breast forms

Theresa — Chapter 41

| Aug 17, 2009
Spread the love

--The Story So Far (TGF subscribers can read earlier installments): Terri has had her SRS procedure. She comes out of surgery in considerable pain but happy to have had it done — and to have it behind her. After several days of recovery (including a number of visits from Eddie before he has to return to his job in Los Angeles), she’s allowed to finish her recuperation at home.

Those few days in the hospital, besides giving me a greater appreciation of some of life’s unballyhooed pleasures, allowed me to regain my strength, catch up on my reading, and — most dangerously — indulge in my favorite activity, introspection.

I was a woman. I’d reached my greatest goal, and I felt happy but not satisfied. It was hard to be satisfied while confined to the hospital, and I was sure I’d feel more enthusiastic about my new life when I could begin living it. Anyway, I didn’t want to cultivate satisfaction. I was not quite 23; I had a career to build, a daughter to raise, everywhere to go and everything to do. The goal I’d reached was necessary but purely intermediate, and now I wanted to move on, to become a woman of success and accomplishment.

I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to make love as a woman (with Dr. Sterling’s permission, of course), and I realized that I needed to set some more rules for myself. I’d heard that some transsexuals had no sexual standards whatever — they’d go to bed with any man, at any time. I suppose they had to keep proving to themselves that they really were women at last, and the best proof they could imagine was to go to bed with a man. That wasn’t what I wanted for myself. In a sense, I was a virgin. I didn’t plan to be a professional virgin, but I didn’t want to be promiscuous, either. I might not wait for marriage to satisfy my curiosity, but I promised myself that the first time I gave myself to a man, it would be for love of someone who loved me in return.

Oh, the dangers of idle speculation by a woman of enforced idleness. Who would want this self-proclaimed virgin mother? I was a sufficiently comely wench, I thought; I’d be able to attract men. But there would come a time when I’d have to reveal my awesome truth.

He: I want your lovely body. You can’t imagine how much I want you.

Me: Sure I can — I was a guy once myself.

He: Excuse me; I have an urgent appointment in Albuquerque. (Exits)

--That scenario would cover any man who didn’t already know my past, and there were only two or three who did — Eddie and Phil, and perhaps Brad. Phil was four years in the past now, probably remarried with a couple of toddlers to keep Stan on his toes. My adorable Stan — he’d be ten now, and he’d surely have forgotten all about me. Phil would remember me, as much as he’d rather not, but he’d hardly want to see me again, not even in my new, improved format.

Brad. I had to assume he’d figured out that big, fat clue I’d given him. That gave him Jim as a resource, and I’d made the newspapers and various official records a few times. By now, he should be living in the shower, trying to wash away the residual traces of any physical contact he’d had with me.

Then there was Eddie. I wasn’t quite sure what to think about Eddie. He kept turning up; he seemed to be attracted by my womanly charms. Was it only a physical attraction, or was there something more — or was he perhaps just being loyal to an old pal? It appeared to me that I found him attractive, too — or was I just insecurely clinging to a friend out of fear that I wouldn’t be able to thrive on my own?

Let’s be positive, Theresa. You and Eddie have clearly become something more than “just friends” now; you both show unmistakable signs of being on the verge of falling in love. Can you accept that? You’ve been great friends, but would the past intrude too much if you tried to become lovers? Can you see him as your husband, as a father for Jessie? Can you see yourself as his wife?

Was Eddie going through the same sort of self-analysis as I was? Since he knew my past, he had to be somewhat concerned about what his feelings for me might say to him about himself. And now I could double back upon myself, because I had to be equally concerned: if Eddie loved me, did he love me as a woman, or did I have some other, perhaps unrealized, attraction for him? Was I his favorite freak?

These were thoughts that recurred each evening — in some mysterious way, they seemed to cue the nurse to march in with a couple of pills that sent me into a long and welcome sleep.
I awoke on the morning of my first day at home with my mind wonderfully clear and my body almost free of pain. It was the first time in days that my waking thought had not been an overwhelming urge to go back to sleep. That was a good omen. Cautiously, I got out of bed and walked over to the window. It didn’t hurt to walk; the slight pain that I felt remained diffused, dull, and barely noticeable, a second good omen. I looked out the window. It had rained overnight, but the clouds were breaking up; shafts of sunlight were glancing off nearby buildings and I could see a few small patches of blue sky. Three good omens were enough to get any day off and running. I wrapped my robe around myself and hurried off to treat myself to a shower bath and shampoo.

Back in my room again, I closed the door, slipped my robe off, and looked into the full-length mirror. A nude, serious-faced young woman looked back at me. It was the first time I’d seen her; the first time I’d really wanted to see her. I studied her carefully. She was tall and slender. Her face and her body were both thinner than I’d expected them to be, but it had been more than a week since she’d had a decent meal. Though she was thin, she was by no means emaciated. She had pert breasts and well-rounded hips and derrière. This much I’d seen before on the hermaphroditic spectre that had previously haunted my mirror; what I hadn’t seen, what made her obviously a woman, was the welcome replacement for the part I could no longer see. I smiled tentatively at her and she smiled wanly back. Encouraged, I broadened my smile and so did she. She looked happy, and I felt overjoyed.

It was good to be home again. My strength and energy increased rapidly, and I felt better every day. A week after my return, I paid my first post-op visit to Dr. Sterling, who assured me that I was coming along nicely — something I’d been able to deduce for myself. Three days after that, I celebrated my twenty-third birthday by taking the train to Philadelphia to bring Jessie back home.

