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BMTI By Virginia Kane Standard caveat applies for erotic reading material. If you are not of legal age where you live, or you find explicit erotic literature distasteful, read no further. This fictional story is not for you. Any similarities with factual events, places or people are purely coincidental. 1. Evolutionary Premise A significant shift in public opinion occurred around the advent of the new millennium. Modern western civilizations became more tolerant and accepting of homosexuality. It wasn't a sudden change. Rather, it occurred over the decade proceeding the year 2000. Some historians attributed the shift was the result of some extensive physiological studies at various prestigious universities which profoundly concluded homosexuality is often not a conscious decision made, but rather, psychologically inherent in certain individuals. The studies postulated a new concept that the intrinsic personality traits of those people of divergent sexual persuasions merely relate to what those individuals consider to be normal. The generally accepted conclusion adopted by the masses was that the sexual persuasion of lesbians, gay, bisexual or transgendered individuals was not a biological fault. In fact, to an LGBT individual, it's not even a deviant form of sexual expression. It's what they perceive as proper for them, but not necessarily proper for most people. The new wave of tolerance proliferated to the extent that by 2010, various organizations supporting gay rights, including the rights of lesbians and the transgendered, picketed for revolutionary legislation to insure safety from persecution as well as greater acceptance. Openly liberal communities made headlines by becoming Meccas for same- sex couples. Nationally, the outraged public expressed sympathy for same-sex lovers who were denied visitation rights at hospitals when one of the two lovers contracted a serious illness. That right was relegated only to family members. It became obvious that prejudice existed in the legal system against same-sex couples. Momentum mounted until, under heavy media pressure, various state and local legislators passed more laws regarding marital rights and legal property rights. Passing more laws was the prevalent political response. Then, in about 2010, Federal legislators passed national laws legalizing same-sex civil unions, triggering outrage from moral majority religious factions emphatically insisting marriage is a sacred institution intended by our Creator only for a man and a woman, and not two people of the same gender. Once civil unions became legal, the social stigma of homosexuality lost a lot of its old sting. Some social scientists feared a decline in population growth would occur. It didn't. Instead, women involved in civil unions with other women sought out men solely to sire offspring for them, without affording the men parental rights. It stirred an unprecedented controversy defining parenthood. Legislators again scrambled to pass more new laws preserving the rights of unmarried individuals not involved in a child's legal custody. By the year 2020, the media coined a new term for women in same-sex civil unions who procreate using donor sperm with preferred physical traits from a volunteer sperm bank without physically involving intimate contact with a birth father. They called it: "20/20 perfect vision." It provided women foresight to choose hereditary strains without concern for the rights of a sperm donor. "Perfect vision" embraces a philosophy wherein women get along better socially with other women. Likewise, men get along better with other men, socially. If women exclude men from the family life, the importance of traditional family units being comprised of a man and a woman is significantly obscured. Even though some insurance company estimated about eighty percent of the population continued to follow traditional morays with one man marrying one woman, a very interesting trend evolved due to changes in the nature of the overall work force. White collar jobs exceeded blue collar jobs in the new millennium, making man's physical strength less important. In the same-sex civil unions, one same-sex partner fulfills the traditional role of principal provider, and the other fulfills the role of homemaker. This phenomenon also held true for male same-sex marriages, oops, civil unions. Still, more males, straight or gay, tend to remain single more than females, relishing freedom and independence from long-term responsibility. Men lack nurturing instincts women have which makes women want to share mutual bonds for the benefit of their children. By 2010, births resulting from artificially inseminated fetuses were slightly more males than females. Straight men were repulsed by women's new-found interest in avoiding life-long marital relationships with men. Women interested in having relationships with men seemed less desirable to males, as they seemed too willing, almost sinister to them. Back in 1980, women generally used the morning after pill to prevent conception. The dosage at that time was strong, to assure success. Concurrently, a persistent draught in the American West from 1980 until 2020 reduced the regional water tables to the extent the residual feminine hormone levels from birth control use increased in the water supply. The increased feminine hormones levels resulted in a decline in the virility of males in those geographic areas. A series of radiation emissions from nuclear reactors located in other regions resulted in similar unrelated declines in virility. Relative ease and frequency of work force migration resulted in other regions with less virulent males. Furthermore, for some unknown reason, men became less inclined to engage in reckless sex as much as their predecessors. Meaningful statistics as to if or why lower testosterone levels in males resulted in fewer female births was widely disputed within the scientific community, among social activists and politicians alike. Everyone tried to blame everyone else for the shift, but no one took responsibility for the slight shift in percentage of births from female to male. 2. What to do? By 2030, an increase in percentage of less hirsute boys was becoming obvious to most concerned socially oriented scientific observers. Due to a simultaneous increase in gang crime activity and general unrest in a dissatisfied, adult male population, quick, decisive remedial action was determined necessary to rectify a festering malady. All levels of the elected officials were challenged to do something for their communities to avert major social pandemonium. Of course, the politicians did what they normally do. They ordered more studies be done, and threw more money into a new, untested quick-fix program to make the gnawing problem go away, as if by magic. That's where my story really begins. Who am I? I'm Reginald Ware. My last name isn't important. My first name is what got me into trouble in the first place, and prompted me to tell this tale. While I was attending high school, I was picked on a lot and made fun of by local bullies because of my name and general stature. After all, who in the States is named Reginald these days? I'm sort of slight of build, so I lost about every fight I had whenever I tried to preserve my dignity from continuous taunting for not being strong and having an unusual name. After sustaining some bone fractures in a scuffle, my frail bone structure and lack of muscle became my crutch. I begged the school administration to excuse me from school activities that presented an opportunity for some jerk to make an example of my obvious shortcomings. My homeroom teacher commiserated with my plight and enrolled me in a "new" program being developed for guys like me who were picked on by bullies. I didn't know exactly how or why this program came about, but as long as it kept bullies at bay, I considered