broads can do to each other that breaks it.” I looked a little confused at his language and “Jasmine” shook my hand and introduced herself as Alice, or Ali to her friends. She said he was teasing her because he kept trying to get her to go on stage in an Indian Maiden costume, and she refused to disrespect her heritage that way and would only do it for the annual Thanksgiving buffet, when half the girls dressed as Indians and the other half as naughty pilgrims. I told her my name was Aurora, or Rory to my friends, and it got an “Are you sure you’re not a stripper; is that your real name?” from Jack. I assured him it was, and had a brief epiphany right there that Aurora was my real name; I felt like a real person not just someone Doug was pretending to be. I said I still really didn’t want to have to touch men like the ones out there while I was naked even if I didn’t have to have sex with them, but I thanked him for the offer anyway. He said “Well, how about a job where you’re not naked, just dressed sexy, and no one’s got to touch you if you don’t want them to, but you got to let a bunch of guys look at you?” I said that sounded better and wanted more details. It seemed the boat show was coming to town, and he was also in the business of supplying show girls to stand around and smile and point at the merchandise, but most of his girls would rather work the club, because there was more money in sex work than in booth modeling. I said that sounded like something I could do, so he said to meet him in his office in fifteen minutes to sign some forms, and he went to talk to some of the other girls. I exchanged numbers with Ali, and she said I didn’t need to worry about Jack; she’d done similar gigs for him before so she knew his offer was legitimate, and he never made advances on his employees, so I’d be safe in his office alone. I gave her a little hug in thanks, and for the first time realized that I’d been talking to a completely naked person and got a little uncomfortable. I asked where the ladies’ room was and freshened up, washed my face, and put on some lipstick before going to see Jack. I filled out some employment forms, he took some measurements without once trying to cop a feel, and told me to meet him at the club, and he’d have my outfit for me, and we’d all (he and I and the other eye candy) go to the convention center together.

When I left the club I was feeling really guilty about having sex with Ali, as though I’d been cheating on Sinder. Even though we’d never made any kind of official commitment to each other, I felt like I was violating our bond anyway. I called her and confessed, and she told me that I definitely wasn’t Doug the Hound anymore, but I didn’t owe her any apology. We were girlfriends, but we weren’t girlfriend girlfriends. I understood, but I also realized that I wanted to be. I told her that I loved her, not just like a sister, and I didn’t want to be with any other women. She kissed me and said she loved me too, and we agreed that we’d be faithful. No other women, and only men that the other accepted. She knew I’d probably have to seduce you some more, so you were grandfathered in. When we cuddled the next morning, I suggested that she could get her tongue pierced. She suggested that I go first, and that was the end of that conversation. But she is wonderful, and we’re still together. Maybe we’ll move to Massachusetts or Vermont or whatever and get married. You know, telling that sex story made me kind of horny, and now I just really want to go give my sweetie a hug, so I’m going to need another break.

Revenge is Snowy White by Jennifer Brock In the conclusion of this tale, we find out exactly what Aurora's secret plan is. Be warned that a fairly sarcastic tone is frequently taken toward some unfairly brutal issues. If that sort of thing offends you, skip this one.

Part 3

Sinder and Hugo must have gone off together somewhere because I couldn’t find anyone to satisfy my needs. I ended up having to take care of myself, and then I realized I hadn’t had lunch, so I went down to the kitchen to try to throw something together. You’re lucky you get all your nutrition through a tube; it’s a lot less work. Then I went and checked my email, and there was good news; Molly’s going to have twin boys some time next March! That will give our little one someone to play with, and we can share baby tips. Bel says with two new opportunities to carry on the family name, her parents will finally get off her back, and Ben’s main duty as a son will have been fulfilled. She said the plan is that once the kids are born, she’ll tell the folks she’s getting a vasectomy, but really she’ll be getting castrated to kick-start her transition. Ouch! But more power to her, I guess. Also, as far as she could tell, the media blitz has died down and I could probably go home without being harassed. That nice lieutenant hasn’t called me in a while, so I guess they’ve closed the case. We were planning on going back next week anyway, so that’s good.

So where was I in my story? Let me check my notes. Ahh, Boat Show. Oh, by the way, if you hear a buzzing sound, that’s me. I brought my favorite vibrator back with me so I won’t have to go away the next time I get all worked up. I made it myself, although I suppose technically we made it together, but I did all the work. It’s made from a casting of your giant erection, back when I was practicing drugging you. The “make your own dildo” kit was pretty cool. I stuck this thing on you that made a mold, and then poured in liquid rubber and stuck a vibe motor in it, and now I can do myself with your big cock any time I want to. I made another casting from that mold in hard plastic, but I won’t tell you what I did with that one, yet.

But I’m way off topic, and I was just starting again. So, Boat Show. Jack had me in this little sailor outfit that was a strange combination of silly, cute, and sexy. It had a cropped middy blouse, a little pleated skirt, and a sailor hat. He even had a pair of earrings shaped like anchors, and a matching navel charm. Or maybe that would make it a naval charm? And I was perched up on these blue peeptoe slingbacks that probably would have bothered a woman with naturally-shaped feet, but I thought they were cute, and the low-rise sheer pantyhose he had me wear had enough spandex in them that my legs wouldn’t get tired. Fortunately, I’d had the forethought to call ahead to know what style of lingerie to wear, so I didn’t have to borrow any underthings from him, too.

He had four other girls working the show, and their costumes weren’t all as ridiculous as mine. A couple of them were in swimwear, and one redhead even got to wear an evening gown. I guess she’d be modeling yachts or something. When we got to the convention center, he showed us around, and introduced each one to the salesman whose products we’d be accessorizing. I’d be working for Triton Waterdraft, standing in front of a thirty-foot cabin-cruiser, encouraging the public to climb on board and take a look. If people had any questions, I was to point them at a rack of brochures, or direct them to Will Robinson, the TW salesman working the show, a sharp-dressed guy in his mid-twenties. He kept hitting on me when the traffic was low; it was really annoying.

Finally I said to him that I could prove that his job was easier than mine. He laughed. I pointed out that my job was to stand around in my cute sailor suit and make men think that if they bought this boat they could land a girl like me, and he could not possibly do that; there was no way he’d look hot in that outfit. He had to concede my point. So I said that if he couldn’t do my job but I could do his, that should prove that his was easier. I think he just liked that I was talking to him. He nodded occasionally, and kept peeking at my cleavage. I offered to make a bet with him. I pointed at an apparently random old man walking in our direction and said that I’d try to sell that guy a boat, and if I made the sale I wanted him to agree to split the commision with me, but if I didn’t make the sale I’d let him take me out to dinner. He took the deal, anxious to get into my pants. I figured if I won it meant I still had what it takes to be in sales, and if I lost I’d get a free meal anyway. I knew that I wouldn’t be putting out for him in either case, so I really had nothing to lose.

I took a few steps away and waved the old man over and talked softly as though I didn’t want anyone to overhear, to create the impression that I was sharing a secret . I asked him if I could talk to him for a minute, and pointed at Will and said that I’d made a bet with my boyfriend over there that I could sell someone a boat, and he laughed at me like I couldn’t possibly do that so I wanted this guy to pretend that I was selling him a boat. He agreed.

