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Even now, some years later, when I have got my life, my new life,
together, when I am able to think fairly rationally on the first
terrible discovery of my change, and the train of its effects, it is
still impossible for me to fully describe the intensity of my
bewilderment and shock during these first days.

I gradually awoke, as if from a deep sleep, to a bone-deep ache over
all of my body. My eyes were stuck shut, my throat was scratchy and
dry. I was lying on my back, one leg hooked under the other, my hand
lying on my crotch when it began to sink into my mind that something
was not right. For some reason I couldn't feel the familiar bulges of
my penis and balls. Half conscious, I fumbled between my legs but found
nothing. I tried to concentrate but it was too much effort and I sank
back to sleep. Some time later, still mostly asleep, I put my hand in
my shorts and felt only a mound at the base of my belly, with a
prominent vertical groove and, feeling in it, I found folds, and
strangely, a moist opening edged with a delicate rim. Although I
recognized what these were, it made no sense me that I could feel them
on my own body.

My eyes were itchy and I reached to rub them. It was then, as my arm
brushed against my chest, that I was aware of another difference.
Something soft and round had brushed against my arm.

My eyes still shut, I felt at my chest, recognizing that I was
investigating two female breasts, yet all the while feeling on my own
chest the corresponding touch of exploring fingers. The realization
tore my eyes open, the sharp pain making my eyes water. Wiping my face
with the sheet I pulled off my T-shirt to have a look.

I heard a scream of terror, my own, but in a voice now strangely high
pitched. In my view were the half globes of two female breasts, each
with a prominent areola and nipple, yet incongruously covered with
curly red hair, my own male chest hair. I screamed again and pulled at
them, hoping it was some sick practical joke that someone had pulled on
me. The pain finally made me stop but by then most of the hair had
stripped off into my hands.

I gaped down below my belly, with another scream, changing from shock
to terror. My penis and balls were totally missing! In terror, hoping I
was mistaken, I closed my eyes and shook my head hard. This all had to
be some nightmare, but when I finally dared to open my eyes again and
look down, nothing had changed. By some terrible event I had been
changed into a woman!

Whimpering, I stumbled out of my bed to the bathroom mirror and saw a
terror stricken, drawn, blotchy face. It had to be my own face: it
moved as I did, but it was barely recognizable. The features were
smoother, despite the blotchiness. The lips were fuller and softer, the
eyebrows no longer as prominent. Perhaps my ears were smaller too. My
Adams apple was gone. I still had the remnants of my shaven beard, but
when I rubbed at my jaws most of the small reddish hairs stripped off
in my hands. I sank to my knees in a fetal ball, but I uncurled almost
immediately when I felt soft breasts against my thighs.

I awoke again, some hours later I suppose, but one sight of my body I
showed me that the nightmare was still with me. I not only had a
woman's breasts and genitals, my body was that of a woman, with wide
hips, emphasized by a slim waist and narrow shoulders. Below the hips
and prominent butt were shapely legs. I groaned with bewilderment. It
was a beautifully shaped body, but surely it was not mine. Also, with
the remnants of my male hair hanging to it, I looked like a freak. The
only consolation was that the ache was mostly gone.

I had to go to the toilet. I was about to stand over it when I knew
that position would be a mistake. Almost crying, I sat down and
released a brownish stream. I sat in misery, my head in my hands, until
I realized that I smelled of stale perspiration and I stumbled into the
shower.

This body had smooth skin and rounded limbs rather than firm muscle. In
misery I soaped the alien breasts, feeling their weight, their soft
firmness, and the sensitivity of the nipples. I shook my head as the
remnants of my male chest hair stripped off and clumped at the drain.
It was the same with my legs and arms, even my pubic hair. Most of that
stripped off, leaving a small triangular patch.

I wrapped a towel round myself and collapsed into a chair at the
kitchen table, barely having the presence of mind to dry myself, trying
to take stock of my drastically altered life, and trying to decide what
to do.

I briefly thought about checking myself into a hospital, but quickly
rejected that idea. I would not be believed. Such a thing was surely
impossible, and yet, here I was in an alien body. Then if they did
believe me, I'd be then at the mercy of every doctor with a pet theory
or treatment. The word would leak out and once the media got a hold of
the story........ No, I'd better keep this to myself. Maybe the change
would go away and in a day or so I'd be returned to my own body.

I could not sit around in a towel all day so I rummaged through my
drawers and closets for clothes.. My jockey shorts were not too bad a
fit but boxer shorts were a bit loose at the waist. My pants were all
the wrong proportions. My shirts hung on me except where pushed out by
the new breasts, but at least they were comfortable and covered my
alien new body. My socks were all too big, same with my shoes, so I
padded around on my bare feet.

I switched on the TV and changed to a news station but it appeared that
the world was going its depressing way as usual. I peered at the date.
It was a Thursday. The last I remembered before the change was being at
a neighborhood tavern on Monday night. So I must have been u*********s
for at least two days. The news had no reports of mass panic or mass
gender changes, so it was only my individual world that had changed.

By this time I was feeling hungry and I went through the contents of
the refrigerator. I had kept it fairly well stocked so I had enough for
about a week. I made myself a peanut butter sandwich, pulled out a beer
and sat back again to take stock of my life and make plans. My emotions
and thoughts were in such a desperate whirl it was difficult to
concentrate.

I bit my lip, thinking about my future. I was self-employed. I selected
various kitchenware, knickknacks, gadgets and odds and ends from
various manufactures and importers and acted as a kind of agent between
them and small stores and boutiques. I was fairly good at it and made a
reasonable living. Chicago was a good base for it with a lot of
population within a few hours' drive.

I had a good bank account, enough to last me for a month or more,
hopefully until the change reversed itself. I shuddered, what if it
didn't? I have always had a level head and generally kept my wits in
various crises, but this time, I felt overwhelmed. I was in a unique
situation if whatever had happened to me was permanent. My money
wouldn't last forever and at some point I would have to get out to earn
a living. If I did not change back I would have to make do with this
strange new body, but my whole life would be realigned. I could hardly
begin even to make a guess at the number of adjustments that I would
have to make to my life.

On an inspiration I got onto the computer and searched for transgender
information, but all I got were some fiction sites or articles on
gender reassignment surgery. There were no records of anyone undergoing
the changes that had affected me, other than the ancient Greek legend
of some guy called Tiresias. I was alone.

