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STUCK IN AMBER (Complete and final!) by P326R1 Copyright 2021 Disclaimer: This story is a complete and total work of fiction. Don't worry. None of it's true. It's all made up. It's absolutely definitely not based 100% on the actual people, places, and events from my life. CHAPTER 1: I SEE DEAD PEOPLE My wife Emily and I have an extremely beautiful friend named Amber. She works as a waitress at a restaurant we frequent. One evening, we're having dinner when a crazy guy walks in with a gun and just starts shooting up the place! He's yelling a bunch of stuff that no one can hear over the deafening pop of what looks like a 9mm. I have no idea what this guy's problem is, but he seems intent on killing everybody! Emily and I are sitting close to the door and in the direct line of fire. There is no where to run, no where to hide. My only thought is to try to protect my wife, my best friend, the one true love of my life. The situation is bad, and getting worse by the second, but if anybody is going to survive it, it's going to be Emily. I'm going to stop this guy, whatever it takes. I was the closest one to the gunman when he started shooting. I took a round in the left arm and one through the lower torso just getting out of my chair. I think I was hit by the very first shot? Doesn't even feel painful. Just kind of a sharp push and then nothing after each hit. Probably some serious nerve damage? I figure that I am pretty much screwed at this point, but I'm not done yet. I'm still on my feet, still fighting. Fun fact, as long as you haven't been hit in the brain or spine, or received debilitating damage like a shattered hip socket or broken femur, you can keep going, even after being shot. You can keep going until your brain actually runs out of oxygen. Most people don't know this. They just quit. After being hit a few times, they figure it's over and just plop down and wait to die, but I've seen plenty of guys who kept fighting like maniacs, for a minute or two, even after receiving a mortal wound. It's the scariest damn thing you'll ever see! Some unlucky bastard who knows that he's all ready dead, utterly fearless and desperate to get back at the guys who killed him before it all ends! I'm actually feeling pretty scary and desperate right now myself. There's definitely no quit in me, never has been, so I keep going, doing my best to eliminate the threat before I drop. So this is how my entire life will be measured. Not my years of military service, or how much money I made, or how big a house I had, or even how faithful a husband I was? No, the sum total of my life will be measured by how many steps I can take forward and how many more seconds I can remain upright. So be it. I have to close the distance. Charging the shooter, I deliberately put myself between the bullets and Emily. The guy is a crummy shot and starting to panic, but he still manages to score a few more hits before I can get a hold of him. With my right hand, I'm able to grab the gun by the barrel! The gunman clings to the handle with a death grip, but my advantage in size and strength is undeniable. I may be dying, but I swear to God, I'm going to outlive this shithead if it's the last thing I do. With just the strength of my right hand, I wrench the gun's barrel up and backwards towards the assailant. At point blank range, I make damn sure it is pointing straight at his heart when I pull the upside down gun's trigger with my left thumb. The gun bucks and a blast of hot fire explodes into the center of his chest. I am absolutely certain that he's done. His body collapses to the floor in a useless pile. A quick survey of my anatomy reveals that I am a bloody mess. Starting to lose feeling in my extremities, I slump to the ground, a smile on my face. My only concern had been protecting Emily and by the grace of God, I have succeeded. Mission accomplished. I'm hoping that the medics show up quickly, but it's not looking too good. Much sooner then I had wanted to go, but I can see that Emily is safe and the gunman is down. All in all, not a bad way to go. I am rushed to the hospital and end up in the emergency care unit. They are working on me like an Indy 500 pit crew. What's been obvious to me for several minutes, becomes obvious to everyone else. The damage is too extensive. My eyes roll back into my head and my last breath leaves my chest with a sigh. My body is apparently done for. They pull the sheet over my head and aren't even trying any more. I find myself standing next to the bed. The situation is entirely surreal. I'm staring at my body on the cart. Emily is at my side crying uncontrollably. Frankly, that hurts worse than the gun shots. To my surprise, I find Amber in the medical bay adjacent to mine. She had also been hit! Turns out she had been clipped through the femoral artery in her left leg. It didn't look too bad but she was bleeding out. She had lost almost half the blood from her body by the time help arrived. Despite the EMT's best efforts, she had flat lined in the ambulance and was brain dead by the time she reached the hospital. Up until this point, I didn't even know she had been injured. I'm standing off to one side in a dream like state. The doctors have completely given up on me at this point, so I'm just watching and listening as they frantically try to resuscitate Amber, but she has been flat lined for several minutes. As her family begins to gather, it becomes clear that the continuous CPR and all of the extra transfusions and adrenaline just weren't enough. After several more minutes the lead doctor calls it, time of death. All of the frenetic activity in the room grinds to a halt as the heroic effort to try and save this beautiful young woman morphs into the dreary routine of cleaning up. Her gathering family members are inconsolable. Suddenly, I'm shocked to see Amber standing beside me! I hadn't noticed her before, but she's certainly standing here now. She's wearing her street clothes, not her waitress uniform or even a hospital gown, which doesn't really make sense, but none of this makes much sense, so we're both just standing here watching the grisly scene continue to unfold. Amber's body on the gurney still connected to the monitors, currently showing no pulse. The nurses beginning to clear away all the expended medical supplies. Emily alone in