I shook his hand and introduced myself as Rory, and he said his name was Lyle. He seemed like a nice grandfatherly sort of guy, late sixties or early seventies, in decent shape. His white hair was in a short buzz-cut and he wore a light blue polo shirt, black chinos, and blue canvas sneakers. I thought I saw a little bit of color on his arm and asked if he got his tattoo in the navy. He called me a sharp cookie and said I was right. I said he didn’t quite look old enough for WWII or young enough for Vietnam, so I asked if he served in Korea. I was right again. I said that the Seabees did a lot of good work in Korea, and thanked him for his service. At this point he was dumbfounded — how did I know he had been a Seabee? I said that I saw the steel ring on his little finger, so I knew he was an engineer, and a guy who wanted to be an engineer who joined the navy in the 50’s would probably become one, so it was really just a guess.

He said I was wasting my brain being a boat show bimbo, then excused himself for his language. I giggled and forgave him. I asked if he was thinking about getting a boat as a way to add some excitement to his retirement, and maybe reconnect with the sea. He said that was exactly the thing, and he hated not being busy anymore; it was hard finding things to do to fill his day. Was his wife enjoying having him home more? He said she wasn’t, and lately she’d been trying to convince him to buy a condo in Florida for the winter like all her friends did. He told me her name was Audrey, and I said that was a pretty name.

I asked him if he had any pictures of his grandchildren. That was a wild guess that paid off. He pulled out his wallet and showed me three cute blonde kids: a ballerina that looked to be sixish, a boy around ten playing with a spotted dog, and a girl just awakening into her teens who was destined to break a lot of hearts. I asked if he got to see them often, and he said they lived in Baltimore, so it was really only at like major holidays. His wife didn’t like all the highway traffic.

I looked thoughtful for a moment and said I had an idea that might solve many of his problems. I pulled one of our brochures and showed it to him. I said to him that maybe instead of that condo, they could get a boat, and live in it in the winter, sailing it down to Maryland to see the kids, or even further down to visit her friends. I said that the one we had here was a little too small for extended use, but we offered a forty-five foot model.

He got a faraway look in his eye and I could see him seriously considering the idea. I asked to borrow his cellphone, and quickly found the speed dial setting for his wife. She was startled to hear a voice other than her husband’s on his phone, and worried that something had happened to him. I told him I was Rory, a girl working at the Boat Show, who called to thank her for her husband’s perfect gentlemanly manners; I was wearing a silly scanty outfit and he’d kept eye contact the entire time we spoke, and didn’t get fresh once. It was refreshing to meet someone like him. She chuckled a little at this.

Then I told her that her husband was going to be coming home with a crazy idea, and she should at least hear him out before she rejected it. I said she should remember when he got back from the navy and tried to explain what it was like to stand a watch with just you out there and the night sky and the sea, and how it was a feeling he could never quite express. She could remember having almost exactly that conversation with him. I said we were going to make an appointment to show Lyle and her a boat together, and she really needed to see the way his eyes lit up around boats.

Then I brought Lyle and the phone to Will and said he needed to make an appointment to show these people one of the forty-fives at the earliest convenience, and he gaped for a moment but then he became composed again and accepted the phone when I handed it to him, confident that Audrey kept Lyle’s schedule for him. He pulled out his Blackberry and checked his calendar, then offered Audrey a couple choices, and turned to Lyle and asked if he wanted to see one on the water or in the showroom. I answered for him that Lyle would want to experience it on the water of course, and to know whether Audrey could be comfortable with the motion.

He passed the phone back to me and Audrey wanted to make sure that I would be there too, and not just that man who sounds like he cares more about money than people. I said I would, said goodbye, and made sure to write down the appointment. I had to tuck the note into the waistband of my pantyhose because my costume had no pockets. Lyle shook my hand and said it was a pleasure meeting me, and he was glad he didn’t have to pretend to be interested in a boat, and then went off to explore the rest of the show.

Inside, I was overjoyed that I hadn’t lost my sales chops — after all that I’d been through, I managed to hang onto skills that could sell an icemaker to a penguin. And oddly enough I didn’t see this aspect of my personality as Doug reasserting himself at all; I was still Aurora and she was a kick-ass saleswoman!

Will was dumbfounded. He wanted to know how I knew to pick that guy. I made him first admit that I was right and I could do his job as well as mine, and of course he had to. I said that I caught the reflection from his ring at a distance and knew he was an engineer, and from his age knew he was probably retired, and a retired engineer is a man who’s got money and likes machinery, and one who comes to boat shows could probably be convinced to get a boat. I admitted that I expected I’d be able to get him to go for one of the smaller fishing boats, but when I heard his story I knew how to steer him. And once I spun it to the wife as his idea, she’ll treat it as though he thought of buying a boat when talking about it with him, and eventually he’ll think it was his idea all along.

The key to selling is getting inside the head of the customer and telling them what to think, so it helps if you can figure out what’s already in their head first. I went back to being a bimbo for the rest of the show, and Will behaved himself for the most part. When it was time to leave, Jack came by to gather his flock and Will tried to get my number. I reminded him that we already had a date to show a boat, so he’d see me then. I made sure to grab a brochure so I could bone up on the details.

A few days later when we saw the boat, which was a beautiful craft, everything went well. I dressed in the “casual conservative” look that Ali helped me come up with in an emerald green t-shirt style silk top tucked into a pair of cream cotton capri pants, with the lowest wedge sandals I could stand and a whole lot of makeup so it would look like I wasn’t wearing any. I got to the marina early, and waited in the parking lot for Will to arrive, and he showed me which slip it was then got to work getting it ready while I kept an eye out for the customers. Audrey turned out to be a sweet old lady with a welcoming smile and a playfulness that made her wear her faded coppery hair in a girlish ponytail. Once we got Lyle on that boat, it was love at first sight. And Audrey didn’t show any sign of frailty or seasickness, and she loved her husband dearly. There was no way the sale wasn’t going to go through.

I told Will he could keep the whole comission if he got me an interview with his boss, and he not only agreed, but even wrote me a recommendation. It still didn’t get him into my pants, though. He wanted to take me out and I said my husband probably wouldn’t approve. I told him that I hadn’t worn my wedding ring at the Boat Show so that I’d look more approachable. Of course this meant that I needed a ring the next time I saw him. I went to a jeweler and had him resize my mother’s wedding and engagement rings to fit my hand. It felt comforting to have that connection to her with me all the time. I decided that unless I was around you, I’d be wearing my rings in public, as part of my plan to take you down.

To meet with Ari Wassermann, the boss at Triton Watercraft, I dressed in my usual interview suit and got my hair done and had my stylist tone my look down a little. Rather than a purse or a briefcase, I brought a large totebag with me to the meeting. He was a short but muscular man, striking in his own way, in a tailored grey pinstripe suit. His scalp was balding in a horseshoe pattern, but he made up for it with a well-groomed wooly grey beard. He shook my hand and had me take a seat in front of his large teakwood desk. I handed him my resumé, and he looked it over. He asked why I’d waited so long since my last job to find a new one, and I explained that I’d been hospitalized for a while, but it wasn’t a chronic condition or anything that would impact my ability to work for him.

He wanted to know why I wanted to move fields from selling industrial machinery to leisure boats. I said that it was somewhat personal, and asked that he please not spread it around, but I said that I’d recently had some plastic surgery, and my new image wasn’t really appropriate for meeting with clients in the manufacturing sector, but as I saw at the show, it is an image that can be used to sell boats. Frankly, the main purchasers of recreational watercraft are men, and it wouldn’t turn too many of them away to know that they had to talk to a pretty woman with big boobs in order to buy one. He laughed a little at that, and I let him know that I wasn’t above using sex appeal as a sales tool, but I’d draw the line at sleeping with a customer to make a sale, although I wouldn’t go out of my way to keep a potential customer from inferring that I would.