The next day was the same. After a fitful sleep I awoke, still with the
female body. At least my face had cleared up. I fretted back and
forward until, taking hold of myself, I sat down with a pad of paper
and began to list the things I would need to do to get my life, my new
life, in order. I would certainly need to get back to work. My bank
account wouldn't last that long and I had no close relatives. A thought
struck me. I'd need to get out to a bank machine at some time.

I heard a key at the lock and suddenly remembered my girlfriend Sheryl.
She had been out of town, was supposed to be coming to pick me up to go
out for dinner. I was halfway to my bedroom, only a towel wrapped
around me when the door swung open. Sheryl and I gaped at each other,
me in embarrassment and indecision, she in a shock that registered on
her face. I was fumbling to make up an explanation when she hissed,
"Who the hell are you?" Her angry next words saved me the trouble of
making a coherent reply.

"Well, whoever you are, you can tell that two timing rat Jim Collins
that he is welcome to you." And with that she threw the door key onto
my coffee table, spun on her high heeled boots and slammed the doors as
she left.

I sat down heavily, trembling. I had liked Sheryl, and although I had
not been ready to make a further commitment, I was upset at her anger
and our confrontation. However, the more I thought about it, I felt
relief. Now she was out of my life, and I could keep my secret. For
better or worse I'd have to face the future on my own. Now, thinking
back about it and all the adjustments I had to make, it might have been
handy those first dreadful days to have a close female friend to turn
to for advice, or to cry on with the continual and frustrating
adjustments to my new life, but that brought with it the risk of my
secret being exposed.

I endured a week of keeping to my apartment, but by the end my body had
not changed back and I knew I had to do something. I had cleared the
refrigerator and pantry of any food, and had resorted to ordering over
the phone for delivery of pizza, Chinese or other fast food. I'd pay at
the door with cash or sign the credit card slip, dressed in a T-shirt
and shorts. I spoke as little as possible, unused to my female voice. I
was able to hand-wash the few pieces of clothing that fit me, at least
after a crude fashion, but I knew these were only temporary solutions.
I needed to get out to a grocery store for food, and I'd need some
clothing that didn't make me look like a freak.

I am a survivor. It looked as if I was stuck in this body, so I had to
adapt and get on with life. An old T-shirt of Sheryl's out of my ragbag
was worn, but not stained, and I teamed it with a pair of my shorts,
cinched around my new narrow waist with one of my belts, tightened with
several more holes pierced with a kitchen knife. I shortened the soles
of a pair of thong sandals with the bread knife and, acutely aware of
feeling badly dressed, and the strange feel of the T-shirt sliding on
my nipples, I used a nearby bank machine then sidled into the local
grocery store at the corner. No one paid me much attention, but even so
I hurried among the shelves, grabbing some milk and bread, and a quick
selection of canned stuff, vegetables, fruits and meats.

The girl at the checkout barely glanced at me but my nerve was
beginning to break. I almost ran out into the street, as fast as my
flip-flops allowed, but I forced myself to slow down. I was
uncomfortably aware of my breasts sliding under the T-shirt, and my
nipples poking little bumps in the soft fabric. The feel and the look
were disconcerting. I knew what the solution was, but I did not like
it. I'd need to get a bra.

I now had enough food to keep me about another week, but I was delaying
the inevitable. I would have to get out to work and for that I needed
better, much better, clothes. The hastily contrived outfit I had used
was too crude for me even to go into a proper clothing store. Then I
remembered the thrift shop run by the church on the next block.

The stuff on the dozens of racks was bewildering, but a middle-aged
lady rearranging some shelves looked at me questioningly. "Just looking
for some casual clothes," I replied in answer to her question. "I'll
just look around the racks."

But she insisted on helping me anyway and I came away with a knee
length skirt, two pairs of women's pants and some panties. I even had
bought a bra, although it had seen better days, judging by the tired
elastic of the straps.

Back at home I stripped and tried on the clothing. I fumbled with the
bra, and even managed to get the hooks done up properly after a few
tries. It was obviously too big for me in the cups, and the elastic was
tired and worn, but it would have to do temporarily. I sighed and shook
my head when I tried on the rest of the clothes. I looked a bit more
respectable, but it was obvious that still had a long way to go. I just
looked dowdy, only a little better than a waif or the inmate of a
refugee camp. I'd need some much better clothes if I ever wanted to
take up my sales work again. At the very least I'd need some better
fitting and fresh underwear to start.

I could go to a department or specialty store, both of which might give
me more privacy and professional help, or go to some chain store where
I'd be more anonymous yet more public. I also had no idea of what bra
size I took or what type would be best for me. I might come way with
something that didn't really fit, so I decided on the department store
option.

My stomach churning, aware of my dowdy outfit, I walked into a
department store, made my way to the lingerie department, and looked at
the selection of panties. I supposed I was a medium size so I grabbed a
packet of white cotton ones, then, on afterthought, a set of pastel
colored ones as well.

I took a deep breath and moved into the racks of bras. I gingerly
fingered some hanging on a rack, and then saw what looked like dozens
of packets of more stuff. There was just too much choice and I had no
idea where to begin. With the variety of styles and makes I lost my
nerve, but then I was taken aback by a voice in my ear. It was a
saleswoman. "Can I help you, miss?"

"Just looking," I mumbled, but she was persistent.

" You're looking for a bra? Do you know what style you're looking for?'

"Uh no, just an ordinary one, I mean."

"Do you know what size you are?"

"I'm not sure."

She looked at me quizzically. "Well then, why don't you come into the
fitting room here and I'll measure you. Get you fitted properly."

I wanted just to run away, but I had no choice and allowed myself to be
shepherded into a small fitting room. I stood there numb, until I
realized she was waiting for me so I removed my blouse and fumbled at
my back to unhook my old bra. I was blushing, but she paid no attention
to my red face.

She frowned at the old bra. "I don't think this one really fits you,
miss, and it has definitely seen better days. Can you lift your arms,
please," and she had a measuring tape round my bust, then under the
breasts. "Yes, I think you are a 34B. You have a nice firm bust. Now,
let me bring in some styles. Any make you fancy?" I just shrugged. I
had no idea. I wished I had paid attention to which brand Sheryl wore.

"Color?"

"White," I stammered.

"Back in a minute then," and she left me in the fitting room, bare to
the waist and acutely embarrassed. It was slightly chilly in the
fitting room in the air conditioning and to my horror my nipples began
to stiffen. I also realized I still had underarm hair. I just wanted
the floor to swallow me.

