Integration Part 2
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Integration, Part 1 free porn video
Integration, Part 1
Author's Note: This story is actually autobiographical to an extent.
About 10 years ago, I had a rather extensive lip augmentation called a
"fat dermis graft" that created lips very similar to those of Angelina
Jolie. It involved six incisions and the placement of tissue from my leg
into my upper and lower lips. (If you look closely at her photos, you'll
see that she has a little indention in the middle of her lower lip. I
have the same scar, so I suspect she had the same procedure.)
Practically every conversation and thought process in this story is
based on that experience, even though the surgery is different.
---
For years, I had been secretly crossdressing, and I had become pretty
good at it. Sometimes I would dress at night, sometimes on off-days. But
I never mixed my two worlds, and nobody knew. Not my co-workers, not
even my girlfriend, Alli. While she and I frequently stayed at each
other's apartments, I was careful to keep my girl clothes and makeup
stored safely in a locked closet tucked away under the stairway of my
townhouse.
I'd even gotten away with some little feminine habits like getting my
brows arched and my nails done - clear polish only except when I was
treating myself to a big night as a girl. I was 28 and had a good job
with a marketing firm that had hired me right out of college. So even
though I was still well shy of 30, I was well established, with my own
group of clients and a good salary. Best of all, it was an "artsy"
environment where my ponytail and small earrings were perfectly ordinary
and acceptable for a guy.
But I hated summers. The breast inserts would get sweaty and slide
around. Once, I had one slide out altogether. If I had been wearing a
loose fitting dress, it would have fallen all the way out on the ground.
I was tired of fooling with them, and they never looked right anyway.
But mainly, I wanted breasts of my very own.
So I had called around to some plastic surgeons and now sat in the
waiting room of Dr. Sara Pfeiffer.
"Mr. Sandlin?" An attractive brunette in her mid 30s, dressed in stood
at the door. "Ready?"
I nodded and followed her to the examination room. But instead of
leaving, she lingered, looking over the information sheets I had filled
out.
"So, breast implants, right?"
"Yes," I said, sheepishly.
"Great. I'm Sheila, and I'm a social worker. Dr. Pfeiffer likes for me
to chat with our patients a bit, just to make sure they've thought
through their procedures and understand what they're signing on for.
You've read how some people get addicted to plastic surgery or have
self-esteem issues that really should be resolved before they start
changing their bodies," she said.
"Yeah, that's really important," I said.
"So to just get it out on the table, I get the feeling you're not
looking for the hard implants that some men get to appear more muscular.
Rather, you're looking for feminine breasts, right?"
I could feel myself blush. "Yes, is that OK?"
"Of course! We're happy to do them, and I want you to feel entirely
comfortable here. See? Now that it's out in the open, things are much
easier, right?" She winked.
"I suppose so."
"So I assume you've considered that once you have implants, they're with
you day and night. No matter how you're dressed, they're going to change
how you look, period. Most of our patients find that it helps them
maintain better posture and gives them more self confidence. I'm
assuming this is in line with your goals?"
"Yes."
"Do you mind if I ask how long you've been dressing?" she asked.
"A couple of years."
"And your lifestyle situation is such that it won't be a problem, I
assume."
"No. I work at a cool place, and I'm sure it'll be fine," I said. "And I
think my girlfriend will be fine with it as well."
That last part was a lie. Alli had no idea that I dressed - so far as I
knew - and would likely freak out. I was hoping that without female
clothing my implants wouldn't be obvious, and we always had sex in the
dark anyway. At work, I figured I could just wear looser shirts and
nobody would notice. At any rate, I had actually gotten a kick out of
seeing co-workers take a second glance at my brows, knowing they
wondered just a bit.
"Sounds like a perfect situation to me! So unless you have any issues
you think we should talk about, Dr. Pfeiffer will be right in," she
said.
Dr. Pfeiffer was a somewhat bookish fortysomething who obviously spent
more time focused on how other people looked than she did on herself.
She was attractive enough; just not quite what I'd expected. She
introduced herself and placed her stethoscope in her ears. "I need to
hear your heart before we start cutting on you, of course, and we need
to talk about your expectations," she said. "Also, obviously, I need to
have a look at your chest."
I took off my shirt. I work out regularly, so I was reasonably lean.
"Not much chest hair. I assume you want it removed? You'll be asleep
anyway, so you won't feel it, and it won't take but a few minutes to
just zap it while you're under," she said.
I hadn't thought that through but saw little reason to argue. "Sure,
that'd be great."
She ran her hands across my stomach and sides.
"You're in good shape, but all men have a layer of fat around their
middle. I assume you want a more feminine shape. If you like, we can
also do some smart liposuction to take that out. With that and the
implants, you'd actually have a nice contour," she said.
"Are you sure you don't mind doing this on a male?" I asked.
"Why would I? I like making a difference, and I can do that better on a
male. Which brings us to the question of how large you want your breasts
to be. Let me measure your chest. Thirty-four inches. Good. Let's check
your waist. 30 inches. Suppose I could get you down to a 26? You'd look
fantastic," she said.
Just then, there was a gentle knock at the door, and Sheila poked her
head in. "Mind if I listen in a bit?" she asked me.
"Not at all," I said.
"Actually," said Dr. Pfeiffer, "I like having Sheila join us in case she
picks up on any ... issues ... I might have missed. Sheila, I was just
suggesting to Mr. Sandlin that we could actually give a nicer total
package with a little lipo around the waist."
"Good idea," said Sheila, turning to me. "What do you think?" she asked.
"Call me Aaron," I said.
"OK, Aaron. Well, whether it's face, torso or fanny, I encourage
patients to go for a good contour. With the implants and a thinner
waist, you can have a very nice figure, if you want to show it off from
time to time," she said with a wink. "There's no point doing things
halfway."
"OK, I'll trust your judgment on that," I said.
"Now," said Dr. Pfeiffer, "the main event. What are we going for here?
Lean and fit? Buxom? I'm assuming you're not looking for stripper
boobs."
I laughed. "Hardly. What do you recommend?"
"Left up to me, I focus on the proportion rather than the size. The
important thing is the relationship of the breasts to the rest of your
body - your chest, tummy and even arms. Sometimes it's hard to know
exactly what to put in before we put you under," she said.
"What do you think?" I asked Sheila.
"First, as you've figured out, I like to get things out in the open. So
as Dr. Pfeiffer works on you, do want to give her specific instructions
in advance, or do you want her to just make decisions on what will look
best?" she asked.
"How do your other patients usually handle that?" I asked.
"They're all over the map, but I will say that our happiest patients
tend to be the ones who let Dr. Pfeiffer use her experience and training
to get the best result. More often than not, patients get timid and
hamstring us by saying how many CC's or what cup size they want. Then
they end up coming back in a year later for bigger implants," said
Sheila.
"Do they ever come in wanting them smaller?"
"Rarely," said Dr. Pfeiffer, "About 90% of the ones who specify a size
tell me later that they wish they had gone larger or left it to me."
"You decide then," I told Dr. Pfeiffer.
"Now there is one important question. As I'm determining your ideal
breast size, do you want me keeping in mind that you are a biological
male, or do you want me to treat you as I would with any other patient?"
I hesitated as I thought it over, and Sheila spoke up. "Keep in mind
that if we worry too much about your gender, you could end up with a
result that's neither fish nor fowl. You'll never be happy with it."
"I'll leave it to Dr. Pfeiffer, just so you promise not to do anything
too extreme," I said.
"You don't need to worry about that," said the doctor. "I will, of
course, take all the factors into account. For example, you do have a
wider rib cage, and an extra rib compared to a female. That might call
for a little extra volume to look just right. I do assume you want to be
able to show cleavage from time to time, right?"
"Well ..." I stalled, uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation.
"I'll answer for you," said Sheila. "If you have them, you're going to
want to show them off. It's just the way the human mind works. I feel
sure that if you leave the decisions to Dr. Pfeiffer, you'll be happy
with the result. If you try to limit her too much, you won't be taking
full advantage of her judgment."
"OK, I'll leave it up to you," I said.
Dr. Pfeiffer smiled. "You won't be sorry. OK, so I'll let you get
dressed and go meet with my scheduler, and I'll see you in the operating
room," she said, and she left. Sheila remained behind.
"Big decision," she said. "You OK?"
"Yes, I really am." I took a deep breath.
"You sure? If you're having doubts, now's the time to talk about them.
You realize, of course, that people are going to notice, whether you're
dressed as male or female. They're going to ask questions. Have you
thought through how you're going to handle them?" she asked.
"Some, but I'm open to suggestions."
"You're going to be self conscious at first. All you'll be able to think
about the first time you're out and about is your breasts. The best way
to get past that is to be proud of what you've done. Sit and stand up
straight. If you act like you're ashamed of them, other people react
negatively. But if you're happy and proud, they'll be happy and proud
for you," she said.
"That makes sense."
"This will be a very special time for you. And if you need to talk about
anything later, I'm here for you."
"Thanks. Well, I guess there's nothing left now but to set the date,
right?" I said.
"Our scheduler's actually gone for the day, but I can set you up,"
Sheila said. "Let's go down to my office."
She looked into her screen and said, "How would you like to go ahead and
get it done tomorrow? Normally we're booked a couple of weeks ahead, but
we had a patient come down with the flu, and the doc's open in the
morning. That'll be Friday, which will give you the weekend to recover.
