CHAPTER 9

Day Thirty-One

I felt better the next day, albeit with some residual ache in my anus and a little dry mouth and a stiff neck from the brandy. I drank some water and took another hot shower. Feeling human again, I was deep in my robe, drying my hair, when the phone rang again. I thought it might be Karen, I was wrong again. It was Barry. 

"Hi," he said. He sounded far away.
 
"Hi," I said while I tried to think of something to say. I hadn't expected him to call so soon and, after the previous day, my mood about men had changed a bit, to say the least. Silence. "Hello?" I said, a bit uncertainly.

"Hello!" he said, "There's a bit of a delay, I'm calling from Korea. It must be going through a satellite. I just wanted to tell you I got here OK. I figured, with the time difference and all it must be the next morning where you are, right?" 

"Um, yes... it is. Uh... how was your trip?" I silently cursed myself for not being able to think of anything to say that wouldn't sound like trite crap. 
"It was OK, except... well, I know this sounds kind of sudden and all, and I don't want you to feel pressured or anything but..." God, was he going to tell me he loved me, I wondered? "... well, I miss you," he concluded. There was a pregnant pause. 

"I, um, I don't... I don't know what to say," I said lamely. 

He sounded earnest, even from thousands of miles away. "Well, I know it's sudden and all... I just wanted you to know that. I mean, I know it's complicated and everything, but... I never met anyone like you before. I fell like... like you really understand me. You're the first person I've felt like this about." Shit, this was going way too fast. And after yesterday too... why now, of all times for this to happen? He was falling in love with me... or, at least, that's what it sounded like. What could I say? 

"I... I... I don't know what to say. It's all... so sudden." I faltered, and suddenly tears were welling up in my eyes. Events? Hormones? Maybe both... it just seemed like everything was caving in on me all at once in a giant vise of pressure. I started sniffling.

"Hey..." he said softly, from far away. "Hey, baby, don't cry... I'm sorry... please, don't cry!" He sounded genuinely anguished. At least he cared. All of a sudden I resented him despite that, for making me feel like I had to love him back... and at the same time I wanted him here with me to hold me and caress my hair and rub my back and tell me everything would be alright. 

It's... it's OK," I said, sniffling pitifully. "I miss you too. Really. I do miss you... it's just that... this is a really rough time for me, OK? I really don't know what I really feel... I don't know what to think about this. I miss you, Barry... I wish you were here, but I'm glad you're not. I know that doesn't make any sense... but I need some time to figure this out for myself, OK? I don't want you to think I am dumping you... I mean, we're hardly dating, right?" I laughed, a little too brightly, through my tears. "I'm not telling you to go away, it's just that... I need some time alone, OK? Is that OK? Please don't be angry!"

Silence. I felt terrible. I didn't want to hurt him, to lose him. I was about to blurt out something, anything, when he finally spoke. 

"It's OK," he said softly. "I understand. Look, I guess I've been kind of a jerk, huh?" I started to say he wasn't, but he kept going. "Yes, I am. I mean..." he spoke very softly, "You've only... been... like you are for a little while, right? And here I am putting pressure you. I can be a real ass. I'm sorry, baby. I'm sorry." 

I felt a flood of warm feeling for him... he really was a nice guy. Shit, now I really missed him. A lot. "No, no, no... you're not... you're... you're wonderful. I think you're wonderful. And I really do miss you. A lot. Please... please write to me?" The thought of receiving love letters from afar suddenly seemed terribly romantic. "Send your letters to the hotel, here, they'll forward them, and I'll send you my address when I get settled. I'd really... really like to hear from you." 

"Oh, baby..." he sounded relieved. "I will. I will. Look, I've gotta go now. I'm at the military air terminal and there's a bunch of guys in line for the phone, but I will write to you. And, I'll call you, when it's OK?" 

"I'd like that... I really would."

"Well... bye," he said. 

"Bye." 

"Miss you." He sounded sad.

"I miss you, too." I probably sounded sad too. The line went dead. 

I felt sad and lonely, so I decided that I'd call on my old friend, chocolate, for consolation. I was going to have to watch this... I liked being a beautiful girl; I probably wouldn't like it so much if I got fat. I resolved to spend some time stretching and doing some aerobic work to make up for it, maybe on the exercise bike. I called down for a strong double mocha; when it arrived I added another one of those mini-bottles of brandy and curled up in the sun on the veranda. After a while (and with a warm glow in my tummy) I felt a lot better. That was good. I had a lot to do today, I was moving out tomorrow, out on my own. First, there were some phone calls: the realtor had been working on finding me a place to live and I also had to contact the military shipping office and have my "household goods" that had been destined for my now discarded Army life re-directed to wherever that new place was. Then I'd be going out... a medical appointment with the cute and helpful Dr. Lloyd and then shopping (yay!), albeit just for new luggage (oh, well) and a lot of packing. I'd probably have to ship a lot of my new things, since it clearly wasn't all going to fit in my convertible. 

The realtor had good news. He had found me several likely apartments in Monterey; she had emailed me the details, and had I taken a look? I hadn't, of course... there had been a few too many things going on, but I told her I'd email her with my choice by the close of business, she told me she'd make the arrangements and meet me tomorrow afternoon after my drive up and I could sign the papers and take possession. Hanging up, I checked my email... I'd have to choose now so that I'd have a street address to ship everything to. 