She returned with three white bras in her hands and held out one. "This
one is a popular style. We sell a lot of it. Can you hold out your
arms?" She slid the straps up my arms and over my shoulders. "Now lean
forward, miss. I felt my breasts slide into the cups and then the
tension as she hooked up the back.

"Now let me see." She adjusted the slides on the straps, and stood back
to study me. I felt confined, but I was aware that it fitted much
better than the old thing I had been wearing. However, she shook her
head. "No, that's not quite right. Let's try another. Maybe this. It's
also a popular style." She unhooked the first bra and repeated the
fitting procedure with the other bra. "Mmm, that seems a better fit.
It doesn't gap. How does it feel for you?"

"Okay, I guess." I had no previous reference. The old bra I had got
had covered me, but with this one, below my arms, on my shoulders and
below my breasts I felt a tension, not uncomfortable, but definite and
uncompromising. I felt firm and braced. I looked down, seeing my
breasts projecting more. They were more obvious, but at least they
didn't swing.

She raised her eyebrows. "You haven't worn a bra before have you, miss,
apart from that?" and she pointed to the old garment. "Now do you want
to try the other style?"

I had had enough and I shook my head. "No, just that style, and better
give me two more like it."

I came away with my purchases, even wearing one of the new bras. I was
trembling inside at my ordeal, but relieved that I had cleared a first
hurdle. I sat down in the rest room, remembering at the last minute to
use the women's one, and took some deep breaths. Then, aware of the
rest of my shabby second-hand attire, I took several deep breaths and
made my way to the other departments.

By the end of the day I was exhausted. I had had no idea of the
clothing styles and colors that might suit me. I tried to remember how
the smart women I had encountered in my business had been dressed. I
eventually came away with two pairs of pants, a pair of jeans, two
skirts, several blouses and sweaters, two jackets and a light coat. It
was as much as I could carry. I'd definitely need more stuff for
winter but that would do to begin with.

I was home, and had eaten a belated supper after a stiff drink, before
I had the energy to try on my purchases. As I stood in front of the
mirror I didn't think I looked too bad, but I groaned when I
remembered that I would need hosiery and shoes, and then a woman's
wallet and, of course, a purse to put them in. I'd have to make yet
another trip

So, next day, after remembering to shave under my arms, I got my
courage up again to go back again for some pairs of pantyhose, two
pairs of flat shoes and a black pair with a small heel, and then a
couple of purses. I practiced with the pantyhose that night, cursing
when I ripped one pair before I got the knack of pulling them on. I saw
I'd have to spend some time grooming my feet, and getting the rough
bits off my hands. I sighed. That would mean yet another trip to some
pharmacy for manicure and emery boards, lotion and other stuff.
Fortunately I remembered what Sheryl had used.

Yet again I surveyed myself in the mirror, turning this way and that,
trying various combinations of my new clothes. The effect was better,
but there was still something missing. I seemed to be neat enough, but
there was something missing. I combed my short hair back and it looked
better, but I'd need to let it grow longer, I tried to remember how the
women I had dated had dressed. It was obvious. I groaned internally.
The next stage would be to wear some jewelry and cosmetics. I shook my
head. No, I just couldn't face that, but I knew, inside me, that
eventually I would have to.

I could now deal with setting up my new identity and change my bank
account, my credit cards and driver's license. I got a few strange
looks at some of the offices I visited, but fortunately, procedures
were in place for trans-gendered individuals so the actual process was
not too difficult and I soon had my new identity set up. So Jim Collins
disappeared and Megan Collins came into existence.

Still, I knew that I'd be leaving a paper trail, and with my
acquaintances in the Chicago area, I could meet some embarrassing
situations. My closest buddies, Mort Zeglinsky, Gene Foreman or Harry
Wolchuk might start looking for me. I had no close relatives. I was an
only c***d and my parents had died some years ago. Eventually I decided
to move to Madison. It would be big enough for what I wanted and would
be a handy base for my usual sales territory. It was time that I got on
the road again to earn more money. With not working for several weeks,
and the expenditures of my new clothing and then the upcoming move my
bank balance would get pretty low.

I was about to get the move done when I had to delay. I had started
menstruating! I had hoped it wouldn't happen but I had laid in some
pads in case. Each time I had to change the messy pads I cursed again
at whatever had changed me. And this could happen every month!

Once the flow had stopped I hired a small moving firm and in another
week I was ready for my first sales trip, at least as a woman. I was
more used to my new body and the woman's clothing but even so I had a
few butterflies in my stomach when I visited my old clients. I
explained that I was Jim's sister Megan Collins, and would be taking
over from him.

I had been a good salesman, but for some reason this trip didn't lead
to as much as I would have liked. Then, when I was about to leave a
client in Milwaukee, a female executive took me aside. I had failed to
make a sale with them and I was annoyed, but she took my arm and
suggested we go out for a drink. Her name was Audrey.

I just wanted to get away and lick my wounds, but her manner was so
pleasant that I relented and allowed her to lead me to a nearby bar. We
faced each other over glasses of white wine. I would have preferred my
usual Scotch, and a stiff one, but it wouldn't have been in character
and besides, I would be driving home.

"You've taken over from your brother Jim?" Audrey raised her eyebrows.

"Err, yes."

" What's he doing now?"

"Oh, he wanted to try something different. He went off to Europe."

" A pity, he was a good salesman. So could you be, I mean a
saleswoman," and she gave a little grin. "However, what I want to say
is that you had a good presentation today, and we like your products,
but, there has to be more than that. To be candid, I'm sorry, Megan,
the problem was you. You have to sell yourself more, not just your
products."

"Why, what's wrong?" I burst out.

"You know, I hate to say this, but are you new at this? Well, you see.
I'm sorry to have to be so blunt, but buyers, both men and women, react
better to a woman if she looks smart. You're attractive, but you know,
it's as if you paid little attention to how you were dressed, and
absolutely no attention to your makeup. Do you ever wear any makeup,
even a lipstick?"

She went on before I had a chance to reply. "Your clothes are not bad,
but they are a bit uncoordinated, and a bit too serious for someone
your age. You need more color in your wardrobe. It's as if you haven't
made a real effort to dress properly, and that puts buyers off. And
look at your shoes. I must say they are sensible, but a little higher
heels will do wonders for your looks, and if they fit well they needn't
be uncomfortable when you meet clients. I know you travel a lot, but
save these shoes for the car or walking."