I admitted that I didn’t know much about boats, but as Will must have told him I managed to make a sale using only what I’d read in the brochure. I said I was willing to learn as much about the full product line as possible. I said that what I did glean from the pamphlet was that the low-end boats were mainly used for sport fishing, and then I pulled out my secret weapon. I reached into my tote and took out my fish. I said that I didn’t know boats yet, but I did understand fishing, and as proof showed him a fish that I caught myself, while on a fishing trip with my dad. I told him I’d have no problem talking about which boats would have the best advantages for going after which fish.

He said that being smart, sexy, and schooled in the language of fishermen made me a lethal combination, and we was afraid that if he didn’t hire me one of his competitors would, and there would go all the customers. He made a joke that it was too bad he hadn’t met me before he married his wife, and I waved my rings at him and said that it was just bad timing all around. He offered me $32,000 plus 5% commissions, and a decent benefits package, assuming my references checked out. I shook his hand and said I accepted his offer, but before I signed anything I needed to let him know something, in the interest of full disclosure.

I said that the surgery I mentioned earlier was more extensive than he might have guessed; in my former job I was a man. He laughed, thinking I was joking again, but I put on as serious a face as I could and said that it was true, and I thought he ought to know in case by old boss at Edwin Machinery messed up and called me Doug when he called for the reference. He was shaking his head and I said that I’d understand if he wanted to withdraw his offer, and I’d sign something to say I wouldn’t sue for discrimination or anything if he wanted me to. He said his offer still stood, but he just couldn’t picture me as anything but female, and I must have either had some incredible doctors or I would have to have been the prettiest man ever. I blushed and thanked him and said that it was some wonderful artistic doctors, and in fact one of them was so wonderful I married him.

He welcomed me to the team, showed me around the showroom, the service area in the back where they did custom work, and the room with the desks where the salesmen sat when not with customers. My desk wasn’t ready yet, but I hung up my fish (I’d moved my key to a new hiding place — a fire safe at Sinder’s place.) and met the rest of the team. It would be a great place to work. So that’s the real story of how I landed my job at TW. When I told you the first time, I had to leave out all the parts about my expertise in sales, just in case you figured out what a practiced liar that made me.

I guess the next major step I took was putting in the time to get to know my way around your house. I’d sneak over in the morning after you left for the hospital, then do some light cleaning, and poke around in the kitchen a little. Because TW was open for business on Saturdays, I arranged to have Tuesdays off, so I started cooking dinner for you over in my place those nights you didn’t work late. But then came the fateful night that I called you at work to see if you’d be home for supper, and instead of cooking in my kitchen, I used yours. I prepared a full roast chicken with creamy mashed potatoes and fancy vegetables using recipes that I got out of a cookbook and had practiced several times until I was sure I got everything right. I even baked fresh dinner rolls from scratch.

When you got home, I greeted you at the front door wearing an extremely sexy french maid uniform that I’d bought from a website Ali showed me, and holding a silver tray that I’d found in my stored stuff and polished up to a perfect shine. On the tray was a glass of twelve-year-old single-malt, in a glass from your bar set but from a bottle I’d bought — the most I ever spent on booze. I gave a slight curtsy and offered to take “Sir’s” coat and handed you your beverage, and showed you into the sitting room. I let you know that dinner would be ready shortly. You were so surprised and I went so quickly, you had no reaction other than to do as you were told.

I checked on progress of things in the kitchen, then returned to check on you. I explained that I had wanted to repay your kindness and had spent the day cleaning your house for you, and I’d decided to dress the part, just to be fun. I apologized for leaving little stiletto prints in the carpet when I vacuumed, but other shoes didn’t work with the outfit. You thanked me for doing your housework and said it wasn’t necessary, but you did appreciate my thoroughness. I asked if you liked my look and did a slow twirl, being careful not to let you see yet that beneath my frilly petticoat my fishnet pantyhose were crotchless and virtualy backless. You said you liked it very much and I smiled one of my better smiles, the kind that turn men to jelly, and went back to the kitchen to check on my meal. When everything was ready, I made you a plate and brought it to the dining room, where I’d set the table with your nice lace tablecloth and used your good crystal candlesticks with some pure beeswax candles I found on sale. I poured you a glass of wine and another of ice water and everything was ready.

I went to fetch you and told you dinner was ready, then led you to the dining room and ushered you to your seat. I pointed to a small silver bell on the table and said that I’d be in the kitchen and if sir needed anything, you had but to ring. I had scarcely gone two feet when you tinkled at me and I gracefully pivoted around and remained at attention and asked what did Sir wish. I’ll let you know now that this was a test; if you were an ordinary decent human being, you’d tell me that the role-playing was sexy and all, but I didn’t have to eat in the kitchen and you’d actually prefer it if I shared your table, in which case I’d be fucking your brains out after dinner. If on the other hand you were a creepy control freak, you’d be getting off on my playing servant to you the master, and I’d begin my revenge plan. And do you remember why you rang your little bell? To have me cut your meat. You were indeed a creep, so I felt no remorse about doing what I
had to do, and you didn’t notice the roofie in your wine.

Why did I drug your wine if there was a chance you’d turn out to be a human being? I knew you too well. Where did I get a roofie? I asked Ali. I told her there was this guy I was dealing with that might become a problem. She got me a bottle, but made me agree to dance at the club for the special Ladies Only Night they had everytime there was a month with five Thursdays. (They couldn’t get enough lesbians to show up to make it worth doing more often than that.) You probably don’t remember this next part. You finished your meal and rang to tell me it was very good, and asked what was for dessert. I walked over to you and pushed your chair back from the table, and sat down on your lap.

I held your face in my hands and kissed you with more passion than you deserved. I could feel your reaction, so I stopped kissing you and stood up. I let you get a nice look down my cleavage when I leaned forward to unfasten your pants. I let your growing erection out into the air, and gave him a little kiss. Then I winked at you and lifted my skirt to show you my surprise. I held the Monster in one hand and guided him into my pussy, which I’d prepared with a few squirts of warming lube so I’d be hot and wet for you. I began to bounce up and down on your lap for a while, but just when I was getting into it you blew your load, as usual. I was hoping the drug would somehow slow your response, but no such luck.

But for my plan to work, I had to find out whether the drug would work on you or not. It was supposed to do two things to you that I needed done: lower your inhibitions, and leave you with no memory of what you did under its effect. But this time was just a test run, so I didn’t want to press my luck too far in case you ended up remembering everything. I zipped you up and led you into your study, and sat you down at your desk. I shot you some flirtaciously hungry looks and said I wanted to know what worked the best to turn you on, and asked you to show me your favorite naughty websites. I sat on the edge of your desk in my sexy little maid dress and begged you with little puppy-dog eyes.

That did the trick — you turned your computer on and signed in. I peeked at your keyboard and got your password as you were typing; it was “galatea462440,” longer than most normal people would use since you’re so paranoid. I was flattered that you were thinking about me when you picked that; it couldn’t have been coincidental that you used the name from mythology of the statue the sculptor fell in love with, and then added my measurements. If you weren’t a horrible person, it would have been really sweet.