the hallway, sobbing uncontrollably, no one there to comfort her. Finally Amber turns to me, takes my hand and says, "Come on. It's time to go." I watch as a brilliant white light slowly begins to envelop her. "I can't," is all I say. I can't leave Emily. She's completely alone! Seeing her suffer like this and not being able to do anything, to help, to hold her. It's ripping my guts out. I can't just leave her like this! Amber seems disconnected, staring off into the distance as if she's seeing something a million miles away. Suddenly her eyes go wide, stunned by some distant vision that only she can see. "Samantha..." she whispers. "What? What's wrong? Who's Samantha?!?" She doesn't seem to hear me. Amber pauses motionless for several seconds, absolutely transfixed by whatever she's seeing. Suddenly she snaps out of it and turns to me with a heart broken smile. Looking into my eyes with deep compassion and sincerity she says, "I'm so sorry..." She clasps my hand even tighter as she starts to disappear into the dazzling light surrounding her. It feels like she's not just expressing sympathy, but is actually apologizing to me. This makes no sense. She has nothing to apologize for. None of this is her fault. She's just as much a victim here as I am! Her hand slowly evaporates from my grasp as the brightness surrounding her becomes blinding, even painful to look at. I shut my eyes tight and turn away. I hear a beep from somewhere and then people shouting and then nothing. There is nothing but darkness. I open one eye, just slightly, and struggle to adjust to the light. I am completely disoriented. After a somewhat confused survey of the room and people around me, I have no idea where I am or how I got here or who all of these people are? I am on a strange bed. There are a hand full of people gathered in the small room. They are making a lot of noise and I don't recognize any of them. I assume that this is some kind of weird dream and roll over to try and get back to sleep. Everyone gets louder! Someone mentions Amber. Thank God! I had dreamed that she had died or something. I see some of the machines by the bed. One of them won't stop beeping. Noisy bastard! I think if it's a hospital, maybe they've got me on some crazy drugs or something. I really have no idea what happened, how I got here, or exactly what's going on. "Bad dream," I think rolling over like you do in the morning when your alarm first goes off and you're not having it and you just want to keep sleeping. Gathered people get even louder, making it very hard for me to ignore and return to my slumber. Bunch of rude bastards! I'm going to have to complain to somebody. I'm getting a lot of very weird sensations and finally I sit up a little. "Could you people please quiet down, I'm trying to sleep!" All of the conversation in the room slams to a halt as everyone just stares at me with their mouths hanging open. What a bunch of weirdos! I notice Emily in the doorway and jolt awake. "Oh my God, Emily! EMILY!!!" Everyone is a bit confused that I recognize her and none of them. "What's happening?" I call out to her, ignoring everyone else in the room. Emily sits down on the edge of the bed with red eyes and slowly relates the story. It suddenly comes back to me in a crashing deluge of memories and images. The restaurant. The gunman. The hospital! Wait a minute! While describing the events leading up to the hospital, Emily calls me Amber? What the hell!?! I notice everyone else is calling me Amber too! I'm like, "What are you people talking about? Why do you keep calling me Amber?" As I sit up, I feel a sharp pain in my hand. A large gauge IV needle stabbed into a vein on the back of my left hand and held in place with medical tape draws my attention. I notice the plastic hospital ID bracelet on the same wrist. Someone has really screwed up here! It has Amber's name on it! As I'm looking down I see a couple of other things that distinctly remind me of Amber!! HOLY CRAP! I remember. I died. I saw Amber and talked to her spirit in passing. My body with a sheet pulled over the face and blood running off the gurney and puddling on the floor, and now this. Somehow I had transferred to Amber's body, like a walk in spirit after her spirit had left. My body had died. My spirit refused to go and made use of the only vessel immediately available. No shit. I feel really terrible for Amber. I didn't know her all that well, but she had always been so sweet. I had done everything I could and then some to save her, and everybody else for that matter. After I rose to confront the gunman, all of his subsequent shots had been directed at me. I'm guessing the bullet that hit Amber might even have hit me first? I don't know why she didn't stay. Maybe it was just her time. She had seemed pretty sure about it. I guess I'll never know. Whatever the case may be, I have much bigger problems to deal with now. I am in total shock. Amazingly, I somehow register that I should keep this change of residency a secret. There is no way anyone would believe this. I don't believe this! I am pretty much assuming that I am having a very weird dream and am just kind of going along with things the way you do in dreams. After some questioning, the doctors decide that I have some kind of severe form of amnesia, maybe from brain damage due to lack of oxygen. Maybe I really am brain damaged? Maybe I really am amnesiac Amber suffering from the ridiculous delusion that I'm some other person? This explanation actually seems more reasonable to me, and I would happily go along with it except for the fact that I'm pretty certain that I have no memories of ever being Amber! I guess that's what amnesia is, so that settles it. But why do I have a lifetime of memories of being a guy, of being Emily's husband, of going out to dinner that evening and getting shot? That's not amnesia, that's some kind of delusion. So, I have amnesia and I'm delusional. That would explain everything. Right now I really can't tell for sure what's true and what isn't. Do crazy people know they're crazy? Is a crazy person cured the moment that they realize that they had in fact been crazy? My head hurts. I'm still trying to make sense of my current situation. Everything is completely surreal. Still pretty sure that this is just a very long weird dream. Maybe I'm in a coma? I think I remember hearing something about "coma dreams" once. It was an actual thing, where people in a coma couldn't wake up, but would have continuous mental activity. Some of the people who eventually did wake up would report being trapped in never ending fantasy or nightmare realities that they couldn't escape from. Maybe I'm actually still at the restaurant, lying on the floor, slowly dying. This could be the whole "life flashing before your eyes" thing. A whole life time of experience racing through the mind in the last few moments before final brain death. This isn't exactly my life. More like a weird tangent built off of the details of the last moments of my life. Amber, Emily, and I were all at the restaurant. I was waiting for medical help to arrive. This could all be some kind of medical themed fantasy or wish fulfillment extrapolated from those last moments. I'm not really sure what's real and what isn't, but whatever my situation is, I make it clear that Emily is the only person that I actually recognize and make her promise to stay with me. I'm in a lot of pain, very tired, drugged, and recently killed, so I fall back asleep. I wake up some time later and only Emily is there. The doctors agreed that it was best to have a face I would recognize present when I woke up, so Emily agreed to stay. Not wanting to go home to be alone in her now empty house, she had been sitting there by my side ever since. "Hey Sweetie. It's okay. You're still in the hospital. I'm here. Is there anything I can get you or do you need to go to the bathroom?" Emily asks in as soothing a voice as possible. "I'm actually not sure?" I have to ask her how I would know and even how to go about going. Still full of pain meds and technically I've never gone to the bathroom with this body before. I fully realize that I must sound insane to her, but I do officially have brain damage, so whatever. Emily is obviously trying to be very understanding. Because of whatever medications they've got me on, I really don't seem to care how I sound? I think they might have added some kind of tranquilizers too? I don't really know. They're actually not telling me much about what they're doing. I get the feeling that they've decided to treat me like an incompetent, like they might treat an elderly dementia patient or a little kid. Normally I would want to be on top of everything. I would want to have every detail of my medical situation at my fingertips and I would have a laundry list of questions for the docs. Right now I don't care. I feel really dopey. At this point I'm pretty much just going through the motions and trying to be polite. "Let's give it a try." Emily knows its been a long time and if I don't go soon, I'm liable to have an accident. My wife is actually worried that I'm going to wet the bed! I find this a bit insulting, but she has no idea just how much damage the lack of oxygen did to my brain, so I guess she wants to err on the side of caution. I sit up and move to swing my legs off the side of my bed. I'm greeted by a stunning wave of pain emanating from the large bandage on my left thigh. Holy shit that hurts! Stupid hollow point really did a number on my leg, or Amber's leg, or whatever I'm supposed to call it now. I barely noticed it sitting still in the bed, but trying to move is a whole different story. The leg sucks, but now that I think about it, a trip to the bathroom is starting to sound pretty darn necessary if not quite urgent. This must be some kind of extra tall hospital bed because I have to really reach to get my feet down to the floor. A very foreign tug and swing asserts itself on my chest. Add that to the leg on the list of annoying distractions that are trying to keep me from getting to the bathroom. The room spins and I almost take a tumble. Off balance, muscles don't seem to feel or work quite like they used to. I don't know how hard to push with my leg muscles to keep them from folding up or toppling me forwards. Emily grabs my arm to steady me as I try to get my bearings. At this point I am absolutely stunned to see that my wife is now a inch or two taller than me. I have always been about half a foot taller than her and about a hundred pounds heavier, her strong masculine protector. Now I am dwarfed by her and her strength is the only thing holding me up! I flash back to when I first woke up in the hospital. I had noticed the unusually large size of the hospital bed. My feet couldn't reach the end no matter how I stretched, but I didn't think much of it. I had assumed it was some kind of extra large sized specialty bed made to accommodate hospital patients and their medical equipment. It suddenly sinks in that this bed is in fact just a regular sized bed and I'm the one who has significantly shrunk! It's a shocking revelation! The abnormally high ceilings, the crazy over sized doorways, Emily towering over me! I feel absolutely tiny as I try to adjust to the scale of my newly enlarged surroundings. I compose myself and assure Emily that I can take it from there and make it the rest of the way on my own. Setting off for the bathroom, I carefully place one foot in front of the other, trying to maintain my balance. I'm feeling queasy and it's taking all of my concentration to manage this absurd new anatomy. I'm doing okay, but I swear my gait feels more like wobbling than walking. These hips seem to have a mind of their own! My uneven steps and the lack of support make the breasts seem huge as they shift under the light covering of the hospital gown. When I turn they seem to trail a half second behind me and then keep moving after I've stopped. The unnerving movement of the material against the extremely sensitive over sized pink nipples is causing them to become stiff and erect. I make it to the bathroom door. The larger than it should be door knob now completely fills my diminutive hand as I step inside. I close the door behind me, insuring the first moment of privacy I've had since getting to the hospital. Walking past the mirror, I'm stunned! I catch a glimpse of myself and yup, there she is, there's Amber, her bright blue eyes staring back at me from just inches away. I've never seen her this close up. Jesus, she really is beautiful. This is actually the first time I've seen myself since I got here. So disorienting! I reach up and touch the beautiful face, the full lips. The mirror person does the same. It is utterly bizarre