Choosing was easy. One place was simply wonderful, it was so nice I was a bit nervous that it might have been taken already so I didn't waste any time responding with emphatic exclamation points. It was a lovely, newly renovated place in a small complex. It was a 2 bedroom / 2 bath unit with a living room and dining area, breakfast nook, and hardwood floors and Italian tile throughout. It had a fireplace, French doors opening on a deck with a view of the Pacific (she had enclosed a breathtaking photo) and, best of all, a real honest-to-goodness claw-foot tub in the master bath. I loved it immediately. It was expensive, but hey, I was in the mood to spoil myself.

While I waited for a response, I brushed out my hair and combed it back with a tuck behind my ears. I brushed on a little light foundation and just a hint of blush and eye liner and added an understated and light layer of deep red lipstick. I got dressed. I decided on comfortable casual and slipped on a snug tweed skirt in soft wool that came to just above my knees and a white silk blouse with a cream cardigan over white lacy bra, panties, and camisole and taupe thigh highs. I accessorized with a single string of pearls and matching earrings and stepped into brown classic pumps with 2" heels. I was just finishing up and fiddling with my hair when my laptop smugly (it sounded to me) informed me that I had mail... and I had an apartment. 

Since I still had time before my doctor appointment, I spent the time on the phone in a slightly annoying bureaucratic process: changing the delivery address of my household goods. Since it had gone into storage there would be a short delay, but since it would still be in the same state it was only for another two days, which worked out just right: enough time to drive north and enough time to settle in and be ready for delivery. 

The doctor appointment went very well or, rather, I should say that I was doing very well. My scars had healed up nicely and were fading fast, my breast implants had settled in (high and perky, just like I wanted), and the hormone therapy was taking its initial effects. We talked a little about how I would be developing over the next few months; over the next month I could expect my breasts to begin swelling, weight gain around my hips (which should smooth and soften), and reduced hair (although I was already taking care of that with the electrolysis). In the month after that I could expect my breasts to continue to fill out, my (remaining) hair to become fine and glossy, my hips to continue to become noticeably full and round, and feel a bit more  emotional (which I was already feeling). This trend, he said, would likely continue until it leveled off at about the 6 month point (when he wanted to see me back), with my breasts full, my hips rounded and sleek. Some other changes he warned me would develop over the months were increased sensitivity to touch, softened facial features as my body fat layer filled out (which also meant softer skin) and, thankfully, my mood swings to level off. He gave me a prescription for the various hormones I was to continue taking, and I left with an appointment for my 6 month appointment. 

Off to the mall! I love shopping. I sternly warned myself during the drive not to buy new outfits! I was planning to buy new luggage and nothing else!

Five hours later I drove back up to the hotel with a back seat and trunk full of, well... one or two things besides the luggage. <grin> OK, so it was more than one or two things... I just hadn't been able to resist a couple of crisply neat suits, five lovely dresses, three pairs of shoes to go with the outfits, and (my newest secret vice) an assortment of new lingerie <wink>. Plus some accessories. You always need accessories. 

I stopped at the concierge and gave them my new address for mail forwarding, I also asked them to arrange for a parcel service to come by tomorrow morning to box up and ship whatever I didn't pack this evening and asked them to bring all my old things (which they had stored for me) up so that I could sort what I wanted and what I would no longer need. 

It was a long night, and I sent down for coffee. Yes, I know, it was all going to be delivered in a day or two, but it was hard to choose just the same. My old things were easier... I tagged most of it for charity. Except for a few personal items I got rid of everything that connected me to my old self. I was a new person now. I had become me. Finally I had finished packing and I curled up in an absolutely stunning full length red nightgown and slept soundly and peacefully. Or at least I started to. I awoke to my phone ringing. I answered a little groggily. It was Karen. 

Karen was leaving early the next morning and, in her usual impetuous style, wanted to burst in and chat by way of saying goodbye. I told her to come on up and pulled a light dressing gown on over my bare shoulders. 

I was so groggy I hardly remember what we talked about, but she raised my spirits like she always does. I didn't mention my doubts and fears or my bad experience... I didn't want her to worry. So we giggled and chatted for a while. She teased me about Barry and I blushed and we chatted some more. But I was so tired... and I think she was too. We finally said goodnight and goodbye and we hugged and kissed and she went off to bed and I went back to bed. 

Day Thirty-Two

I had set the alarm for early... oh-dark-thirty as I used to say in my Army days. I awoke and groggily took a shower. That helped. I didn't dawdle: I wanted to get on the road early so that I could get through the spaghetti mess of LA before the traffic got really bad. I skipped washing my hair and toweled off quickly; I brushed out my hair and tied it back behind my ears with a ribbon that I passed behind my head and ears and tied in a cute bow on top of my head.  I dressed for the drive. I wore black stretch pants that hugged my hips and came to just above my ankles, black flat sandals, and a sleeveless black scoop-neck tunic over comfortable black cotton underpants and bra. I added a black blazer with gold buttons and a black-and-white checked scarf over my hair against the morning chill. I had the desk send a bellboy up and take my luggage down; I tipped him generously. The parcel service was coming by later and the hotel staff would make sure everything I wasn't carrying along was packed and shipped... and I had already arranged to leave generous tips for the concierge, desk clerks, and various staff who had been such a help to me. I got in my car and drove slowly away from the hotel that had been my home this last month as my headlights cut the coastal fog in the pre-dawn darkness. 

