Grow A Pair free porn video

Mild warning: there's some retroactive incest. I don't want to spoil too much, but nobody has sex *while* they're related to the partner. If you still think this will bother you, don't read. This story is kinda/sorta an experiment in using the present tense. I usually almost exclusively write in the past tense. Please leave comments as to how well you think I pulled off present tense in the reviews. :) **Grow a Pair** "Lorena, I need to talk to you, please. Can you get into my office?" I set down the receiver and in the few moments it takes for my secretary to get out of her chair and through the door that separates her enclave from my office, I am already arguing with her in my head, albeit in a far more understanding manner than I would in real life. "Yeah, I know, I've only been marketing VP for five months, and you're already my fourth secretary. It isn't your problem, it's mine." "You work me so hard! You give me tasks that aren't in my job description!" "I know I do, I know it. But I pay you an extra five thousand out of my own annual salary. You get paid better than every other secretary in this company, even Old Man Glenn's secretary gets less than you do. I ask more of all of my secretaries, and that's why I make sure they're properly rewarded. Please, stick with me and you'll get what you deserve in the long run." The door creaks open and I wish I could speak like that in real life, but it never comes out like I want, particularly when I'm stressed. And I've been stressed ever since getting this promotion. "Yes, Mr. Arditti?" Lorena speaks as she approaches my desk. "Lorena, about the Viacom account," I start, "I needed you to get the investor information from Mr. Baum in the 52nd street branch so that I'd have some background information on what these people need. Without that, I'm going in blind." I wait for a response, but she just looks at the floor and says "I'm sorry, sir." "'I'm sorry' isn't good, Lorena. I just got off the phone with Baum, and after talking all morning I've got the info, but I had to drop my meeting with the Kroger's people, so that whole project is going to be delayed a week. Why didn't you talk to him like I asked?" "I--" she starts. But I want to finish my point, so I cut her off. "Look Lorena, I like you but, pardon my language, you really need to grow a pair. I mean, I'm here in the office, working my balls off, and I can't follow up every time you don't get things done." I want to say some more, but I start getting a weird feeling in a rather sensitive place. "Look, can you make sure something like this doesn't happen in the future? If you get stuck for some reason, just ask me. Or one of the other girls." I take a breath, and give her a chance to say something. She doesn't. "You can go back to your desk." She leaves the office without a word, and I'm squirming in my chair. My crotch is on pins and needles. I wait about thirty seconds so it doesn't look like I'm following her or anything, and then leave the office for the restroom. As I pass by Lorena's desk, I notice she's not there. I reach for the knob of the restroom and the door pushes out from the other side, knocking against my hand. I look to see who it is, and receive an eyeful of Lorena's stare. It's a bit startling, because this is the first time since I hired her a week ago that she's ever looked me in the eye and she apparently has a really hard glare. She brushes past me and I make my way into the bathroom and drop my pants to find blood on the outside of my briefs. Not much blood, but with no explanation I'm concerned. I lower my underwear, and see more blood on the inside crotch, and two small orbs. Panicked, I shoot my hand to my own crotch and find both good news and bad. On the plus side, I couldn't feel any blood, so if I had been bleeding, it had already stopped. On the minus, my nuts are missing. My dick is still there, but below it is just smooth crotch. I sit down on the toilet, take off my shoes, pants, and briefs, and go for some further investigation. To my complete disgust, I realize that the things in my underwear have got to be my balls. Confused, I explore around my nether regions again to see if there's a scar or a wound, or anything, but it feels like my balls just worked their way off of me on their own. I lose my mind for a second. "Does this happen? Have I heard about this disease somewhere? Should I be concerned? Of course I should be concerned. How concerned should I be? Do balls grow back? It didn't hurt. I guess it can't be too bad. I'm behind as it is because of Lorena, so I guess a doctor can wait until I leave the office." Calming my mind, I focus on figuring out how to get through the rest of the day, one step at a time. There's no way I'm going to wear a pair of bloody underpants all afternoon, so I wrap the bloody little balls up in toilet paper and set them aside, then turn to the trash can. But before I drop the offending garment, I notice something: a clean pair of white briefs sitting in the bottom of the otherwise-empty receptacle. They look like womens' briefs, but I'm not being too picky, so I grab them and put them on before dumping my soiled underwear. Fully clothed again, I make my way back to my office. As I pass by Lorena's desk, she