to have a smooth chin with no stubble. Even with a fresh shave I could always feel the texture of my whiskers just under the skin. I grab some strands of the now long and blond hair and run it through my fingers. Mirror person again reciprocates. Mind boggling! I've always had short cropped hair and now I've got like two feet of the stuff just stuck to the top of my head. Of course I have to give the very obvious breasts a heft and squeeze. I am a guy after all! They are hanging bra-less and inviting under my hospital gown, the points of the nipples clearly visible. I gently cup them into my hands. I'm a bit shocked by the relief I feel as my hands alleviate the unfamiliar and somewhat uncomfortable weight and pull I'd been feeling on my chest. Damn. Amber had some knockers! They had always seemed like a respectable size, but from this perspective, in this much smaller body, cradled by these petite little hands, they seem absolutely enormous! They are heavier than you'd think!?! A hot flush washes over me and I start to feel very relaxed. Feels awfully good as I knead my now slender fingers deeper into the soft masses. I could very easily get lost in this moment. "Is everything all right in there Sweetie? Do you need any help?" Emily's voice comes through the door! This harshly snaps me back to reality as my eyes go wide. I feel like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar, guilty and ashamed. "Fine," I reply. "Just give me a minute." It takes me several minutes to work out exactly how to take care of business. Several times Emily knocks on the door, asks if I'm all right or need any help, which is not helping! Concluding that I need to sit down is simple enough, but determining exactly what muscles to use and how to achieve release is just a crazy game of trial and error. It's like staring at a mirror and trying to make your ears wiggle. I know it's possible. I've seen people do it. My Grandpa could do it, but not sure exactly what message to send where to make it happen. Don't want to mess the bed or have to get up again any time soon, so this is serious business and I'm gunna git'er done! Eventually with hesitant starts and stops I manage to get things taken care of. I blot myself dry, trying desperately to ignore the fact of my missing genitalia. My mind is reeling at how completely bizarre this is, but I'm pretty dopey and Emily is waiting on me so I just try to wrap things up. Later that day, lying in bed trying to get some rest. Leg hurts, that's a given, but another thing that keeps bothering me are the nipples! Seriously, what the hell? This is literally never been an issue before. When they're behaving, they seem like just normal flat minding their own business nipples. But for no reason I can discern, at various times they just go full on pokies! They are scrunched up hard and are poking through my thin hospital gown. It feels like they are sticking out almost an inch when they are going to town. I'm sure you can see them from across the room. I have no idea how to make it stop or what Emily or the doctors must be thinking? By the end of the first day, the chafing on the points of the unprotected projections is getting pretty hard to ignore. This may not seem like such a big deal combined with all of the other crazy stuff I'm dealing with, but annoying is annoying and this was extremely annoying. At the next visit Amber's family members bring in some "regular clothes" for me to wear. This includes a small assortment of what I can only assume to be items from Amber's wardrobe, tops, bottoms, panties, and a couple of different bras. Not great, but at least this should give some protection to the nipples. The dad leaves the room and it's clear that the mother and sister expect me to put on some of these new clothes. In my current situation, I really can't refuse. The offered clothes are certainly better then the open back hospital gown, which is all I've been wearing for the last day and a half. The first thing I do is grab a pair of the underpants. It had been extremely unnerving to be buck naked under the loose fitting, generic, one size fits all, open back gown. I am so grateful to finally have something to cover my ass that I quickly slip them on without giving it a second thought. The very feminine panties are so smooth and slippery, like silk or satin or something, but stretchy too? Once I slide the narrow waist band up over my hips, I can barely feel that I have them on at all! After a few seconds it sinks in. I'm really stunned at how ridiculously soft and luxurious the flimsy and very foreign pink bikini briefs feel. I catch myself comparing them to how my old heavy cotton men's briefs felt and momentarily wonder why men's briefs couldn't be as nice as these, why everyone didn't wear underwear as soft and comfortable as these panties. I forcefully push that disturbing thought out of my head and proceed to put the rest of the offered clothes on, still certain that anything is better than the now despised hospital gown. I fumble for several seconds, struggling badly trying to get the bra hooked. It's incredibly awkward and difficult because two days ago I couldn't even touch my hands together behind my back and now my fingers are being required to do upside down and backwards gymnastics between my shoulder blades. I pass it off as being the effect of the pain meds. The mom ends up having to help me. I'm feeling a little nauseous as she pulls the unmistakably feminine undergarment tight around my chest and hooks it behind my back. My torso bound up in the band, straps, and cups that are now bearing the weight on the front of my chest, I feel like a wild horse who has just been saddled for the first time. I just sit dumbfounded for the longest moment. What am I supposed to do now? I'm pretty sure I'm going to be stuck wearing this until somebody helps me get it off. The mom hands me some thing like a tank top, but with really skinny shoulder straps, and I dutifully pull it on over my head. I guess that's right. I shouldn't be sitting hear wearing just a bra and panties. A pair of very stretchy black spandex athletic shorts completes the outfit. Somewhat exhausted by my efforts, I lay back against the inclined upper portion of the bed. The bra reminds me of its presence, its clasp pressing into the small of my back, the breasts being held unnaturally upright by the newly acquired textile scaffolding. The clothes definitely up the weirdness factor. Being in a girl body was one thing, but sitting in front of a bunch of strangers, wearing girls' clothes, and just carrying on and talking like it's no big deal seems to be a whole new level of inappropriateness. I hate to admit it, but the bra actually helps a lot! Without it, I was constantly being reminded of the breasts on my chest. The weight hanging down. Wobble or shifting with every movement. The constant irritation of the fabric rubbing against the nipples. The absolutely endless amounts of perspiration building up underneath. The bra pretty much fixes all of that. New problems I have to deal with are the straps digging into my shoulders and the constriction around my chest when I'm trying to rest, but overall, still seems better than going without. The leg still hurts, but not too bad. Other than the artery, it was just a simple through and through flesh wound. I had some basic surgery to repair the artery and stitch up the surface openings. It's bandaged up pretty neatly and I'm still full of some terrific pain meds, so overall I'm feeling pretty good. I feel like I can't worry about myself right now. I have to think of Emily! She is my whole world. She has just lost her husband and is extremely distraught. This is the absolute worst thing that has ever happened to her and she has to face it alone in an empty house. She wants to help me, but I think she is primarily just trying to keep herself distracted from her own personal tragedy. Emily is around a lot for the next few days because I beg her to stay. I want to tell her everything, but she all ready thinks that I'm brain damaged. I'm afraid that she would be so upset, that she would leave and never come back if I start blabbering on about secretly being her dead husband. I decide that telling her should wait. I've been in kind of a loopy dream state ever since the shooting, so I don't know if that's a good decision or not. I hope it is. I would do anything to keep from loosing her. So my wife is sitting on the side of my bed. I'm sitting next to her. I'm wearing a push-up bra and lacy panties under my camisole and purple yoga pants. I am pretending not to be me. Breaking the awkward silence, Emily asks, "Is there anything I can get you Honey?" I'm thinking yes, my face, my body, my clothes, my life!!! I answer, "Not right now. Thank you." I desperately want to tell her what's happened, but I'm absolutely sure she won't believe it! I don't believe it!!! It is an insane situation. If I wasn't doped out of my gourd right now, I would probably be loosing it. My mind drifts back to the restaurant. Putting myself in harms way to try to save Emily and everybody else. Pretty heroic even if I do say so myself, and this is my reward. The gods must really have a sick sense of humor. I guess it really is true what they say. No good deed goes unpunished! When I'm not resting, I'm being subjected to every kind of brain related test imaginable. There is blood work, an MRI, a cat scan, a bunch of stuff I don't even know what it is, etc. They run through a huge battery of cognitive tests. I try to keep a positive attitude. One of the nurses is making jokes about some of the more goofy aspects of the scans and tests to try and raise my spirits. I think she realizes that this whole situation must be pretty terrifying to someone who has just been through a serious trauma. I smile and play along, doing my best to cooperate with whatever they ask of me. I'm feeling completely overwhelmed by the unbelievable ridiculousness of the entire situation, but deep down I'm really dreading what these tests might reveal. Eventually everyone leaves me alone in an exam room as they go out into the hall to discuss results with "my parents". They don't realize that I can still hear every word that they're saying. That doctor son of a bitch is actually encouraging the parents to have me committed full time to a mental institution!!! He claims that full time medical supervision and therapy would give me the best chances for a full recovery. He states that since I have no memory, being separated from my home or family wouldn't really have any kind of negative effect. The parents sound like they are buying into his sales pitch. I'm pretty sure this fucker is just trying to milk the insurance or getting kick backs from the nursing home, or institution, or where ever the hell it is he is trying to pack me off to. Or maybe that means HE would continue to be my doctor, with total control over the poor beautiful brain damaged girl, 24/7. Maybe he wants the chance to keep playing doctor with this body long term! Either way, this is not good! Full blown panic starts to set in! My mind is instantly flooded with imagining the worst possible horrors of being locked away in a nut house somewhere. Screaming that I'm not Amber, my protests only serving to make me seem more crazy. Being pumped full of drugs to the point of not being able to express myself coherently or even think rationally. Trying to escape and getting tied up or strapped down or something "for my own good" or "the protection of the staff members" or whatever excuse they would make up for abusing someone like that! Being locked up, completely helpless, at the mercy of a bunch of sadistic remedial assholes! SHIT SHIT SHIT!!!!!! The parents listen carefully to everything the doctor has to say as my heart pounds violently in my chest, or Amber's chest, or whatever the fuck I'm supposed to call it! When the doctor has finished, he asks the parents if they will agree to his suggested coarse of action. Amber's mom asks if I wouldn't be better off in a familiar environment which seems obvious to me. The doctor continues to press his advice that I should be institutionalized. Now I'm sure that this bastard is crooked! "Mom" states that she would at least like to try bringing me home before resorting to long term care. The doctor begrudgingly concedes that a trial of home care would be acceptable, but then piles on the scare tactics. He states that they must constantly watch for signs of stroke or even an aneurysm which could be immediately life threatening! The parents almost waver after hearing these dire warnings, but luck is with me and it looks like I'm dodging the bullet for now! CHAPTER 2: UNDERCOVER The doctors have diagnosed me with retrograde amnesia. They explain that means that I have lost most of my old memories, but I'm fully capable of gaining new memories and learning new things. They eventually admit that I am not in any immediate life threatening danger and should be able to generally manage for myself with supervision. They explain that my memories might fully return given time. It could be all at once or little by little. I would just have to be patient and try to move forward with my life for the time being. I am pretty sure at this point that I am not Amber, although as foggy and confused as I am right now, I'm really not 100% sure of anything. It looks like I'm not going to get a chance to see Emily again before I get discharged, but I am very happy to be getting out. I hate hospitals and I definitely hate that creepy doctor. I really just want this nightmare to be over. I'm enormously relieved to be escaping the clutches of the medical "professionals", even if it is just to go home with Amber's mom and dad and family. Also present for my discharge is Amber's fiance Josh! He had been out of the country on business when he got the news. He's been frantically working his way back to the states ever since. Lucky me, he arrives at the hospital just as we're leaving. He is completely overwrought with worry. I don't recognize him at first glance and that seems like it is really pushing him over the edge, like he's about to lose it! He keeps trying to remind me of all the things we've done together, and I mean ALL of the things, to spur my memory. I thought my situation could not possibly get any worse, but this is definitely worse! Of course I have no memory of any of the things that Josh and Amber did. I'm completely dwarfed by the guy as he desperately forces kisses on me and embraces my now soft and curvy body. I can feel his concern and passion, literally. Definitely not into this at all. My jaw is clenched and my lips pierced together. Really hoping he'll get the hint and just stop. All I want to do is punch this guy in the face, but if I do that in front of the doctors I'm pretty sure that they will petition the parents to reconsider shipping me off to the nut house. I am legitimately scared to death that I will end up committed to a mental hospital if I show any signs of being delusional or irrational. I don't know if Amber's family would actually do that to me, but I'm sure as hell not willing to take the chance. I have no doubt that any overt act of violence at this time would leave me in a straight jacket, pumped full of Thorazine, and pooping on myself by the end of the day. Or even worse, I would end up being the personal play thing of Doctor Creepy for the next several months or even years. I'm pretty high on pain meds and I'm still pretty sure that this is all some kind of weird dream, so whatever. I will endure whatever I have to to get the hell out of here! The ongoing molestation is completely repulsive. I can feel the breasts being squished out to the sides as Josh hugs me and mashes me against his broad chest. The dude obviously works out, but is no where near as big as me, or at least as big as I used to be. One of his hands is on my ass. I can feel his stubbly whiskers scraping against my face. That comes as quite a shock! I have literally never been kissed by someone with razor stubble. I had met him once before and knew that he and Amber were very much in love, but right now I truly wish he would just leave me alone. I imagine it's like sitting next to a horny drunk guy at a bar who keeps hitting on you and touching you and not being able to just slap him or walk away. Finally, I just can't take it any more! I push him off of me, telling him that I have a headache. He backs off with a sad puppy dog look on his face. HA! That actually worked, the old "not now dear I have a headache"! Getting him off of me I immediately feel a wave of relief throughout my body. I had no idea how appallingly claustrophobic it could be to have a much larger, much stronger person, physically invading your space. It strikes me that it's almost terrifying to be overpowered by someone you can't get away from. I don't think I've experienced anything like this since I was a little kid, rough housing with much bigger kids on the playground, and those childhood memories had been long forgotten until this very moment. After "Mom" finally finishes with all of the discharge paperwork, getting the after care instructions, and has the prescriptions filled, the family finally leads me out to the visitor parking lot. We are just standing around and everyone is staring at me. I'm trying to figure out what the hold up is when I suddenly realize that I am supposed to get in the car we are standing next to. How was I supposed to know that? I've literally never seen this car before. We pull out of the parking lot. The first few minutes of the drive "home" are strangely quiet. Is there some kind of weird "no talking in the car rule" that I'm not aware of? Suddenly the mom breaks the silence, "I'm so sorry. This is all my fault! I should have listened to you!" The mom sounds like she's on the verge of some kind of emotional break down? "What?" I say stupidly, a bit of aggravation in my voice. What could possibly be going on now? "Your stalker, the man who shot you, you said that guy was dangerous, but I didn't really believe it! When you got the restraining order, I assumed that would be the end of it!" Okay, now the mom is actually crying! "Umm, that's okay. It's not your fault," I suggest halfheartedly, too stunned by the concept that the shooter was actually after Amber all along to come up with something better. "NO, It's my fault! I should have listened when you insisted that the restraining order was just a stupid piece of paper and wouldn't actually change anything!!!" she continues, now full on bawling, the dad and the sister trying to comfort her. This is ridiculous. I've been dropped into the middle of someone else's crazy family drama! I don't really feel connected to any of these people, other than feeling bad for the mom and wishing that she'd stop crying. It's really grating on my nerves, like fingernails on a chalk board. "It's okay. It's not your fault, Everything is going to be all right." There, that sounds like what you're supposed to say in a situation like this. The mom's crying reduces to a muffled whimper. How is it that I'm the one who has to comfort these people when I'm barely keeping things together myself? Eventually the crazy car ride comes to and end and we pull into the driveway of a pretty nice looking house on a quiet country lane. The strange house that I'm walking up to is supposed to be my home. Just like the car, I've never seen it before. This is all extremely WEIRD! The mom's total breakdown in the car and revelation about the gunman has left me shaken. I feel like I'm on the verge of freaking out. It is taking everything I've got to just stay calm. I'm desperately afraid that if I lose it, they'll turn right around and take me back to the hospital. My head is still swimming in prescription drugs. The best I can manage is to politely nod and smile and just go along with everything. Back "home" things are pretty tricky. I don't know the address, the layout of the house, or even which room is mine! Luckily the amnesia story covers all of this. I put tremendous effort into trying to memorize basic info. The family member's names, including the pets, town, street address, phone number, etc. I feel terrible, but somehow I missed the kid sister's name. I've been calling her "Sis" for three days. That's okay, I don't know the parents first names either. It's so completely awkward. It's just Mom, Dad, and Sis. Josh is the only person whose first name I actually know. Nobody ever thought to formally introduce themselves to me, or maybe they did and I just don't remember. I try to ham up the amnesia angle a bit for additional cover. I state, "You have a really lovely home," the first time I enter the family dwelling. They all stare at me with heart breaking pity and concern. Bingo. My mind is starting to clear a little from the powerful IV pain meds they had been giving me in the hospital. I stop taking the anti- depressants. I've never liked taking unnecessary medications and just really didn't like the way they made me feel. Now that I can think a little more clearly, it occurs to me that this "dream" has been going on a really long time and has a ridiculous level of detail. Starting to get a bit worried... I wake up the next morning for the first time ever in a strange new house. The sun is just starting to peak through the curtains, it's golden rays just beginning to illuminate the room with a warm glow. I feel marvelously relaxed and well rested. I smile thinking about a fresh cup of coffee. In my half conscious fog, I forget momentarily where I am and what a bizarre ordeal I've been through. Sitting up, I stretch my arms to clear the cob webs. Shit! It wasn't just some crazy dream. The shifting weight of the large pair of boobs on my chest reminds me that I am no longer in the right body. I flounder out of bed and to my feet, or Amber's feet, or whatever. A stunning jab of pain from my left thigh informs me that all of my pain meds have completely worn off. Alone in what must be Amber's bedroom, I try to assess my situation. It comes to my attention that I'm currently wearing a very short "Hello Kitty" night gown and matching panties. It's styled like something a very young girl might wear, but sized for an adult. Stretched over Amber's very grownup features, the childish nightie looks wildly inappropriate and suggestive. Sigh. I had been so exhausted, that I only vaguely remember being required to put this on by the mom and sister as they helped me get ready for bed the night before. I set about trying to find some proper clothes to put on before any of the family members come to check on me. Still half asleep, I stagger over to a large mirrored vanity and pull the scant nightie up over my head and off. I'm dumbstruck by the sight of two of the most perfect breasts I've ever seen. Illuminated by the rays of the morning half light peaking through the curtains, they appear almost incandescent in the dimly lit room. Wow, just wow. Still squinting and blinking the sleep from my eyes, I lean over the vanity to get a closer look, my face just inches from the mirror. This causes the perky full breasts to go from resting on my chest to hanging more down and forward. It has the effect of making the unsupported protrusions look MUCH larger than they had looked just a second before. I actually gasp at the sudden transformation! It's like I just witnessed some kind of obscene magic trick! I stand momentarily transfixed. I'm sure that this would be nothing to someone who grew a healthy endowment gradually over time, but to me, everything about this experience is so new and unexpected. It's like I just keep getting smacked over the head, blindsided with shocking new discoveries about what it's like to suddenly have the anatomy of a curvaceous young woman! Snapping out of my temporary paralysis, I realize that I certainly don't want someone walking in on me just standing here naked, so I get back to my task of trying to find something to put on. The clothes are proving to be a real problem. Amber really was a very sexy, curvy, girly, girl and she knew it. Almost every thing she owns is designed specifically to show off her assets to their best advantage. The designer jeans are all skin tight. Most of the very fashionable tops are tight or cut low to always display at least a hint of her spectacular cleavage. Half the closet is full of skirts and dresses, no help there. The shorts, maybe the worst, are all TINY! I seriously used to have underpants that gave more coverage. And don't get me started on the underwear. Not a single pair of granny panties to be found! EVERYTHING is sheer, or stretchy, or satiny, or silky, or frilly, with lace trim, or bows, or sexy roses, or heart prints, or lace panels, or embroidery, or something else to make them as sexy as possible. It's like everything she owns is from the sexiest pages of a Victoria's Secret catalog. I'm trying to find something loose or baggy, just to cover up, but I can't find a single piece that isn't fitted or stretchy or both. The casual and lounge wear I do find is stuff more along the lines of yoga pants and crop tops! I don't get this at all. As a guy, lounge wear was the single most important part of my wardrobe. When I wanted to relax, or work out, or work on the car, or the lawn, or just enjoy my time off, I would wear whatever would be the most comfortable. Appearance did not even factor into the equation. Rips, tears, holes, frayed