With the exception of short daily walks near home and my visit to the doctor’s office, this was my first foray into the world. I began it with considerable nervousness, certain that everyone in the city had developed X-ray vision in the last two weeks just to be able to check out my medical progress. Everyone would be staring at me, a gigantic, awkward pseudo-woman among the legions of petite, graceful birth women. As it happened, my cab driver (a woman) barely glanced at me. The crowds at Pennsylvania Station didn’t fall back before me in amazement: as usual, I had to shoulder my way through them like any normal human being. And no one on the train even spoke to me, let alone beg me for my autograph; I sat unnoticed in my seat, reading and watching the scenery flash by.

Then I was no longer among strangers — I had arrived at Philadelphia’s 30th Street Station and just beyond the gate I could see my Jessie riding high on Doug’s shoulders, looking anxiously across the crowd for me, and I could hear her squeal of happiness when she saw me. I probably squealed too, because I’d never been so glad to see anyone.

Barbara and her 2.95 children were at home with the new nanny, Doug said. The heat and her ungainliness had decided her against joining the welcoming committee at the station. There would be another, somewhat more magnificent reception chez Preston.

Chez Preston, as it happened, was all decked out for a birthday party. The children were nearly insane with excitement; there seemed to be fifty of them underfoot instead of only three. Barbara stood unperturbed in the eye of the storm, lavishing chocolate frosting onto a birthday cake. She was one of those women who seem to be at their best when pregnant — efficient, unflappable, and radiant.

“Barbara!” I said, searching for a way to get close enough to hug her. “You look grand!”

“As in French for humongous?” She laughed as she smoothed out the last of the frosting. “You look just wonderful — disgustingly skinny, though.”

“Your cake will take care of that,” I said.

“That’s my plan,” she admitted. “When I get fat, everyone gets fat.”

“You’ll be back to normal in a few weeks, but it will take me months to work that cake off.” I hugged her again. “I envy you.”

“You shouldn’t,” she said, but I could tell that she considered herself highly enviable, especially for the likes of me.
My unexpected birthday party was strictly a family affair — which made sense, since I didn’t know anyone else in Philadelphia. I got presents from everyone, and there was enough cake and ice cream to satisfy all of the kids (and me).

Jessie never left my side from my moment of arrival until she went to bed. Fifteen minutes after I turned out her light, she called for me to bring her a glass of water. Two sips were enough. The light went off, and fifteen minutes later she called for water again. This time she seemed satisfied that I wasn’t going to vanish on her, and she was asleep before I left the room.

Back in the adult world, we talked of inconsequentials — careers, pregnancy, child raising, planning the next day’s activities. No one asked me for a learned comparison of my present and previous bodies (or my current and former states of mind). It seemed to be tacitly understood that I had always been a woman, making any such questions immaterial. And yet”¦I had spent quite a bit of time with Barb and Doug during the last four years, and things didn’t seem to be the same.

It was hard to pin down exactly what had changed, but I sensed that Doug was looking at me differently — I was no longer a weirdo brother-in-law in a dress. I could feel his eyes on me at times, and I suspected that he was mentally undressing me and cringing at the thought of the changes in my lower anatomy.

There was a difference with Barbara, too. She used to treat me somewhat deferentially, as a sister tends to treat a brother — even a younger brother, even in her own home, even though I was outwardly female. Now she was treating me more like Amy or Alice — just another younger sister. Again, the changes were subtle. I noticed that as we were making plans for the next day, she spoke authoritatively, as the resident expert on Philadelphian things suitable for children. She certainly wasn’t being dictatorial about it and I was perfectly free to question her decisions or negotiate with her, but now I had to take the initiative to speak out where once she would have sought my approval.

At nine, just as we completed our Saturday planning, Eddie called from Los Angeles to wish me a happy birthday — when no one answered the phone at home, he’d guessed that I’d gone to bring Jessie back from Philadelphia. I was delighted to hear from him. With Barb’s and Doug’s eyes upon me, I tried to be nonchalant, but I wasn’t too successful.

“Was that Eddie Roberts?” Barb asked. I admitted that it was. “You kind of like him, don’t you?”

“Well, yes — sure I do,” I said. “We’ve been friends for years.”

“I know you have, and that’s not what I meant — as you know very well. There’s more to it than that, isn’t there?”

“What makes you think that?”

“There’s a sparkle in your eyes that wasn’t there before the phone rang.”

“Oh. Let’s see if I can turn it off. There; did that work?”

“No.”

“I must be out of practice. I’ll have to work on that if I’m going to take Broadway by storm this fall.”

“Don’t try to change the subject,” Barbara said. “There’s something special about you and Eddie, isn’t there?”

“I like him very much,” I said, “and I think he likes me, but right now there’s nothing special about us. If there ever is, you’ll be the first to know.”

And that was all I’d say about that.

Barb had told me earlier that I shouldn’t envy her. Perhaps, I thought, she envied me for being young, unpregnant, and single. In most respects, I knew, she was happy with her settled life with Doug and the children, and yet she must have seen my totally uncharted future as something quite romantic — a canvas upon which my career and relationships were yet to be painted.

To Be Continued


Spread the love
The Breast Form Store sales up to 77% off!

Category: Fiction

Hebe

About the Author ()

One of TGF's longest running authors, Hebe has been writing for TGF since the 1990s. With a focus on TG fiction she also has covered mythic crossdressing and recently has reported on TG events.

Comments are closed.

%d bloggers like this: