Janella Grows Down free porn video

I got out of the car carefully, passing my hand along the back of my grey skirt to make sure that it hadn't wrinkled. I stood, completely steady on the two inch heels I wore, and straightened the matching jacket that had made me look the perfect business woman, heading off to work. I had made that walk in from the parking lot thousands of times in the past. Except that the last time I had come to work here, I had been a middle aged man, not the young girl I now seemed to be. It all started just a few days over two years ago, when I called in sick from my job at the university registrar's office, complaining about a bad flu. And it was bad. Two weeks later I was in the hospital, and for the next four months I battled an ailment that completely buffaloed the doctors. Then I passed into a coma, and spent the next year in that. While in coma I received less and less health care ... I was not expected to recover, so I lay unconscious on my bed, with an intravenous drip the only thing that was feeding my body. I entered the hospital a 58 year old man, 6'4" tall, and about 60 pounds overweight at 250 pounds. Even before I entered the coma I lost much of my excess weight ... hospital diets tend to do that to you. But while on intravenous, my weight dropped rapidly: one of the reasons the doctors did not expect a recovery. My weight was down to a skeletal 85 pounds at its lowest. I was not alone in my ordeal though. Although I had never married, I had three sisters, five nieces and two nephews. All the girls were at the hospital regularly ... I don't think there was a day one of them wasn't in before I went into the coma. And I understand that not much changed after, although I was less entertaining as a host. Or maybe not. During the last weeks before the coma, I was in such continual, unabated pain that I probably wasn't their favorite uncle or brother. My sister Wendy is a registered nurse, and she was the one who raised hell about the level of care I was getting. She could read the medical charts, and noticed one day that I hadn't been measured for height since falling under the coma. And being weighed was being done spottily. The doctor had requested weekly measurements, and when Wendy noticed that my weight was only being done monthly, and height not at all, she raised cain. It was after that weighing that I was measured at 85 pounds. But more surprising than the low weight, my height was measured at 5'8", eight inches less than it should be, and far less than could be explained by my being bedridden. Wendy quizzed the doctors about my height loss, and they finally admitted to her that little was known about the disease, although reports were coming in of similar cases around the nation. They gave her the bad news that all 14 of the cases that occurred before me had been fatal. Another 100 or so had been recognized since I came down with it, and a third of those were dead already. I was currently the longest survivor of the disease, at just over 12 months. No one else had been in the coma stage for longer than five months, for me it was eight. And right after that, I started to improve. I was 86 pounds the next week when I was weighed, and 88 the following week. I gained two or three pounds a week for the next month or so, and soon was over 100 pounds. That was when the nurses noted that I was starting to develop more female than male. Looking back through my records, it was noticed that early in month 9 (3rd month of the coma) my testicles had retracted. There were notations of my penis reducing in size, but this was considered to be normal for a person in a reduced weight state. Wendy had noted months earlier that my nipples seemed larger, and the medical staff said it was merely an illusion caused by the massive loss of body size I had gone through. Apparently they were just guessing, because when I started to gain weight, it became clear that I was developing female breasts. As I gained weight, I gained in that area especially. I was soon estimated as a B cup, then a C and a D. Finally, when my coma ended, I was a full DD. My first bra was a 34DD. Soon after noticing my breast growth, the doctors ordered regular CAT scans of my abdomen, and in the pictures it was clear that I was developing female genitalia. My testicles had migrated to the position of ovaries, and were somehow transforming into those. A vaginal cavity formed, grew, and did everything but break through. My penis shrank until it was a clitoris, and my urinary tract migrated to a female position. For a few weeks I had two urinary openings, and things were messy, when fluids started coming out of the new opening instead of into my catheter. Another tube was soon added, and after a few days, the first one, no longer needed apparently, was removed. My hair and beard had completely fallen out early in the disease, even before I went into the coma. Hair started growing ... on my head and around my privates at least ... during the last four months of the coma, at the increased rate of 2 inches per month, four times the normal rate. In my groin area it regained normal length and stopped, but in a normal female pattern. It was when my vaginal opening broke through that I first started coming out of the coma, after a full 12 months unconscious. For a week lucidity was intermittent, but finally I was able to talk, although I rambled nonsense quite a bit at first. Wendy told me later that she was astounded when I first spoke, since it was in the high pitched voice of a little girl. Over time it has lowered in timbre a bit, but it is still high for a female. I am a soprano now, with a much better singing voice than my old tenor was. And if I raise my voice just a bit, and talk with simple words and phrasings, I can fool anyone that they are listening to a five year old girl: a neat party trick. As I came out of the coma, I was still in pain, but not nearly as severe as the last weeks before the coma started. Mostly it was the pain of having been largely immobile for a year, not to mention from all my muscles atrophying completely due to weight loss and inaction. I was told it would take several months of physiotherapy to get me well and pain free again. At first, no one told me that I had changed sex, not wanting to scare me back into coma, and for a week or two I was too disorientated to notice. But you can't go on forever having two huge breasts on your chest, and nothing between your legs, and eventually I noticed. "What the hell," I squeaked out to Wendy when she came in. "It feels like I've got tits. And I can't find my ... thing. What is happening?" Wendy decided to come clean. "I'm so sorry John," she said, "but during your coma ... you were out for a year, you know ... your body has changed. You now are a woman." That floored me. It explained why my voice sounded so different, and why I had been restrained hand and foot for the weeks since I came out of the coma, except for physio sessions, when a therapist or two were always holding my arms. I had thought that the huge tent on my chest was some kind of medical device sitting there. I could certainly feel its weight. The restraints had come off the prior night, and I had a very confused exploration of my body with hands that I was still having trouble moving the next morning. "A woman?" I asked dazedly. Then I added: "A year?" "Well," Wendy hesitated a bit. "You are more like a girl, than a woman. Your age seems to have dropped under the illness. You really look like a teenager now ... well, except for your bust. That is more ample than any teen I know of." "Wow," I said and Wendy explained for the first time what had progressed. It was 17 months since I had entered the hospital, and after the first four, which I vaguely remember as a time of increasingly torturous pain, I remembered nothing until a few weeks ago. I had apparently lost an entire year. A black man had been elected U.S. president, the economy had tanked, and I had slept through the whole thing. After that they hooked me up, and I watched CNN for hours, trying to up to date. One thing I noticed in those early days was that my vision had changed. I had worn glasses since I was seven years old. Once I hit age 50, I started to need bifocals. But now my vision was perfect, better than it had been with glasses. Even more amazing to me was the fact that everything seemed to be more vibrant and colorful now. I learned that I had perfect color version now, instead of the color recognition deficiency I had as a man. I finally could see the difference between pink and salmon and coral that women had been talking about for years. Physio that day was the first one of me doing anything but lying and having muscles stretched and practiced. A week before they had started having me make movements on my own. They would move a muscle four or five times, and then make me duplicate the movement. It hurt like hell, but the physios were pleased. They kept commenting that I was proceeding faster than they thought possible. I remember the first day I was going to sit up. At first I hoped that meant I could stand, but they laughed and suggested that might come in a week or two, with actual walking a month or so away, down the road. I just wanted to be able to get to the bathroom myself and get rid of this damned catheter. It was annoying to have something like that stuck into parts you weren't even supposed to have. The physios, were both women, one young and in her early 20s named Sarah, the other was Liz, in her later 30s. They helped me to a sitting position. "Whoa," I said, causing them alarm. They thought I was hurt. "What's the matter? Where is the pain," Liz asked. "No pain," I responded feebly. "It's these things." I looked down at my ample chest. "They are jiggling and moving around like crazy." They both laughed. "That's right," Liz giggled. "Those are new for you, aren't they. We will have to see about getting you a bra. A big one, by the looks of it." Most women of my size develop their breasts over almost a decade, from pre-puberty to full adulthood. Even those who take the more common surgical route to breasts of this size don't get this big in one swoop. They usually have breasts of some size before undergoing an augmentation. Even the rare woman who is a natural AA or A cup and wants to go to DD size will usually do it in two or more passes. But I had been a flat chested male only a short time ago (in my conscious time, anyway), and now I had these huge honkers hanging on my chest. Not that I hated them or anything. Just that morning I discovered that when I played with them, I was able to get a better orgasm than any I had experienced as a male. And I still hadn't been brave enough to explore down below the belt yet. After physio I was given a bath. I had gotten one two weeks ago, but then I was still pretty much out of it, and I don't remember anything about that time. That was the first one I have memories of, and it was quite odd, to have the nurse and Wendy cleaning my body. For a minute I was embarrassed at my sister seeing me naked, but after she reminded me that we were "both women now" I relaxed. It felt nice, nearly erotic, having someone else touching my breasts as they scrubbed me down. I also got a shampoo, with Wendy cleaning and brushing out my hair, which was now about 10 inches long. She trimmed my bangs high, since they were growing a half inch a week, and really needed to be trimmed every other week to keep them out of my eyes. "What color is my hair," I asked as I watched little locks of cut hair fall onto my bosom. "Blonde, just like Pearl's" she said. Pearl was my niece, Wendy's youngest. "I thought so," I replied. "I need to see a mirror." It suddenly hit me that I hadn't seen what I look like since coming out of the coma. "No problem," she said as she finished the cutting. She went to the side table and picked up a hand mirror. She held it for me, but the angle was wrong, so I reached up and took the mirror. Moving hurt, but I gritted the pain and held the mirror in position. I was amazed. I stared for a long time in the mirror. The girl reflected out at me looked gorgeous, with flawless skin and that bright blonde hair. And so young. I could pass as a teen, I thought. Then I remembered the size of my breasts, and revised that to 'late teen'. "I ... I'm beautiful," I said. "Yeah, I'm jealous," Wendy laughed. "But so young." "I'm jealous about that too," she said. "The doctor's don't know why, but what you went through over the last year and a half seems to have given you youth again. Coming back from the skeletal state you had deteriorated into was like a rebirth, with everything coming in like a child. They say that you have the skin of a baby, and when summer comes you will have to be exceptionally careful about getting out in the sun. Your skin is a new as an infant's, and just as prone to burning. That is one reason you look so young. Every test they make shows you to be a normal woman of 18 or less. Completely normal ... you better plan on having a period soon." "A period?" I was aghast. "Oh my." "And stay away from boys ... men," she added. "Unless you want to be a mother too." "Ugh," I said at the thought of making love to a man. "That is not going to happen." I breezed through physio. I stood up the first time the next day, although I needed help climbing back onto the high hospital bed. I have to admit that wearing a bra was a big help. It didn't end the jiggling, but it controlled it, and just hoped that I would eventually get used to having these huge lumps of flesh hanging from my chest. The following day I was able to both get up and down from the bed, and the next day I was walking. Once that day's physio was over they took out the catheter. That also meant I could go back onto solid food. Not that I was able to eat that much. My shrunken stomach filled very quickly. Later that day Annie, once my baby sister, though now I looked young enough that she could be my mother, came in to the room and presented me with a book called 'The Big Book of Baby Names". I looked at it for a minute, and then a thought struck me. "Oh gawd, I'm not pregnant too," I finally gasped. Annie burst out laughing. "Good lord, no," she sputtered. "This is for you to pick a new name for yourself. You can't go through life looking like you do, and telling people your name is Jonathan Patrick McFairlane, can you?" "Oh, I guess not," I said. I really hadn't thought about my name much. The nurses usually called me honey, sweetie, or something like that, occasionally Miss McFairlane. But I guess John didn't fit any more, and there really wasn't much to choose from close to John. Joan and Joanne were out, because the latter is what my next younger sister is named. The story our late mother told was that Joanne would have been my name, had I been a girl. Annie's suggestion of a baby name book made sense, so I thanked her for it, and spent the rest of the evening reading through it, trying to decide what girl names would fit me. I like the idea of having the same initials, because I have a few things with monograms on them that would work just as well for a woman as for a man. It must be the Scotsman (woman?) in me that wanted to save a few dollars by not getting rid of my monogrammed bed sheets and bath towels. I finally came up with the name Janella Pamela McFairlane, and all three sisters agreed it worked, and Wendy took the lead in getting me new ID issued in that name. Surprisingly, I was soon 'Jan' or 'Janella' to the nurses. I guess they had also had trouble with my male name. I took a shower the next day, to the amazement of the physios, who noted that I wasn't scheduled to walk for the first time until ... two weeks from then. Things progressed well, and I was released from the hospital, only three months after coming out of my coma. I was going home. And all the clothes I had were some second hand clothes of Pearl's that Wendy had brought me to wear home. They included an old skirt and a sweater, along with underwear I had already gotten for the hospital to wear under my gowns. I objected to wearing a skirt in public, but Wendy pointed out that I was eight inches taller than Pearl, and no pants she had would fit. The skirt was one that Pearl wore in high school and was too big for now, but it was nearly loose on me. Luckily, it had a belt, and I cinched that up and it worked although Wendy wasn't pleased with the fir. The top was a sweater that had been baggy on Pearl, who wore a B cup bra, but my huge bust stretched it to the limit. Luckily I was wearing a pair of flat shoes. Pearl and I both wore size 6 apparently. Wendy even brought in a small purse for me to put my belongings in. They had all fit into my pockets when I came in, but there are no pockets on a skirt. Walking out of the hospital had been interesting. I felt completely naked walking around with my privates open to the wind (or at least it felt that way). I thought I had gotten used to walking without a penis in the hospital, but that was in a long gown. Now, in public, I was missing it all over again. Getting into the car with Wendy I made my first mistake. Apparently a lady, particularly one wearing a short skirt, does not get into a car one foot at a time. When we got home, she made me sit while she got out and came around to open my door. Then she made me put one leg out, then the other before twisting my body around so my legs were together before standing up. Then she went through the routine again, for getting in, and then made me do it all three more times before we could go into the house. It had been 19 months since I had been at home, and the place had sat mostly empty since then. Wendy had arranged for cleaners to come in monthly, and said she dropped by every few days to get the mail and check the place after visiting me at the hospital. It turns out that I had been placed on long term disability from the university, and the checks had kept coming to pay the gas, water, and mortgage. In what turned out to be amazing luck, I had signed up for a two year mortgage renewal just prior to my illness, and in a few weeks I would make the last payment, finally owning the house. Being in the hospital my bank account had actually grown, thanks to Ontario's health care programs covering most of my costs, and me not spending any money. That was a good thing, because when I got home I found closets full of my old clothes. As a joke, I put on one of my old suits, and found I was swimming in the thing. For one thing, I was now 5'10" tall (I had gained a couple inches back as I recovered), and 120 pounds. That was less than half my old weight. And my waist measurement of 23 inches was about half what my old pot belly had been. My hips were 34, slender for most women, even though they felt huge to me. My bust was 39 inches. "Looks like I'm going to need some more clothes," I joked with the huge suit on. "Don't worry about that," Wendy replied "Pearl and Amy will be by on the weekend, and they will take you on a clothes shopping spree. Bring your new credit card." Amy was Pearl's younger cousin, and at 20 was the member of the family closest to my new apparent age. The credit card was the new one issued in my new female name of Janelle that I had received only last week. I was still waiting for my passport, revised birth certificate, and drivers license. All three of the latter were going to be a problem, because they would say I was born in 1950, and I wasn't going to be able to pass as a 60 year old. I had a letter now that explained my medical situation, and that I was legally that age. In time I would receive a small printed card that would be signed by the minister of health and the chief of police for the province to verify my situation if I was pulled over. Technically I would be able to use these to get a senior's discount, wherever one was offered, but I knew I would never want to go through that hassle and potential embarrassment to save a few dollars. It was Thursday, so Wendy took me grocery shopping ... everything in the house was stale and the cleaners had disposed of all the stuff in the fridge and freezer. Wendy drove us to the grocery, and we each picked up a cart ... we needed a lot of things to restock the house. I was still a bit more than a little uncomfortable in a skirt, and as we went through the store I got the feeling that everyone was looking at me. I mentioned it to Wendy part way through the trip. She laughed. "They are checking you out," she finally said. "The boys are lusting after you. Especially the younger ones. Your face makes you look like you are in high school, and your body is the kind of things that boys that age fantasize about. I'd worry about any boy in the store who wasn't looking you over. The older men are looking at you and wondering why there were no girls looking like you when they were younger. And the women are looking at you and are jealous of your looks." "Well I wish they would stop," I said. "Enjoy it while you can," Wendy said wistfully. "Nobody has looked at me like that for over 30 years. Now they all look at me and think I am your mother." The trip to the store ended and the two of us were busy all afternoon putting $300 worth of groceries and supplies away. I wanted to continue, and bundle up all my male clothes for Goodwill, but Wendy announced that she was worn out after the shopping and packing. I then realized that only one of us was in a teenage body ... and even though I still got a twinge of pain now and then, I was in far better shape than my 62 year old sister. I sent her off home, and did the packing myself. I decided to risk driving the bags over to the Goodwill using my male license, and risk an awkward stop if a cop pulled me over for anything. I did have the paperwork to be legal. It would give me a chance to test out my car ... I hadn't driven it for nearly two years, although Ben, Wendy's husband, had started it up and driven it around the block every few weeks while I was in the hospital, just to keep the gas from going stale. Inside the car I found myself in a different world. The seat was way too far back, and I felt a half foot lower in the seat than I had as a man. Most of my lost six inches of height was in my torso, with my legs fully as long as they had been. Before I wouldn't have worn a seatbelt for such a short trip, but I didn't want to risk being stopped for that, so I strapped in, surprising myself at how little belt it took to go around my new waist, compared to the old one. And then there was that darned shoulder strap, which landed smack in between my breasts, causing it to look like there were two twin torpedoes trusting out from my sweater. I smiled at the thought, and realized that if I was stopped, I definitely don't want to unbuckle what could be a great advantage for me ... if the cop was male. At the Goodwill centre a nice young man came out to help me unload the seven trash bags full of clothes I had. It was only after I had left that I realized that he had been flirting with me the entire time. He was probably in his mid 20s, and not bad looking, I guessed. As a former male, I was pretty sure that I would be starring in more than one erotic dream over the coming nights for him. It made me chuckle. Or giggle, to use the feminine term. Finally back home in the evening I took off my clothes and had a long bath. Before I got into the water I looked at my body closer than anytime so far in the full length mirror. I actually was impressed again with what I saw. My breasts were too big, that was a given, but as a former male I was willing to overlook that. I knew it would drive men crazy, but since I was not into men, this wasn't much of a factor. My hips were slim, even though they felt so huge with all the extra padding on the side and rear. My waist was quite tiny, which made my rear look more shapely. My legs seemed incredibly long. For the first time I wondered what I would look like in four inch heels. That would make me 6'2", the same height as I had been as a gangly kid of as 13. I'd need 6 inch heels to get back to my old height, and I didn't even know if they made them that high (they do, it turns out). My face was perfect, it seemed. My hair was still pretty short, but it was still growing two inches a month, and who knows how long that would keep up. It was already long enough that I could get a pageboy or some similar shorter girl cut, and it would look nice, although it seemed pointless to get a style done when it was still growing like crazy. I had always loved blondes, and now I was one. My three sisters and myself, when younger, had dark brown hair. In my hippie days, I had actually had mine down to my mid back. All my nieces except Pearl had that same dark brown hair. I was glad that the blonde gene had come to me in this go round. If it was genetic at all. I certainly didn't look like any of the other women in the family. The only one who had breasts near the size of mine was Wendy, and that was because she was over 100 pounds overweight. A C cup was more normal for the women in the family after they had babies, and B cup before. That got me to wondering if I would gain a cup size with pregnancy. Then I shook my head, remembering what it took to get pregnant, and knowing that I would never let any man do that to me. My face was heart shaped, I decided, with a really pale complexion. No zits or marks of any kind, and baby smooth to the touch, like all my skin. I was going to have to take care of myself, I thought. Keep those tight abs ... no washboard, but still fairly flat with only a hint of a belly. The face was slightly baby faced, I thought. I really looked like a pre-teen ... above the neck. Below the neck was a different story ... as all the boys in the grocery store had proven. I finally got into the tub for my bath. It was the first I had experienced in a woman's body, and it was odd seeing two big breasts poking up through the water and no penis down between my legs to wash. I luxuriated in the bath, wishing I had bubble bath, for nearly an hour, and got out of the tub feeling refreshed, but all wrinkly. When I realized that these wrinkles would go away in a few minutes, unlike the ones I had two years ago, I had to smile. I crawled into bed nude, the way I always had as a man, and kind of regretted not having any pajamas. Somehow it felt to me that this girl body should have something like that on. I made plans to get some on the planned weekend shopping trip. The next day was a lazy one. Wendy called and said she wasn't going to be coming over, having the flu or something. I told her to stay home and relax. I realized after I hung up the phone that I had worn the poor lady out. Not just yesterday, but over the past year and a half. She had been caring for me pretty much non-stop. She had left her job at the clinic soon after I took ill. Not that she needed the money. Ben worked at the chemical plant in a good paying job, and all three of her kids were out of school now. Ben was going to retire in a few months. But the stress must have gotten to her. I would have to get her flowers or something. I immediately phoned the florist in the small town where she lived (about 15 minutes out of the city) and made an order. I told them not to ring, but just set the plants down inside her back door. I didn't want them to wake her if she was sleeping. After that, I made myself a nice light breakfast, and then turned on the TV. I happened across the shopping channel, and they were selling women's clothes. Some of the outfits looked cute, and I decided to order some. I was really at a loss about sizes, but the lady on the phone was so helpful and told me that anything that didn't fit could be returned. Before I called I wondered if I would be outed as a cross-dresser, before realizing that my voice was as feminine as could be. In fact, it went the other way around when I called. "Hello, I'd like to order item 3R7-1123 in the light blue," I said. "I'm not sure what size I need though." The woman took a second before answering. "How old are you, dear," she asked. For a moment I thought I would tell her the truth ... 60. Instead I said 20. I really wanted to get that pale blue skirt. "Oh my, I'm so sorry," she said, laughing. "You have a very young sounding voice. I was wondering if I should ask if I could talk to your mother." After that she was as nice as could be, taking my order and billing it to my credit card. In fact, over the rest of the day I wound up ordering 15 or 20 different things. I phoned in a couple, and then went to the website, where I found way more stuff than was on TV. I ordered tops, skirts, several pairs of pants and jeans, lingerie, a pair of shoes, and some accessories. I was tempted to try some dresses, but couldn't decide on sizing. I was ordering extra small bottoms and large or extra large tops. This only seemed to work on separates. Of course none of my order came in that week, but I felt more knowledgeable about fashion for the following day's excursion with my nieces. Pearl and Amy were at my door at 9:45 the next morning. They had been regular visitors to me at the hospital, but this was the first time they had been to the house in two years. "Wow," Pearl said. "That sweater looks way better on you than it ever did on me." "Yeah it looks cute Unc ... Aunt Janella," Amy stammered. "Call me Jan or Janella," I suggested. "Aunt is plausible ... some kids have aunts or uncles who are younger than they are, but it does sound weird. Let's just be a bunch of young girls." "Young girls with an adult credit card," Amy joked. "I hope you have a lot of cap space on yours. Mine is all maxed out." "If the credit card runs out, there is the debit card, and with my line of credit limit, I doubt we can max that." "We can try," Pearl laughed. "Who's driving," I asked. "Mom still is feeling tired, so I borrowed her van," Pearl said as we piled out the door. "She said I was to thank her for the flowers. They were quiet lovely." "She has done so much for me over the past two years," I said. "You all have, but her most of all. I don't know how I can ever repay you." "You are family," Amy said. "No need for repayment." "Words of wisdom from the baby in the family," Pearl said with a laugh. "I may have been born the last," Amy retorted, "but I think Janelle looks the youngest. I'll bet she would be carded in a bar more often than me." "Well, a little makeup might help that," Pearl said. "We'll find out soon enough." "Makeup," I said hesitatingly. "I thought this was a shopping trip." "And it is," Pearl said. "And makeup is one of the things we will be shopping for." We chatted for the five minutes it took for us to get to the mall, and while we were walking in. I was kind of amazed at how well we were getting along. I was no longer favorite Uncle John, but friend Janelle. They were like older sisters to me, showing me all they knew about fashions and the art of being a woman, things they had spent a life learning, that I had to pick up in a few days. The first two shops were trendy women's wear stores that catered to the young, and we spent nearly an hour in each, with me trying on dozens of outfits and being told which to buy, and which were too 'kiddie,' 'skanky' or 'oldish' with the latter pejorative apparently the most deadly. I had to concentrate, because they also told me which outfits were best for work, and which for clubbing. Apparently they considered the latter the more important use for new outfits, and I had to remind them that in a couple of months I would be going back to work, and club clothes wouldn't work well for an Assistant Registrar at a conservative college. The third stop was a lingerie store. I thought this wasn't needed, but the girls insisted it was. "We've seen your bras from the hospital," Amy explained. "They are old- lady bras. We need to get you something younger and hip here." We only spent a half hour there, and I picked up five or six bras, more than a dozen new panties, and a lot of hose. I mentioned the need for sleepwear, and the girls tried to get me into lingerie, but I insisted in something comfortable. We found a cute pair of silk pajamas and another flannel pair with slippers sewn into the legs that looked like they would suit me well. At noon we went to a hair salon. Amy announced that we all had appointments. "I got you Gustavo," she told me. "I heard he was the best in town." Gustavo was a real hunk: thin, but with huge biceps in a very tight black t-shirt. He was also very gay. "You should wear your hair longer, darling," he lisped. "Well, I am growing it out," I said, without going into details. "Good, good. I think we will just trim a bit, and make the cut look more feminine," he said. As he cut, he explained about conditioners and other treatments that would help with my hair, which he said was sorely lacking in body. "Every woman must have a flaw," he said. "If you had perfect hair as well as a perfect body and such a cute young face, it would be a crime. But let it grow ... maybe to your waist, and no one will ever notice the lack of volume. Long straight hair is attractive to most men. It is a beautiful color." While he was working on my hair two other girls were there. One did my nails, and the other gave me a pedicure. My fingernails were growing at the same accelerated rate as my hair, so the nails were quite long in spite of having been trimmed short just a week or so ago. As a result, when I was finished I had long red fingernails, as well as newly trimmed toes that were painted the same color. When Amy and Pearl came out of their sessions, they applauded Gustavo's work, to his delight. Pearl had cut her blonde hair several inches shorter, into a page boy cut that just brushed her shoulders. I could barely make out what Amy had done, since her long hair was brown and nearly to her waist. She said she had it thinned out ... apparently it gets really thick, and the only way she could wear it so long was to have it thinned. After learning that I could see the difference. I paid the bill for all three of us at the salon. "Next stop, the makeup stand," Amy declared as we came out. "Do we have to?" I said. "We do, unless you intend to go to work looking like a 12 year old who's had a boob job," Pearl joked. "Makeup can make you look older. Trust me, I'm blonde too, and without makeup I look 5 years younger. I'd get carded more than Amy when we go out." So we spent the next hour at the makeup counter, where I was given a complete makeover by the artist, and wound up buying several hundreds of dollars of product. She complimented me on my super long eyelashes. As a blonde, they are a fairly light tone, and you don't notice them until they have mascara on them, but then they look like false eyelashes. I think that whatever was making my hair and nails grow so fast must have affected them, but they were certainly long. I have to admit that overall the makeup was effective. I no longer looked childish. I looked like I could be on the cover of a magazine. I was gorgeous. Only my average looking hair kept me from looking as good as the models do, and as Gustavo said, letting it grow out would solve that. Best of all, I now looked like a girl in her 20s instead of one in her early teens. We all ate a quick lunch, ruining my new lipstick of course. So I was invested in the ceremonial girls rite of a group washroom. I have to admit that my first time entering a public women's washroom was a big step for me, but I did it. Inside, Amy redid my lipstick, not trusting me. We all did our business, and then headed back shopping. We had left our bags with a few young guys, and they were still there when we came out five or 10 minutes later. We thanked them for looking after the bags, and one of guys got up, being prodded by the other two and stood in front of me. He looked about 20, and somewhat nervously asked me if I had any plans for tonight. I was caught completely flat-footed. At first it seemed that Amy was saving my butt by saying that we did have plans. "We were planning on going out tonight," she said. "Do you guys know any cool clubs in this town." "It kinda sucks for clubs around here," one of the sitting boys said. "I guess Karma is the best." "Well, maybe we'll see you there," Pearl said. "We should be there around 10ish." "Cool," the boy said, getting a huge grin as we walked away. "I can't believe it," Amy said. "He asked you for a date. He was kinda cute in a dorky kind of way." "I can't believe you told him we were going out tonight," I said. "They will be heart-broken when we don't show up. Remember, I've been on that side of the fence." "Maybe we will show up," Pearl said. "You aren't making us do all this work without giving us a chance to play, are you." I was trapped. I had planned on letting them each buy a new outfit for helping me out, but they were right, it wasn't enough. "All right," I said. "We will go out tonight. But remember that I'm not into boys. Think of me as your lesbian Aunt." "I thought you weren't our Aunt anymore," Pearl said. "And I don't want people calling you my lesbian friend." "You know what I mean. Just remember I'm not into guys." We spent the rest of the afternoon shopping, and I got hit on by at least three other boys. It was then that Amy got the great idea of getting me an engagement ring. Once we explained to the young clerk in the jewelry store that we needed a fake ring, to stop people from pestering me, I swear he wanted to propose on the spot and give me the biggest diamond in the place. Instead he got me a nice Zirconium that fit well, and once I slipped it on, my encounters with the other sex dropped. Not completely, but I found that flashing the ring made over half of them back off. We had to go out to the van after almost every store to unload packages, and by the end of the day, the thing looked full. There was a final visit to the shoe store, where I discovered the mysteries of walking in high heels. I bought seven pair of shoes, which the girls insisted was the absolute minimum number for a female wardrobe, including heels of two and three and a half inches. I tried on 4 inch heels, but just couldn't manage to walk in them. Pearl admitted that she couldn't wear anything more than 3.5 inches, and blamed it on our size 6 feet. Amy wore a size 9, and scoffed at our excuses. At that point the girls thought we were done but I insisted on one more trip. "We've been to every store in the mall," Amy said. "We should head back to your place and unpack everything." "No," I insisted. "Everything we bought has been for me. I want to treat you girls to one outfit each. I suspect you don't want to go clubbing in those clothes, and you didn't think to bring others. You pick the store, and buy an outfit each. No limit." "Actually, we did bring other clothes," Pearl said. "Clubbing really was a part of the plan. But I did see some really nice things." "Me too," Amy said. "But this was to be your day." "And it has been," I said. "But nothing would please me more than to see the two of you getting new things too. Even at a birthday party a good hostess gets gifts for all those attending." With that we headed back into the mall, visiting the first two stores from the morning, where Amy got an outfit in the first store, and Pearl built up an outfit with a top from the first store, and a skirt and leggings from the second. Both also got a new pair of shoes (actually, boots for Pearl). After a short supper, we were back at the house we spent the next two hours unpacking my things, and putting them up. I was glad that I had ditched all my male clothes ... there were plenty of hangers and just enough closet space for everything I bought. It was a week later before I had the heart to tally up the damages of the day. It would turn out that we spent nearly $5000 in eight hours of shopping. Not all of it had gone on the credit card. After we had spent $2000 or so, it started to be declined. (I later learned that the company assumed the card had been stolen.) The rest of the purchases went on my debit card. As well, I had spent over $1000 with the shopping network the day before. Becoming a woman was expensive, I realized. After spending two hours toting boxes we were all pretty sweaty, and I suggested that maybe we should cancel the clubbing. The girls would have nothing of it. That is how the three of us wound up in the shower together ... there just wasn't enough time for us to do it singly. I was a little hesitant ... after all, two years ago these had been my nieces, they still were, I guess, and I hadn't seen them naked since the days when I changed their diapers. But they didn't mind, and I had no qualms about them seeing me nude, so we all wound up in the shower together. Pearl was blonde like me, but the resemblance ended there. She was barely 5 feet tall, and I was near 6. My breasts were DD, while hers were B. My waist was thin, while she was a little chubby. Amy was taller, and had the traditional family dark brown hair. She was a bit heavy too, something that ran in the family. Her breasts were a solid C, so she had nothing to worry about in that department. She was 5'7", a couple inches shorter than me. The result was that in the shower Pearl's eyes were just about level with my breasts, and she seemed to be mesmerized by them. "Pearl really likes your boobies, Janelle," Amy teased, and Paula got kind of red faced as we stood under the warm streaming spray. "I've never seen anyone with boobs that big," she admitted. "I can't believe that the can be that big, and not sagging at all." "Well, they are brand new," I joked. "Still under warranty." "Can I touch them?" I laughed. "We're in a shower silly," I said. "You can wash them." That started our little session with each of us cleaning one another in a little huddle. But there seemed to be an unwritten rule against washing each other's genital areas ... that could lead to something more than any of us wanted to deal with. Nevertheless, when we were finished 15 minutes later, we were all more than a little aroused by the experience. "I need a man," Amy announced after we got out of the shower. "Where's your hair dryer, Janelle." "I don't have a hair dryer," I said. "Until recently I didn't have all that much hair." "But I do," Amy whined, wringing out her long brown hair. "This will take forever to dry." "Mine will dry fairly quickly," Pearl said. "I'll bet Janelle's will too. We've still got over an hour before we go to the club, surely yours will be dry by then." "Damp," Amy pouted. "But let's get dressed. One of us is going to have to do Janelle's makeup for her. She won't be able to do it herself without practice." So we spent the next hour getting dressed. I guess I took the most time, since so many of the things we put on were new to me, and Pearl helped me with them. It was my first time putting on pantyhose, for example. I had been wearing a bra for several weeks now, but those were the "Mom" bras that Wendy had bought me for the hospital. The pale blue lacy number that the girls had picked out for me at the lingerie store was strapless, and I felt like I was going to pop out of it at any time. It did feel a little more secure once I put on the clothes the girls had found for me. As I had mentioned before, dresses were seldom available off the rack for this figure, but Amy and Pearl had come up with a winner ensemble for me. It started with a black peasant girl top of silk, with no shoulders, but puffy sleeves that were only attached to the torso by a little bit of fabric. Over this was a corset of black velvet and red lace trim that accentuated my small waist, and had a shelf thing at the top that my boobs rested on, holding them up and making them look even bigger than before. My skirt was a flouncy thing that stuck out more than a foot from either side, and really wasn't all that long. My black hose covered my legs, which looked even longer than normal, and I wore red MaryJane shoes, since I wasn't willing to try heels so soon. "God, I am so jealous," Pearl said when she finished with me. "You are so gorgeous. All we have to do is make that baby face match the hooker bod and we'll be laughing." So, like a good tag team, she switched me off with Amy, who had been dressing herself in the new outfit she had bought, and had finished her own makeup. We then went to work with me at the makeup table that they had set up in my bedroom on my old computer table while Pearl got dressed. When she was finished, I could tell that the look was different somehow from the one I had gotten at the mall earlier. She said it was a little more extreme for the club, while the earlier one had been more for work or day use. My eye shadow was darker, and she had used mascara to make my long eyelashes pop and look even longer. My complexion was smooth enough that only a little powder was needed, as well as full red lipstick to accent my red fingernails. For the last part of the makeup session I had to share the mirror and the gear with Pearl, who had finished dressing in record time, and was doing her makeup as Amy finished me up. Amy's hair was dry finally, and after brushing it out (a major task with such long hair) we were ready to go. It was nearly 10, and we all piled into my car, as going to a club in a van would be considered 'dorkish,' or so Amy insisted. She drove, and along the way argued with Pearl over who was to drive home. I offered, but they insisted that one of them would be the designated driver. Pearl finally seemed to win, which meant Amy would be limited to one drink for the night. We got to the club, one of several in the small university city I live in, and parked a couple blocks from the club. I was glad not to be in heels as we walked down the street. Pearl had borrowed my new three and half inch heels, to give her a bit more height, but she was experienced walking in heels ... I can't think of any time when she hasn't worn at least a two inch heel. A short girl thing, I decided. "Oh look, there is a lineup," Amy noted as we got close. There were several dozen people lined up outside the club. "Let's look and see if the boys are in the line," Pearl said. "We'll be able to get cuts if they are." We walked along the line nearly to the door, but the boys weren't there. "Either they are already inside, or we've been stood up," Amy said. I noticed the burly biker-looking fellow at the door nod at us, and grab the velvet rope. "Look," Pearl said. "He's going to let us in." "Why would he do that," I asked as we went past him into the club. "Because one of us is drop dead gorgeous," Pearl said. "They want the hot girls in their club, and baby, there aren't any hotter than you in this town." I got kinda red at that remark, but said nothing. Not that much could be said. The noise in the club was deafening. We worked our way around, and as we did Amy noticed one of the boys waving from the other side of the club. We cut across the dance floor ... it wasn't all that busy, in spite of the line up outside, and sat down at the table. Just as we did there was a lull in the din as the DJ took a break. "Hi guys," Amy said as she confidently sat down. There were three chairs saved at the small table. "Been here long?" "A couple hours," one of the boys said. "I hope you didn't have to wait in line long. I should have told you about that." "No line for us," Pearl said. "We have the goddess with us." "I'm Bill, the boy said. "This is Carl and Steve." As Amy introduced us, I looked over the boys. Steve was the tall, nerdy looking one who had asked me out at the mall. He was about 6'4" and pretty thin, with short brown hair and some acne scars on his face. Bill was short, at about 5'6", and slightly chubby and he was clearly aiming at Pearl, since both Amy and I were taller than him. Carl was about the same height as me at 5'10" and really was the best looking of the three. He had a muscular physique and a pretty handsome face, with light brown hair. Amy sat down next to him, staking her territory, although something told me she would back off if I moved in on Carl. I really didn't care. I wasn't into men, I kept telling myself, and these were really just boys anyway. I knew it would be the thrill of his lifetime for nerdy Steve to be seen with a woman as attractive as I now was, so I decided to pay attention to him. "Do you go to the university," he asked me. "I'm in fourth year engineering there." "You look like an engineer," I laughed. "I work at the university. Although I'm on medical leave right now." "Nothing serious, I hope?" "I'm getting better," I said. "What department do you work in?" "Registrar." "I don't think I've seen you there," he said. "No? Well I've been off a while, and worked in the back before that. I think I should be going back in a couple months." "Maybe. I'll see you there then." "Maybe." At that point the conversation stopped as the DJ came back and ramped up the music. We tried to talk, but it was more like shouting, and eventually I recognized Steve was shouting the word 'Dance'. I nodded, and we got up to the dance floor. We danced for about an hour, when suddenly the DJ stopped the heavy rock and started playing a slow, close dance tune. I glanced at the DJ stand, and saw Amy there with a big smile on her face. I had a feeling she had bribed the DJ to play slower music. Even though I had only had one drink, it had buzzed me pretty well. I was now in a body half the weight of my old one, and even then I hadn't been much for drinking over the last 20 plus years. So I was game to do a slow dance with Steve, whose face lit up when I stepped up close to him, actually brushing my breasts against his chest. Damn, I thought, those things stick out more than I expect. Particularly in this corset. It was odd to slow dance. I hadn't danced as a man for years, other than with my two older nieces at their weddings. And this was the first time ever where I hadn't led. It also felt odd to be beside someone so much taller than me. I was used to being 6'4" and the tallest person around. At 5'10" I was still tall, but Steve was a half foot taller. And while he wasn't muscular, he had big hands that just swallowed up my new tiny hands. He was a good dancer too, with one hand on the small of my back, guiding me expertly around the dance floor. I noticed that many of the couples had left the dance floor for the slow dance, and most of the eyes in the crowd were on us. I wondered if we made a nice couple. After the dance ended, the DJ announced another break. I missed that though, for Steve ended the song by kissing me. It was the first time I have ever had a man's tongue in my mouth, and you know, it wasn't all that bad. I certainly didn't pull away, at any rate. "Sorry," he said. "I should have asked first. But it seemed such a perfect moment. And you are the most beautiful girl I have ever known. I just had to try. I'll understand if you are mad." "No," I purred. "You do that as well as you dance. Thank you for both." On the way back to our table, we passed a group of guys, clearly jocks, wearing team sweaters from the college. "Hey baby, want to dance with a real man?" one of the jocks called out. He actually was quite handsome, and probably expected me to come over. Instead I replied: "I've got one already. Did you see any more around?" That pissed the jock off a bit. "I'm twice the man as that nerd. What say we both go outside and the better man can come back in." "God," I said as scornfully as possible. "You must be dumber than you look if you think he is going to leave me to go outside and play silly games with you. Why don't you and your little friends go somewhere else and leave the grownups alone." I took Steve's arm, put it around my waist, and let him lead us back to our table, while the jocks started razzing their mate for the put down. With that we headed back to the table where the other four were waiting. Amy immediately said that she needed to go to the washroom, and Pearl immediately got up as well. I forgot the rule, but Amy grabbed my arm and dragged me off as well. "Oh. My. God," Amy said once we were inside. "You totally kissed him. I thought you weren't into guys." "I'm still not into guys," I said, defending myself. "And if you noticed, it was him that kissed me, not the other way around." "Oh yeah," Pearl said. "I must have missed the part where you slapped him for trying, and spit out his tongue. Girl, you looked totally into it." "Yeah, I guess I was," I finally admitted. "When he did it I was surprised, but I decided to go along with it. I think Steve is kinda fragile, and I didn't want to spoil the moment for him. Plus, he's a pretty good kisser. I can safely say that he is the best man I've ever kissed." Amy broke out laughing immediately, but blonde Pearl didn't get it for about a half minute, then blurted out: "He's the only guy you've ever kissed." Then she joined in the laughter. "Come on," Amy said. "For one thing, most of your lipstick is on Steve now, so we need to touch you up." And then it will be your turn to sit. I want to dance with Bill and Pearl wants to dance with Carl. Maybe we will get lucky enough to earn a kiss. It will be your turn to sit with our purses. We all had a good time, and I got pretty drunk just sitting with Steve, even though he was a pretty fair conversationalist. He was amazed to learn that I was into science fiction, and was blown away by my knowledge of the books from the 60s to 80s, before he was born. We had a long discussion about the Lord of the Rings. He was a big fan of the movie, while I have read the books nearly a dozen times over the years. I didn't tell him that ... he was an engineer, and could quickly figure out that if it took three months to read that series every couple years (the way I liked to savor it), then reading it 12 times would take over 24 years. He didn't even think I was that old. It was early in the morning when we finished up, and I'll admit that I had to lean on Steve's arm when we left. I had partaken of more than a few drinks, and was that tipsy. The boys offered to walk us to our car, and it may have been a good thing they did, because we ran into that same group of jocks outside the bar. The one I had insulted was itching for a fight, and challenged Steve. Before I knew it, the two of them were faced off, and I knew that the jock would cream him. Sober, I might have come up with a better solution, but when the jock circled around Steve, and was right in front of me I lurched forward and grabbed his earlobe. "Lissen, mister," I slurred. "You got no reason to fight with S-s-s- steve here. He din'nt do nothing to you, and you should jes' leave him 'lone. Fight me if you wanna fight someone. I've taken young bucks like you afore." All this time I had most of my weight hanging off his ear as I tottered around, and it was clearly starting to hurt him. He finally shoved me away, right at Steve, luckily. "Here, take her," he said as he rubbed his earlobe. "She's crazy. I wouldn't date someone like her ... you keep her for all I care." With that he melded back into his pack of jocks, and they moved away. Meanwhile, I was spinning out of control. Steve had caught me and stopped me from falling, and then we sort of toppled over together. He was holding me when I said: "Kiss me, you fool." Seriously. I don't remember that part, but Amy told me about it later, and she was the sober one. The boys left us at the car, and Amy drove us home. She said she was pretty sure that the boys followed us. When we got home it was about 2:30. I immediately went to the bathroom and started to throw up, while Pearl just crawled into my bed and passed out. Amy looked after me, and cleaned me up, and then packed me into the same bed. So