I was taken aback, but I knew she was right. As a man I had always
tried to dress smartly for my presentations. Also, I knew that I had
judged any woman I met, not only by her physical looks, but by her
manner and dress. Now I was on the receiving end, so to speak. The
trouble was that I felt more like an imposter than a real woman. I was
only dressing like this because I had to.

I thought about it all the way home. My business, and with it my
survival, came first. If I had any future at all, stuck in this woman's
body, then I would have to make the best of it. I'd need to work hard
at learning all the facets of being a woman. Dammit, I'd make sure
that if I was in this body for the rest of my life, I'd be the best
woman I could be.

Easier said than done! There were many things I'd had to learn. I would
have to do some of them by myself, but I would need help with others,
so early the next morning, I made an appointment with a beauty salon
and explained what I wanted. They made me up and gave me a lot of
advice and suggestions. Of course, they sold me a lot of skin care
stuff and makeup that maybe I didn't really need, but when I got home
I cleaned off my face and, starting again and again, practiced in front
of my mirror until I was confident that I could put on makeup to suit
the occasion.

I ran my fingers through my tight curls. My hair was obviously too
short. I hadn't cut it since my change, and I combed it in what I
thought was a woman's style, but I would need to let it grow quite a
bit longer. I turned my head this way and that and scanned back and
forward to a woman's magazine, comparing my appearance with the models.
First, I saw that my eyebrows were too thick. They had thinned down
from when I was a man, but still needed pruning, so I started with the
tweezers, wincing each time. I wiped the tears from my eyes, and had a
glass of wine.

Next, I looked at my ears. They were small, but too plain. So, as the
models in the magazine all wore earrings, in fact just about every
woman I saw wore earrings, I'd need to get my ears pierced as well. I
hesitated about it, but there was little choice, and the next afternoon
after seeing some clients I went out and got my ears pierced as well. I
started with some small gold studs. Later, as I got used to earrings, I
bought some hoop styles.

I also could do something about clothing, and a visit to Denise, a
fashion coordinator at a local store worked wonders. I came away with
some more clothes and I got some new shoes too, just about cleaning out
my bank account. I graduated to two inch heels and even got a pair with
three inch heels. It worked! In a few weeks my sales were away up. In
fact I was doing better than before my change.

With the decision to accept my new body behind me, and working
successfully, I really threw myself into my work. I was still
continually aware of the changes on my body, especially so, when
confronted with views of my changed body, such as dressing and going to
the restroom, every time I dressed, letting my breasts nestle in the
bra and fumbling with back hooks. Every time I noticed my lost height
and strength I remembered of my changed life and body. Yet, when I
flopped down on my sofa one Friday night after a week's hectic sales
trip I realized that I had, almost u*********sly, started to become
used to my female body and a woman's clothing and way of life. I was
adapting.

With that realization things became easier still, and progressed
faster. Maybe I had stopped fighting the effects of the change in my
body and the changes in my mind were going without any deliberate
effort. Over the weeks I had moved from denial to accepting my new
body, and its potential. Now I started to like the pretty clothes and
the variety available to me. I began to accept, then even to like
wearing makeup and caring for my appearance.

Of course, I understood that I was in the body of an attractive woman,
and I knew that I would attract the attention of men. My adjustment to
my female body and role had not gone as far as accepting any female
sexuality and I had no wish to have anyone hitting on me so I avoided
situations where that could happen. Even in my business dealings I
avoided invitations to drinks or lunches or dinner with men unless it
was absolutely necessary.

Usually when I visited her work I saw Audrey and we often went out for
drinks. She had an easy manner and we got along well. On one occasion
her colleague Joe came along. He worked in the office cubicle next
Audrey so I had seen him often. He was about six feet tall, with blue
eyes and blond hair that continually looked as if it needed a comb.
While Joe was off to the washroom Audrey leaned over to me." You
realize Joe is interested in you," she whispered. " He's trying to get
his courage up to ask you for dinner. Are you comfortable with that?"

I was taken aback. I had thought Joe was just being friendly. I did not
know what to say, but, "Yes, I had thought so," I said. "But I'm not
interested in a relationship."

She looked at me thoughtfully. "I'm don't want to pry, but I've noticed
that you seem to be very wary of men. You're an attractive woman, and
you seem to have got the hang of dressing well, but it doesn't seem as
if you have much of a personal life, or are even interested in one. You
have a bad relationship sometime past?"

"No," I stammered, "but you're right. I'm not ready to meet anyone."

She gave a wry smile, and squeezed my hand. I suppose she thought that
I really had gone through a bad experience with a man in my past, and
that I didn't want to talk about it.

In fact Joe did ask me out, but I was prepared for it and after I
brushed him off he made no further attempts.

With all the flurry of my activities I had barely taken time to relax
in several months so I decided to take a day or two off work and go out
shopping again. This time, I knew what clothes would suit my work, and
with Denise's advice I was aware what would suit my looks.

I had mostly worn outfits made up of separates, so that I could mix and
match, jackets, tops, skirts and pants as I needed, but as time went on
I began to think how pretty some dresses looked and out of curiosity
I tried one on in Denise's store. I hesitated about buying it at first
as it made me look very feminine and I wasn't sure if I was ready, but
Denise was very complimentary so I decided to take a plunge and buy it.
It took some weeks more before I had the courage to wear it outside but
the more I wore it the more I liked it. In fact I began to like the
idea and feel of skirts and dresses more.

However, more frequent wearing a dress or skirt brought its own
difficulty, the problem of what to wear on my legs. Now I know why so
many women prefer pants to skirts. I had bought pantyhose soon after my
change, and wore them a lot, but they were itchy and uncomfortable on
warm days. In the hottest summer days I could get away with leaving my
legs bare, even for business, but as the fall approached I began to
think of various alternatives. Wearing pants would be acceptable on the
coldest winter days, but for fall, or when visiting those of my
customers where it was obvious that the women employees usually wore
skirts, I'd need to come up with some option.

One answer was to try stockings so I tried thigh high stay-ups. The
trouble was that they didn't, particularly well, and either itched or
pinched my thighs. I discussed it with Denise and she gave me a wry
smile. "Well, you could wear stockings in a smoother, not so stretchy
nylon, and they shouldn't itch nearly as much, but unfortunately you'll
then need something to hold them up, and that means garters." I looked
at her in dismay. I wasn't ready for that. It had taken me enough
effort to wear a bra and panties. "And then you have to be careful in
case these show below tight skirts. Not many women wear them nowadays
anyway."