Your taste in porn was not so sweet. At first you tried to convince me that all you liked to look at was sexy women with big boobs, but I took your hand and placed it in my lap and told you to click my mouse for a while while I played with yours, and I found your bookmarked favorite sites. You had four different bookmarks that pointed at sites where men had sex with women who were supposedly asleep. It surprised me that there was a whole subculture about this, but I shouldn’t have been since someone had bought your movie. I tried to convince myself that the women in those pictures were just pretending, but I’m sure some of those sick fucks had drugged their “models.”

So, were you always turned on by the idea of raping sleeping women, or did you only get into that porn genre after you experienced it first hand? I shook the idea out of my head and said that if you wanted I could play that way for you, I’d just lie there and pretend to be asleep, and let you do anything you wanted to me. You seemed to like that idea and you turned off your computer and we went up to your room. Fortunately for me, you were the one who fell asleep. For a moment I considered trying to have sex with you while you were unconscious, just to see what it was like, but I didn’t want to cross that line. I was still a better person than you, and wanted to keep it that way. But I let you wake up the next morning to find us both naked and snuggled up against each other.

You were a little confused, so I was pretty sure the drug had worked to keep you from remembering, but as a typical guy you were quickly distracted when you realized there were boobs for you to play with within reach. Having big bazooms is kind of fun, the way they have power over men. I did ask Dr. Powell once about taking out my implants, and he showed me a fake photo he’d made on his computer of what I’d look like and my unaugmented breasts just seemed so small, even though he said they’d be a C cup. It’s because of my larger male ribcage that a C on me wouldn’t look as big as Sinder’s gorgeous C’s do on her. He made another computer model of how I’d look with D’s that looked sexy enough, but I decided not to go through the hassle of a surgery and a recovery just to swap one set of implants for another, and only end up one size smaller. I just learned to accept and enjoy my Double-D’s.

We fooled around a little then went to our separate bathrooms to get clean and dressed, then I met you in your kitchen to cook you a little breakfast before we each went off to work, and I was a little clingy and girlfriendy, but not over the top. It was pretty much a turning point in our fake relationship. I didn’t sleep in my own bed very often after that.
It served my goals to spend as much time in your house as possible. The first chance I got, once I’d convinced myself there was nowhere to hide a camera in your office, I checked your computer and you hadn’t changed your password — the memory erasing drug had worked! I poked around for a while, but I couldn’t find anything incriminating.
I hadn’t expected to, but it was disappointing nonetheless. It meant I had to proceed to the next phase of my Master Plan.

I called up your little buddy my insurance man Larry, and arranged to meet him for lunch. He picked me up at work and we went for Mongolian Barbecue. He looked more or less like I’d expected him to, a balding little weasel of a man in a brown suit and an unfashionably narrow tie. I shamelessly flirted with him the whole time. I was wearing a yellow suit and claimed that I didn’t want to spill sauce on my jacket so I took it off, revealing the lace camisole I had on underneath. It was the kind of camisole that’s meant to be seen, not lingerie, but it was still silk and lace and captured his attention.

When we were eating, I kept making him taste mine; I’d pick up a piece of meat or vegetable in my chopsticks and then purse my pillowy lips and blow on it “to cool it off” before bringing my sticks to his mouth. And I made sure to slurp my noodles slowly, letting him imagine what else my lips and tongue and impressive amount of suction could be good for. He offered me a bite of his food, and when he stuck his fork out toward me I grabbed his hand and brought it to my mouth, first to blow, and then to eat his meat. It took a while, but I think he picked up on my subtext, judging by how he was uncomfortably shifting in his chair.

I asked him a few questions about the insurance business, and offered to pass his card along to any customers I had who needed to insure their new boats. He thanked me and I said it was the least I could do to repay him, since he was so instrumental in my rebirth. I told him I wanted to do something to show exactly how grateful I was, and had him drive to the marina after lunch instead of taking me straight back to the office. I had the key to a smaller sport fishing boat that we’d gotten as a trade-in with me, and offered to take him for a ride in the bay.

Walking down the dock, I “suddenly realized” that I was wearing the wrong shoes for boating and leaned against him while I slowly unbuckled each shoe and then reached under my skirt and unfastened then rolled down my stocking, one leg ata a time. I carefully put my stockings in my purse then hung the shoes on the strap. I carefully tiptoed barefoot into the boat, and showed Larry where to step to board properly.

I had him watch me as I pulled in the anchor and untied the lines that held the boat onto the pier. I made sure to bend over too far and accidentally flash my thong as the boat started to drift. I stowed my things in a compartment and then put Larry in the captain’s seat and stood behind him, placing my hands on his, showing him how to start the engine, ease out the throttle, and steer the boat. He was really nervous at first, I think from my touch as much as from handling the unfamiliar boat. It was kind of cute.

I directed him to take us out into the bay, and once free from the harbor I showed him how to open up the throttle and feel what the power of two hundred horses could do. It took him a while to get the hang of it, but he was zooming around like an old pro soon enough. Once when he was accelerating on a turn, I lost my balance and fell over. He got all frantic and stopped the boat. I showed him that his chair swiveled around, and he could see that I was all right, even if I was still sprawled out.

I pulled myself up onto my knees by grabbing his chair, and turned toward him. I said that since I had fallen down, I’d just take advantage of the opportunity to show him exactly how grateful I was for his role in making my dream come true. I took my jacket off again and he couldn’t help but stare at my cleavage; it was practically in his lap. I reaced my hands towards his belt and his eyes widened as he realized what I was about to do. I unfastened his buckle, unbuttoned his pants, and then slowly pulled down his zipper. He wore tighty whities, so I figured it wouldn’t be easy trying to pull him through the little hole. I reached my hand inside and took a hold of his already hardening tool, and used my other hand to stretch his waistband down around everything.

He was already glistening wetly at the end, so I could tell this wouldn’t take long. But it might be really messy, so I pulled off my camisole and let him get a good look at what the sea air was doing to my nipples. The texture of the deck was starting to bug my knees. I unzipped my skirt and slid it down, then I folded it and knelt on top of it. That felt much better, and Larry really enjoyed the show. I pulled him forward to the edge of his seat and spread his knees apart so that I could really get in there. I peeled back his foreskin and gave him a kiss right on the little purple tip, then ran my tongue in a circle around the whole head of the thing before going down the shaft with a row of kisses.

On a whim, I leaned back and squeezed him between my breasts. I rocked back and forth giving him a titty fucking, until I felt he was about to burst. I contorted myself so that I still had him sandwiched but I also had hold of him in my mouth. A few flicks with the tip of my tongue and his gusher hit. Sex as a woman is such a rush - it’s an awesome feeling having so much control over a man. In this particular case the downside was that I was so turned on from having Larry completely at my mercy that I really wanted sex.

I wriggled out of my thong and stood up. I asked Larry how long he’d need to recover. With a naked horny woman with a body custom-made for sex sitting on his lap and guidng his hands along all my most interesting areas, it didn’t take his penis long to find its second wind, and it was still slick enough from my earlier attention that I had no problem getting it inside my hungry little pussy. Being completely nude on a boat drifting in open waters also seemed to be a major turn-on for me. I arched my back and pressed myself tightly against him as I controlled our thrusting. He got a little less shy and grabbed my nipples, almost pinching them a little too much, but it was working for me anyway, so I didn’t make him stop. Larry was not a very good lay, but since I did all the work myself, it was adequate. When I got my orgasm, I shuddered and threw my arms around him to hold him still. He pressed his face into my chest and tried pushing his hips into mine. I squeezed down to keep his dick in place as well as I could; I’d been doing my kegels regularly, but some muscles just aren’t there.

When my moment had passed, I rode him vigorously until he erupted. I got off of his lap since if I stayed in place and let his essence ooze out of me, he’d end up looking like he wet his pants. But I didn’t want him dripping out of me the rest of the day until I was able to clean myself. Fortunately I had a tampon in my purse that the girls in group taught me to carry around in case a stranger in a ladies’ room somewhere needs one. I made Larry look away while I put it in and got my clothes back on, which struck him as kind of funny. When I was dressed, I gave Larry a big hug and a kiss with a lot of tongue, and thanked him again.

He wasn’t confident enough in his skills, so he had me steer the boat back. He sat on the bench and watched my legs. I zoomed around a little at full throttle, then eased back and turned in toward the dock. He helped me tie the boat back up, and I sat on the edge of the gunwale and pulled my stockings and shoes back on. After he drove me back to TW, he told me he wanted to buy the boat. I assured him that I hadn’t done all that just to make a sale; I was truly grateful to him. He lied and said that he always wanted a boat, so why not just get the one that has so many happy memories? I didn’t believe him but said that since it was a preowned trade-in I’d give him the best deal I could, and even waived my comission. I brought him into my office and started the paperwork.

Since I figured I had him convinced that I was on his side, I made the riskiest move that my plan required; I made some insurance smalltalk and then said to him that I was interested in taking the same kind of policy out on my husband that he had on me. It was a total hunch on my part, but I could tell by the way Larry gaped that you had definitely taken out life insurance on me. So that made it clear to me that you were probably planning to kill me again, either when you needed money, or when you grew tired of me as a plaything, or both. Larry tried to act surprised that I was married, but I reminded him that he had signed our marriage license as a witness. He was pretty shaken by this, but I got him to agree to sell me a policy on you with the same terms as your policy on me, and swore him to secrecy not to tell you about it before I did — I was supposedly trying to impress you with how responsible I could be. I added that what we did on the boat was also a secret that no one needed to know. I think he was feeling a little guilty even back then, because it was only a few days before he showed up at my office with the insurance papers. I was impressed that you’d taken out a ten million dollar policy on me, but then it sunk in that you’d be killing me for it. I paid my premium in full with a cshier’s check, so that I wouldn’t have to worry about your policy being ineffective when the time came.

Around about this point, my work researching other transsexuals online had led me to Gisele, a petite Brazilian. She had been forced to work as a prostitute despite having studied nursing at university. No one would hire her. After exchanging emails for a while I decided that I needed to do something to get her out of there. We had a couple of really long international phone calls that convinced me she wasn’t running a scam, and then I wired her some money. I had her look into some stuff for me. Eventually she did the work on her end to set up an international foundation for assisting transgendered persons that served as a front for me. I could send more money, write it off as a charitable deduction, and it would be hidden when the time came for the cops to investigate me.

We’d talked at length about everything you had done to me, and she was a very sympathetic ear. We both agreed that there were some very evil people to be found in hospitals — it must have been something about having power over life and death that attracts them. I explained what I wanted to do, and she helpfully made a few suggestions of her own. She was the ideal accomplice toward my goal. After looking into the laws for various countries, “The Foundation” bought an old hacienda in Mexico, and paid for a visa for Gisele to move there and supervise the acquisition of certain pieces of equipment. There was a staffing issue I’d have to handle, but I’d already determined a likely candidate and was working on tracking him down.

Gisele said that she needed to meet you for some preliminary stuff, so that’s the real reason why I invited you on that vacation trip to Cabo. There really was a boat down there that Ari was interested in, and as salesperson of the month I got to go check it out, but I only decided to bring you for her reasons. I spun it to you as a free vacation in sunny Mexico, and once I modeled the new dental floss bikini I’d bought for the trip you agreed to come along.

Now what you didn’t know is that I’d been secretly visiting my friends at the hospital wearing my rings, and had shared my “secret” marriage to you with Stefan and Mama Rose I said that no one was supposed to know you’d married a patient, so they probably shouldn’t mention me around you. I explained that our little trip was actually a belated honeymoon, and showed them a picture from my wallet of me in my wedding gown. That had been easy enough to take — the camera you got me had a timer function, and I really was impressed with how well my dress fit and made me feel like a real bride, but it was all too tainted by your Evil.

I slipped you another roofie in the plane on the way down, so you were “too drunk” when the shuttle bus dropped us off at the hotel that I had to check us in, where I signed the register as “Dr. and Mrs. Michael Andrews.” I’d actually reserved their Honeymoon Suite; the story I told you about an overbooking screwup was a total fabrication. When the drugs wore off, you sobered up in a big bedroom festooned in roses and champagne, and remarked at the nice view of the ocean.

I told you I thought I could give you something better to look at, and unzipped my dress to show you my new lingerie. I had on a black satin bustier with push-up cups that made my Double-D’s look even bigger, and created an extremely deep cleavage. It had long attached garters that led to old-fashioned seamed black silk stockings, and I completed the look with five-inch pumps. There was a tiny matching g-string that I could have worn, but I opted to go bottomless, which certainly attracted your attention. We didn’t leave the hotel room for two days, eating only room service (and each other). I figured that was enough time to convince the hotel it was a legitimate honeymoon, so after that I could get to work.

I brought you to the boat I was there allegedly to see, and impressed you with my nautical skills, or maybe it was just the bikini. Whateever it was made it ridiculously easy to drug you again. I checked my GPS and sailed out to a previously agreed upon location, to rendezvous with Gisele. She’d taken a boat of her own from mainland Mexico. It was great to finally meet her in person. We hugged and she told me I was better looking than I ought to be, and I told her she looked cute and natural. I showed you to her and she swore something in Portuguese and spit at you. She took some blood from you and a few measurements and went back to her boat. I wished her luck and set sail back to our resort.

We went out dancing that night. I’d never been much of a dancer back when I was Doug, but I have a lot of fun on the floor now. There’s just something about wearing a little slip of a cocktail dress and getting out there to shake my stuff that’s very liberating. Maybe it’s because I have better stuff to shake now, but I’m much less inhibited than I was as a guy. And with the size of the Margaritas we were drinking, I got even less inhibited.

When I woke up the next morning naked and cuddling up to you, I feared that maybe you’d drugged me this time, but then memories of the events of the previous evening started waking up in my brain, and I realized that tequila had been the only drug involved. I recalled that you’d ripped my dress off as soon as we got in, and had started by kissing every inch of my body, and I do mean every inch.

But before I could repay the favor and launch an oral assault on your inches, you noticed a basket on the bedside table that was full of complimentary items for the honeymooning couple to enjoy, and your eye was attracted to a bottle of massage oil. Your hands then roamed all over me, making me feel soft and warm and tingly all over. You took extra time to give my breasts a special treatment, and “the girls” really appreciated the attention. I wanted you inside me so bad, but then you rolled me over and gave me the most incredible backrub I’d ever had — I swear you had me purring with delight. But you didn’t stop there. You then oiled and massaged my feet until they were ready to go dancing again, and then you worked the stress out of my calves, and went on to the back of my thighs and then relaxed all the muscles in my magnificent booty.

I was so mellowed out that the intrusion of your oily finger didn’t faze me. That is until you started moving it around in there, and that started my motor running again. I was disappointed when you suddenly popped out, and if I’d been more sober and less horny I would have known what to expect next. But since I wasn’t, the well-oiled Monster knocking on my backdoor came as enough of a surprise that I couldn’t clench down fast enough to keep him out. Because of all the oil it went very smoothly, and it wasn’t long before I pushing my hips back toward you with each of your thrusts. For some reason, you seemed to have more staying power than usual, and you had to ride my ass long after my first orgasm before you had yours.