I started north on Interstate 5, but north of Los Angeles and once free of its traffic snarls I decided to drive north by the slow route, taking the coast road, Pacific Coast Highway, despite it's many towns, traffic lights, and cross-traffic. Since I had started early, before dawn, I used the time to think and consider my future. Everything had happened so fast I felt as if it had been a dream. It had been a whirlwind month of change, awakening, desire, and satisfaction. For the first time I felt I had the time to myself to collect my thoughts and really think. Had it all been sheer indulgence, I asked myself? What had I done? Who was I now? 

I stopped near Santa Barbara in the (still early) morning, bought a latte, put the top down on the convertible, and sat curled up in the driver's seat in a scenic turn-off. I watched the ocean for a while. The cool morning air was giving way to the warm sunshine that was peeking over the mountains behind me. The latte warmed me all over and I kicked off my sandals and curled my chilly toes under me on the leather seat. The sun, the latte, and the soft murmur of the waves (and even the rushing traffic to my rear) all faded as I cleared my head. I was me. I decided that firmly. I was me and I was happy with myself... the new me, the way I had become and would remain. I truly did feel happy... not laughing and smiling happy, although I had had some good moments, but calm and peacefully happy, as if a great worry had lifted. I felt free as if I could finally, after all the years of my life so far, truly be myself.  

But what would I make of myself now? I had resigned what I thought would be my career... true, I now had a vague new part-time career in the reserves, but where would that that take me? I didn't know anything about the Navy! And what about a real job? I had the financial means to live independently, if not extravagantly, but would that be enough? What if I became bored? And the war... I'm not a fanatic either way; I'm kind of middle-of-the-road, but I did (and still do) believe in the ultimate necessity for the war, if not necessarily the details of how it had been conducted. If I really believed in it, how could I leave before I had even made a contribution? What would define me? I decided to table that one for a time... I could decide on that when the time came, and according to what opportunities came along. 

Sex. I thought of that with a little warm glow in my tummy and grinned to myself. It had been, in a word, sublime. Intense, too. I hadn't known it could be like this, but now that I did I was determined to make up for lost time. But I stopped my swell of passion for a moment... was that me or the hormones? Probably a little of both, I concluded. Sex was different for a woman. I thought of my quickie affairs and guilt-ridden assignations so far. Each felt as if they had taken a part of me, in different ways. I wanted something more than just the sex... long-term commitment? To bask in a warm glow of caring... of love? How much could I give? What did I truly need? No, I thought firmly to myself, no more quickies with guys I had just met... or, at least, I had to cut back. Three men in two weeks seemed a bit too much of a good thing. I would have to be careful or I would end up with a guy who wouldn't be understanding about my little difference... or with AIDS... or who simply wouldn't take no for an answer. It was a new world, from my perspective anyway.

I put my sunglasses on, wrapped my scarf over my hair and around my neck in a way I had seen glamour queens of the fifties do to protect my hair against the convertible-top-down wind of the drive. Then I got back on the highway and drove north with my thoughts a little more clear and some things to think about. 

I got into town in the late afternoon, and checked-in at a little hotel where I had made reservations for the night. My realtor met me there with the lease paperwork, I signed and she handed me the keys. The next morning, and the days that followed, were interesting and hectic. 

Day Thirty-Three

I was still pooped the next morning, but I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower just as the grey dawn was changing into a slightly foggy, cool morning that I would come to understand was the normal for Monterey. The shower helped. The movers were due at my apartment around 9, so I couldn't dawdle. I dried my hair carefully and swept it straight back while it was still wet, the easiest thing I could think of, and held it back with girlish silver barrettes with tiny butterflies on them that Karen had bought me as something of a tease. I applied a light coat of foundation and a little understated lipstick and eye liner and felt that I was looking more myself. God, I need some coffee, and not the hotel crap, either! I knew from experience that moving in was never an easy task, so I dressed simply, in jeans and a soft yellow cotton t-shirt with built-in bra, a white spandex waist cincher and closed-toe black ballet flats. I added sunglasses, a black zipper-front hoodie, a short necklace of tiny copper hoops linked together, a black braided belt with copper accents that matched my necklace, and a ladies sports watch and a black suede handbag for my necessities. There. I took a deep breath. This felt like a new beginning... and it would be. A new home made it all seem real, more real than the past month. 

It was the first time I had worn jeans since I had tried them on in the store. I hadn't been sure about them at the time, but Karen had told me they looked great, so I took the time to examine myself for a bit. The collagen injections had really changed my waist, hips, and ass. I was probably about a 38-28-38 now and a firm, perky B-cup. The waist cincher took a couple more inches off, to about a 38-26-38. Not bad for my height. I still looked slender for a woman, and with slightly broad shoulders given the relative smallness of my hips, but I had enough curve that it wasn't unattractive. I turned this way and that, examining myself in the mirror. With my little cock squeezed down between my legs I had a perfectly convincing flat tummy, all the way down. The jeans were a bit tighter than I was used to, but then I was used to relaxed-fit male clothing. On the new me, the snug look looked great! My hair... eventually I would have to go with my own hair and have the extensions removed. I didn't want to have short masculine hair, I liked the way the chin-length waves softened my face. Maybe after I got my boxes unloaded and positioned I could go looking for a hairdresser, I mused. Maybe I could get my nails done and some other pampering as well. Eventually satisfied, I went out to start my day. 

I started with a large latte and an extra shot, plus a scone and some chocolate-covered coffee beans as a snack for later (mmm, coffee AND chocolate!). I figured I might need some energy. I was right. Granted, I didn't have to do any lifting... apart from the fact that the movers were paid for this sort of thing, they were cheerfully helpful, especially when I looked a them from under lowered lashes, simpered a little, or bent over a bit to offer a view of my pert ass in it's tight denim covering or a quick peak down my t-shirt into my cleavage. I admit it; I played it up a bit. One young Hispanic guy was absolutely gorgeous... a young Antonio Banderas, with dark eyes and a square chin and rippling pectoral and back muscles that I frankly started at as he lifted my furniture. I might have made a play for him (damn my earlier resolution!) but I was trying to be good... that and they commented on where "my husband" wanted "his things." Given the male stuff in the truck, it was a reasonable guess on their part, so I told them that he was traveling and would be home later that week. It was the easiest (and, I admit, the safest!) way to go. Sigh. 

They worked fast and I didn't have that much stuff anyway, so they were done by 12:30. I indulged a bit by having them shift my furniture around for me (they helped with an eager cheerfulness that I found endearing) and then thanked them all, shaking their large, hard hands as they left... young "Antonio" held my soft, small hand for a moment longer than might have been appropriate and smiled a warm soft smile at me that made me feel butterflies in my chest, and tight electric thrill in my crotch, and week in my knees. And off they went, leaving me with a confusing canyon of cardboard boxes. I sighed, got a pocket knife out of my handbag, and went to work. 
I stopped around 3pm when the UPS driver came up to my door. My shipped clothes had arrived! I was relived... I had been opening and then re-closing several boxes of male clothing. I saved a few items, t-shirts and sweatpants, some athletic sock and winter clothing, but mostly I had decided to donate it to a charity. The boxes I didn't want I piled on the patio. I had the UPS driver, a short perky black woman, bring everything in on a convenient hand truck and pile it in front of my new master (mistress?) closet. As she left I realized I was starving, but I wanted to get it done and I didn't want to go wandering around town so I checked my mailbox... sure enough, there was the usual collection of junk mail and sales flyers, some still addressed to the previous occupant. I looked them over and found an ad for a local pizza place and called for my favorite, a "greek" pizza with feta cheese, onions, and gyro meat, plus a six pack of cokes, and sat down on some boxes on my patio to wait. The fog had cleared and it was a bright, sunny day. 

Two cokes and four pizza slices later I felt more human. I was going to have to watch the eating if I wanted to stay slender, especially with the hormones making me retain more body fat, but I figured I had been working it off and hadn't eaten that much today, so it should all have evened out. I felt less tired and worn down, anyway. It was about four... if I kept going I could probably get all the boxes (except the donations) unpacked in another hour or so, although it would still be a few days before I put everything where I would ultimately want it. I decided to take a bunch of the flattened empty boxes down to the recycling area by the dumpsters. 

I was halfway there when the boxes started to slip out of my hands and go every which way. As I was trying to regain my grip a voice set, "hey, let me help with that," and some hands came from my side and grabbed the slippery cardboard sheets. I looked into soft warm brown eyes in a smiling face that, I swear, was the handsomest man I had ever seen. I just let go and he took the boxes. "Going to the dumpsters?" he asked, as he started walking that way. I just followed. "Uh... yes, thanks." I followed him. What else could I do? I mean, he was carrying my trash!

I walked behind and watched him. He was tall, a little over 6', and he was lean and muscular in a way that suggested some amazingly low body fat composition without looking like a muscle builder... more like a pentathlete. He was wearing a Marine Corps physical training uniform, short green nylon shorts and a tight green t-shirt and white ankle socks and running shoes and I could see his back muscles ripple under the thin cotton as he shifted the awkward cardboard in his grip. I could feel that warm butterfly feeling in my tummy again... god, he was hot from behind, too. But had he looked familiar? I wasn't sure. I walked behind him to the dumpster and watched his hard, tight thighs and ass. Yum. I was really learning to appreciate the angular attractiveness of a man's body. I imagined his smooth hard muscular arms around me, crushing my new softness against him, his mouth seeking mine. I licked my lips as he dumped the cardboard and turned around. 

His face came back to me all of a sudden... I did know him! He had been attending the Army intelligence school when I did... he had been in different curriculum, the transition course, but we had been in some classes together. I couldn't remember his name, but I remembered his face. Shit. I hoped his memory for faces wasn't so good, or at least that my new feminine aspect would derail his recollection. 

I must have looked a little odd as the above thoughts flashed through my mind. He suddenly looked contrite. "Hey, I'm sorry; I just thought you could use a hand. I wasn't trying to... well... I hope I didn't offend you."

I smiled and hoped I looked relaxed and not too familiar. "That's OK," I said. "You just startled me a little. I wasn't expecting a strange man to show up in the middle of the afternoon. I figured everybody would be at work."
He laughed. "I guess I'm just a slacker then..." and he grinned as I felt the heat in my face that told me I was blushing. "I'm really a student at the postgraduate school here," he finished. 

There was a pause while I tried to figure out how to disengage gracefully. I had no idea what he was thinking but at a guess I'd say that he was mentally licking his lips at the thought of his toothsome new neighbor. 

"Well," I said, "I'd better get back to work. I have a lot of unpacking to do. Thanks again!" I started walking toward my apartment. Predictably, he followed. I was getting used to this sort of stereotypical male behavior.  

"Well," he said, still grinning, "I imagine you have a lot of jobs to get your husband to work on." He was fishing to see if I was married. More predictable behavior. 

"What makes you think I'm married?" 

"Well, a gorgeous woman like you... I'd figure there was a guy someplace. You probably have to fight them off with a stick!" I smiled in a way I hoped was noncommittal. 