You can probably be back at your desk Monday, or Tuesday at the latest."
"I'm actually off tomorrow, so I suppose I could."
"Good! You're booked. No backing out now!" She laughed. "Seriously, I
know you're a little nervous. Everybody always is their first time. Just
take a few deep breaths and trust the doctor. You'll be glad you did,"
she said.
I showed up at the outpatient center at 6 the next morning as
instructed. The intake nurse confirmed that I had not eaten since
midnight, and I was taken to the operating room, where a succession of
people in scrubs came by to start my IV, explain the anesthesia and ask
a lot of questions about my medical history. Finally, Dr. Pfeiffer
appeared.
"Well, here we are!" she said. "Now just to make sure my notes are
right, we're going to suck out some belly fat, put in your implants and
zap that hair. I did want to make sure one more time that you want me to
determine the implant size in accordance with what we in the business
consider a correct proportion, right?"
"Yes, that's right," I said.
"OK, you're going under now." In what seemed no more than a few seconds,
I was blinking to focus my eyes. "You did great," said the nurse. "Just
relax until the rest of the anesthesia wears off. You've got a recovery
bra supporting your boobies and keeping the bandages intact.
They had me wait several hours while the anesthesia wore off, and the
nurse finally said they were ready to release me. "You'll have to wear
the bra for a while, but it's a nice one. Here's your post-op
instruction packet. It's important to follow it to the letter. You have
someone picking you up?"
"I was going to take a cab," I said, and she called me one.
Within a half hour, I was on my couch, admiring the fullness beneath my
shirt and wondering how much was boobs and how much was bandages or
swelling. The drugs were starting to wear off, and I decided to read
over the post-op instructions. Most were common-sense guidelines about
taking medications as prescribed and such, but several points jumped out
at me:
-Wear your post-surgical bra until your two-week follow-up appointment.
-After your follow-up appointment, your doctor will usually clear you to
wear soft bras. It is critical that your new breasts be supported 24/7
for at least two months.
-If you experience any problems after hours, call our office number and
you will be automatically transferred to our answering service.
Oops. My plan for simply wearing looser shirts wasn't going to be as
simple as I had thought, but a bigger concern was Alli. She had gone to
visit her parents for the weekend, so I'd have a little time to get my
strength back, but ... I looked down at my chest. It was considerably
bigger than I had expected. Perhaps it was time for a closer look. I
pulled off my shirt. Dr. Pfeiffer had chosen to insert the implants
through small incisions under my armpits, so there were no bandages on
the breasts themselves.
I gasped. My breasts were full and round and ... much bigger than I had
expected. The bulge under my shirt wasn't the thickness of bandages and
bra. It was boobs.
I went into the bathroom as quickly as I could and looked into the
mirror, turning one way and the other. One thing was certain: I would
never need sweaty inserts again. I had my very own set of tits - round,
full and lucious. In the back of my mind was the realization that hiding
them - especially from Alli - would be far trickier than I had imagined.
But for now ... wow!!!
The next morning, I awoke with my hands crossed over my chest, each
holding a breast. They felt wonderful, and I was floating as I showered
and pulled on some jeans and a T-shirt. Well, one thing was for sure: T-
shirts were out. The bra held my breasts out prominently, far too much
for any innocent explanations. It was time to experiment with my work
shirts. Because it was late spring, I favored polo style shirts. They
looked great one me with one small problem: They didn't hide my breasts
at all, and indeed, several of them revealed cleavage unless buttoned
all the way to the top.
I might have a problem, I thought.
Even so, seeing them still made me hard, and I indulged in a bout of
enthusiastic masturbation resulting in a major climax. As is frequently
the case, my orgasm left me facing a harsh reality: I could not hide my
new assets. Certainly not while wearing the required bra, but probably
not even braless.
I tried another shirt, then another. Maybe if I hunched over I could get
away with it for a little while in some of the looser, darker shirts.
But probably not all day, and certainly not forever.
The even bigger problem of hiding my new secret from Alli now became far
more clear. Even in the dark, she would feel my breasts in a matter of
seconds. Still weak from the surgery, I sat down to rest a bit, and the
phone rang. It was Alli.
"Hi, sweetie," I said. "How're things at home?"
"No bad. How about with you?"
"Pretty good. Just taking it easy."
"You don't sound so good," said Alli. "You sick?"
"Naw, just slept in a bit. Still groggy, I guess. I have some coffee
brewing."
"Oh, OK. Listen, Mom isn't feeling well, and I'm going to stay over a
couple of days and call in sick. Would you go by and water my plants for
me?"
"Sure. I'll get them this afternoon. Hope she feels better. Give her a
hug for me."
"I will, thanks! Love you!
