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Back to Reality By Kasumi This is the direct sequel to The Castaway. If you haven't read that story yet, please do so before continuing with this one! March 1st 2013 It's strange to be opening this journal once more. I thought... well, I thought that once I was off the island, back to civilization, back to reality, that maybe things would just go back to the way they were. Actually I don't know if I really even thought anything about what would happen. I mean, when the motorboat was speeding its way back to the ship it came from, as I sat in the back with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders while the man who had introduced himself as Val was holding my hand, I wasn't exactly thinking, "Oh, I wonder when I can start back at my job?" Even so, I figured my island journal would be completed the moment I put it down, and the ship's doctor hooked me up to an IV. Yet here I am, pencil in hand, and grains of sand falling from the pages to my lap. Except for Val, Dr. Federova, and the man at the helm of the motorboat, who spoke no English and didn't introduce himself, I still had had no human contact. Val and the doctor both check up on me now and again, but conversation is pretty much limited to how I'm feeling and checking my vitals. I think everyone feels awkward around me, not really knowing how to deal with me or what to say to me. I suppose it's only fair, I imagine I'd have a hard time talking to someone who'd been through a traumatic experience too. These men and women are scientists, not counselors. And the language barrier would just make it so much easier to not find a reason to talk to me. So here I am, back with the only friend I've known in the last year, the only one who's listened to every thought I've had: Katie's journal. It's strange to call it that, even though it's doubly correct. It used to belong to Katie, before she died in the same plane crash I survived, and now I'm Katie too. An entirely different Katie, yet similar in so many ways. For both of us, Katie wasn't the name we were born with. For me it was Michael, for her... I don't know. I wish I did. She was such an important part of my life for the last year, despite the fact that I had only met her through her written word. The doctor had been kind when she had given me a physical examination. After discovering the now very little secret tucked away in my panties, she had not reacted at all, continued to call me Katie or Miss Cairns and use female pronouns. The one concession had been to ask me how long I'd been a woman, and a raised eyebrow when I told her I'd started taking birth control pills on the island. I'm worried. I mean really worried. Petrified, really. Dr. Fedorova didn't know me, and her job pretty much required her to be non- judgmental. How are the people who knew me as Michael going to react when I return? Val told me earlier that we were around a day away from port in Vladivostok. I don't know if I can cope with this. Hunger, shelter, and survival I can deal with. People, I'm not so sure. March 3rd 2013 And the lack of human contact continues. The ship pulled into port late last night. I was asleep at the time, but two men I had never met woke me and led me off the ship. They wouldn't answer any of my questions, only told me that they were taking me somewhere I could sleep. So here I am in a, if I'm honest, pretty awful hotel room. And this coming from someone who spent the last year sleeping in a cave under palm frond sheets. They told me to sleep, and that they'd be back in the morning, but sleep is pretty much all I did on the ship. Instead, I've basically been taking a really long, continuous shower. I've spent an entire year covered in salt, sand, and sweat; I think I can be forgiven for wasting some hot water. It was simultaneously the worst and greatest shower I've ever taken - worst because of the lousy water pressure and partially broken head, and greatest because of the wonderful feeling of the hot water running over my breasts. I honestly could have spent hours in there, lathering up and gently caressing them, running my hands down my taut, slim stomach, across my widening hips, and between my legs. Showers in my past had been a method of getting clean, now it was one of the most erotic things I had ever felt! As my fingertips started to get pruney, I turned my attention to my hair, shampooing and conditioning over and over, washing the island tangles and knots out. Note to self: make sure to not ever let it get like this again. I loved the way long hair made me look, but this is way too much work! Still unable to sleep, I decided to work on my hair a little more. Sitting in front of the cracked mirror, towel wrapped around my breasts like a dress, I grabbed a hairbrush from the salvaged suitcases I had brought with me from the island. I thought back to watching my mother as a child, and experimented with brushing it through my hair combined with the room hairdryer. I discovered that wrapping hair around the brush as I dried it created some loose curls, and I worked through my hair, marveling as the blonde curls began to frame my face, creating an increasingly feminine look. The face itself looked a little worn and tired. There were lines on my face that made me look older than I really was, created from the exposure and hardships I had faced on the island. Even so, the female hormones that I had introduced to my bloodstream had changed it so much, my skin softer, face more rounded, and nose a little thinner. I stepped into a pair of pink cotton panties, cleaned for the first time in forever on the ship, enjoying the feeling of the soft material settling on my hips, adjusting them so the little bow in the front sat directly below my belly button. I turned back to the mirror and admired my handiwork. The front of my panties was completely flat as they disappeared between my legs, my bare 36C breasts jutted proudly from my chest, eraser-sized nipples erect in the cool air, the room heater unable to combat the cold early Russian Spring, little goosebumps raised across my smooth, soft, hairless skin. The cut of the panties only emphasized my slim, narrow waist and wider hips, giving me a slight hourglass figure also shown off by my rounded buttocks. My now curly blonde hair framed my face, falling gently across my breasts and shoulders down to the middle of my back. I was completely unrecognizable from the overweight man who had stepped on to Flight 816 a little over a year ago, but I wouldn't change what I had become for the world. I don't know what's going to happen in the coming days, but I have a feeling my identity is going to come into serious question. I'm going to try to sleep now. I expect there'll be some tiring days ahead. March 4th 2013 The two men returned this morning. I was already dressed when they arrived, though hardly appropriately. All the clothes I had were supposed to be for a late Australian summer, not early spring in Russia. I had put on black pants made from a thin, light material, and a blue and yellow chevron-patterned top, along with high heels that I was finally able to wear, but knew that any length of time outside would probably leave me freezing cold. Fortunately, one of the men held out a thick, fur-lined winter coat for me to step into, along with a cute peaked hat with fur ear flaps. It was only as he helped me into it and asked if I was ready that I realized he was American, not Russian as I had previously assumed. I asked where they were taking me, and they told me that we were going to the nearby consulate, so that I could be processed. There was going to be a lot of paperwork before I could return home. As I climbed into the backseat of the waiting car, one of the two men told me I would need to duck down as much as possible and not draw any attention to myself. I soon saw why, as we drove the short distance to the consulate. Outside the building with the hanging American flag a huge crowd had gathered, photographers, cameramen, reporters. All waiting for a glimpse of me. I should have been ready for it. I mean, seriously, it's not every day someone survives a plane crash, let alone one that happened over a year ago. And who knows if any details of exactly who had returned from the island had gotten out. I wasn't ready though, and I panicked. I grasped for the door handle to try to run, but it was locked. I know I screamed, I think when one of the men held on to me, trying to calm me, I was hyperventilating, and finally, in blind panic, I'm ashamed to say I fainted. Which probably made it much easier for them to get me inside. I awoke lying on a couch in a large office. I must have made a noise when I woke, because I saw a man stand from a chair set behind a desk and make his way toward me. He helped me sit, before sitting next to me on the other side of the couch, asking if I was ok, if there was anything he could get me, before introducing himself as the Consul General. When I assured him I was ok, he helped me stand and guided me over to a seat in front of his desk. "Miss Cairns," he said as he sat across from me, "I'm sure you appreciate this is an unusual situation. I've been informed of why your name doesn't quite match up to the passenger manifest, but I'm afraid it does cause some problems regarding your repatriation, your return to America." "I understand," I had said. "Whatever I need to do to prove I was once a man named Michael, I'll do. But this is who I am now; I want to be able to move forward in my life, rather than looking back." "Of course, of course," he had replied, an expression on his face that suggested he didn't really get it. "We've contacted your parents. Bringing them in to meet you and confirm you are who you say you are is going to be our best way forward. They'll be arriving in Vladivostok later this afternoon." Oh no, no, no, no, no! I was barely ready to talk to people in general, how was I supposed to already face my parents and tell them they no longer had a son? While I was having a mild panic attack, he had continued talking. I understood the gist to be that they were going to put me up in an apartment on the consulate grounds while the mess of paperwork was dealt with, but beyond that I have no idea what he said. I could only focus on my impending doom. March 7th 2013 Why did that plane have to fly near me? Why did I signal it? Why did I have to be rescued??? I was happy on the island. Well, maybe not happy, but I was doing fine. I was surviving, and I had nobody to answer to but myself. It was lonely, and it was tough, but it was better than this. I want to go back. Back to my cave, back to my bow-fishing, back to collecting and bottling rainwater, back to spending my days in a bikini. But the counselor says it's unhealthy to think that way, that I need to move on. She says that writing my thoughts in the journal will help me with this, but I can't... I can't even begin to process what happened. The counselor, a young Russian lady who calls herself Miss Anna, is pretty much living in the little apartment with me full time right now - she let slip that I was basically on suicide watch. Understandable, I suppose. I can't say I didn't consider it when it happened. The thing is, how else do they expect me to deal with outright rejection? Shit, I don't think it's fair to even call it that. Rejection sounds nice compared to having to stand there while my father screamed that he had no child to everyone in earshot. I don't think I was expecting immediate, unconditional acceptance that his son had been replaced with a daughter, but this... Even the consul general, who clearly didn't understand my transformation either, had the good grace to have my father escorted out of the office by security. It was my mother who really stuck the knife in though. After sitting through my explanation of events, recollection of things from my childhood that only I could know, and pleading with her for understanding, she had turned to the consul general and told him: "I'm not sure who this person is, but it is not my son. I hope God will forgive it for what it has done, but I'm not so sure He will," then left without another word. She couldn't even bring herself to use the feminine pronouns! "It," like I was a fucking table, or something. Miss Anna wants me to talk through what I'm feeling, but all I want to do is cry, and maybe scream and throw things too. March 12th 2013 I'm off suicide watch, but Miss Anna still checks in on me every day. She told me that work is still being done to get me back to America, but that it's going to take much longer. They're trying to get DNA tests run, but of course my ex-parents are refusing to cooperate. Assholes. I've been reading back over Katie's old entries in the journal. Now I'm 99.99% certain she too was transgender, I've been trying to get clues on how she dealt with things like this, but sadly she kept her cards pretty close to her chest. Do I give up on them? I'm in my twenties, so I don't exactly need them anymore, but family is supposed to be forever. I had a surprising visitor yesterday. Val, the first man I saw in a year, whose boat took me from the island, arrived with Miss Anna. At first, it was a little awkward. We hadn't talked that much on the ship, and I didn't really know anything about him. When he took my hand and asked me how I was coping, I just broke down. Through snot and tears, I told him the whole story. He held my hand the whole time, listening to every word, and only interrupting to ask a couple of questions when he had language problems. When I was done, he pulled me into a hug, and told me his own story. How his family had also turned their backs on him when he had introduced them to his boyfriend. How he too had been angry, and considered changing his whole life in order to please his parents, until he realized that his own happiness was more important. "The thing is," he told me, "family IS important, but sometimes you have to make your own family, you know?" I think I see what he's getting at. I'm not ready to give up on my parents completely, but I'm not going to wait around for them to come to their senses either. Now I just have to figure out what I AM going to do! March 14th 2013 I'm still in limbo, but things are looking up. For one thing, my parents were served a warrant and DNA tests are apparently being processed. I've also been told my rescue has led to Flight 816 finally being found. I got to watch video earlier of the wreckage being recovered. Very eerie. They're also pulling out remains, and I can't help but wonder if Katie was among those recovered. I can't help but feel I've left one cave for another, only in this one I don't get much sun. I'm not technically a prisoner, but I'm not allowed to leave the consulate, and I've been asked to stay in the apartment so I'm not in the officials' work areas. As I have no Russian visa, and no way to apply for one, I have to remain on what is technically American soil. Which is hilarious, given America won't even reclaim me yet. It's driving me crazy, not least because I've been wearing the same small set of clothes for a year straight. I'd love to be able to go shopping, pick out my own clothes for a change, rather than what was accidentally bequeathed to me. New panties and bras are a must, but I'm also tired of wearing the same few dresses over and over again. Val visited me again today. It's nice to see a friendly face, makes me feel less like a prisoner of circumstance. His research team will be back out in the ocean again tomorrow. Have I mentioned how disappointing it is he already has a boyfriend? I'd let that man do so many naughty things to me. March 20th 2013 It's all happening today! More than half a month after my return to civilization, the world finally recognizes I am who I say I am. Or at least I used to be who I said I was. I think that's right, it all gets a little confusing. I should be on a flight back to America in the next couple of days. I don't know how to feel about that for a few reasons. First, I'm worried about being back in a plane again. It makes me nauseated and my head pounds to even think about what happened last time I was flying. Second, what am I going to do when I get there? My old apartment in Redondo Beach has long since been rented out, and my parents want nothing to do with me, so I can't live with them. I've got to get back on my feet as quick as possible, but how? On the island, my only real worries were having enough food and water, and I figured out ways of getting those pretty quickly. Back in the world, I would need a place to live, a job, transportation, and, well, friends. I'd never had many of them, but more than ever I was going to need support. Before I can even think about that, I have to get through this afternoon. A press conference has been scheduled. They want me to sit in front of journalists from around the world and talk about the crash and my survival. More and more I find myself wishing I'd never been rescued. This is too stressful! March 21st 2013 Honestly the conference didn't go too badly. The consul general and an airline rep did most of the talking, about the crash, the rescue, what has happened since. Thankfully, the majority of my questions were about what how I survived, what I did for food, water, shelter, etc. Pretty easy to talk about, as I still had a tendency to reach for a bikini and my bow in the morning, before I realized I didn't need to go fishing. Old habits die hard. I did talk about my transformation, and it was pleasantly surprising how respectful everyone was. I told them that it started out as necessity - protection from the sun (and more besides) was needed and it was the only clothes available - but that as time went by it became who I was. I think I rambled, I was so nervous, but clarification questions were respectful. There was one jerk who asked how big my tits are and if they were all real, but he got quickly hushed by the others in the room. I even talked a little about my family problems - I think I was maybe trying to score sympathy points. Hopefully it worked. I'm starting to think that maybe I can do this whole living a normal life thing again after all. March 31st 2013 Sorry I haven't written in a while, journal, it's been a crazy time. I'm back in Los Angeles, finally. I don't think I can stay here for long though, there are just too many people! After the press conference a couple of weeks ago, my email went crazy! Former coworkers, high school friends and acquaintances, even my elementary school principal, emailing me how glad they were that I was alive, telling me how much they admired my bravery and so forth. I don't think those are words anyone has said to me before; it was all a little overwhelming! Arriving back in America was intense. Everywhere I go, the cameras have been following, it's like having a personal set of professional stalkers. I ignore them as best as I can though, and they're starting to lose interest a little. I'm living with a former co-worker until I can get back on my feet with a job and place to live of my own. Alyssa was - well, still is - my former boss' PA, and we had been friends before I disappeared off the face of the planet. She's been letting me live in her tiny guest room, and has basically been helping me not only reintegrate into society, but also teaching me how to do so as a woman. Learning everything female, from how to style my hair to how to get in and out of a car without flashing my panties (which TMZ would just love to happen) has been a full time job for the last week and a half. I thought I'd taught myself a lot as my body changed, and as I sat in that apartment in Russia, but it seems like I've just scratched the surface. There's so much to being a woman that men just don't realize, but I'm loving every moment of it. She has also taken me shopping. Shopping as a man had been a case of "walk into store, find shirts and pants in my size, pay for them, leave", but shopping as a woman... Well as much as I quickly grew to love my meager salvaged wardrobe on the island, I don't think I really appreciated the sheer variety in women's clothing! The varying styles of dresses alone were one thing, but then factoring in pants, skirts, tops, panty cuts and colors, bras, lingerie, shoes... Let's just say it's a good thing the government forced the bank to turn my account back over to me, including accrued interest, not to mention the generous settlement with the airline. I probably should have mentioned before, the investigation into the crash has almost been completed, but the initial findings came out a week ago. I don't know much of the details, but as soon as the words "gross negligence" hit the press, lawyers were on the phone with every family of the deceased, pushing for a pretty huge sum of money. And with me obviously. The thing is, though, as great as Alyssa has been, I really don't think I can stay here. No matter that I used to think living outside of the big city was akin to stabbing forks into my eyes repeatedly, but I just can't handle it anymore. There are too many people, too much traffic, waaaay too much pollution. Stepping outside of the apartment is an exercise in stress, and staying inside it I feel more trapped and cut off than I ever did on the island. America loves to tout how much freedom its people have, but strangely I feel like I will never have as much freedom as I did on the island. April 5th 2013 I've received a couple of interesting emails in the last couple of days. The first is pretty simple to write about here - a publishing company wants me to write two books: the first, a memoir, the basis for which I pretty much have right here in this journal; and the second a survival guide aimed toward girls. I can't quite decide if this is ironic or not. Anyway, I jumped on it as it's exactly what I need to keep myself busy while getting paid, but told them I needed to do it on my terms. Namely that I wanted out of LA. There's a little beach cottage north of San Simeon on the Pacific Coast Highway that they're renting for me for a month or two while I write. I'm moving up there in a couple of days. I can't wait to be by myself again, away from all the mad rush of people, and I especially can't wait to be sitting on a beach in a bikini again, writing. Although doing it on a laptop rather than in this old journal will be a little odd. I'll still have to come back to LA occasionally though, if only for my doctor's appointments. I'm actually on a proper HRT regime finally! It won't make a whole lot of difference to my body anymore, but... Let's just say it's the first part of correcting the little mistake in my panties and leave it at that. Anyway, the second email. I'm worried about this one. I mean, my story's out there, there really aren't any details that I've spared, besides the extremely explicit ones, so it could just be someone who's done their research. It's from a man named Kevin Young. A man who claims to live in Melbourne, has blue eyes and a scruffy beard in the attached picture. A man who told me that he had been in love with a girl named Katie Munroe, a girl who had died in the same crash I had survived. A girl who had not been born that way. He says in the email that he didn't want to bother or upset me, but he had read my story, that I had kept a diary in a book that had previously belonged to a passenger named Katie. As I said, my story's out there. Any kook could probably put two and two together and concoct this email. There's one detail that worries me though, makes me think this is genuine. I swear up and down that I haven't told a single soul, barring you, sweet journal, of my suspicions that Katie was transgendered like me. I didn't want to cast aspersions in case I was wrong and just reading too much into what little I knew about her from her writings. I haven't responded yet, I'm not sure what to say. April 7th 2013 I'm all moved into the beach cottage. Going to start writing tomorrow, but for now I'm going to put on my brand new, hot pink string bikini, sit on the sand, and let the smells, sounds, and feel of sand on smooth, bare legs bring back the memories. April 8th 2013 I've made a good start into the memoir, but I kept getting distracted by that email. I finally responded, mostly just to find out what he wants from me. The reply didn't take long. He wants to Skype with me. Crap, what do I do now? April 9th 2013 That was... cathartic, I suppose. For both of us. I wanted to come to this cottage to get away from people, yet Kevin and I chatted through video message for hours last night. I finally gave in and let him call me, and soon enough there was his image on screen, exactly as Katie had described him in her journal all that time ago. Pretty blue eyes, a face full of stubble, a t-shirt that did nothing to hide his shoulder muscles and pecs. I admit I felt a little flutter of attraction in my belly, even though I knew I shouldn't. He told me he wanted to talk to me to get things off his chest with someone who might understand, and also that he wanted to know more about the journal. He spent a good long time telling me about what it had been like, falling for someone over the internet. He had met Katie entirely by accident, adding and calling a mistyped friend's Skype account, connecting with her by mistake. He told me everything about their long distance relationship. How they had spent hours talking that first time, and reconnecting to chat almost every day. How they had both realized they both had started living their lives in anticipation of the time of day they were both able to get online. How she had eventually dropped a double bombshell - that she had been born male, and that his first, entirely accidental, call had probably stopped her from taking her own life. How all he had wanted to do was reach through his monitor and hold her, never let her go. His voice had cracked at this point. He asked me if he did the right thing telling her he loved her. It was that that had made her drive to the airport the next morning, get a standby ticket, and eventually board Flight 816. It was the last thing he had said to her. I'm not sure how I managed to get through it all, given his story opened a floodgate of tears in my eyes, but I read him a bunch of entries from Katie's part of our journal. "You turned her life around," I told him, after reading the last entry. "It may have only been for the last day of it, but you finally brought happiness to her life. You can't be hard on yourself for what happened afterward; she needed to hear that from you." He thanked me for everything and told me he needed to think about things. He ended the call before I had a chance to stop him. I sat there in front of my computer, still feeling emotional, and tried to process everything that I had learned and confirmed. I was just about to shut everything down for the night, when an incoming call popped up on my screen. Kevin, again. "I'm sorry," he had told me, "I didn't mean to be rude like that. I mean, I really needed that closure, but all this time talking and I didn't ask a thing about you. You must have been going through so much crap recently, and all I could do was think about myself." "What would you like to know?" I had asked. I don't know how long we talked, but while the first conversation had been loaded, awkward, and highly emotional, the second was surprisingly easy. Kevin just has this way about him that makes you want to tell him things, and I told him everything. Old life, island, new life, I really felt like I could let my guard down with him, and that he did the same for me. Talking to Kevin was the first time I really thought about how not just my gender had changed, but also my sexuality along with it. I had arrived on that island a straight male, and left it a straight female. I still liked to look at pretty girls, but now it was more looking at styles to emulate and clothes to hunt down than anything sexual. Meanwhile, men were the complete opposite for me, and I still think about that first moment I laid eyes on my rescuer, Val, in my fantasies, even though I had subsequently learned he had no interest in me, or any other girl for that matter. It was strange to open up to Kevin about these kind of thoughts, but at the same time it felt really good to see him smile, laugh, and empathize with me, and for me to do the same with him. Jeez, no wonder Katie fell for him so easily. April 23rd 2013 Oh god, I'm a nervous wreck! The past two weeks have been spent writing, swimming, sunbathing, and a whole lot of talking to Kevin. A whole lot of talking that ended with me inviting him to come to visit me. I don't know why I said it, but as soon as it was out there, I knew I couldn't take it back, even when he asked if I was sure. I really did want to meet him in person, and I knew there was no way I could ever step on a flight to Melbourne again. So here I am, sitting in the international arrivals area of LAX, wearing a pale blue, strappy sundress covered in tiny purple, red, and yellow flowers, nothing on underneath besides a tiny white cotton thong that leaves almost nothing to the imagination. I know I'm wearing this because I'm hoping he's as attracted to me as I am to him, and a part of me deep down hates myself for that, as I feel like I'm betraying his old Katie. His plane should be landing any minute. I'm going to go wait by the doors to the customs area. Maybe if I'm standing, I'll feel less like I'm about to throw up! April 26th 2013 It's hard not to feel like everything that has happened to me in the last 15 months has led me to the past few days. And what a few days! When I finally saw him walk through those doors, it was all I could do not to run and jump into his arms in excitement. As it was, he approached me with a big smile on his face, while I rocked nervously on my heels, biting my bottom lip. He said "You must be Katie." as he stopped in front of me, and I reached up to his neck to hug him... only instead, I found myself drawing him into a kiss. And he returned it! Oh my word, did he return it, his tongue playing with mine, his stubble gently scratching my soft skin, and his strong arms pulling me to him. I'm not sure how long that kiss lasted, but we were both breathing pretty heavy when we finally broke it. "Wow, does everyone get welcomed to America that way?" He had laughed, in that wonderful accent. "I'm sorry," I replied, "I don't know what came over me. I've been so nervous about you coming, and... well..." He reassured me it was ok, that he too had basically spent the whole flight trying to decide how to greet me. "I can't tell you how glad I am we both settled on the same idea!" Blushing, I took one of his two cases, he took my hand, and we walked together to where I had parked my rental. The Pacific Coast Highway has to be one of the most beautifully scenic drives in the whole country, but it was made all the better for having Kevin sitting in my passenger seat next to me. We talked the whole drive, even though we had been talking so much the past few weeks over the computer. He should have been looking around at the scenery, but more often than not, I felt his eyes on me as he spoke. He complimented me on my dress, and told me that the computer screen did my beauty no justice. I couldn't believe I was hearing those words! Part of me wanted to just pull over and jump him, but all good things come to those who wait. Finally, I turned off the highway, pulling into the lonely turnoff for the cottage. As I stopped in front of the house, I could finally take my eyes off the road, and look at him. "Kevin," I said, my heart pounding in my ears, "I didn't mean for this to happen, but I need you to know that, well, I'm seriously in lust with you, right now. I don't know what's going to happen when we get inside that house." "Well that's a bloody relief!" he laughed, a big cheeky grin on his face, "after that kiss you gave me at the airport, I don't think I could cope with spending time with you, just being friends, you know? I mean, if that's what you'd wanted, I'd have honored it, but I'd have hated to have to spend so much time in the bathroom, if you know what I mean!" I giggled, blushing at the thought that I turned him on that much. I could feel his hand gently brushing my bare knee, just below the hem of my dress, while the butterflies in my stomach danced an Irish jig. The front door had barely closed, Kevin's bags dropped, forgotten, just inside, when I felt his arms gently wrap around my waist, drawing me toward him once more. His natural scent was intoxicating as his lips pressed to mine. I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding his face to mine and running my fingers through his short, thick hair, as I felt his right hand gently massage my heart-shaped buttocks through the soft material of my dress. I could hear soft, feminine moans and whimpers escape from me as he kissed and fondled me, and particularly as I felt a growing bulge press into my belly. I snaked my hand between us, feeling his hardness tenting his jeans. I pulled back out of the kiss, and he must have seen something in my face as he asked me what was wrong, concern written all over him. "I've never done this before," I whispered, looking down, away from his face. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to," he told me. I looked back up at him and smiled. I stepped back away from him, and reached behind me to the zipper on the back of my dress, lowering it. As the dress slipped from my shoulders to the floor, revealing my tiny cotton panties and bare breasts, I saw his eyes immediately drop to take it all in. "Oh, but I want to!" I said, with a naughty grin, reaching out to tug at his belt. His jeans were soon on the floor, joining my pretty dress, and I slid my hand inside his boxer briefs, firmly gripping his hard shaft. As I pulled him free of his confinement, I dropped to my knees in front of him, using my other hand to tug his underwear to his ankles. I gently stroked him, quite impressed with his size. I could feel a nervous energy running through me as it bobbed mere inches from my face, but there was no turning back now. I leaned myself closer to him, pressing my lips to his head. A teeny part of my brain balked at having "another man's" cock in my mouth, but hearing Kevin gasp and moan as my warm, wet mouth engulfed him, was the final confirmation that this was who I was supposed to be. I savored his musky scent and taste, as I sucked my way down his length, thinking back to all the times in my last few weeks on the island with "practice Kevin". I gripped the base with my right hand, stroking him, while my left hand gripped his thigh, holding him to me. Meanwhile, I bobbed my head up and down, slurping and swirling my tongue all around him. The noises and encouraging words he was making told me I was doing a good job, and I did everything I could to push him as deep into my mouth as I could. I couldn't believe how sexy I felt. Being on my knees was both submissive and powerful at the same time - he was completely at my mercy, and it felt amazing! All too soon, I felt him begin to tense. He started to try to pull out, but I gripped his buttocks and held him in place. I felt the first jet of hot, creamy, salty cum hit the back of my throat and shuddered in pleasure as three more followed it in quick succession. I slurped it down, licking his sensitive head until the last dribble was gone. I looked up at him. "Did I do ok?" He laughed and pulled me to my feet. "That was incredible!" was all he could say, before he kissed me. I was worried about the taste of his cum on my breath, but it didn't seem to bother him. It got both of us fired up again though, and I could feel him quickly growing to full size once more as I pulled his shirt over his head. He dropped his hands to my waist. "It's not fair for only one of us to be naked," he said, and before I could stop him, he had gripped the waistband of my panties and slipped them down my legs. "Oh wow, it's tiny!" he said. "So cute!" I blushed, frowning. "I hate it," I whispered. "It's the last thing that reminds me of who I was, and not who I'm supposed to be. I'm scheduled for surgery in a couple of months' time." He brought both hands to my face, lifting me up to look him in the eye. "I don't care what's between your legs, you're already the most beautiful woman I've ever known," he told me, his voice soft. Well, what kind of woman isn't going to respond to that? He sure knew how to butter me up! What happened next is kind of a blur. All I know is that I found myself bent over the small dining table near the entryway, lubrication pressed into me, with Kevin behind me, his cock feeling immense as he pounded into my ass. All those times with the realistic vibrator on the island were just nothing compared to the real thing. The sheer heat of him as he entered me, the feel of his legs slapping against my buttocks, his hands alternately gripping my hips or squeezing my breasts. The real thing just had so many more sensations, every single one of them more intense than the last! I have no idea how many orgasms Kevin caused to ripple through my body by the time he finally filled me with his thick, hot ropes. All I know is that, as he pulled out, leaving a trail of juices flowing down my leg, I couldn't move a single inch, and I couldn't see a thing besides fireworks popping behind my eyelids. I haven't written much for my books in the last couple of days - Kevin has kept me way too busy. There's just so much of each other to explore! I will say though, that if you ever have the chance to have sex in the ocean, make sure you give it a go. Of course having a private stretch of beach like we did makes it much easier! He's asleep right now, as I write this journal entry, and so I've been looking back over everything that's happened to me. There's one thing that I wrote here that really struck me, but it wasn't something I said or thought. Russia feels like forever ago, but I can still hear Val's words in my head like he said them 5 minutes ago. "Family is important, but sometimes you have to make your own family." I haven't spoken to my biological family since they stormed out of that consulate office, and I don't plan to either. I don't know where things are going with Kevin, but I do know that he has helped me on the final steps to discovering myself. I also know that my journey isn't nearly over, but I am as close to being at peace with myself as I have ever been. The thing is, names on a birth certificate are just that, names. The people that stick with you, look after you in your time of need, care about you, however much you change, people like Val, Alyssa, and Kevin. And Katie, of course, the sister I never knew. That's all the family I need. - The End -