it a godsend. If it wasn't for the weekly sessions I had with a student counselor, you wouldn't even know I was part of some study. After weeks of counseling, the only thing that I learned from participating in the program other than my attending regular classes like everyone else was that my counselor thought I might be gay. I didn't know why he'd think that, because I'd never had any "feelings" for guys like that, though I knew of other kids enrolled in "the" program who were flamboyant fags. He grilled me regularly on how I would d react if a bully tried to inappropriately touch me. It was very annoying. I repeatedly told him I didn't know what I'd do, because none of the things he was suggesting ever happened to me, so I had no basis of formulating an opinion. Because I didn't express outright outrage toward him for making such remarks, he felt I was suppressing my gay tendencies, and told me so. I shrugged it off, at the time, because I felt he was a genuine nutcase and I didn't want to rile him up. I felt it best to let him think whatever he wanted to think, as long the program stopped the jerks who were bullying me. How was I to know he was sharing his unfounded conclusions with my parents and suggested I be sent to a special college after finishing high school? Well, I graduated and I was ready and eager to move on with my life, getting a college education to enable me to fend for myself financially someday. Yeah, it wouldn't be a piece of cake, with my being a runt, but I was determined to give the local junior college my best shot. My parents surprised me, by offering to send me to a prestigious university. They didn't tell me at the time, but I eventually learned that I had earned a scholarship for participating in that odd program during my senior year of high school. My folks sounded so encouraged, I accepted their offer. Who was I to disappoint them? They were tickled pink, (yeah, I know,) when they heard me tell them that I'd put my heart into it. Wouldn't you know it? I was assigned to live in a dorm building with other students who had encountered similar problems in high school. The fellow assigned to share my dorm room was as swishy as a guy could get. What turned his crank was his business. I tried to not let his sexual preference bother me. Nothings seemed to bother me too much. I was in college on a free ride, and I wasn't going to do anything rash to upset the applecart. Roger turned out an okay guy, except that he liked our dorm room real neat and orderly. On the other hand, I tend to be a bit lax. He had peculiar tastes when it came to the kind of clothes he wore. I like to wear fancy shirts and tight fitting slacks on special occasions. Roger preferred to wear them all the time. Even his underwear was fancy, and he liked to parade around our small dorm room in his underwear, swinging his shapely bums in my face, showing them off, frequently asking what I thought of his cute, bubble butt. When I suggested he was acting like a flaming faggot, he said he was aspiring to be an actor and they were all--- free spirited. Roger was a drama major on a scholarship. He liked to express himself dramatically, in character, a lot. I figured he was playing a role, teasing me. I surprised you about that. Didn't I? Yeah, sure I did. One time after I chided him, the swishy faggot gave me a real sad puppy look and told me I was mean, when all he wanted to do was to try being nice to me. To keep peace, I apologized. His smile returned and he was nice as pie the rest of the day. While back in high school, my student counsellor spent a considerable amount of his time helping me choose a suitable career curriculum. With his help, I decided that I'd like to become a commercial artist someday. Of course, in the first semester at college, I had to take a math course, one in social science, one in fine arts course and a required grammar course, plus one elective course of my choosing. Roger suggested a drama course he was in. He wanted me to attend the same class he was taking. We soon found out that Roger was taking my math class and my fine arts course. He was so well organized, I didn't mind - much. With some persuasive skill, I was sure he'd be more than willing to do the assigned homework for both of us. He was that kind of guy. During the second week of class, our drama coach handed scripts out to us for us to learn. Paging through my script briefly, I noticed my highlighted dialogue was that of a woman. Roger said his script was for a woman's role too and giggled merrily. He said that he saw the play, so he had a good grasp of the roles and offered to help me learn mine. The way he shook with delight when he offered to help me made me feel leery about it. That night, I read the entire script through. They weren't women! They were too gay men who liked to dress up like women, put on makeup and tease straight men, using women's names. I tossed down the script, took a deep breath, turned to Roger and asked him how closely we were expected to assume roles of the characters in the play. He looked at me, licked his lips suggestively and asked: "How far do you think you'd like to go with it, sugar." I rolled my eyes into my head and told him I wasn't a drama major, so it wasn't my thing, but I'd help him out and get into "character" with him if he wanted. He was delighted! As I suspected, he wanted to start immediately. "Have you ever 'dressed'?" He asked. "No!" I replied, "as a matter of fact." "Oh, we're going to have so much fun! You wait and see!" The following day, I asked my new guidance counsellor for a few minutes of her time. She noticed my nervousness and asked what my problem was. I explained that my gay dorm mate and I were assigned roles as female impersonators, and showed her the script. She said she was aware of the assignment and thought it was an excellent way for me to learn how to assume a character's identity, just as Roger and the drama class coach had said. It was obvious that she wanted me to accept the challenge. "I've never done anything like this before" "In that case, experiencing uncharted waters should make the role seem more exciting for you. Don't be alarmed, Reginald. You're merely going to assume the role of a character in a play. It's a play, an act. You don't have to adopt the character's identity. You merely have to perform the role that's described in the script how you think it should be done. Afterwards, after the assignment is over, you shrug off the role and forget you ever did it. Treat it like a lark, a walk in the park on a sunny day. Treat this assignment however you like, but don't balk or show reluctance so easily. This is the first few weeks of class, the first meaty assignment handed out to you. What will your classmates think of you?" I shook my head in recognition that I may have overreacted. She handed me a printed slip of paper and told me to take it to the nurse at my dorm building. "She'll provide you with something that will help relax, so you won't upset your dorm mate with your attitude." She then got up and hugged me. That was odd. My high school guidance counselor never did that. It felt good to feel her warm body up against mine. The only other woman who made me feel that nice and warm inside was my mom. . When I returned to my dorm room, I didn't feel like mentioning anything to Roger about meeting with my guidance counsellor. He asked why I missed drama and was arranging a stage make make-up case he got in class and pointed to mine that he brought back for me. I opened my make-up case and realized I had no idea how to put on woman's make-up. Roger said the class I had missed that day and the next several classes would cover how to dress up as a woman, and use the make-up. Then he offered to show me the first step, how to apply a foundation so I wouldn't fall behind the rest of the class. Since I knew practically nothing about using make-up I let him put the caked powder