I shook my head. It looked as if there was a drawback to about any
alternative. I stewed about it for some weeks, until one day, in a
women's washroom, I saw a young woman casually hike up her skirt and
adjust an errant front garter. She must have seen me gaping at her as
she gave me a devilish wink. She looked so confident and elegant that
it I began thinking about it again, and, after a spell of again
enduring itchy pantyhose in some warm fall weather I was ready to try
anything.

So, with a bit of trepidation, I bought some nylon stockings. Right
away, when I slid them up my legs, the smooth nylon felt better, so,
annoyed with my blushing, I put on a garter belt I'd bought at a
lingerie store. After some fumbling I got the stockings securely
anchored, and adjusted the straps until they held the stockings
reasonably tightly.

I didn't know what to think. The stockings were smooth and comfortable
enough on my legs, but the garter straps slid disconcertingly over my
thighs and butt anytime I knelt, and tugged on my stockings when I bent
or climbed stairs. In the mirror I saw an attractive young woman, but
like a picture in an cheap skin magazine. I covered my face with my
hands, and wiped a tear or two away. This was all so frustrating. I
wanted to get on with my life, but with a woman's body I had to take a
woman's role, and with it all the paraphernalia of women's clothing.

I tried a panty girdle, but one day's wearing convinced me that I hated
the heat build-up at my crotch. A lightweight open girdle was better
but led to the problem of how to wear panties. I finally gave up
wearing them altogether. I was still aware of the garters tugging on my
stocking tops, but I reckoned I could put up with it. I liked the
reassuring confident feeling the outfit gave me so I use it for
business when visiting clients.

But that led to another problem. I once made the mistake of going to my
gym directly from work. The sight of my garters and stockings led to
snide comments, and even downright hostility from some of the other
women. I left, almost in tears, and from then on only wore sweat pants
when going to the gym.

I have to keep my hair fairly short. I originally thought I would aim
for the long heavy straight shiny hair of models, but my tight auburn
curls resisted most styling and straightening. Eventually I gave up and
I keep my hair in a kind of auburn "Afro", but short enough to give a
good business image.

I let my nails a grow bit longer and shape them in a woman's style,
usually in a soft pink polish. If I am not going out on Friday
evenings, I have a relaxing supper with wine, put on some light
classical music or jazz, soak in a bath for a bit, and attend to my
nails and other grooming. I got to like the time to pamper myself.

As I said, I knew that I would attract men, especially when I began
paying better attention to my looks. Eventually, maybe out of
curiosity, or maybe with my female hormones beginning to swamp the
remnants of my male personality, I began to accept invitations to
dates. I met quite a few men on my trips, but having met them before,
as a man. I had a good idea of their personalities and I quickly
brushed off any who were married, and those who I knew had personal
problems. Even so, my first dates were disasters as I was uneasy with
close physical contact. I think the men sensed it and after one or two
dates they did not ask me out again, or I gently broke the
relationships.

However, I gradually got better at relaxing and began to look forward
to male company. I moved from apprehension to satisfaction and I'd even
get butterflies in my stomach when getting ready for dates, just as
when I was a man. I dated Ron for several weeks. He was a manager at a
large office in the city. I liked him but when he got transferred to
the company's branch in Houston, we reluctantly broke it off. I also
dated a salesman called Vic for a bit. He was amusing company, a smart
dresser, and exuded self-confidence but eventually I saw that he was
more talk than results. To be uncharitable, he was really a loser with
a big mouth, so I dropped him.

I was about a year into my new life, and had gone through a number of
casual relationships when Audrey suggested we go out on a double date.
She and her husband Vern needed another couple to make up a table on an
evening lake cruise and suggested that Joe and I made up a foursome. "
Uh, I brushed off Joe before, " I said. "Don't you think he will object
to me being there, or be uncomfortable?"

" Well, he may at first, a little bit, but I think he will be okay with
you. Would you be uncomfortable?"

I shook my head. "No, I'd be okay with it now."

"Besides, I think you'll like Joe when you get to know him. You know,
you are more relaxed around men now, much better than when we first
met. Joe remarked on it too."

"So you discuss me behind my back?" I said with just a little mischief
in my voice. I had the satisfaction of hearing her stutter.

"Well no, I mean, uh, we were just talking about business and how good
you were at sales. You have a good manner."

"It's okay, I'm not offended," I laughed. "Yes, I'd like to go out with
you and Vern and Joe. So what are you wearing? How dressy is this
thing?"

""Well, I'm sure some of the women will be fairly casually dressed in
pants or even jeans but I'm going to wear a dress, and heels. It's
better for dancing in. But nothing long, nor super dressy. The guys
will be fairly casually dressed too. Have you got something you could
wear?"

Actually I had. I had just got a sleeveless dress with a green flowery
pattern. When I described it to Audrey she nodded. "Yes, that will be
just the thing. It sounds nice."

Vern and Audrey picked me up, and Joe was in the front seat. I had the
satisfaction of seeing an appreciative look in his eyes. The half hour
or so on the way to the boat dock could have been awkward, but Audrey
kept the conversation going and I soon relaxed and began to enjoy
myself. In the months after my change I had thrown myself into work and
not taken much time off. A relaxing evening was a welcome change.

The cruise involved drinks or cocktails first, followed by dinner and
then dancing. Audrey and I both settled for glasses of chardonnay, but
the guys both had beers. Dusk was just edging into night as we left the
dock and settled down for dinner.

Of course, after dinner Joe asked me to dance, but by then I was more
used to physical contact with men and I could relax. In fact soon I
began to enjoy our closeness, holding his hand and feeling his right
hand in the small of my back. As his chest brushed against mine I felt
the slight pressure on my breasts, arousing me. He had a nice male
smell and I did not object when at a slow dance he pulled me closer so
we were almost cheek-to-cheek.

We became so engrossed with each other that we neglected Audrey and
Vern. When I took Audrey aside in the women's room I apologized, but
she just squeezed my hand and laughed.

So Joe and I started dating. Any hesitancy around him soon wore off and
I became comfortable with him, even to wanting to touch him and be held
by him. Even at work I found myself often thinking about him. Finally,
after some heavy kissing in my apartment, I made no objection when he
slid down the zipper on the back of my dress and eased it off my
shoulders. My bra and underwear followed, and in a few minutes we were
making love, my first time as a woman.

Although I had hoped that it would happen sooner or later with Joe I
was a little apprehensive of the experience itself, and of my own
reactions. Would I be able to open to him or would I tense up and the
whole thing become a disaster? Then would he think if I rejected
him? But he was patient and gentle with me and my woman's body behaved
as it should. I just let my mind go blank enough to concentrate on the
pleasurable sensations of our foreplay. I became aroused, then wet,
desperately wanting him in me. Of course, I was a virgin, and like
other women I felt a touch of pain and I bled a bit that first time.
Then, as he moved in me, taking his time, I felt a building, a tension
mounting to ecstasy, and throbbing contractions as he climaxed in me.
Then there was bliss, a feeling of well-being, contentment and
satisfaction.

It took us a bit longer to live together. His work was in Milwaukee,
and I was in Madison, but, as my work was much more mobile than his, I
made yet another move to his place in Milwaukee. It was small, only a
one bedroom apartment, and with the space for my business paperwork
and samples we had to make plans about getting a bigger place.

I began to wonder about our future. Would it unfold as with most
couples? If we had c***dren then it would probably mean getting a house
in the suburbs. I gave a small smile. Then would be it be a minivan
with k**'s seats instead of my Acura, a dog and all the trimmings? I
suddenly caught myself. Was I really thinking about all this
domesticity, when I had accepted my new life by only a few months? It
was absolutely not how I would have envisioned my life before my
change. I closed my eyes, trying to feel every part of my new body,
and the feel of my woman's clothing on it. I knew I was satisfied,
even happy about my new future. The only problem was reconciling work
and home. Extended sales trips and family life would not be very
compatible.

On a trip to Chicago, a month or so after my move, I found myself in my
old neighborhood, the first time for over a year. My stomach thumping,
I walked around, noting the subtle changes. My path led me past my old
apartment, and I shivered when I remembered those terrible first days
after my change. Round the block was the pub where I used to meet my
buddies. I had finished my business for the day, so on a whim, I went
in and ordered a glass of wine.

I sat down in a corner and watched some of the customers. I knew some,
but of course they did not recognize me. I had barely begun to sip my
wine when I got a shock. My former girlfriend Sheryl strolled in with
another girl. I hoped I was different enough from when she had seen me
first after my change, but I saw the sudden recognition on her face. I
was gathering my stuff to leave, when she said something to her friend
and walked straight towards me.

She came straight to the point. "You were the woman I saw in Jim
Collins' apartment, weren't you?"

I was too flustered to deny it. "Yes," I whispered. "But it wasn't what
you thought. I'm Jim's sister," I lied. "I'm Megan Collins. You never
gave me a chance to explain," I said.

She gave a small cry and held her hand to her mouth. "You mean......?"
She sat down heavily. "What a fool I was, jumping to conclusions. But
you know, I actually tried to get in contact with Jim again, so I
really need to speak to you. Private." By the way, my name's Sheryl."
She sat herself down beside me. I wanted to escape, but she held my
arm.

"Please don't go. I really need to talk with you about Jim. You see. I
haven't seen him since I saw you at his place. Please, we need to talk.
Please."

She was so earnest that I allowed myself to be persuaded to stay, but I
had to think fast. "Well, you see, Jim told me he had got fed up with
life here and decided he wanted a change, and then when he heard what
you said when you thought he was two-timing he was badly hurt. So he
went off to Europe. 'To recharge his batteries,' he said." These were
blatant lies on my part, but they would help explain why 'Jim' wasn't
around.

I felt more guilty with my lie when Sheryl closed her eyes as if in
pain. "That would explain it. You see, I asked around and nobody has
seen him. There's not even a forwarding address."

"Well, I'm sorry, Sheryl. I can't help you. He's traveling around and I
don't even have a an address for you"

"Well, it's a relief to know that he's okay," she said. " You see, none
of his buddies has seen him either, that is, the ones who are still
around. When I asked around it seems a lot has happened to some of
them. Mort Zeglinsky was found dead in his apartment about the same
time. Another, I think his name was Gene Foreman, has just disappeared,
just like Jim, and you know the strangest? There was a woman found
wandering around. She was crazy obviously, but she kept insisting she
was really a guy called Harry Wolchuk. Harry was a close buddy of Jim's
and he seems to have disappeared too. This crazy woman must have
studied him, and knew all about him, but it's strange. Anyway, they
locked her up in an asylum."

I was staggered. I had not known at all that the others had been
affected. "I'm sorry," I whispered, "but Jim's fine, I think."

She looked at me with a sheepish expression. "You know, I blew my stack
with you, but I wanted to patch things up with Jim and then he
disappeared. Since then I've met another guy and I am happy with him,
but something funny sure has happened." She blew her nose. "Sorry to
disturb your drink. 'Bye."

She left me shaking. So I wasn't alone after all! In fact, the same
thing that happened to me might have happened to my buddies. One had
died, one disappeared and one was in a mental hospital. Obviously the
trauma had been too much for one and had killed him. I closed my eyes,
desperately trying to remember back. Yes, I had been out with some
buddies, at that pub, but afterwards, between that and waking up as a
woman, something had happened, and to the four of us. I wish I knew
what.

I was still shaking as I came out of the pub and all the way driving
home. Joe saw my distress right away, but of course I could not talk
about the reasons. He was patient with me and after a few days I was
able to act normal.

However, I started to make enquiries and eventually I found where the
woman who had said she was Harry had been locked up. It was a nearby
psychiatric hospital. When I went there to ask about her, it turned out
she had been released into the community and there was no forwarding
address.

I knew where Harry's father lived and called round to see him. I
explained that I was Jim's sister and Jim had been a friend of Harry
but had left for Europe and wanted me to call in on Harry. He was very
cold at first, but finally he admitted, "I'm sorry, Harry has
disappeared more than a year ago." I gave him my sympathy and my best
sales manner and after a few minutes he invited me in. Mr. Wolchuk had
been devastated by his son's disappearance. As we talked over coffee he
became more open and complained that there was a delusional woman who
claimed to be Harry. I even got the woman's address from him, as a
restraining order had been placed on her. It was a run down apartment
building.

My heart was thumping when I got off the creaking elevator and walked
along the hall to Harry's door. The apartment building was a depressing
mess. The hall paintwork was scuffed and chipped, the hall carpet was
threadbare, and a stale smell permeated the place. I knocked on the
apartment door.

It was opened by a woman of about my age. She could have been pretty,
but her face was hollow and her eyes dead. Her hair was lank and dry.
She was dressed in a man's T-shirt and shapeless pants, both worn and
stained. Her bare feet were small and feminine, but badly needed a
pedicure. She obviously took no pride in her appearance. "Yes?" she
said. I saw right away she had Harry's dark hair and gray eyes.