"Well," I said as we got to my door, "Now that you've cleverly found out I'm not married, I guess I'll get back to work."

He laughed. "Well, you can't blame a guy for trying... I live just down the way here if you need anything heavy moved around or anything like that. Oh, and my name is Mark. Mark Harris."

"I'm Eve Thomas... and thanks. I'll let you know if I need any help," I said over my shoulder as I went inside. 

I closed the door behind me and leaned against it and sighed. Whew. He was handsome... almost too handsome. But my life was complicated enough already and getting involver with him would have increased that by an order of magnitude, for a number of reasons. I reminded myself firmly of my resolve to avoid entanglements for a while. 

I shifted from unpacking to putting things away and after a few more hours I had things more or less in livable condition... I threw some sheets and a comforter over the bed, put mismatched pillow cases on the pillows, and changed into a long white satin nightdress and nightgown combination that I hadn't yet worn. I admired how it looked on me in the bathroom mirror... and, despite my tiredness, enjoyed the erotic thrill of the cool smooth satin on my smooth hairless skin, and then I slipped between the sheets and fell asleep almost immediately. 

The next few weeks were a sort of min-vacation for me. I refused to set myself a schedule, and just let the days take me where they would, feeling carefree and relaxed and becoming comfortable with my new self. The changes continued, in a subtle way... you couldn't define them from day to day, but over time they were noticeable. On the whole, I liked them, liked the new me that they represented, although there were bad days from time to time... the emotional swings were difficult sometime. Once I burst into tears while shopping for toilet paper. I became intimately familiar with the use of chocolate as a mood modifier, and bought a stationary bike to make sure the chocolate didn't turn me into a balloon. Physically I was changing too... my butt was definitely getting bigger. I knew that it was part of the change; that women had more body fat there. But it still made me a little paranoid about getting fat. I took to checking myself in the mirror. Now I finally understood all those female questions along the lines of "does this dress make me look fat?" 

The changes weren't all physical, of course. Intellectually it was all still taking some getting used to. Being a girl is harder than it looks, in case you're wondering. In some ways, it's a mix of ease and constraint. They are both liberating, though... as a man I had the ever-present pressure of having to compete, to be the best, to be strong and in charge. As a woman I could relax and be passive... in things as simple as having the door held for me, as luxurious as having men offer to carry things for me, or as practical as never having to buy drinks or meals if I didn't want to. I found that, in lots of ways, I got treated a lot better because I was wearing a skirt... and if I smiled and flirted a little, I could usually get even better service. But there was a hidden price. Call it `the cost of beauty'. All those things accrue to me because I am a pretty girl, and like the saying goes, pretty girls are never lonely. But it's hard work to be pretty, hard work all the time. When I was still a guy I could throw on old ratty jeans and a sweat shirt and go the store if I wanted. No shave? Messy hair? No problem. But not as a girl. At the very least, going out called for thirty minutes with a hair brush, basic makeup, and careful selection of an outfit with matching shoes and accessories. I found myself studying other women, wondering how I looked in comparison to them. It was a different form of competition, but just as intense. 

I have to admit that I enjoyed it... who would have thought I'd get so much enjoyment out of additional inconvenience? I mean, a man can just throw on whatever and be out the door in minutes... No problem. But I had found that my absolute minimum get-dressed-and-go-time was about 30 minutes. Not counting selecting what to wear. And the shoes... to be honest, some were terribly uncomfortable, but I couldn't bear to part with them because I looked so good in them. So I endured pinched toes and sore ankles. I had gotten used to having my calves stretched out and my ankles extended in heels, but I was still getting used to walking toe-to-heel and balancing on a spike with a cross section of less than a quarter- inch. 

But I wouldn't give up a bit of it. I mean, every morning was an erotic thrill of sliding smooth silk over my smooth hairless skin, attaching straps and hooks on hidden garments that constricted me but gave me a secret feeling of liberation, and selecting clothes for their ability to accentuate my natural (and surgically enhanced) attractions. The smooth textures and the faint rasp of lace was a luxurious secret thrill in my most intimate places. Splashing myself with eau de toilette, dabbing on perfume, and applying carefully understated but striking colors to my lips and eyes, remembering to walk pigeon-toed, sitting with my knees primly together (and possibly shifting them off to the side to display the long sensuous curves of my calves in shimmering silk and high heels) and playing teasing little games with men by bending over or pretending to adjust my garters. Just knowing that I was wearing pretty and even sexy things beneath my clothes was enough to give me a buzzing erotic thrill for the entire day. It was all delicious. I was amazed at the flood of new sensations, I felt as if I had been numb all my previous life. 

Plus, I had discovered another advantage of being a pretty girl... as I said; pretty girls are never lonely, at least not for long. And they never have to buy their own drinks, either. I was basking in the attention. I had always been the scrawny, despised one... the last kid picked for kickball; you know how it is. Well, not any more. Now the strong, handsome, popular guys all wanted to be my new best friend... and were willing to compete with each other for the privilege. All I had to do was sit back and enjoy, watching them go back and forth trying to outdo each other by being smarter or stronger or funnier or more indulgent, or more charming. And that was fun. Lots of fun. All I had to do was smile, laugh at their dumb jokes, tilt my head and look at them with a sidelong glance, and play with my hair a little. And drink my free drinks and let them buy me dinner, carry my heavy bags and packages, open doors for me, and all the rest. Heaven. 

So, I had fun and my days drifted by. I spent a whole day having a complete spa treatment... massage, a few tiny spots of electrolysis to eliminate a few pesky hairs, facial, manicure, pedicure... the works. I had my nails done in a conservative French manicure, but I had my toes done in blazing red just for the sheer flirty thrill of seeing them peek out of my open-toed shoes. 
One day I had a long leisurely lunch, followed by a charming afternoon, followed by a delightful evening of dinner and drinks with some old family friends. Barry and Michael are an old gay couple; Barry is a lawyer and has been our family lawyer for years... since Karen and my parents were killed. Michael, perhaps a bit stereotypically, is an interior designer. They both thoroughly approved of the new me and pressed me for all the details, especially of my romantic trysts. We laughed and chatted and had drinks on the terrace of their beautiful home in Palo Alto. Barry had taken care of all my legal conversions... everything was done, I was now me. Our family trust had been doing well, so I really didn't have to go back to work if I didn't want to, which was just as well because I wasn't really sure what I wanted to do. Michael demanded, mock angrily, that he be allowed to decorate my new apartment, which to be honest was still scattered with my mismatched furniture and odds and ends from my old household. 

Michael worked magic on my apartment... he did everything and it all looked so... right. It was lovely and feminine without being luridly girlish... no pink frilly beds or anything silly like that. Just lushly textured fabrics and tapestries in muted, tasteful earth tones in a style that managed to combine French Directory with Californian neo-Mediterranean. I know it sounds odd, but somehow it all worked. I loved it. I guess that's why he made the big bucks... literally. (He owned his own company and usually charged five figures for what he did for me as a favor). Plus, he was screamingly funny; I laughed so hard while he joked with me while badgering the workmen that I had a sore tummy for a week. My apartmernt really did look great when he was done. 

Then I had my hair done... this was a major step. I thought about my hair for a week before I made up my mind. I loved my gorgeous red tresses but they weren't mine: just extensions. And extensions take a lot of work to maintain. So I gritted my teeth and went in to have the extensions removed and see what could be done with my still short natural hair. There isn't that much you can do with short women's hair, of course. I chatted and commiserated with the hair stylist for a while, and finally settled on a look she found in a magazine: a tousled but still feminine look, with bulk added by judicious application of styling gel and the appearance of volume created by some dark layered streaks and a deeper reddening of my natural hair. I looked very stylish in a trendy sort of way. It was also short enough that it met military grooming standards for women, so I wouldn't have to put my hair up when in uniform. Thinking about that reminded me... I also had some military work to do. 

I had received in the mail the confirmation of my transfer to the Navy Reserve, so I spent a day traveling to the nearest Naval Reserve Center to process the paperwork and get a new military ID. I managed to arrive on the day when, apparently, the entire Reserve Center full-time staff was all at some sort of mandatory briefing, but the three junior female Sailors there had me fill out everything I needed to complete and called up a very bored-looking female officer from the local recruiting command to come in and issue me the oath that made it all official. I'd have chatted with her about what the Navy was like for women, but she brushed me off and returned to her paperwork, and the three Sailors went back to watching Oprah on TV, so I took my still-warm ID and went back home. It seemed anti-climactic, somehow. The next drill would be in three weeks; maybe that would be more interesting. At least I would have some time to do a little research about how the Navy did things. 

On the way back I decided that, since I was now officially a Sailor (OK, a Naval Officer... the Navy considers Sailors, by definition, to be enlisted people) to stop at the Navy Exchange military clothing store at the postgraduate school. Army and Navy uniforms are pretty different... and even when there is some overlap, the differences between male and female versions pretty much eliminate anything I might be likely to salvage. The only things I had saved were brown t-shirts (for the camouflage uniforms) and combat boots (when you get a good pair of broken-in boots, you hang onto them). I got rid of just about everything else. 

So I bought everything new. Mostly my size was out of stock, of course... Karen had told me once that military clothing was rarely in stock for common female sizes. I suppose it had to do with the lower demographic percentage of women in the military. So I bought what they had and ordered the rest, for delivery. The Navy has a lot of uniforms... khaki as a "work" uniform, white "undress" with a short sleeve shirt and skirt for semi-formal, dress white for formal, dress blue for formal in the winter, and even a "Navy blue" shirt to go with the dress skirt... the blue so dark it was really black. Plus hats and shoes. The shoes, like most military dress shoes, were kind of cheap quality, so I resolved to look for some good quality pumps that would pass the fairly conservative appearance standards for women's military shoes (yes, it was also a good excuse to go shopping for shoes!) On a whim I even bought camouflage BDUs... which I was well familiar with from the Army and which the Navy called "utilities" for some reason, plus the special Navy utility hat that, like the Marine version, is formed with five little pointed corners. I didn't really figure I'd need it but hey, I already had the boots, right? 

Some of the uniforms didn't fit (another military standard for women's clothing; Karen had used to say that she could tell the uniforms were designed based on male standards), so I stopped and dropped them off for some tailoring. I was looking forward to seeing how I looked in my new uniforms. Besides... men think good looking girls in uniform are hot. I was looking forward to that, too. I figured the white would be best for that sort of thing. I would have to find some shoes that would be sexier than the issue ones though... a bit of a challenge, seeing as it couldn't be any shoes, they had to be a close match to the conservative issue pumps. I did have fun trying them all on... I felt odd looking at myself in the full length mirror at the tailor shop, as if I was wearing a costume rather than a uniform. But they did look good on me, especially when the little old lady at the tailor shop pinned everything up the way it would look when properly tailored. She was terrifically nice... a Filipina spouse of a retired Navy Chief; we chatted for quite a while as I tried everything on and she made adjustments and suggestions. I admit I prompted her to add some flirty flourishes... still within regs, but only just. 