And we collapsed in an oily, satisfied heap. I woke up before feeling a little sore and ashamed, and briefly thought about fetching a stent from my bag, lubing it up and giving you a taste of your own medicine. But I opted not to, since that might make you decide not to do it again. Even though you had violated me so many different ways in the past, I still wanted you to violate me some more. Hormones can really fuck you up.

I let you have a day to yourself to go play golf, while I went and sat through a sales pitch. Besides regular hotel rooms, the resort also sold timeshares. The smartly-dressed Australian woman selling them did a decent job, but she went for a really softer sell that I would. I went over to introduce myself, but she said she’d seen you and me by the pool and someone had told her we were the newlyweds in the Honeymoon Suite. I said that it would be great if we could come back every year and relive the romance, so I thought a timeshare might be a good way to do that. Once I let her know that my husband was a surgeon, she knew she had a big fish on the line. I let her talk me into paying a down payment for a luxury condo every year the week of our anniversary, but of course I’d have to check with my husband before signing anything.

It really sickened me how in love with you I had to pretend to be, but it was necessary for my plan. If they ever investigated what I was doing in Mexico, I’d have to make sure there were plenty of witnesses that only saw a happy couple. I went out and picked up some nice new dresses, and made sure I met you in the lobby with shopping bags so that people could overhear me telling you that I’d bought something incredible that day. That way they could think I was talking about the timeshare, and you could remain clueless. I got up early and signed the papers and called my bank to approve the payment. I’d have to cash in some more bonds, but it would be worth it. Too sonn, it was time to go home, but at least I managed to keep you from finding out that we were on our honeymoon. That part of my scheme went off without a hitch. It gave me confidence for what would follow.

The scariest part of my plan came next. I made a deal with Jack. In exchange for my working a couple of shows at Vixens, he’d get me a meeting with a low-level mob guy he knew. Oddly enough, since you’re not supposed to use an alias on stage, I didn’t get to use the stripper name you’ve stuck me with. I used an abbreviated version of my middle name and went out as “Bria.” I didn’t worry that it would hurt my real job because even if a potential customer happened to be there it would only make a sale that much easier if the guy had already seen me naked. The little head would do all the thinking and I’d be set. I did three stage performances with Ali a night, but I also had to agree to offer lapdances afterward. It was skeevy and gross and I wouldn’t want to do it again, but I think I left all my patrons satisfied.

Patch, the guy Jack introduced me to, was a big slab of beef with no neck and muscles on top of muscles, a serious tough guy. But when I told him that I was interested in taking a meeting with “The Yugoslavians,” he paled noticeably. He told me I’d be getting way in over my head, and that these guys didn’t mess around. He said that whatever it was I wanted, he could set me up with someone else that could get it for me. I had to summon up every drop of courage Doug ever had to keep from bolting out of there. Instead I told Patch that my husband had unfinished business with the Yugoslavians that I wanted to settle. He ironically told me I had pretty big balls for a chick, and agreed to set up a meeting for me. I gave him your name so they’d know it was legitimate, and he made a couple calls on his cell. He scribbled out an address, and told me I was to go there alone at 9:30 the next night.

I was very nervous. It took me a couple hours to get dressed; I kept changing my mind about what kind of image I wanted to project. I finally settled on my charcoal gray pinstriped business suit to show that I was serious, with a pink silk blouse to show a hint of feminine vulnerability, and my calf-high black leather boots to project an aura of toughness. I looked up the address in several web maps, and printed them out. I was completely unfamiliar with that part of town. At one time, it had probably been home to some of the upper crust, but now it was mostly run-down old townhouses. My directions led me to an old gray stone building with no lights on. I parked my car in the street and prayed that it would still be there when I got out.

The entrance was below street level, so I had to go down a flight of stairs to get to the door. I’ve never felt weaker than at that moment. I clung to the wrought-iron railing to keep my knees from wobbling. The door was illuminated by a very dim yellow light fixture, and I couldn’t see a doorbell. I took a deep breath and then brought my elegantly manicured hand up to knock, but the door opened in front of me before I even touched it.

The guy who held the door open was like a butler out of an old horror movie. Although he was around six foot-eleven, he seemed to move with an odd grace. He was dressed in a black mourning suit with a starched white shirt and a gray vest under it and he wore white gloves on his giant hands. He asked my name and I had to swallow hard and clear my throat before I could speak. I said I was your wife and needed to talk to someone about you. He gave me a thorough pat down, rifled through my purse, and did basically everything short of a fill strip search. He was very professional, though. Never once did it seem like he was trying to cop a feel. When he was sure I wasn’t armed, he led me down a gloomy hallway to an antique six-panel oak door. He had me wait while he went inside. There were only the two doors, so I guess he felt it was safe to leave me alone.

Standing in that hallway waiting for I don’t know how long, I felt trapped. My better instincts were all telling me to flee, give up my plans, and run away to start a new life somewhere with my girlfriend. But I held my ground. I remembered that I was doing this to protect all your future victims and I found some strength to continue. Eventually the big scary butler came back and showed me into the room. The two brothers were seated behind their enormous desk, but I still got a sense of size from them. And it seemed like very inch of them that wasn’t encased in a tailored Italian suit was covered in curly black hair.

Janos introduced himself and his brother Milos, and gestured for me to take a seat in the hard wooden chair opposite their desk. He was all smiles, but it was the smile of a shark, with an obvious danger lurking below the surface. He said that he hadn’t realized that you had a wife, especially not one as attractive as me. I thanked him and said that we hadn’t been married long, but I could show him a marriage license if I needed to, but he waved it off as unnecessary. I thanked him for agreeing to meet me. He nodded for me to continue, and I said that I wanted to know if you still owed them any money, so that I could see about settling your debt.

Janos stood up and said that money matters are men’s work, and that I shouldn’t worry about such things. I said that you didn’t tell me everything about our finances, so I didn’t trust that you were through paying off your debt. I added that I had some funds that you didn’t know about, so I might be able to pay them more than you could. Milos looked at me and said something in their language, and Janos said that his brother thought I looked like a prostitute — is that how I got my money? I said that I was a salesperson for leisure watercraft, and I could get them a good deal on a boat if they ever wanted one. I tried to make small talk and ask why they were known as Yugoslavians, instead of Bosnians or Serbs or whatever, since Yugoslavia didn’t exist anymore. That was a mistake. Janos reddened and went off on a long rant about how a people are more than a flag, how a nation is more than a line on a map, and how Yugoslavia will always exist as long as her children remember her.

Eventually, I was able to bring the conversation back around to you. It seems that you were still into them for a quarter of a million. I said I could probably get that for them; it would just take me a couple of days to move some money around at the bank. I asked where and how they wanted their payment, and whether I had to pay them through some kind of front. Janos said I was pretty smart for a woman and gave me the address to an antique shop where I’d be buying an expensive vase that originally came from Napoleon’s palace, at least that’s what its papers would say.

I thanked him for letting me settle your account, and asked if I could have a small favor. I wanted them to call you and remind you about the money you owed them. (My plan needed you to be desperately afraid of them.) Milos said that my request was reasonable, but before they let me go I would have to do them a favor in return. He suddenly got very scary and very serious and said that when a man sends his woman to pay his debts for him, it’s a sign of disrespect to his creditors. They would have to show you a similar disrespect by using your woman.