I decided to play it by ear. "Miss Wolchuk?"

"Yes," she said dully. "What do you want?"

"Uh, I'd like to speak to you about someone you knew, Jim Collins. And
I'd like to talk about Harry Wolchuk too."

She gave a visible start but recovered. "I haven't seen Jim Collins for
at least a year. I heard he left the city in a hurry, and I don't want
to talk about Harry Wolchuk."

"Can I come in?" I asked. "Please. I need to speak to you about
something personal. And maybe I can help you."

She looked at me suspiciously, but after a few seconds she nodded."
Sorry the place is a mess." She had that right. The studio apartment
was untidy and dirty, and apart from a broken couch, a TV set, and a
narrow cot-like bed, was bare. An ashtray was filled with cigarette
butts and the place stank of stale cigarette smoke. The sink held
dirty, unmatched dishes.

"I have heard you claimed to be Harry Wolchuk," I said.

Her face showed anger, but as soon changed to resignation. "You another
wants to bother me?" she sighed." Another who thinks I am crazy? I
think you'd better leave." She took a long drag on her cigarette.

"Please," I said. I took her hands in mine. " Harry, I believe you.
Tell me, did you suddenly wake up one morning and find yourself in your
woman's body? More than a year ago?"

She stared at me for a long time. "Yes," she whispered. "That's what I
told them all, but no one believed me. They said I was crazy,
'delusional' they said at the hospital. The cops said Harry had
disappeared and maybe I had a hand in it. Even my own dad didn't
believe me. He thinks I am crazy too. He put out an order against me."

"I don't think you are crazy at all," I said. "You see. I was Jim
Collins. I too woke up in a woman's body a year ago."

She gave a small whooping cry and collapsed on the couch. I ran some
water into a glass and gave it to her. She sipped it, but then began
crying and I held her until she was calmer.

She leaned back to look at me. "But you're a woman. Totally," she
said." You can't be Jim."

"You are a woman too. You see, somewhere more than a year ago
something must have changed us to women. Our other buddies, Gene
Foreman and Mort Zeglinsky. they must have been affected too. Gene
disappeared. Mort was found dead."

She nodded sadly. "I heard about that. But you look so good."

I grimaced. "I had to work at it."

" Why did you disappear?" she accused "You could have stayed around. If
there were two of us they might have taken us seriously. They shoved me
in the loony bin for a while. Then when they let me out I couldn't get
into my place, or use my stuff. My dad said I was an imposter. I've
been living off charity for most of a year. Even dumpsters."

I explained my reasons for getting out of Chicago, and all that had
happened to me in the year. It looked like I had made the right
decision to keep my change to myself.

"Now what?" she asked.

"I think we have to put our heads together and see if we can remember
anything about that night. Ask around. I can only remember us drinking
at the pub. After that it's a blank until I woke up. But first, c'mon
Harry, this place is a dump! Can I help you clean it up? You used to be
so finicky. And get yourself tidied up. Look, can I help you. Get
things together again?"

She looked at me resentfully. "That's all right for you to say. You're
obviously doing well. What are you doing? Whoring with your new body?"
she spat out.

I closed my eyes and counted to ten. "Look, I was just like you. I was
in a funk for some weeks, but I got my life together. Sure, something
awful has happened to us and we are stuck with it, but we can support
each other. I've given up hope of changing back, so I have to live with
my new existence. I had to work at it. You are right. I am successful,
but I am not whoring. I have a good business. I work hard at it. I have
a nice apartment, I have a nice car, and best of all, I even have a
boyfriend."

She shut her eyes tight, as if in pain. I stomped over to the small
kitchen area, piled the dishes in the sink and began to wash them.

I felt her beside me. "You're right. I'm living like a slob. I've spent
too much time feeling sorry for myself. I apologize. I've had an awful
time."

Despite her slightly rancid smell I held her." First step," I asked,
"What about your name? I can't keep calling you Harry. What name do
you use?"

"I don't use anything. Well, some call me Liz, but I don't like it."

"Then how about your grandmother's?"

"She was Rose. No, I can't use that."

It was the same with some other names I proposed. "Then how about
Naomi?" It was my own grandmother's name.

She looked at me in puzzlement. " Why that?"

"Because you've objected to everything else I suggested," I snapped. I
let my voice soften: I had to encourage her. "Besides, it's a very
feminine name. Come on, it's time you accepted your change," I pleaded.
"You can use that from now on. I think you'll get to like it."

The pile of dishes took some minutes, but a thorough washing of the
sink area and the shelves took the best part of an hour and tidying the
small studio apartment took another hour. The place really was a hole
and needed thorough scrubbing and a total repainting.

"Now, Naomi," I emphasized, "Into the shower with you. I'm taking you
out. We need to do some shopping, " I fumbled in my bag. "Here's some
shampoo and conditioner, some nice soap, and body lotion." I carried
these with me wherever I went. I preferred the brands to those in
hotels. "You can keep these."

She emerged a little better looking, and smelling much better. I sat
her down at the mirror and, ignoring her half-hearted objections, made
her up, nothing fancy, just a bit of my lipstick and some powder. I
even trimmed the straggly split ends of her hair. She was pretty, but
her face was worn. She hadn't taken care of herself during the past
year.

"Now first, let's go out and get you some new clothes. I'll pay for
them. And you need a bra!" I had noticed by the movement under her
soiled T-shirt that she wasn't wearing one.

" I can't wear a bra. That's for women. "

I glared at her. "Yes, and you are a woman now, and women wear bras.
It's a first stage in accepting your change."

It was almost déjà vu as I shepherded her around a clothing store. Some
of the sales staff looked down their noses at her but I was in a hurry
and had no time for niceties. At least with my own experience I could
help her out. I did not get her much, just some basic underwear, some
blouses, a pair of jeans, a skirt and a pair of shoes. "You are like a
whirlwind," she complained. "And this bra, I feel like I'm in a
harness."

"You'll get used to it. It fits you well, and you look much better.
Your boobs won't swing about. Now, we're not done yet. We are going out
for dinner, as I said."

I took her home and made her change into her new clothes. She objected
at first, but eventually I persuaded her to put on one of her pretty
new blouses and the skirt. As we walked to an Italian restaurant just
along the street from her place, she complained" This skirt is drafty."
but I ignored it. She'd have to get used to it. I had.