glares at me again, and it unnerves the hell out of me. I hope I didn't go too far with her. I try to push the recent events out of my head and get back to work, but after just a few minutes, my office door opens and Lorena bursts through. Before I can say anything, she starts, "Mr. Arditti, about the Viacom thing--" "Lorena, I--" "No, let me finish, sir." She's almost yelling, and her fierce stare makes me back down. "The reason I didn't get the Viacom information was because I just found out that my mother was in a car crash visiting family in Puerto Rico. I felt you should know that instead of getting your precious information," she put a sarcastic bite into the word 'precious,' "I was contacting my insurance company to find out how I'm going to pay for her medical bills, because, as generous as your salary bonus is," she put the same sarcastic emphasis on the word 'generous,' "it isn't enough for two people to live on, on top of the night school I have to attend, and now my mother won't be able to return to work for probably a year. This was why--" I'd been trying to listen, but my mind is on, erm, *other* things, and I need to shorten this conversation. Without thinking, I stand up and say, "Lorena, do you want this to be a bigger dick contest? Fine, you win. But this is an office, and we need to be professionals." Her face takes on a shocked expression for a moment, and she shifts her weight a little bit. At the same time I get a strange feeling down below again. I want to rant a bit but I cut myself off, "If something comes up, you notify me. I don't care what it is." I dismiss her again and wait for the door to shut behind her, then quickly undo my belt and pull down my zipper. I pull my shirt out of the way and lift the waistband of my commandeered underwear to see my penis shrinking right before my eyes. Now that I can see what's happening, the feeling is even more horrible, like something sucking at my crotch from the inside, and it's all I can do to ignore it as I put my clothes back together. Right. At 5:00 on the button, I am in my car headed for the doctor's office, I decide. As soon as the sensation goes away, I try to figure it out. What could be causing these horrible changes? What was I doing when they happened? Well, the first time, I was yelling at Lorena for not talking to Baum, and the second time I was-- that's it. It's because I've been getting mad at her when she probably doesn't deserve it. Someone up there is testing me, pushing me to realizing my faults so I can work to fix them. I'm not religious, but the things that have been happening today are making me re-consider. I just need to go out there, apologize, and be civil with Lorena, and everything will be back to normal. I step out of the office determined to speak to Lorena like I think in my head. The nice me that talks in even tones, instead of accusing ones. The one that understands the person in front of me, instead of ignoring them. I turn in front of her desk, take a breath, and say "Look, Lorena, I'm sorry I yelled at you just now." I pause, waiting for a reaction, and she picks up her head towards me and gives me that glare I've been hating all afternoon. I shiver a little, but I move on, "Actually, I'm glad you shared that information. I feel like maybe, now that all that weight that's been on your chest is on mine too, we can use this as an opportunity to--" I feel that weird feeling again, but this time on my chest, and I stop mid-sentence to look down at myself. It was right then that Lorena stood up from her chair, slammed her hands against her desk, and yelled "Mr. Arditti, I don't know what kind of gesture you think this is, but I don't need your ear, and I don't need your pity. I am head and shoulders above you, sir. I have worked viciously for everything I have earned in my--" I hear her gasp and I look up just as my shirt begins to tent out in front of my chest. My next shock is that, despite the fact that I'm standing straight and she is bent over her desk, I have to look up a little to see into Lorena's eyes. As my mind is spinning, I see her eyes flash and she straightens up. I notice that my view is now level with her chest. "Head and shoulders..." I mumble, figuring it out just a moment after Lorena. "You shouldn't worry your pretty little head, Mr. Arditti," she says like you'd say to a puppy. The weird feeling envelopes my whole face, and I can feel my bone structure, my whole skull, shifting. As the feeling goes away, I push my shoulder-length hair behind my ear. I didn't have shoulder-length hair a moment ago, but for some reason, I'm not worried about that, or anything at all. Lorena continues, "You know, I think we'd be able to understand each other much better if each of us could just see things from the other's position." She waits a beat, then grabs the nameplate off of her desk. She cries triumphantly as she shows it to me. It says "George Arditti, Secretary to Vice President of Marketing." I turn around and look at the door to my office, but it says "Lorena Melendez, V.P. Marketing." I guess it's not the door to my office anymore. I know I should be worried, but I'm not. I just make my way around Ms. Melendez and sit down at my new desk, starting to go over next week's appointment schedule as my new boss bounces gleefully into her new office. * * * My little radio clock strikes five, and I get up to organize myself and get out of the office. Ms. Melendez walks out of her office and compliments me on my work, and I do my best to avoid eye contact. She holds the elevator for me, and I'm nervous for the entirety of the 10- floor ride to the garage basement. I've completely forgotten about going to the doctor. I find my car, parked in the same space I left it this morning, but it's not my car. I mean, it's my Camry, but it's my old one, the 1998 model that I traded in back in 2003, for the car that I traded in last year for my current car. As I unlock the front door, I can hear Ms. Melendez ejaculate a short, forceful laugh. I look up, and she's bouncing in glee over a new-looking BMW, using a button on her keychain to unlock it, lock it, and unlock it again. The chirping gets to me. Trying not to be noticed, I climb into my car and take the long way out of the garage to avoid passing by her. Back at my apartment, I notice some things are wrong. Just like my car, any of the furniture I bought in the last five years has been replaced with whatever I had before then. And the five extra years of age are visible on them. My dishes are from three different sets, my silverware from four. My livingroom even sports a VCR where my DVD player used to be. I guess this is what I have to work with now that I'm on a secretary's salary. I step into my bathroom and see what I've become. I'm shorter than Ms. Melendez used to be. I feel like a kid. My face seems smaller, more compact, except for my eyes which look bigger. My hair is in a short bob. My chest is... bigger. But other than those changes, I look about the same. It's depressing. A little bit later, I'm turning off the stove and bringing my stir-fry over to the couch when my doorbell buzzes. I look through the peep-hole and see that it's Ms. Melendez, carrying some bags. Reluctantly, I open the door and she barges in. "Where's your bedroom?" she asks. I point, and she rushes through the door, dumping the contents of the bags on my bed. There are a few skirtsuits and several articles of female undergarments. She rushes to my dresser and starts filling her bags like she's at the supermarket. "Um, Ms. Melendez, how did you find my apartment?" I ask. "Your address is listed on your CV," she says, "which I still have on file in my office." "Oh," I say. "Ms. Melendez, what are you doing?" "What, you haven't noticed?" she asks, "Look at yourself, your clothes are ridiculously big. I have no idea how I've managed to walk around all day squeezed into clothes which are more appropriate for someone a whole four inches shorter than me, but there's no way I'm fitting into anything that's in my closet, and I doubt you will either. So for now, we're switching." I can't help but notice that she'd only left me enough clothes for a few days whereas she seemed to be cleaning me out, but I can't muster up the nerve to say anything. I want to ask why she left me her bras and panties, but I know I'll need them, and I have to accept this fact. She stops packing with almost my entire work wardrobe stuffed in her bags, but I'm glad that no weird changes happened. As I see her out the door, she takes one final look around, winks at me, and says "I swear, it almost looks like a college student lives here." My heart sinks as I feel the tingle all over my body as she slams the door shut, and fifteen years are erased from my life. I get back into my bedroom, and the BA and Masters in Business that used to hang on either side of an old family portrait are missing. I look closer and see that the old family portrait has been replaced by an even older one. I go back to the livingroom to finish my stir-fry in front of a re-run of Dawson's Creek on TBS. I used to love this show back in middle school. Wait, that can't be right. Those actors probably weren't born yet when I was in middle school. I take out my driver's license, and it says I was born in 1985, and suddenly I can't remember any other year as being my year of birth. This is starting to mess with my head. I need to do something about it. I decide to spend the rest of the night trying to figure out what I can say to get back even with Ms. Melendez. 'You're nothing to me?' No, then she might just disappear, and that's too close to murder for me. 'You're such a bitch?' While it might be true, turning her into a dog isn't much better than murder. 'I eat people like you for breakfast?' Geez, that's even worse than murder. Before I can think of anything good, my alarm clock goes off. "Shoot, it's 6:45," I say to myself. "Gotta be out the door in 15 minutes if I want to make my night school class. And I'm still wearing this giant suit. Dammit." I go back into my bedroom and realize the only things that will fit me are the skirtsuits Ms. Melendez left me. I take the jacket off, and wonder how my arms managed to get to the ends of the sleeves. Curious, I try to put it back on, but now it's obvious I'm swimming in it. Reluctantly, I take the rest of my clothes off, leaving me naked aside from the panties from this morning. I notice that the front is flat and quickly lift the waistband to check up on George Jr. "Jesus," I say to my pseudo-dick, "you