onto my face using a foam pad. I looked at him and noticed how - different - he looked with his face made up. Looking at my face in the mirror that was the inside top of the make-up case, I saw the powder Roger applied evened out my pores and softened how my face normally looked. He calmly explained what he was doing as he added some blush to my cheeks. I stopped him for a second and suggested he was making my face look like a cupie doll's. He agreed, and then smoothed out the darker shade of powder on my cheeks, blending the edges with the basic foundation. He then applied a different powder around my eyes, making them stand out. Once he put a black outline on my lower eye lids and brushed on black mascara onto my upper lashes, it changed my appearance completely. I liked how I looked in a woman's make-up! I stopped Roger and told him to let me apply the lipstick. He sat back and watched. I messed it up and overdid the lips. He stopped me, told me to blot it off without smearing it, saying I'd have plenty of opportunity to smear my lipstick if I ever wrapped my lips around a nice stiff cock. I stopped at that point and went to the bathroom to wash everything off. I had no intention going any further. My guidance counsellor was appalled by my bursting into her office in a rage. She knew what was on my mind before I said a word. The guy who she was counselling at the time was excused and she told me to sit. She first gave me a look of warning to let me know she wasn't pleased, and placed a call to the nurse's office. Minutes later, a nurse arrived and administered a shot into my arm to "quell my nerves". After I settled down, which took about fifteen minutes, my counsellor explained that the scholarship I received was because back in high school I was deemed to be a candidate for development into a surrogate trained to placate men so they would be less likely to take out their aggressive tendencies on real women, by my being available to them, go on dates with them and "keep them happy". I got the implication of her last words. "But, but, it's a terrible mistake! I'm not gay, like Roger! I don't want to be gay!" "Are you sure?" She asked. "If you aren't, how do you know, for sure? Someone seemed to think you are. Have you given any thought to your inherent sexual orientation? You wouldn't have been considered for the BMTI program if you weren't qualified. Why else would you be enrolled in it? Your parents knowingly signed authorization papers on your behalf, wanting to provide you with the best opportunity for a successful life. Surely you realize you are less likely to be chosen by a woman over other guys. You certainly don't exhibit the kind of personality traits straight women might find attractive." "Okay, sure, I know I'm not ideal husband material, but I thought I'd give dating women a chance before throwing in the towel on having a family of my own someday." "Reginald, really, I hate to say this, but I doubt if many women, no any woman would want to choose you, with so many more ---- oh, commanding, forceful, dominant men eager and available to provide for them If I were you, I'd consider carefully taking stock of your options and prepare to accept the inevitable. Who knows? You may come to like being cared for by some nice, tall, well-built, stronger man instead of being persecuted by many for your --- uh, delicate nature." "Delicate?" "Yes, you approached your school's administration and requested protection from being bullied while you were a teen, claiming the other boys picked on you because of your - oh, your diminutive stature, shall I say? Now that you are maturing and it doesn't seem apparent that your physiognomy is going to improve to any greater degree, you ought to take advantage of the talents you have and not try to be what you are not. "You might want to observe how Roger is behaving. Emulate him more and take to heart what your dorm mate does and says. He's not complaining about his lot. He is putting his right foot forward; making the best of his situation." "But Roger is admittedly gay! I'm not!" "True, but Roger only came out about his homosexuality a few months back. Before that, he was just as adamant as you about being hetero. Roger's high school counsellor proved to him beyond a doubt that he wouldn't have any women falling at his feet. Rather, he'd have a rough time if he tried to challenge bigger, more aggressive guys for the attention of the eligible ladies. No, like yourself, Roger is a lightweight, has a mild demeanor, and he now realizes that he'll be much better off as a surrogate. Haven't you been counselled in that regard?" "No, I haven't, not really. Are we just supposed to be eye candy for lonelier guys? " "Honestly! What was your high school counsellor thinking! You should have been told more about your true potential, and the options currently being made available to you. He should have explained why this program has been developed for smaller fellows like you. Well, it's a shame he didn't do his job right, but better late than never, I always say. "Our state's Department of Family and Children's Services recognized a growing number of younger people of the same gender pairing off; living together as couples. They don't want to discourage the trend because of the persistent decline in the birth rate of females during the past few decades, compared to males. There are more boys maturing in this generation than girls. When maturing girls were more plentiful, they used feminine wiles to attract the maturing boys. The less than lucky girls ended up as spinsters. No one ever thought much about it at the time, as women are less aggressive than men. "Now, these days, there aren't enough girls to go around. Guys aren't as complacent as girls are, so they get into trouble fighting over women, trying to develop relationships." "You aren't suggesting some straight guys will pair up with effeminate gay guys. Are you? Straight guys don't want anything to do with gays. My problem in high school was that bigger guys bullied me, and wanted to make mincemeat out of me, not cuddle up and play house with me, not that I ever wanted to play house with any of them!" "Some straight men, - that is, strictly heterosexual men still do harbor ill will toward gay men, but you'd be surprised how sexual gratification mellows the savage beast. To some men, a skirt is a skirt. Lonely, unlucky guys put on blinders when it comes to things like birth gender. As long as it looks like a duck, talks like a duck and ---" "Suppose you're right. What happens when the lonely guy finds out he's dating another drake and not a hen? I know how I feel when someone tries to pull a fast one on me." "They key is to always be open and truthful. If a guy knows up front he's dealing with a drake and not a hen, it's up to him to decide if he wants to pursue further or withdraw. Some will continue having a friendly relationship with a surrogate, if he knows what he is dealing with, simply because there aren't enough real women to go around. Some guys will settle for whatever social contact is available to them, as long as they can publicly maintain their precious hetero personas. Some guys have latent gay tendencies. They're too proud to admit being gay to friends and family, so they'll prefer a relationship with a delightful looking surrogate over a relationship with a woman that'll end up in disaster." "What do you mean? What kind of disaster?" "Oh, being stuck living with a resentful, wicked bitch, public condemnation, a whole host of nasty problems can arise men would just as soon not have to deal with." "Do you mean some straight guys would really accept having a close relationship with a gay guy, as long as the gay guy looks almost like a real girl? I'm not so sure about that. The gay guy is taking a big risk the straight guy doesn't turn out to be a repressed bully and will flatten him out like a pancake and put him in a hospital." "There's always that risk, but it's less likely to happen if a gay guy looks delicate and is feminine by nature. People look down on bullies who pick on delicate flowers like you." "Like me? Whoa! I'm sorry. I don't consider myself delicate, not in that context. Does this mean I'll lose my scholarship? I'd hate to. I don't want to disappoint my parents. They're looking forward to my graduating college. Will you have to turn me in?" "No, not at this point, but I will have to disclose today's revelation in your profile." "Oh. Can you just show that I'm seriously thinking about it, for now, and haven't made up my mind. I'd appreciate your understanding about my predicament. I really couldn't talk to my high school counsellor about this, he was so - aloof, a nerd. I feel I can talk to you. You're like an understanding big sister. Maybe it's because you're a woman." "I know this may seem strange Reginald, nut I'm a man, a man like you, so I appreciate how you feel. All the counselling mentors of the program for surrogate development currently are or once were men. We have to be, so we can empathize with your dilemma" "You --- you are? Wow! It's not possible; --- you can't be a man. You look too feminine. You're not a natural woman? You sure fooled me. How can you? Sorry, I just can't ---" "It took me some time and effort to develop the feminine personality I wanted to portray, but it wasn't extremely difficult. With good counselling and minor physical modification, it shouldn't be very difficult for you, once you accept the inevitable. Roger will, too." "Did my parents know about this surrogate business? If so, why didn't they tell me?" "Your high school mentor was supposed to explain the program to you in detail during the initial orientation phase. Maybe he was overloaded and he wasn't good at doing his job. I'm sorry about that, but try to not blame him too much. There's never enough time in the day to accomplish all that is expected of us counsellors. As long as you have come this far, try to keep focused on the principal objectives of the program. I'll do what I can to bring you up to snuff. Were you sleeping during the orientation phase or something?" "Oh, that! I missed out on some orientation at the beginning of my senior year because I was sick. My senior year guidance counsellor who replaced my homeroom teacher was supposed to counsel me after school but never got around to it because he was transferred to another school. I must not have told his replacement that I missed orientation. I had my appendix taken out and missed some scheduled classes I had to make up, too. I didn't find out the purpose of the program. I'd have balked if I had known more about it." "Then again, you might not have. The scheduled orientation was designed to encourage slighter young men with fair complexions like you to volunteer. Not enough young guys voluntarily enter the program. Maybe your high school counsellor used you to increase the school's special programs appropriation. Still, I can't make excuses for this failure. For now, let's try to make amends for what happened back then. Shall we?" She, or should I say he, no I suppose I should refer to her as "she" hugged me tightly like a big sister would and told me to come by every day after class for the next few weeks or so, and she'd explain the BMTI program's objectives in detail. Afterwards, if I remained disenchanted, she'd reevaluate my suitability. Before she dismissed me, she checked my high school grade point average and then mentioned that it would be difficult to transfer me to another curriculum because I wasn't exactly an "overachiever" in high school. Was she hinting it would be wise of me to try to remain in the program? Hmm? When I got back to the dorm, Roger was wearing a sheer baby doll and panty set that did nothing to hide his male genitalia, like his male underwear did. I had to admit: he looked cute with his hair fluffed up and his face made up. If I ignored his penis making a tent in his panties, I might have taken him for a real girl at first glance. As it was, he waved his package at me and asked if I liked what I saw. I told him to get real. "Maybe I will someday, if they let me. You aren't being very supportive, REGINA! Why aren't you wearing makeup? You should when you go to see your counsellor, you know." "I went to see my counsellor because I got involved in this program under false pretenses. I'm not really gay, like you, Roger, so back off and give me some space, you faggot." He looked crestfallen. I had hurt his feelings. He ran from the room, into the bathroom and slammed the door in frustration, I guess. It made me feel terrible. He didn't deserve to hear that from me. It wasn't Roger's fault I got rooked into participating in a stupid gender preference identity program. I shouldn't have taken my irritability out on him. I went to the bathroom door. "Roger? I called out. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. Please come out so I can explain." I heard him tell me to go away and leave him be. "No way, pal. It looks like we're going to be stuck with each other for some time, so let's both try to be more considerate toward one another from now on. I promise to not jump at you for being - well, for you being --- you, again. Okay?" He opened the door. His face looked horrid with his mascara running down his cheeks. "What you mean: being me? You're as much of a wimp as I am, Reggie! Just because you can't see your cute nose in front of your stupid face doesn't mean it isn't there, you know. You look better in makeup than I do, Buster Brown! Why don't you get wise and try to figure out what your future prospects really are?" "Whoa, slow down, Rog. We can't continue fighting like this. I said I want to try to make the best of the situation as long as we're stuck here together. I just got a rude awakening, and it ---" "You stuck? Stuck with me? What makes you think you're so precious a catch? I'm as good a person as you'll ever be, if not better, but I'm willing to admit what I am, not like some haughty people I know. Shove it where it doesn't shine, girly boy!" Wow! Hell hath no fury, et cetera, et cetera, whatever. I closed my eyes, trying to think of how to compose what I'd say in response and he slapped my face. It didn't hurt, as it was a limp-wristed girly slap, but it got my attention. I opened my eyes just in time to see him swing at me again with the other hand. I grabbed both of his hands and pushed him back up against the wall, to gain leverage. It was easy, as he was wearing high heels, and I was flat-footed in my loafers. I held his arms up over his head off to the sides, and used what strength I could muster to hold him at bay. He fought back like a girl. I had to press my body against him to restrain him, which made me realize he was getting sexually excited. His erect penis was pressing up against one of my thighs! What the ---? I had to ask: "Does fighting like this get you excited, Rog?" He was obviously embarrassed. He looked downward with a shy whimper and whispered meekly: "Sometimes, so what if it does? I'm not trying, it just happens sometimes. I can't help it. It just happens. " Roger, in heels, stood about an inch taller than me. He slowly looked down into my face, and it came to me how innocent and frail he looked at that moment, yet, he was sexually aroused. He'd surrendered to me and was limp in my arms, not fighting me off anymore. When I let go of his wrists, he wrapped his arms around my neck and kissed me. A first, I resisted, naturally. Guys aren't supposed to lip lock other guys. Then I relaxed and let him kiss me to make amends for offending him. It felt nice. I backed off, licked my lips and felt the hint of lipstick he'd left behind. Something clicked in my head and I began to get aroused. I kissed him back to show him I wasn't offended. He embraced me tighter. I embraced him back, feeling his manhood surge against my thigh. It