I watched her as she enthusiastically ate her pasta and made her way
through the bottle of wine. She obviously had not eaten out for a
while. She was eager to talk: so was I, but a restaurant was not the
place.

I used a cash machine, then back at her shabby apartment we talked for
a while, mostly about trying to find out how or why we had changed and
pinpoint the time. She remembered being at the pub, then waking up from
a deep, but painful sleep into her new body, but not much else. Later
I shifted our conversation to what she should do to rebuild her life,
continually insisting she had to accept her new body and that she could
even make it work for her.

"I have to ask you. You have a boyfriend. I mean, how can you stand him
putting his cock in you?" she asked. "You weren't gay."

"I adapted," I snapped. "I have been out making my way, not sitting
feeling sorry for myself. It was hard work and it took a long time.
Besides, I am a woman. I like to think I now have the feelings of a
young healthy woman. I like making love as a woman. I like feeling him
in me and maybe you could get to like a man in you as well. Maybe your
brain takes a while to get use to its new body."

Naomi wiped another tear from her eye. "I'm sorry. That was very rude.
It's just that I've been just overwhelmed by the changes. You're right.
I have to get a hold of myself and accept my body."

I looked at my watch. The evening was getting on. I'd have to see Naomi
again, but I could not stand thought of staying in the rundown
apartment overnight, and I wanted to be on my way home. Joe would be
wondering about me. "All right, Naomi, I'll be in touch again. Now
here." I pulled out the five hundred dollars I had got at the cash
machine and brushed aside her half-hearted objections. "You can look on
this as a loan to help you get on your feet. First, get your
documentation, a driver's license and so on. Here." I wrote down the
places I had used when I set up my new identity. "Then decide what you
want to do for a living. I'll be back here in two weeks. I'll call you
when."

I sat in the car a minute or two before I set off. I now had some clues
as to why I had changed, somewhere to start my investigation. I also
needed to help Naomi, so I would be spending more time away from Joe.
Yet, it looked as if our relationship was about to get deeper and I
should be spending more time with him.

All the way home I thought about my future. I had intended to keep my
change secret from Joe, but with everything that was going on now, it
might be better to be honest. At last I made my decision, but I was
fighting an urge to gnaw my lip as I drew into the garage.

"Hi sweetie," Joe welcomed me and we smooched. I felt so safe. Maybe I
was delaying my confession and the possible confrontation, but it
really was too late that night and I was happy just to snuggle with him
in bed.

Next day I made my plans. Joe had arranged to go to a ball game with
some friends, so I had time to prepare myself. I went shopping and got
a nice bottle of wine and some groceries and started preparing his
favorite meal. I then had a bath and tidied my hair, made my face up,
and put on a pretty bra and panty set, with my garter belt and
stockings. I pulled on one of my prettiest dresses, one I knew he
liked, put on my dangliest earrings, and finally dabbed on some perfume
in strategic spots. Joe said he would be home at seven and I was doing
some last minute checks when I had a mild panic attack. Was I going
about it the right way? Would my underwear be too fancy? Maybe it was
too cheap looking? Would it give the impression I was unsure of my
femininity? I chickened out and was going to change into other clothes
when I heard the door open. It was too late now. I took a deep breath.

"Hi honey." He kissed me, and hugged me "We won. Isn't that great!
Mmm! You smell nice!"

I wrinkled my nose. "You don't. You smell of sweat, smoke, and beer."
I kissed him. "Go and have a shower and change. Supper will be ready
soon."

The meal was a great success and Joe was in a talkative mood over his
team's victory. I even managed to make comments in spite of my thumping
heart and hollow stomach. It was afterwards, when we were snuggled
together on the couch that I began my confession, my heart thumping.
"Joe, first of all, I love you very much."

"I love you too, sweetie," he said, giving me a kiss on the back of my
neck. As he placed a hand on my thigh he grinned, "Well now, I feel
something interesting." He had felt my garters. He slid the skirt of my
dress up my thigh and stroked the smooth skin between my stocking tops
and my panties. "Very pretty, very sexy," he breathed in my ear. "I
approve very much."

I did not want to break the spell, but I had made up my mind. "Joe,
there is something very important I have to tell you."

"Uh, Oh." He sat back a bit.

Taking a deep breath, I told him all of my story, from first waking up
in terror, right to the present time. He tried to interrupt several
times, or shook his head in disbelief, but I held my finger to his
lips. "Please Joe, this is hard enough. Let me finish." I was almost
in tears when I had finished, I was sick with apprehension, but I had
needed to clear my conscience. It had taken me almost an hour to do it.

Joe got up and walked around the room, shaking his head. His voice was
low and hoarse, edged with hurt. "You're k**ding? Right? That's just a
story, isn't it? What's wrong? Haven't I treated you well? You want us
to break up?"

"No, no, no," I cried frantically. "Joe, I love you, I want to be with
you, but it's true! I thought I was the only one changed but when I
was in Chicago I met one of my former buddies who had been changed at
the same time. Probably there are others too. But Joe, I am now a
woman and you mean everything to me."

My heart jumped in relief when he sat down again beside me, took my
hand and squeezed it. "Megan," he said. What you said is just
ridiculous. But I know that you are not crazy so I have to believe you,
difficult as it is." He was silent for a minute, obviously fumbling for
words and my apprehension increased, but he went on. " You know, it
explains some things like, how cold you were at first, and how a good
looking woman like you was still unattached. And I mean that. You are a
beautiful woman, and I know you are all woman and not from any surgery
either. You don't have any scars on your body. I know you have monthly
periods so I know you are a woman inside too. You are all the woman I
want."

He grinned a little. "You know, I wondered what it was with the meal,
the wine, your perfume, even your sexy underwear. I like them and
thanks for doing it for me. I appreciate it, but it was not really
necessary. It's you that I want."

I was crying in relief and I let him wipe my eyes. As he kissed them, I
squeezed his hand back. He pulled me to him and I gasped with relief as
we kissed again, long and passionately. He stroked my back
reassuringly.

"What now?" he said eventually.

"Well, first, show me you love me." I placed his hand on my breast. I
had a desperate need for him to make love to me to show he still cared.
I hoped he would feel my erect nipple, but instead he slid his hand
down my neckline and into my bra, to cup my breast, and slightly rolled
my nipple. I felt myself get wet and weak at the knees.

Our lovemaking was tender. I was desperate for him, but it was as if he
wanted to take his time to reassure me that all was well. He brought me