look like you belong on a--" I stop myself before I could get the word "toddler" out. Who knows what I'd do if I end up a three-year old. But that does give me an idea. I quickly get dressed in the first outfit on the pile, and head out the door, stumbling a bit in Ms. Melendez's one-inch heels. Class is class, and I leave there a little smarter than I went in. I'm a little surprised nobody thought a man in a skirt was suspicious, but a little relieved, too. I'm still not worried, though. I haven't worried about anything since this morning, which still weirds me out. After a full night's sleep, I wake up, shower, and drive my dad's old Camry to work. I'm wearing another one of Ms. Melendez's skirtsuits. There's only one more clean one left now. I'll have to go shopping before night school tonight. I need some casual stuff that'll fit me, too. I get to the office before Ms. Melendez and pretend to work, rehearsing in my head what I want to say when she gets in. I type it over and over again in a blank Word document. A few minutes later, I hear the elevator ding, and recognize her voice coming out of it. Just before she gets to my desk, I start talking without looking up, "Hey, Ms. Melendez, that's a nice suit. Whoever bought that should be--" Suddenly, her giant hand is covering my mouth. "You're not going to finish that sentence, George, because you're weak and you're soft," she spits out before I can even blink. I try to struggle, but I notice that most of the muscle in my arms has been replaced with fat. I'm soft, and I'm weak. And I know I'm not going to finish the sentence. She removes her hand, and as I feel my best chance slip away, tears start to form in my eyes. Ms. Melendez doesn't miss a beat. "Jesus, George, you act just like you're on your period." I feel my face reddening in embarrassment, as her sentence triggers a cramping in my belly and a wet feeling in my crotch. I jump out of my chair and hurry away from *her,* and towards the restroom, hot tears streaming down my scrunched up face. This was worse than anything that had happened so far in the last two days. I can feel something moving, like some kind of worm inside of my lower abdomen, and I can't decide whether I should grab my stomach or cover my face. In the bathroom, I hike up my skirt and lower my panties. Too late. Stained. As I sit on the toilet, I throw out the second pair of bloody underwear in as many days. I fall back leaning my head against the wall, and cry for a few minutes. This time I'm not thinking about anything. I just need to let everything out. I wipe my eyes with toilet paper and reluctantly inspect myself down there, and find out that George Jr. is completely gone now. I'm 100% female. I grab some more toilet paper to wipe myself with, but no matter how much I wipe I can't actually get fully clean, and it starts to hurt a bit. I stuff a wad of toilet paper in me and hope it'll hold, then slowly and uncomfortably make my way back to my desk. At the desk, I see my nameplate has now changed to "Jeneveive Arditti." I guess officially changing genders earns you a new first name. I walk around to sit back down in my chair, but stop as I notice a small paper bag sitting there. I open it, and find a new pair of panties and a tampon, with a note "thought you might need these, -L. Melendez." As I hurry back to the restroom, my embarrassment slowly converts to rage. She's just playing with me, using me like some toy. She has what she wants, but she still needs to make my life even more miserable. I sit down on the toilet again, and am surprised at how easily I put in the tampon. I pull up the new panties. They're a bit frillier than what I've been wearing since yesterday. I push it out of my mind, and focus everything on Ms. Melendez. Once I'm decent again, I march right past my desk and into Ms. Melendez's office, probably mirroring her own actions from yesterday. Before she can say anything, I start, "Ms. Melendez, about what you just did to me--" "You know, you're sexier when you're angry." "No, let me finish, ma'am. I feel--" Wait, what did she say? A draft blows over my legs, as my once knee-length skirt becomes mid-thigh. My jacket shrinks upwards, forming into a design that emphasizes my boobs, as the top two buttons of my blouse disappear, revealing the edges of my T-shirt bra. Noticing these changes makes me even more upset, but that just triggers more changes. The skirt adopts pleats and turns to plaid. The jacket disappears. My shoes morph into Mary Janes with 2-inch heels, as my pantyhose change into white knee-high socks. I'm now a spitting image of your stereotypical Catholic schoolgirl. I clench my fists in rage, my face red with tears and heat as I choke out "How dare you!" But as soon as the words leave my lips, my blouse works its way out of the skirt, unbuttoning everything but the one button resting in front of my cleavage as it ties itself into a knot just below my breasts. The skirt hem inches higher, threatening to reveal my panties, and my hair spills down to mid-back. Ms. Melendez glides out from behind her desk and positions herself right behind me. She's visibly curious. I'm paralyzed with rage, and I don't so much as turn around. I just stare straight out the window, tensed up and fuming. I feel my hands