yes, I did sleep with my niece that night, although nothing happened. Amy slept on the couch ... she later said the bed looked crowded with blondes, big and little, and she was afraid of being puked on. Pearl was actually within her limits, and woke up pretty sober. I woke up expecting a massive hangover, but found that I was in pretty good shape. The joys of a young body, I guess. Anyway, I was able to make breakfast for the girls before they headed home. The girls asked me to head out to the clubs again with them, but I turned them down. It wasn't my last shopping spree though. You would think that $5500 worth of clothes would make a wardrobe, but apparently it didn't. The next weekend I went shopping with Wendy and Pearl, and the following one I went with Wendy alone. Then there was a weekend trip with Annie and Amy, and Amy's older sister Belle. Finally my last sister Joanne, and her daughters Tammy and Roberta took me out. We were a little saner each of these times, and only spent about $1000 per trip. My closet was getting full, which was a good thing, since I got notice that I would be heading back to work in a little over a month. The doctor's had decided that my long term disability was over. This was in early July. And even though I wouldn't go clubbing with the girls, I did agree to go to the beach one weekend with them. My doctors said it would be good for me to get limited sun, to help toughen up my new skin a bit. I was warned to wear a hat with a brim, and to make sure I had sun tan lotion with the highest protection factor applied at least hourly. I was to be in the sun no more than three hours. With three universities within two hours drive, and two community colleges, Assaga Beach was a popular spot for young people, and I agreed to go there. Of course I had no bathing suit, so Amy and Pearl took me shopping for one. I wound up with a bikini that I didn't think would actually be legal. It barely covered anything, top or bottom. I was outraged to learn that it would cost $150 for such a little pieces of material. I mean, I could literally stuff it into a small drink glass. (Don't ask how I learned that.) The high price made me feel less uncomfortable about the fact that Amy switched parts from two different swimsuits, getting me a size 0 bottom and a size 14 top to accommodate my ample breasts. I mean, how is the store going to sell the remaining size 14 bottom with a size 0 top? A woman like that would be way rarer than one built like me. Amy shrugged off my complaints, saying that everyone did it, and it was the suit makers fault for not making sizes for everyone. We went to the beach later that day. I packed a big bag, because along with towels and other beach necessities, I had three bottles of lotion, my big floppy hat, a pair of jeans and flat shoes, a sweat shirt, and underwear, in case we needed to change, as well as a cover up to wear once my three hours were up. I knew those girls, and if they met men, which I assumed would happen, then they wouldn't come home after three hours. I had my new license by then, so I drove, and promised to be the designated driver if we did any drinking. I wanted to stay sober after my last embarrassing outing. We made it to the beach just after noon, and parked the car a couple blocks from the beach. On the beach we attracted a lot of attention. Chubby Pearl wore a blue one piece suit that really pulled her tummy in, and made her look thinner than she is. With her short height, and no heels for once, she was super petite, and a lot of guys are into that. And Amy wore a bikini like me, and while her breasts were way smaller than mine, she looked pretty hot in it. She admitted with a smile that it was an inflatable top, giving her another full cup size. She sucked in her stomach most of the time in what was a remarkable feat of breathing, and you wouldn't notice that she was a little overweight. Together we made a pretty hot trio. It didn't take long before guys were hitting on us. I was all for saying no, and staying stag, but Amy and Pearl have this kind of ESP thing where they know the tastes of the other in guys almost instinctively. So after we turned down about five or six offers of accompaniment, Amy agreed to the offer of three guys who wanted to buy us ice cream. Actually, I was the only one who got an actual ice cream, with both Amy and Paula getting diet frozen yoghurt in a cone. Waiting for our cones gave me a chance to look at the boys. These three were a definite cut above from the guys from the club. Fred was the alpha male of the trio, and made it clear that he wanted to hook up with me. He was gorgeous, and admitted to doing some modeling for the Sears catalog. He wore a Speedo that was either padded, or showed that he was very well equipped in an area I had no interest in. He had an athlete's body too, not surprising because all three were on the varsity football team at Southern, one of the other universities in the area. Jon was a receiver, and he seemed to have picked up Amy. She wasn't complaining. He was as tall as Fred at about 6'3", and was just about as muscular. And while he wasn't model perfect like Fred, he was rather cute, from my inexperienced point of view, anyway. And he must have had more padding in his Speedo, because he was even bigger down there. Both of them were way bigger than I had ever been back when I wore that kind of equipment. Dale was a tackle, and he was a bit heavy, with a waist that hung over his swim suit belt a bit, unlike the six-pack abs of the other two. And while he was only 5'9" tall, he was about as wide as a truck, and had muscle on muscle. Pearl was not unhappy at all that he sat next to him at the ice cream place. After our snack, the boys walked us down to the beach. I had my cover up on since we came from the car. Amy had told me I should take it off right away, and 'advertise the product' as she put it, but I wanted to maximize me sun exposure time, so I refused. When we got to the beach (Fred had been a gentleman and carried the bag) and we staked out our spot with towels, I took off the cover up, and witnessed the hilarious sight of the three men's jaws dropping as they stared at my suit. (Well, I guess they were staring more at what wasn't my suit, but I prefer to think it was that way around.) Then, looking around, I noticed quite a few other male faces looking my way, many surreptitiously hoping their girlfriend or spouse wasn't noticing. "My god, Janella," Fred said once he got his voice back. "You are gorgeous. You look like some of the models I've worked with ... no, I'll correct that. You look better than any of the models I've worked with, and you aren't stuck up at all. You're so friendly and easy to talk to." "Well, you are easy to talk to as well," I said. "And you are a looker yourself. But maybe those other girls have more experience at being beautiful than I have. This is kind of recent for me." As soon as I said that I realized I had goofed. I was not going to go into my life story with this boy. Not to mention that he would run at top speed if he knew I had been a middle aged man two years ago. And Amy and Pearl would never forgive me. They seemed quite pleased with the boys that were chatting with them. "Wow," Fred said. "They look great. Totally natural." I was confused for a second, and then realized that he thought I meant I had gotten a boob job. I laughed and at the same time thought I saw how to correct my faux pas. "No, no, these are completely natural," I said. "It's just that I've lost a lot of weight since last winter." It was the truth, and a good explanation on why I wasn't used to being seen as a 'hot babe'. "Well you really look great now," Fred said. "You would never know. Was it a lot of weight?" "Over 100 pounds. I got sick, and now this is what I look like." "A lot of people would like to get that kind of sick," Fred said with a smile. "Well, not really," I said. "The being sick part was not any fun, and I