I tried to get up and leave, but Milos was at the door before me, and he grabbed my arm. Janos came around the other side and held my other arm. I pleaded with tears running down my face for them not to do this, but they just started cutting my jacket off of me with knives. I asked them if they realized that I used to be a man, so trying something with me might be a little gay, and Janos just slapped me hard and told me not to be a lying bitch. Milos had slashed open my skirt and my blouse was in tatters and he was teasing my nipples with the point of his knife. I begged him not to cut me; I promised I’d willingly do anything for them if they just didn’t hurt me.

I had to prove it by taking Janos into my mouth and getting him off without letting my teeth anywhere near him. I was horribly ashamed at myself for going along with them, but I did it. I even fought the urge to bite down when Milos dryly forced himself into my ass. I screamed as well as I could with my mouth full, but the vibration only served to make Janos hump my face faster, and his brother seemed to think it was a race. He pushed harder and faster, with every thrust sending a shockwave of pain through me. I just wanted it to stop. Finally, Milos grabs my hips and bucks a couple times, and I can feel his ichor oozing inside me. It wasn’t long after that Janos was holding my head in place, forcing me to swallow in order not to choke. Once he was out of me he punched me in the head for letting his brother win.

The allowed me to gather the rags that had been my clothes, and I limped out to my car.
I covered myself as best I could and drove to Sinder’s for a hug, a good long cry, and a shower that wasn’t nearly long enough. The ordeal had been enough to have me questioning the brilliance of my scheme. But, hey it wasn’t like it as the first time this girl’s been forced to have nonconsensual sex. I’ve withstood worse. Like it or not, I needed those thugs. Something had to get you afraid enough to go along without questioning too much, and also I needed a viable suspect to give the cops. I figured I’d make sure to record their threat to you over the phone, so that when you went missing they’d be the main suspects.

Of course, they had to go and change their part of the plan. I was out in the pool when I heard the little popping noise, so I came in to see what had happened. There you were holding Milos’ gun with the big silencer on the end and a faint wisp of smoke coming out of it. There was Milos, on the floor of the foyer, bleeding his life out through a gaping hole in his chest. You were just kind of staring blankly. It seemed obvious to me that he had come after you and the two of you had struggled, and he gun went off. I had to send my plan into overdrive, and fortunately you were in a state of mind that had you ready to be told what to do.

I made it clear that you understood that Janos was going to kill you if we didn’t get this right. You had to disappear. I told you to call Larry and borrow his boat, to make sure you were seen by plenty of people, so that it would look like you were trying to flee the state by sea. There happened to be a problem with old boats like his and the fuels they sell these days. If there’s too much ethanol in the gas, it dissolves the fuel lines and they catch fire. If Larry’s boat were to catch fire while you were supposed to be on it, then they’d probably declare you dead. I had an old surplus inflatable life raft in my closet that I told you had been Doug’s, and said you could use it to make your getaway.

I pointed out that it would be better of course if they found a body in the boat, so if you could steal one from the hospital that would be good, and I gave you a fresh hairbrush and toothbrush to get his DNA on that I could say were yours when it came time to ID the corpse, and you needed to try and make sure his head blew up so dental records or facial reconstruction would be out of the question.

I gave you a headstart before I called the cops and said I’d meet you at midnight at Pier 17; and kissed you goodbye. It was annoying dealing with the police. I told them I’d been swimming and might have heard a faint noise, but nothing like a gunshot. But when I came in there was a body on the floor, you were nowhere to be seen, and your car was gone. You’d conveniently left a trail of footprints when you ran through his blood puddle. The cops asked me if I recognized the deceased, and I said I wasn’t sure. I thought it might be a guy you owed some money.

They wanted to bring me in for questioning, but I was damp and wearing my short cover-up robe over my bikini, so I got the cop to let me go up to our room to change. (You’d never noticed that I’d snuck my things into the empty closet in the master bedroom.) The police questions were a pain, but I told them mostly the truth. Some of them got real interested when I got to the part about how I used to be a man, but for the most part it was pretty open-and-shut: clearly, you’d shot Milos and fled. They mainly wanted to make sure I didn’t know where you were. They must have been checking phone logs, because after I’d been there for a couple hours, this guy brought a piece of paper to my cop, who then asked me who Larry was, and I said he was our insurance rep and a good friend. I’d even sold him a pleasure boat not too long ago.

When they finally were done with me, a cop drove me home and let me into the crime scene just long enough to pick up some clothes, and told me to spend the night at a friend’s house. I drove to over to Sinder’s where we swapped, just in case I as being watched. I strapped down my giant boobs, put on some uncomfortably flat shoes and a wig, and drove off in her car, while she sat by the window and watched television, while wearing a wig of her own and a padded bra under my clothes.

I took a wandering route to lose any possible tail, and drove to Pier 17, where I learned how you’d overdone your part of the plan. First, you didn’t want to steal a body from the hospital, so you just grabbed some homeless guy and bashed him on the head. Then, you decided to bring Larry with you on the boat and bashed his head, too. About the only good idea you added to the plan was when you left me a voice mail on my cell telling me that you were going away with Larry out of the country for a while, but you loved me and I shouldn’t worry for you. You gave me the hairbrush and toothbrush, and I put you in the trunk of Sinder’s car.

I still had a key to the warehouse at Edwin, so I drove over there. Fortunately, there’s plenty pf manufacturing going on in Mexico. I found a row of pallets that were going to Juarez, and figured out that the one at the end of the row would be the last one onto the truck, so I pried open the heavy machinery crate and squeezed you into it, along with an oxygen tank, a water jug, and a diaper. I put an extra sticker on the side of the crate, an orange triangle that wouldn’t mean anything to someone who wasn’t looking for it. I checked the manifests and got the ID of the truck that would be taking this shipment south. I locked up the warehouse, and no one should have noticed anything.

I parked the car in the street behind ours, and then changed into black-on black-clothes for my venture into cat burglary. The Websters were out of town visiting their daughter in Portland, so I had no trouble crossing through their back yard and into ours. It pays to get to know the neighbors. I had a little trouble hopping the fence, but once over I slipped across to the downstairs bathroom window that I’d left unlocked, and said a silent prayer that the cops hadn’t figured out the code to turn on the alarm. I pushed the window up and it opened, and no sirens went off. Relieved, I climbed in the window. You know, you never really realize how big your butt is until you try to fit it through a window. I had a brief Winnie the Pooh moment where my legs were flailing in the air helplessly until I was able to stop panicking and carefully wiggle myself in.

I snuck upstairs and swapped your toiletries for the ones with the new DNA on them. I was grateful that the police hadn’t already swept the house for them. I guess they would have needed me to tell them which toothbrush was yours, since they couldn’t just go by the one with the Y chromosome. I hoped I didn’t leave any trace of your real genetic code. I slipped back out the way I entered and then changed back into my disguise in the car. I stopped at my favorite internet café and sent the info to Gisele before driving back to Sinder’s. We turned out the light and went to bed, and had a little fun role-playing as each other before we undressed.

Now I wasn’t there, but the next major step in my plan was when Gisele met the Edwin shipment at a truck stop just outside of El Paso. She flirted with the driver enough to go back to his truck with him for a little fun. Fun for her, at least. After messing around a little, she injected him with a sedative, and then used his keys to open the back of the truck. She found the marked crate and pried it open. The drug in your “oxygen tank” did the trick, and you were completely unconscious. She hauled you out, (her broad shoulders were an asset for a change) and cleaned out your other evidence, then smuggled you in her car to the hacienda.

