Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 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.