made my manhood surge in response. I didn't think I'd feel that way about kissing another guy, but his moist lips felt so inviting, and he seemed so soft and ---available. We finally came up for air. "Hold me Reggie. Hold me tight. I don't want you to hate me. I need you. I want you to like me. I need you to like me. I don't want to lose you." "Lose me?" "Yes, as my roomie. We can do this. We can learn how together, sharing what we learn, what we feel, and how we feel. It feels good to be held in your arms and be a girl for you, as much of a girl as I can be - for now, and maybe more of one --- as we progress, if ----." I felt her shift her hips so her manhood brushed up against mine. "Does that feel good? I want to make you feel good so you'll like me more, Reggie." "Did I ever say I didn't like you, Rog? I like you. I'm just not keen on" --- I felt his hand reach down into my gym shorts and underwear, take hold of my throbbing member and give it a gentle squeeze. Suddenly, I had to take in a deep breath. "Oh, don't, Rog. That's not fair. It's really sensitive right now. You really shouldn't." That was what I said, but I meant I'd rather he didn't stop. He didn't. Before I knew it, other hand lowered my gym shorts and underwear at the same time until they fell down around my ankles. My knees felt weak by then. He must have sensed it because he guided me back toward my bunk and had me sit. He slowly removed my gym shorts and underwear. I could feel his breath on my exposed penis. Would he? Did he dare? Had he ever done it before? Did I want him to? Yeah, I did. Why not? I figured I may never get a chance to have sex with a real girl, according to my guidance counsellor. I didn't move. It seemed to me like he was taking forever, like he was debating as to what to do next in his mind. He was breathing softly through his nose, I could tell by the sound. "Do you want me to?" He asked. I didn't want him to think I was reluctant, so I said: "Huh? Yeah, I guess so. Yeah" "Uh un, no guessing. Either you want me to or you don't." "I want you to." "Say you want me to suck it for you." "Yes, I do. I want you to suck me, Rog. I do." With that, I felt the most wonderful sensations as the tip of his tongue slowly teased the base of my corona for a few seconds and then his warm lips slowly slid over the head of my cock. I gasped as his head slowly took in as much of my shaft as he could. I could hear him breathing deeply through his nose, his exhalations bathing the hair at my groin. "Stop, oh, stop! I have to cum! I have to cum, now!" It was my first ever sexual contact with another person. I couldn't hold back, although I wanted to, to prolong the terrific, deep, pulsing pleasure coursing through my entire body. He didn't back off. I tried to lift him off of me, but he clung to my hips and took in every drop, and stayed there until my penis finally wilted of its own accord, and I slumped back, feeling utterly sublime. After a while, he came around to my side, still on his knees, leaned over and kissed me on my lips. His lips felt stickier than they were before. I licked my lips and caught the faint scent of ammonia. I'd smelled it before from the palm of my hand after I'd had an ejaculation from masturbating or from a nightly emission. It was the smell of my fresh sperm, semen, man cream, or call it what you'd like. I wondered how it tasted to Roger. He'd just ingested a whole lot of my baby juice. "Well?" He asked. "Well, what?" I asked. Was it any good? Was I any good? Did you like the way I do it - sucked your cock." "Whew! It was too wonderful to describe." "How did mine compare to the other times you got blown?" "Oh, can't say. You were, --- it was - it was my first." "Betcha it won't be your last, though, by the enthralled look I saw on your face." "No, I hope not. I have to say. I never felt anything so grand before in my entire life." "Maybe there's hope for me. Maybe some guy will let me be his fuck and suck toy." "You have doubts? If that's what you want to with your life, more power to you. Doesn't it seem demeaning to you to --- to want to suck on another guy's cock? You know, being called a cocksucker and such for demeaning yourself? I don't think I could ever do that, Rog. I'd feel horribly mortified if someone ever publicly called me a sissy cocksucker." "Actually, physically it's not as demeaning as you might think. It feels kind of nice to be able to provide another person with an orgasm. Knowing I'm providing another person exquisite sexual pleasure gives me deep inner satisfaction, and sometimes, I can get off myself by doing it. If not, then I suppose it's up to my partner to fulfill my sexual needs. Want to give it a try?" "Me? No, no way! I've never ---" "You should try. You never know, you might like giving head, like I do, as much maybe more. Until you try it, you'll never know. After you try it a few times, if you don't like doing it, who's to judge you? Would you publicly call me a cocksucker now? A guy you blow isn't going to point fingers at you, because he's the person who got his rocks off. If he tells someone else his sweetheart is great at giving head, it's a feather in your cap." "But, guys use 'cocksucker' derogatorily all the time. Doesn't that bother you?" "They do when referring to other guys. That's why the 'T' in the BMTI is so important." "What does the 'T' stand for?" "Don't you know? It's transitioning. We're in a Behavioral Modification Transitioning Institute, Reggie, where we learn how to become feminine looking pleasure partners for poor guys who don't stand a chance at landing a real girl for a wife. We'll enjoy a much better lifestyle as surrogates than moping around with our useless weenies drooping down between our legs, regretting our sorry asses. Some hot bulls studs won't bother with the long ass freight train that comes with having a woman for a wife and raising a passel of brats with her. That's the kind of guy I want. Marriage to a real woman is a long-term commitment that doesn't appeal to some dudes. That's where we come in." "It still doesn't stop the rest of the guys from calling us cocksuckers." "So what if they do? It's just a silly jab, a harmless, meaningless, unless you're sensitive about being called nasty names. Some men want their women give head, don't they? It's expected, like when a woman has her monthly 'friend' and her main squeeze regards normal sex under those circumstances a definite no-no. Sometimes, women just aren't in the mood, with cleaning up their pussies afterwards, and all. Oral is quicker and easier. Horny guys think with their cock heads instead of the heads with brains inside, and have no sense of timing when it comes to them wanting to have sex. Some guys just prefer oral sex, period. I think all men do, most of the time, and women trick their men into vaginal intercourse to get pregnant, and lock them in marriage. Think about it. It takes a lot less effort to give a guy a blowjob than to have vaginal sex, and most men are lazy in love. "You seldom hear any guys refer to their women as their cocksuckers. When we adapt a feminine lifestyle, we share in the benefits of being a sexy means for those horny toads to get their ashes hauled. It's our responsibility to look as cute as we can, so our guys can be proud when they show us off to their peers. No one has to know we're not real women, except our guys. "It's normal for men to take pride in having pretty girlfriends, so there's no shame in our becoming good looking, man pleasers. It's up to us to be as attractive as we possibly can, to land a better "catch" It's how you interpret your principal purpose in life. Me, I'm for making the best of the meager hand I was dealt. I wish that I could have been born a big bruiser, but I wasn't, so why moon over it? I'm going to do whatever I can to be pretty." "Yeah, I wish I was a big, handsome, muscle bound jock, instead of what I am, too." "Me, too, Reggie, so we're in the same fix, you and I. Let me help you come to grips with how to put your best foot forward. It seems to me that you need to face the facts. The last time I tried to help you with makeup, you didn't let me finish and stormed off in a dither. Let me try again and see it through all the way this time, including getting all dolled up in one of the sexy little outfits you'll probably find in a big box that arrived for you while you were at your guidance counsellor. I had to sign for them for you." "Where did they come from?" "You'll have to open your box to find out. There was a note in mine from some guy who wants to date me. Hey, as long as some sport wants to spring for my nifty duds, I'll be willing to accommodate him, if he's cute, --uh, I mean cute in a manly cute sort of way." I used the edge of my scissors to cut the shipping tape to open the carton. The very top blouse and skirt outfit had an envelope paper clipped to it. Inside, a greeting card read: "I'm looking forward to meeting you and maybe spending some quality time with you, at your convenience, of course." How polite. I read the card three times. An autographed snapshot of an average looking guy was inside the card. He looked like I wish I looked. . Roger was looking over my shoulder as I read the card a fourth time. "It seems you have an admirer. I have one too. Maybe we can double date some time." I quickly examined the remaining contents of my package, emptying the box out onto my bunk. "Why would any guy want to spend his money on a box full of clothes for another person, sight unseen, another guy, no less, to wear? How does this guy even know if the clothes he picked out for me to wear will fit me? Are some guys that desperate?" "Mine fit me. I've tried all of mine already. They all fit. They must know our sizes. Pull out the scanties and nylons first. You'll want to see if they fit and how you look in them before you cover them up with street clothes. I can put your makeup on for you, after you put on the undies. It's normal to put on outer clothes after your makeup, so you don't get any makeup on them." "Doesn't it get on your clothes, afterwards?" "A little, but it could be brushed off by then. Makeup is only moist when you first put it on. It warms to your skin temperature and becomes "set" and is less likely to smear off onto your lover's clothes, but you still have to be careful if he's wearing a white shirt! To take makeup off, you use a face clothe with hot soapy water. Some longer- lasting mascara requires a special lotion and paper towels. " I watched Roger's glossy red lips move while he was talking. He kept moistening them with the tip of his tongue, like a girl would do. I thought guys usually roll their lower lips and upper lips together to moisten them, and use lip balm in dry cold weather to prevent cracked lips. I wondered if girls apply more lipstick instead and moisten their painted lips with the tip of their tongues like Roger was doing. I pursed my lips and used the tip of my tongue to see how it felt. Roger noticed. "What?" He asked. "Oh, it's nothing. I just noticed that you moisten your lips with the tip of your tongue." "Yeah, if you roll your lips together like a guy does to moisten them, you might spread your lipstick outside of your lip line. Smeared lipstick looks like you just sucked a guy's cock. Both are good things to learn how to do well. A smart girl checks out her lipstick regularly, or she'll be conveying the wrong message to the guys." "Oh? Don't guys figure it out from other things, like mussed hair or disheveled clothes?" "Sure, that's why girls are real attentive to their personal appearance. Haven't you ever noticed how girls are always checking out how they look in the compact mirrors they all carry in their purses? Makeup is why women carry purses instead of wallets, like guys." "I'm never going to be able to pull off masquerading as a girl, Rog. I'll be caught and the men will make a laughing stock out of me." "The only person you really ever have to please is you. Trust me, you'll be so scared the first time you go out in drag; you won't have time to think about how your makeup looks. You'll make sure it's done right before you leave the dorm. You'll be concentrating on your poise and how you walk and your voice inflections and --, oh, never mind" "That's just it! I can't, I won't, I don't know how." "Neither did I. Look at it this way. Girls all wear makeup. To them, putting on makeup is second nature. They don't even have to think about it ---much, except when it comes to shopping for it. They never seem to have enough. You'll have to learn how. They did. It may take you some time and practice, but if they did it, why can't you? Some counsellors are or were guys, you know. They learned; I learned, so can you. Give it some time." "Yeah, I found out today that my guidance counsellor is a male. He sure doesn't look like one, though! He really looks pretty good, even sexy, --- I mean, for a mature woman." I was still observing how feminine Roger's lips looked when he talked. Did his lipstick do that much to improve his looks? At his suggestion, I sat down at my desk, opened up my makeup case and looked for a similar colored tube of lipstick. With Roger looking over my shoulder, I applied a coat of color to my lips. They still looked too thin to me. "Do all girls lips seem so much fuller to you, Rog. My lips look thin, even with lipstick." "Oh, I get it! That's why you kept glancing at my mouth. I had a collagen treatment to fill in my thin lips, not a lot, just enough to find out if I'd like it. If I do, maybe I'll go back for another treatment in a few months. The collagen lasts for about a year. I don't want to look like a BJ bimbo, but my lips looked very thin, thinner than yours, not very feminine at all. Besides the slight improvement in how my lips look now, I love the way they feel. They're more sensitive and feel real big to me, bigger than they are, especially when you were kissing me, and I gave you --- you know, head." He said it very sheepishly, as if it was a very naughty thing to do, but he enjoyed doing it. I paused and thought. If I were to make some overt gesture to suggest I was going along with the program, my guidance counsellor might reconsider writing me up unfavorably in her report about my suitability to continue in the program. "You said that collagen filler lasts for about a year. Then what happens?" "It's a protein that gradually gets absorbed into your body, I guess. I don't know for sure, and I don't care. My lips look better, and I like how it feels. When I told my counsellor that my lips looked thin for a young girl, she suggested the collagen and authorized the procedure. Our counsellors are supposed to advise us about things like that. I started on feminine hormone shots this Summer. If I seem a little irritable to you at times, it's because the hormones inside of me are waging war with my natural, male counterparts." He explained what the hormones were for, and how long it would take before he started to show signs of secondary sexual characteristics; baby titties and softer skin. Roger then told me he wasn't sure if he would have the surgery needed to change him into complete woman. Whew! I shivered just thinking about what that involved. Too drastic! "I'd think long and hard if I were you, before you do anything that drastic Rog. That's a massive proposal you can't reconsider, like putting up with puffy lips for a year or so." "After a year on hormones, it won't be long and won't get hard, anyway. Eventually it'll become useless for achieving any sexual pleasure, and I despise anal, so having a vagina will make me desirable for the lucky guy who'll ask me for my hand in marriage. I can't become a husband. I know I don't stand a chance. I want to become a wife someday and adopt orphans to raise as my kids. I want a family. It's my best way to achieve it." He quietly went off into