"Love you too!"
I felt relieved, if only for the moment. My problem with Alli hadn't
gone away; it had just been delayed a day or two. For the balance of
the day, I did as little as possible, and by Sunday afternoon my
strength was returning. I drove over to Alli's and watered her plants as
promised. Back at my apartment, I pulled out my post-op paperwork to see
if it said anything about whether I could expect the swelling to go
down.
I tried on my various work shirts again. I couldn't conceive of a way to
hide my breasts, which the bra held firmly in place pointing outward. I
decided to call the doctor's office for advice.
After a few minutes, the phone rang.
"Aaron? Hi, it's Sheila. Everything going OK with your breasts? The
operator said you sounded worried about something, so she thought maybe
I could help."
"Everything's fine, and I'm getting my energy back. I just had a silly
question. The size they are now ... is that pretty much what they're
going to be, or is some of it swelling?" I asked.
"You could have a little of what they call superpole swelling, but that
would only be around the tops. But what you're seeing now is pretty much
the new you. How do you like them?"
"I love them," I said. "It's just that ..."
"Let me guess. You're having an anxiety attack about going to work."
"I guess so, yeah."
"Well, you mentioned that you work with a cool group of people. I mean,
hey, you've already been wearing long hair and earrings. Do you not
think they'll approve or be supportive?"
"I guess I think they will be ok with it, but what if they're not?"
"Remember what I told you Thursday? If you act proud and happy, they'll
be proud and happy for you. If you act like your new breasts are
something to be ashamed of, they'll see it as something weird. It's
largely in how you carry yourself and how you handle it," she said.
"I guess the thing is that I hadn't really realized I'd have to wear a
bra in the office. It makes them poke out a lot more," I said.
"Isn't that the point? Dr. Pfeiffer was really excited with how they
turned out, by the way. I can't wait to see them!" She paused a moment
and resumed. "Aaron, may I ask you a very candid question? Who have you
told about your crossdressing?"
"Honestly? Nobody."
"Not your co-workers? Your girlfriend?"
"No."
"Well - and I don't judge you for this - were you thinking you could
hide your other life once you had breasts? Certainly you realized that
changing your body like that would bring things out in the open. I mean,
we talked about that."
"At some level, probably. But I may have avoided facing up to it."
"Well, you've made your choice, and I'm confident that in time you'll
feel it's the right one. But it does make things more awkward at first,
because you can't hide any more. Don't worry. Having things out in the
open is a very good thing. The stress of a secret second life is deadly.
You'll be able to just be who you are. Which raises the question, do you
have a handle on just who you are?"
"It depends on what role I'm in. Most of the time, I'm fully male."
"Not any more you're not."
We were silent for a few seconds. I broke the silence: "So now what?"
"Be proud. Proud of your figure. Proud of your boobs. Proud of your
femininity. Integrate your male and female sides into a new, better,
complete person. Whether that person ends up being male or female, or
something in between, doesn't really matter. What matters is for you to
be whole, and to believe in yourself."
"So you're saying I shouldn't try to hide them."
"Not much point even trying. Wear a tight shirt or maybe even a feminine
top if you like. Flaunt them. And make it clear you're not afraid. Maybe
even wear some lip gloss. That'll immediately show your co-workers
you're not ashamed! You've been trying to have two lives that were
isolated from each other, and that's not healthy. You'll be much happier
in the long run if you integrate your two sides into one complete
person."
I sighed. "You're right, I guess. Anyway, it's a weekend, and I should
let you go, but I really appreciate the advice."
I hung up and thought about what she had said, then experimented with a
couple of my work shirts again. I reached a decision.
On Monday morning, I contemplated calling in sick, but I really felt
good enough to work, and there was no point delaying the inevitable. I
showered and pulled on one of my usual work outfits - Dockers and a navy
golf-style shirt. My bust was clearly full, and my slimmer waistline
caused more contrast. Clearly, I had a figure.
I normally wear my hair in the usual low ponytail used by men with long
hair. But I moussed and blew it dry to give it a little more fullness,
then took a handful of hair from each side of my face and pulled them
back, putting a rubber band in them. I took a hand mirror and examined
it. Too fussy. I tied it into a ponytail. But rather than my usual
ponytail at the base of the neck, I tied it higher, up near the crown of
my head. I retrieved a curling iron from my "fem supplies" and curled
the ponytail a bit. I now had a high, bouncy ponytail that wasn't
totally girlish, but really wasn't something you'd expect to see on a
male.
I put on a subtle pink lipstick. Too much, I thought. I was reaching for
androgyny, not femininity. I washed it off and headed out to the car. In
a few minutes, I reached the office parking lot. I entered the lobby and
got on the elevator, taking a deep breath as it started up.
Sherry
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