I had her snug in the skirts a bit from their usual flair, to hug my ass and hips and legs a bit more than usual... as that part of my anatomy was developing nicely I wanted to show it off. We laughed and giggled at that, as we experimented with just how flirty I could get while staying in the bounds of the Navy uniform regulations. In her cute accent she told me that I was going to be trouble... and that she was glad her husband was retired because she'd have worried about making sure he kept his hands off me! I confess I liked the idea of being desired by all the men I met, especially the trim, fit ones... aviators and special ops guys with hard bodies and wide shoulders and narrow chests who, it was seeming now that I was meeting a few, were amazingly easy to manipulate with a smile, a hair toss, a flash of thigh, licked lips, and a little "male intuition." Just to add the final touch I also had her snug in the darts on the shirts to emphasize my growing breasts. Speaking of which...

My incisions had all healed up nicely and were now nothing more than faint pinkish tracks that seemed to visibly fade more every day. It had only been about 6 weeks, and I could hardly tell... my skin was softening daily as well, and had a healthy glow and smooth suppleness (from the hormones) that I found erotic even on myself. My skin was getting more sensitive, too, or maybe I was just getting more in touch with my natural sensitivity: either way, I could brush my hand across my bare, smooth thigh (an act I found incredibly erotic even alone) and feel a warm tingle and swelling in my groin. By now I was at home enough with my new body and the feel of my clothes that I would forget how different I had become. Of course the forgetting could also be a reminder. Sometimes, as I walked, I would absent-mindedly try to stride along with the easy male heel-to-toe gait; when I did, I would felt the restricting hem of my skirt at my knees or thighs or the ankle stretching awkwardness of my heels. I would look down and be instantly reminded that I was different now.  I'd be walking along and feel the bounce and tug of my breasts and feel the gentle rasp of my stockings when my thighs rubbed together. I loved it all. There were so many interesting things about being a woman... wearing clothes like these... And that wasn't all. It was getting better. I was getting better. 

I was growing natural curves to augment the ones I had had sculpted. My hips and ass and thighs had all gained a noticeable and very soft layer of baby fat. My breasts were sensitive and a bit sore as they swelled... noticeable layers of fat tipped with shiny pink peaks of rosebud nipples were growing on the smooth firm swell of the implants. My bras were getting a little tight and I was delighted... I hoped to add a cup size soon. That was something I was looking forwards to... I confess, sometimes I would pause in front of the mirror and cup my breasts in my hands and admire them, or stop and smooth out my blouse and look at their smooth rounded profile. My nipples really were becoming delightfully sensitive as they adjusted to the implants and the hormones activated my lactation; I was really looking forward to having warm soft lips and a rough tongue rasping across them. And as it turned out, that didn't take long at all. (More about that in just a bit... <grin>). 

I know, I know... you want to hear about the sex! Well, it started back at the uniform store. I had spent a few days shopping for odds and ends and exploring the beaches and shops in Pacific Grove and Carmel. I had bought a few new dresses, a couple of suits, a bunch of lingerie (and some new C-cup bras, hopefully!) and had even found some delightful pumps, one pair in black and one in white, that were just perfect for my new uniforms... they were expensive, of hand-tooled Italian leather, but they were worth it. Even with 3 ½" heels they fit like gloves, smooth and soft and perfect on my feet. They had the closed, rounded toe and round spike heel (not the daring stiletto, though) heel that made them a match for the uniform shoes. Finally, I had gone back to the Naval school clothing store tailor to pick up my newly tailored uniforms. It was a beautiful, perfect day: a sky so blue it seemed like a dream, washed in sunlight and a balmy temperature in the mid 70s. I felt perfect. I had been a good day. It was going to get better. 

The tailored uniforms were a lot to carry... I had to make three trips to my car.  I was wearing a simple grey cotton sun dress with halter straps that crossed in back: it was really darling, it had princess seams to emphasize my breasts and was snugly fitted to my hips where it flared out in a soft pleated skirt that fell to just below my knees. It was lightweight and supremely comfortable, so I was wearing only a thong that just managed to hold my little cock back between my thighs, and a spandex girdle to cinch in my waist and hold up my stockings. The stockings... that was my little guilty luxury for the day; they were 100% silk, and even had cute little retro seams down the back. I had a constant erotic thrill from the incredibly smooth rasp of the silk on my thighs and the rush of the coo, crisp air under my full swirling skirt. I know it wasn't very practical, but I was wearing grey suede open-toed pumps with daring 3 ½" heels. I wasn't wearing a bra... I was being daring and naughty and enjoying the secret thrill as my breasts bobbed gently in the supporting cups of the fully-lined bodice that showed just a bit of my cleavage. I had accessorized simply with a silver chain supporting an iridescent opal with matching earrings and a grey purse that matched my shoes. I have to say... I looked great. I looked hot; even if I do say so myself. <grin>

Well, it's that whole vulnerability thing again, that's what made it so much fun. But it was best with an audience... the helpless girl needing help from a big, strong man. Of course it's really the other way around... isn't there an old 70s song with the line about how "city girls learn to open doors with just a smile?" I was hoping a cute guy would come along so I could wave my eyelashes at him and see where it would lead. It had been three weeks since I left San Diego and, to be honest, I was getting a little horny. Of course I would have to figure a way around my little "problem." Well, I was going to get my chance and more. 