our tiny bathroom again, and I heard him crying softly. It might have been due to the hormones waging war inside of him, like he said, but maybe he was fearful he'd fail at achieving his objective. What a drastic option he was considering! . I then looked into my makeup case mirror and asked myself what my options really were and if I'd be contemplating the same resolution someday that Roger was seeking. Well, it was obvious to me my thin lips didn't look a bit like a girl's lips, so I decided to discuss a collagen treatment with my counsellor. With any luck, she wouldn't recommend kicking me out of the program for a while. I shook my head in dismay. I'd be hard pressed to stay in her good graces during the entire duration. Four years is a very long time. How many tough concessions would I have to make to retain my scholarship? I knew I already had been a big disappointment to my folks. They deserved better. I simply would have to bite the bullet and do what I had to do to stay in the program. I let Roger cry his eyes out in the bathroom where I didn't have to see him. I can't abide watching a grown man cry. His sobbing reminded me of what a wimp I was, too much To keep busy for a while, until it was time for Roger and I to mosey down to the cafeteria in the student union building for supper, I unpacked my large box of female clothes and tossed out some of my worn out male clothes to make room in my chest of drawers for my new, prettier clothes, thinking over what transpired that day and the few days since I first arrived at college. It was nothing like what I thought it was going to be. . When I finished unpacking and completed putting away my new duds, Roger was still in the bathroom crying. I laid down on my bunk to take a brief nap and rest for a while and thought about how Roger looked the first time I saw him shaking his booty around in his sheer baby doll outfit. I thought about how it felt for me to subdue him forcibly, to keep him from slapping me again, slapping me like a girl would strike a man. It was something I never thought I'd be capable of doing to anyone. Then, I thought of how Roger became sexually aroused at a result of our brief tussle, how I reacted when he first kissed me, and what had possessed me in the heat of the moment to kiss him back, not just once, but again and again. I wondered what it would be like for me to submit unwillingly or even willingly to some stronger man who wanted to have his way with me. Would I become sexually excited by another man's brute forcefulness, like Roger? I recalled him claiming we were both in the same fix. Were we? Really? I didn't want to believe it, because I didn't consider myself gay. Roger did. Was my counsellor right? Was it only a matter of time before I came to the same conclusion as Roger? When I awoke, we'd missed dinner and Roger was in his bunk sobbing away, Hormones! 3. "Yes, ma'am. I'm positive. I'd like to have the procedures done as soon as possible." "You aren't doing this just because your roomie Roger had his lips enhanced. Are you?" "No, ma'am. I came to the realization that I don't stand a prayer of chance in this man's world, so I might as well make the best of what life has to offer. Roger claims he's a late bloomer and his going on feminine hormones soon enough stopped his beard's growth. I'm not comfortable with taking hormones at this point in time, with the mood swings that they cause and all that, so I'd like start eliminating my five o'clock shadow with laser and electrolysis. My facial hair is somewhat darker and coarser than Roger's. so" --- "So you are comparing your progress to Roger's. Aren't you? I asked if you are applying for these treatments because Roger has progressed farther than you have, and you said no. Tell me the truth. Which is it? It would be easier for the both of you if you both progress at the same rate. Roger complained repeatedly to his counsellor about conflict between you two during your first month and a half together. He's experiencing emotional swings from the hormones he's taking. You aren't taking any hormones, so you have no way to assess how he feels right now, and haven't been helping him to cope. Your cooperation is a key element to his getting over this temporary hump while his testosterone continues to plague his emotions. "If you stop being obstinate and the two of you can agree to progress at the same pace, we can move you into much nicer quarters, wherein each of you will have your own bedrooms, for privacy, and a very nice communal area for socializing with each other and exchanging views, helping each other with picking out styles of clothing and swapping clothes. It's not coincidental that you two wear almost the same sizes. That won't last very long if you continue to resist feminization, Reginald. You already look regal with makeup. I believe you'll be a lovely young girl, once you begin taking hormone shots to fill out your figure a little." "No, I must have told you a thousand times, if I told you once. Roger warned me about the hormones, how his manhood will wither and he won't be able to get erections after about a year or so. I don't want to lose my ability to ejaculate. I'm still too young. Roger wants to go all the way. I'm not sure --- yet. I need more time before I take the plunge." "You leave me no alternative, Reginald. I reluctantly gave you a crash course regarding all the goals of the program over the past month, on the condition you would drop out if you are unwilling to follow the program... You're fully aware of your responsibility now. Please don't leave the decision up to me. You really aren't fulfilling your commitment." "Are there any alternatives to my taking feminine hormones at this point?" "Well, yes, there are, but I doubt if you'd be interested." "What alternatives are there? Why wouldn't I be interested in them?" "If you opt for getting breast implants surgically, you'll surpass Roger's current state of progress. Of course, you'll find the sudden change in weight distribution uncomfortable, but getting hip implants at the same time will provide you a full feminine figure faster, without those nasty, emotional mood swings that seem to offend you so much." "Yes, sometimes Roger acts erratic like a real woman. --- It isn't just those mood swings of his; it's the eventual inability to get erections. Is the surgery involved very painful?" You'll be fully sedated during the surgical procedure. Recovery isn't very pleasant, but tolerable. Your implants will be made of safe, hypoallergenic vinyl sacs, to allow an adjustment to your bust size or hip size to suit your fancy, within reason, of course. It's up to you to decide how buxom you want to be. Suit yourself. You can be a demure looking damsel or a busty, wide- hipped knockout. Nothing is truly permanent, so if you ever wish to diminish your feminine attributes at a later time, it's possible. It's your call." She thrummed her fingers on her desk, indicating she expected a response right away. I felt I was under tremendous pressure, but knew I'd be tossed out on my but if I didn't concede. "Okay. I choose having the implants. I might as well opt for having the facial enhancements done at the same time, the laser, and electrolysis, the collagen for my lips, the works, so I won't interrupt my class schedule again and again. When do we start?" "I knew you were a sensible lad, so I had the needed paperwork prepared in advance." A woman wearing a business suit appeared from nowhere with a heavy file jacket filled with legal forms. A notary soon followed with her trusty notary seal, asking me for three forms of identification. It took me over an hour to signs all of the documents, while the woman had my counsellor sign as a witness. Notary seals were impressed onto every document. When I was done signing, I was shaking like a leaf. I'd cooked my own goose, I suppose, but had little choice. I knew I'd have been ejected from the program if I didn't agree to have the surgeries. I kept repeating to myself silently, that they reversible, that I could always go back to being a guy again if I so choose. Yeah, I'd have scars to prove where I'd been if I did choose to go back, but I could go back, nonetheless. I asked my counsellor how long the procedures would take but got no response. She said it would take as long as needed to do the job right. She smacked the file of paperwork I'd just signed as if it was my death warrant and she was the judge proclaiming me guilty We proceeded straight to the university hospital's surgical center. I was undressed, put on a hospital gown and was catheterized, and sedated immediately. They had me figured out alright, and they didn't want to give me an opportunity to renege. I fell asleep watching a dull, welcoming documentary in the emergency room's closed circuit TV set. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't keep my eyes open for long. 4. Can't say much about the surgical procedures. I had no idea what they did to me while I was out. When I woke up, Roger was sitting next to my bed, reading aloud from a script. That would wake the dead. I asked him in a whisper to please stop and noticed my voice was hoarse. I ached miserably from head to toe. He suggested I not tax my voice. My swollen lips felt like big pillows on my face. Roger lifted a straw to my mouth to offer me a sip of ice water. Funny how a simple thing like a sip of cold water feels pleasurable when you're in agony. I laid back and the lights went out. I woke up to a monotonous sounding drone coming from a pillow speaker. Someone was selling cookware or something like that. Kept repeating himself over and over. I tried to ignore what the annoying guy was ranting about and fell back asleep. The next time I woke up, it was dark and quiet in the room, nighttime. I called out for a nurse and looked for a call button. I couldn't find one. I couldn't lift up my head to look around for the call button or move my arms, My entire chest was sore. My butt was sore and felt huge, like I was sitting on a throbbing pillow. My face was sore. My throat was sore. It was difficult to swallow. I wanted to die. She promised me it would be tolerable. She had lied to me. I cried. I cried myself asleep. With both of my arms securely tethered, I couldn't even wipe away my tears. Sleep couldn't come too soon. Where was Roger? Roger was sitting by my bed the next time I woke up. He had the TV on. It was tuned to a network newscast. I tried to make out the date and time, but couldn't focus my eyes on the screen for some reason. "What time is it, Rog?" "Why do you ask? Going somewhere?" "Don't be a smart ass. I want to know how long it took the bastards to butcher me." "The time? If you must know, you've been out for over two weeks." "Two weeks? Holy shit, I'll never make up that much schoolwork." "Shh, calm down. Do you want them to give you another shot to put you out again?" "What's the difference? I'm in mortal agony, Rog!" "Save your strength. You've lost some weight. They stopped tube feeding you a few days ago." I had to ask. I felt like they cut me to pieces. "Do I still have all my parts?" He lifted my sheet off of me to look. "Yeah, seems so. Wait a minute. Your nut sac is flat. Did you agree to getting castrated?" "What? No, no they couldn't have!" Even with my arms tethered, I was able to reach down to my groin.by stretching and felt my groin. I could feel my shrunken cock, even with the catheter in it. I sighed with relief, and then realized my scrotum was flat and up against my body, but no sensitive incision sites were anywhere on my scrotum. I gasped. They must have sucked my balls out of the sac somehow. I passed out. The next time I woke up, my counsellor was with Roger, and a man in a white coat was checking my vitals. I assumed he was a nurse. "Get a hold of the doctor who butchered me. The bastard cut off my balls. Sucked them right out of their sac." I looked toward my counsellor. "I told you that I wanted to be able to ejaculate; have orgasms. You tricked me! They neutered me." "Nonsense," the man said. "I'm the head surgeon here. I supervised all of your surgeries and you still have your precious little jewels. I merely had an assistant tuck them away inside your body cavity where they came from originally, so you'll be able to sport a nice camel toe when you wear a bikini to the beach. Once all your incisions heal sufficiently, you'll display a stunning physique. You'll have a fantastic figure. We project your new proportions will be 36-24-38. We gave your new butt a bit of a boost because most men prefer women with ample booty. You wanted to get immediate results. You got them. "Now, your vitals are stable and all of your incisions appear to be healing as well as can be expected, so I'm going to let you get some rest now. What you need most is rest and quiet. Nighty night, Regina." He stuck a hypo into one of the valves on my I.V. and I felt the world slipping away once again. They must have weaned me off of pain killers, because I felt worse the next time I woke. Roger wasn't there. Neither was my counsellor. I unconsciously scratched my nose and I realized that the tethers on my arms had been removed. I looked around the room. The only odd sound I could hear was coming from inside of my head, oxygen. A thin cannula supplied oxygen to my nose. Other than that, I thought I was only restricted to the bed by the tube attached to a bag of saline high above the head of my bed. I wanted to pee, but further examination indicated my catheterized, shrunken penis was draining into a bag at the side of my bed, so I just let my urine flow. Ah. That felt good. Finally, after who knows how long, something felt good for a change. I tried to fart. Took me a while, but I managed to rip one off. My back door seemed to be working properly, thank heaven. I closed my eyes. Rest and quiet he said. Fine. I drifted off again. When I woke up again, my bed was inclined slightly. I was able to move my head around with ease and saw a pillow speaker that was droning away monotonously again. I reached for it to turn it off. I wasn't interested in buying any cookware or dinnerware. I wondered why the hospital would want a radio to be playing when I wasn't awake to hear it. For some reason, I felt very tired and drifted off again, not bothering to shut off the radio Roger came bursting into the room exuberantly. "Have you checked them out yet? He asked. "The head floor nurse told me they removed the bandages yesterday afternoon." That explained why the head of my bed was elevated when I woke up. "Hi, Rog." Wow! My voice sounded funny to me; sort of husky, yet squeaky. I tried clearing my throat by coughing. "I must be coming down with a sore throat or something. My voice sounds weird this morning." "The pitch of your voice sounds a bit higher to me. You asked for the works all at once so you'd miss fewer classes during your transition. Your counsellor said the surgical team tightened your vocal chords while they were in your throat to remove some questionable polyps they noticed on your cat-scan. You sound sexier now, when you speak." "It sounds squeaky to me." "I like it. It's husky. Hey, let's take a peek at your new goodies!" He came up close and untied the drawstrings at my neck, allowing my hospital gown to slip a bit. The sleeves kept it from falling away from my chest. I pulled the gown away from me and looked down into it, wanting to see what they did to me before anyone else. "Oh, gee. They're barely noticeable, Rog," I said disappointedly. I slid my arms free of the gown and let it fall away, unsnapping the right sleeve with his help so the gown didn't tangle in the I.V. on the back of my wrist connected to a saline drip above and behind me. They're --- almost tiny, hardly worth mentioning." My pecs definitely protruded from my chest a little more, but they could hardly be call