unclenching involuntarily. I try to hold them even tighter, but they aren't responding. They're moving on their own, rubbing my bare belly in an incredibly delicate manner. It feels like someone else doing it. I fight it, but then my arms start moving on their own, letting my hands trace the contours of my sides. I get shivers, but this just sets my determination stronger as I set my eyes on one rooftop outside and concentrate on regaining control of my body. Then my hips begin to play back against my hands, starting a little dance. My fingers flip up the back of the skirt, showing off plenty of panty, and I clench my teeth as the whole skirt drags itself up my waist, now revealing half of my ass even when completely flat. My blouse disappears, and my heels grow to three inches. By now, my whole body below my neck has joined into that sensuous little performance I started putting on. I grunt out in absolute impotent rage, but the only place I can express it is my face, and then I feel fingers pulling aside the seat of my panties, and a fully-engorged dick slide its way over my ass. 'Why does Ms. Melendez have...' but the thought is buried beneath a redoubling of anger, as my ass responds by rubbing itself into Ms. Melendez's crotch, at the same time growing outwards into a rounder, womanlier shape. My hands are still caressing my sides, and I can feel my whole body shifting into what must be a sexier form. My bra becomes thinner, growing lace where cotton once was, and my panties follow suit, as what is left of my skirt shrinks upwards again and changes into a garter belt. The knee-high socks change into stockings and latch themselves onto my new garter belt, as Ms. Melendez begins to pump in and out of my ass, and my body responds energetically. Ms. Melendez leans down and whispers into my ear, "You know, girls are sexier when they're off their period." I feel the tampon disappear, as my panties shrink into a thong and my bra goes strapless. Both go from white to bright pink. The last words out of my mouth are "fuck you," before my clenched face begins to soften and my mouth betrays me by letting out a moan. I feel my hair drop down to my hips, getting in the way of Ms. Melendez's work. I feel my arms rise up, and as I look at them, I see that big, pink, poofy scrunchies have formed on either wrist. I can feel my hands tying back my hair into pigtails, and now my ass is unobstructed again as my hair hangs to either side of my hips. I let out a moan, and realize that my face has now betrayed me. I'm literally seething inside my head, which is the only place I can seethe anymore, as my hands move to massage my breasts, which I discover are now bare. That's when I realize that my toes are touching the ground, without stockings or shoes in the way. I'm naked aside from a flimsy pair of panties, which are offering absolutely no resistance to my boss's penis. She bends her head down again and whispers, "I'm almost ready." At that, my body pulls away from her and I feel the back of the thong snap deep into my asscheeks. My hands press my hair over my bottom in a display of false modesty. I can feel a coy expression take over my face, and I can't do anything to stop it. I thread the hair between my legs as I turn around to face Ms. Melendez in one smooth motion. I pull on the hair from the front, and it gives, and grows with my arms' urgings, lengthening so that it doubles back up to my boobs again. I fan my nipples a little bit with the ends of my hair, which now incidentally has highlights, and hold that position for a moment, covering all of my naughty bits. When I let go of my hair, I'm completely naked and looking expectantly at the penis which is peeking out through Ms. Melendez's fly. I wiggle up to her, and kneel down as I strip off her belt and lower her pants and briefs. I have to stand on my tiptoes to reach her engorged member with my crotch, but then my legs grow longer, and my upper body shrinks to accommodate. I do all the work, and she just stands there like a rock. I'm gyrating on her member, as my hands unbutton her shirt, revealing her still-feminine frame and her bra-encased bosoms. I find myself pulling down the bra cups and sucking on her nipples, as my own nipples mash against her middle. I can feel we're both approaching climax as she whispers one last thing into my ear. "You know," she says, "the sexiest girls enjoy it to the core of their being." As she shoots her load, I feel myself cross over the edge as well. I cry "Yes!" and my inner bastion of rage is assaulted by a wave something else. I scream again "Yes!" and my anger begins to shift into genuine arousal. A third shout of "Yes!" and the bastion is now a sandcastle crumbling in the waters of horniness. A final cry, "YES!" and, like Ms. Melendez said, I'm enjoying it to the core of my being. As Ms. Melendez pulls out, my anger is replaced by sexual gratification. The more I calm down, the more I revert back to "normal." A thong re- forms over my crotch, as my hair shrinks from below my knees to just past my ass. I grow a strapless, lacy bra, as a garter belt forms on my waist, and stockings extend from its straps. My middle expands, as my panties shimmer out of my asscrack and over my bottom, changing to plain white, which my bra follows