I was on my third trip and with the clothes hangers digging into my fingers as I tried to get my keys from my purse, which had maddeningly swung around on its strap, when I heard a man's voice say, "Excuse me..." I turned, almost dropping the clothes I was carrying, and the man reached out and took them from me. It was Pete... Pete Fitzgerald, the fighter pilot I had dated in San Diego... and the first man whose cock I had taken into me, even if only for a blowjob. God, he was as handsome as ever. In my heels I was just less than 6' tall, so my eyes were on a level with his. He looked gorgeous, as before, in his white undress uniform. 

He looked at me a bit quizzically as he took the hangars out of my hand. "I thought you could use a hand, miss... Eve? Eve Thomas?" He looked as surprised as I felt as recognition dawned. I broke into a toothy grin.
"Pete... Hi! Yes, it's me... and I always knew you would rescue me someday." 
Pete grinned back. "God, you look fantastic... I didn't recognize you at first. You changed... your hair!" 

"Well," I said, brushing it lightly, "to be honest I was experimenting... I'm not sure I like it though. I'm thinking of growing it back long again. Thanks for helping me with that," I continued, nodding toward the hanging uniforms that he was holding easily," those hangers were really cutting into my hand. So, what brings you here?" 

He laughed. "I was just about to ask you that. I'm here for a conference here at the school. I'll be here for the next week. Now it's your turn... I finished up that deployment up in Washington and came straight here. I always knew I was lucky, but wow! I mean, here you are! I was afraid I'd never get to see you again!" I giggled. 

"You sure know how to boost my ego!" He laughed. I continued, "Well, I live here now... I just moved into a few weeks ago."

"That's great!" he said, enthusiastically. He looked at the uniforms he was holding. "So, whose uniforms are you picking up?" 

"Mine, of course... whose did you think?" He looked surprised and then embarrassed.

"You mean, all that time I was telling you about my military experience you were in... oh, wow... I'm embarrassed. I hope I wasn't too umm..."

"Condescending?" I offered, with a sweet smile.... "No, you were only a little bit like that. Mostly it was sweet. You were trying hard to impress me. Besides," I continued, "I am pretty new to the Navy. I was actually in the Army until a few weeks back; I just did an inter-service transfer into the Navy Reserve. That's my initial uniform purchase you're holding, part of it anyway. So you were right as far as assuming I didn't know much about the Navy." 

"So, you're not mad at me?"

"Why would I be? I thought you were adorable, in an oblivious kind of way... and," I continued, in a softer and sultry voice, reaching out and brushing my finger tips lightly down his shirt front, "I think that the way we ended our last date would kind of tell you that I liked you." 

Well, that just made his whole day. I could see the relief on his face. We walked the last few feet to my car and I opened the trunk and he put my uniforms in and we chatted for a few more minutes before I gently suggested that he might be a bit late for his conference. He had a startled realization that he was late and he said hasty goodbyes, but not before I gave him my local phone number. He looked so grateful for it that I almost laughed; I did giggle as he tried to turn and wave at me as he trotted in the direction of his conference and tripped on a curb and almost fell. God, he was gorgeous. 

Well, that left me in a warm horny glow. I drove home and went straight inside, not even unloading the trunk, and went to my bedroom where I took out my old plastic friend and a squirt top jar of anal lube. I didn't waste time undressing... I popped the lifelike head of the dildo in my mouth and climbed up on the bed fully clothed, sucking it like a lollypop. I kneeled on the bed and leaned forward against the wall. By bracing the base of the dildo on the wall I could rock forward and back on the plastic shaft, making it fuck my mouth while I lubed up my ass. I didn't bother taking my panties off; I just pulled them to the side and squirted a big glob of lube on my fingers which I then began to work into my warm, tight anus. 

After a while I switched... I put the head of the dildo at my anal opening and began to suck on the fingers that had just been there as I worked the dildo slowly around my tight ring of muscle, pressing inward. I scooted down on the bed, on my hands and knees with my ass raised, and imagined I was being taken by two men... that one had just left my anus and had stuck his still dirty cock in my mouth and that the second was taking his turn sodomizing me. I moaned softly as I popped the head of the dildo into me and began to slide the rest of the long hard shaft inch by tantalizing inch up my ass and into my aching belly. 

I fucked myself for a long, slow, tantalizing time until I could no longer bear the throbbing in my groin. I needed to come, God, how I needed it! I didn't want to get semen all over my new bedspread, though... I rolled over on my back and pulled my knees up to my chest and kept sliding that shaft in and out, in and out, inch by exquisite inch. With my other shaking hand, still wet with lube, saliva, and my anal juices, I pulled my panties down enough to allow my small but hard cock to pop out and I began to jerk it, faster, then faster, until I finally began to shoot long shuddering streams of cum that made gooey puddles up the front of my dress and splashed warm sticky liquid all the way to my breasts and the bottom of my chin. I lay back and listened to my heart pounding in my ears as my breathing slowly returned to normal. I diped my fingers in my cum and licked them clean. Yum. 

But it still wasn't as good as a real man, with a real cock and a man's strong salty semen. I missed the way Barry had held me after we made love the last time. Made love... that's what it had felt like with him, not just fucking or sex. But lain old fucking would do, and God! I was horny as hell. So I got up and cleaned myself up... and began developing a plan to get laid. 