Meanwhile, back in the states I was playing my role of confused wife of a fugitive, then they found the wreckage and I morphed into grieving widow. The cops were a pain for a while, but ultimately, they closed the case on Milos’ murder naming you the shooter. When you were declared dead, I arranged a funeral and some of the hospital people showed up for you, but all my friends showed up for me, so I win. As I was about to leave the grave where they buried the poor guy you killed under your name, a big black car rolled up, and Janos got out. I told him I was really sorry about his brother, and he said he was really sorry about my husband, sorry that he didn’t get the chance to kill you himself. I said I hoped there was no more bad blood between the two of us. He urinated on your grave and said that we were now square.

I didn’t want to look bad for the police, so I had to spend the next few months at home. Gisele emailed me updates every so often, with pictures of how your procedures were doing. I must say I was quite impressed with how you were coming along, and I was anxious to see you in person, and finally my timeshare week came up and I flew down to Cabo and put in an appearance at the resort, but then took a boat from there over to the mainland and Hugo the all-around caretaker, gardener, and general stud muffin on staff here met me and drove me out here, and Gisele introduced me to the rest of the staff. Talking to the people made me realize that my Spanish is very rusty. Gisele teases me, because it’s not her native tongue either but she’s pretty much fluent. I’ve been here for a while to oversee your treatment.

I suppose at this point I should talk about the man I know as Dr. John Smith. It’s probably not his real name. He was chased out of the U.S. for practicing medicine without a license, after his license was taken away for performing unethical surgeries, and had to find work abroad. He made a name for himself performing unusual cosmetic operations for people in fringe subcultures, like the guy who was into amputees and wanted a healthy leg cut off, or the girl who thought she was a cat and got her nose and ears altered. But primarily, he liked to work on transsexuals. He’s an artist at reshaping human anatomy; his work is very beautiful. However, he’s not so good at making sure all the nerves are connected. I’ve seen pictures of some of the vaginas he’s made, and they look incredibly realistic, but the girls they’re attached to are extremely disappointed, since they can’t feel anything at all down there. The online transgender community regularly issues warnings about this guy, warning people not to use him.

I read one of those notices and knew he’d be just the guy for my project, but it took me forever to track him down. I finally caught an email address for him that worked, and I sent him the details of my proposal, or your proposal I should say. I sent him fake messages to make it seem like it was all your idea. You see, there were some mobsters after you and you had to disappear so you wanted a whole new look. You knew that doctors always make the best patients, and you didn’t want to be second-guessing him all the time. But fortunately you had a solution: your patented Sleeping Beauty Treatment. You could get drugged into a coma, and then he could do all of his procedures on you, and then you’d wake up a whole new person. You sent a notarized document promising not to sue him regardless of the outcome, and if he had any questions regarding specific changes he was to ask me. It probably wouldn’t have convinced anyone in the States, but it was good enough for him.

That’s right, Darling. While you’ve been snoozing, I’ve had an unethical crackpot who nonetheless is a brilliant and talented surgeon working on remodeling almost every part of you. By the way, does that description remind you of anyone, maybe someone you used to be? He was really keen to try some things he’d never done before, so the results were less than ideal, but there’s no way Janos or the cops or anyone could possibly recognize you now.

I suppose you’re wondering what exactly was done to you. First of all, we needed to make you shorter. He took three inches out of the bones in your thighs and upper arms, but that still didn’t seem like enough, so he took a couple more inches out of the double bones in your shins and forearms. It left a nasty scar on your left calf, but we covered it up with a beautiful tattoo of a wisteria vine climbing your leg. Those operations made you about five foot eight, but that still didn’t seem short enough to me, so he did this thing where he pushed two of your vertebrae together and you lost another couple inches.

But now your hands and feet just looked too big for your arms and legs. I sent him the file that described what you’d had done to mine, but he wasn’t as good at it as the guy who did me. We don’t have the same quality of electrical muscular stimulator thing that you used on me, but the theory is that you probably only have half the range of motion in your new little fingers that your old ones had. It doesn’t look like you’ll be able to make a fist, and you can just forget ever performing surgery again. On the plus side, your fingerprints are completely different. Your feet aren’t quite as flexible, either. The consensus is that you’re not likely going to be able to run very fast or jump very high.

We talked about removing a couple ribs to make your shorter torso look better, and Dr. Smith had this idea to also try something he called “ribcage recontouring” where he cracked each rib and took a little bit out of it to leave you smaller all around. The downside on this is that your lung capacity decreased; you just can’t take deep breaths anymore. When he put in the internal mesh to tighten your waist like a built-in girdle, it reduced your capacity even more. The monitor here shows all your shallow little breaths.

Why did you need a tiny waist? Because you’re a girl, of course. That’s the whole point of the Sleeping Beauty Treatment, isn’t it? Although I’ve taken to calling your version the Snow White treatment because the thing you’re in reminds me of her glass coffin. To go with the tiny waist, he also did operations on your bones to make your hips wider and your shoulders narrower.

You’ve been on an elevated dose of female hormones ever since they cut your balls off the first day you were here, and they filled you out nicely. You’ve got decent curves in your hips and butt, with only a little cellulite, and your boobs came out as really cute natural B-cups, but the silicone pushed them up to D’s.

Your face is a masterpiece. After Gisele finished your electrolysis treatments, the doctor worked his magic and gave you a tiny chin and a cute button nose and a much softer brow. I’m not sure but it even seems like your eyes open wider. You’re actually quite pretty. There were a couple of problems. For one, when he went to trim your Adam’s apple, we think he severed your vocal cords, so you might be mute when you wake up. The other problem was that your old teeth didn’t fit in your new jaw, so they all had to come out. The silver lining is that now that can’t identify you through dental records. We brought a local dentist in to fit you with a set of dentures. I’m surprised you didn’t pull mine out; it really would have solved your “how can I force a coma girl to give me oral sex without her biting my penis off” problem. I considered getting one of the boys here to rape you, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask them. I’m settled on periodically raping you myself using my model of your old Monster.

Speaking of which, your pussy is a jewel. It looks like something out of a magazine; all the little parts are perfect. You probably don’t have any capacity for sensation, but you’ve had enough orgasms. Maybe if you’re lucky you’ll be able to come from nipple stimulation alone, unless he broke something there putting your implants in.

What else do I need to tell you? Well, you’ve got valid traveling papers that show you to be a Guatemalan national, possibly in Mexico on your way to illegally entering the United States. Since you gave me a stripper name, I gave you one. You are Nevada Blanco, which is sort of Snow White in Spanish. I have got a visa for you, but it comes with a catch. I sent a picture of you to Janos, and he thought humiliating you would be way more fun than killing you. So you’re welcome to go home if you’re willing to work as his maid, and probably his occasional sex toy. Otherwise, we’re going to dump you in the streets down here with only your ID papers. You can’t write; you can’t speak; you have no money; how long do you think you can survive? I’ll let you decide your own fate.

You might be remembering that I told you at the beginning of this story that my success as a salesman came from my ability to tell a lie and make it convincing, so you just have to wonder how much of what I told you was true, and how much was just pure unadulterated bullshit. Maybe this is all just a bad dream of yours. I’ll let you hang onto that glimmer of hope while you’re waiting to wake up. I want to see the look on your face when you know.