suit in, growing thick straps that make their way over my shoulders. My legs shrink, but my torso doesn't grow in kind. Now I'm even shorter than I'd started out. I'm probably a midget. My whole body expands outward as I take on an extra layer of fat, and my hair moves back up to mid-back and combines into a single ponytail. The garter belt spills out into an ankle-length skirt, which now fits my expanded frame, and the stockings revert back to pantyhose as simple flats encase my feet. A blouse appears over my torso, buttons itself all the way to the top button, and tucks itself into my skirt, just before a practically shapeless suit jacket drops itself over my shoulders, and glasses appear on my nose. It isn't until now that I realize I can move on my own again, but my movements are decidedly feminine. I'm a girl inside and out, now. I bow my head and demurely thank my mostly-naked boss, as I walk back out the door and to my desk. As I sit down on my plump rear, I can hear her cackling like a madman. * * * I slip into my new role easily. I'm now a naturally cheerful, if shy, girl and I know everyone in the office likes me. I call my mother on my lunch break, and she doesn't seem to remember I was ever a man, or that she should be significantly older than she is. Ms. Melendez walks out of her office without even looking at me, and I notice that, while she's wearing my old suit, she's still got on a pair of her shoes. Hard black, pointy flats that could easily be mistaken for men's loafers by someone who wasn't paying attention. I decide to compliment her on them and hold my hand against the receiver so my mom doesn't hear. "Those shoes are cute, Ms. Melendez." She turns around and smiles at me. I don't like her look, so I quickly turn back to the phone and say quietly, almost to myself, "they're just what my mother would wear." Ms. Melendez's scream brings my attention back to her, and the room goes weird. Time stops, and the whole world seems to shift around the two of us. It feels like that double-vision you get when you're drunk, except I can see Ms. Melendez perfectly clearly. Grey and white streak through her curly black hair as her body twists around like it's in pain. For a split second I can see her face, and it looks as if the combined 30 years she stole from my mother and I are being given straight to her. But I just get that one split second before my own body starts twisting, and I fall out of my chair. I can feel myself changing. My face re-arranges itself, and my makeup changes appropriately. I can feel an itch starting at the top of my scalp, working its way across my body down to my toes, and my skin grows darker with it. My formerly-straight brown hair matches Ms. Melendez's previous jet black curls. My skirt shifts to black while a rose pattern knits itself down the side. My jacket turns into a matching black blouse, and my blouse turns into a deep red camisole. By the time I collect myself, the world has stopped spinning, and I can hear a voice coming from the phone receiver. I pick it back up, and to my surprise I find myself saying into it "Uno momento, papi." I stand up and put the receiver down on my desk, then brush myself off. I look up and see my mother, Lorena Melendez, doing the same. I've been interning as her secretary since the beginning of semester, and we always go out to lunch together. "Creo que papi quiere hablar contigo," I say to her smiling face. Papi wants to talk to her. I hand her the phone and step out from behind my desk. Watching my mom talk to my dad on the phone, I still remember being George Arditti. I still remember my old life, my old parents, my old everything. I remember everything that's happened since yesterday, too. But somehow, I'm happy with the situation I'm in now. I love my mother. What daughter doesn't? That person that acted so viciously wasn't my mother. I know her better than that. It was a different reality, and she was a different person, just like I'm a different person now. I'm doing well in school. I'm going for a teaching degree. I'm bilingual now. I don't have a single worry in the world. But that might be a carryover from something else. As my mom hangs up the phone and turns back to me, I can see in her eyes she feels the same way. She loves me, and wouldn't trade me for anything. She has a great career, a loving husband, and aside from me she's got two more kids still in high school. I don't know what thoughts are going through her head, but all of the animosity I'd seen in the last two days seem to have completely evaporated. She takes my hand and says "Jennifer, you are the best daughter a mother could ask for, and I will never force you to change," confirming everything I had thought. Somehow I knew that statement worked. Nothing my mother would say could change me like they had been recently. I lean my head on her shoulder and say "You too, mami. You too." I'm pretty sure that broke the spell on her. We look each other in the eye for a few moments. She cracks a smile and wraps her hands around me. She's still eight inches taller than me, and I gently rest my head against her collarbone as we embrace, careful not to smudge my makeup on what was once my business suit. Two days ago. A lifetime ago. It never really was my business suit.