edges, mismatched pieces, none of it mattered. Comfort was king with maybe a slight nod to durability. A person who's world view dictated that they must look like a fashion plate at all times, even in front of their own family members or when home alone, was just beyond my comprehension. Continuing my search, I find a whole drawer stuffed full of bras, neatly arranged in rows, sorted by color and style. The majority of the tags read 34 D. They are obviously designed for someone who is very proud of their breasts! Every last one engineered to push up, push together, push out, etc. the girls to their greatest exposure. A lot of the bras are padded despite the fact that Amber sports what looks like a very full and respectable D, borderline double D cup. Some even have some kind of gel or water pack built into the bottom of the cup for extra realistic size and slosh and jiggle. To top it all off, I find some kind of silicone inserts in the back of the drawer to push things up well beyond "D" when the need arises? And of course all of her shoes are designed for sex appeal not comfort. Sexy, strappy, and pinching my toes! Most of these shoes won't even work with regular socks, so I guess they're going to need some kind of stockings or even pantyhose just to put them on. Additionally almost all of them have a significant heel with the exception of her athletic trainers. I've certainly never worn high heels before, so that is definitely going to be a problem. Luckily Amber was a serious athlete, so she does have work out undies that are more plain and closer to normal. She has a few spanx, but most of her work out bottoms are thongs! I guess she didn't want any lines showing through her yoga pants. Super. The work out tops include sport bras, lots of sport bras! God bless them. They are not structured and padded to make all ready big boobs look enormous and hyper sexualized. In fact they smashed them down pretty good. They looked like they were minus one cup size at least. I figure I can comfortably wear these and that will be fine, but no luck. When I walk downstairs to breakfast wearing a sports bra under my shirt, the mother and younger sister both look at me like I've got brain damage or something. Apparently, the bra's thick pink spandex straps and black trim, can be seen clearly showing through the top that I'm wearing. I had picked out a simple white blouse because it was the most similar thing I could find to a basic man's shirt. I never even considered the concept of if it would do an adequate job of hiding bra straps or not! "Mom" explains to me that that bra is only for working out and not for daily wear under clothes. She sends me back upstairs to change. The younger "sister" follows along. We enter my room and we're both just standing there staring at each other. This seems like my chance. "I'm so sorry, but what's your name again?" Sis just stands there with a stunned look of betrayal on her face. Her eyes start to tear up and the corners of her mouth turn down uncontrollably. "Samantha, my name's Samantha!" she responds in shock, looking like she's about to start blubbering. "Oh! Of course! I'm so sorry honey!" This poor young girl looks heart broken. I could not possibly feel any worse. I lunge toward her and give her a big hug. She wraps her arms around me hard enough to crack a rib and sniffles into my shoulder. "It's okay. I under stand. Don't you worry. We'll get through this. I'll help you. Whatever you need. I'm here for you." she stammers. This poor kid. Very unexpectedly, my eyes feel like they're going to start watering too! Not sure what's up with that. Seriously, what the hell? After an awkward pause, the sniffles turn into smiles. We both blot our eyes and try to get down to business. Mom will be waiting for us and neither one of us wants her coming up here to "help". Samantha takes a serious tone and orders me to take off my shirt and bra. She heads over to the big dresser's top drawer. Bless her she wants to help and make sure I get it right, but I could not be more embarrassed. As I pull the sports bra up over my head, the large breasts slowly raise up and then flop down on my chest, where they bounce and swing unsupported. I drop my discarded shirt and bra onto the bed. I'm now topless in my room with a beautiful blond sixteen year old telling me how beautiful my breasts are and how she hopes that one day her already impressive B cups will grow to be as large as mine. She holds up one sexy bra after another trying helpfully to educate me. She goes on explaining how this one is for daytime, this one for evenings, this one for dates, this one to wear when you have a low cut top and want to show off a lot of cleavage, this one for strapless dresses, etc. She goes through almost every bra in the drawer and wants me to try on several as part of her comprehensive class in all things bra. I go along with her instruction because I don't want her reporting back to "Mom" that there's something seriously wrong with me. Samantha plops down sideways on the chair in the corner and waits for me to try on the bras she's picked out. She stares grimly as I fumble around trying to get the hooks closed behind my back. I finally succeed, but she looks at me like she just caught me eating a can of paste! Apparently I'm not putting them on right or wearing them correctly or something. I don't know? I managed to get the hooks fastened and arms through the arm holes. What's wrong with that? In a stern voice, she tells me not to move. Then, without hesitation, she walks around so that she's standing directly behind me. I can't see what she's doing, so I'm not sure what she's up to. Next thing I know, I feel the back of her hands brushing the inside of my elbows, as she pushes my arms up and out of the way. She continues to reach around my torso, first slipping her finger tips under the front bra straps, before sliding her hands down into the bra cups and grabbing up a boob in each hand! I have no idea what's going on and I'm just about ready to jump out of my skin! I don't want to blow my cover or startle her so I just freeze as her slightly cold fingers brush past the nipples and scoop up the boobs! She proceeds to lift and prop up the breasts so they sit correctly inside the bra cups. This seems like the same way she might adjust her own breasts if she were the one wearing a push-up bra. I had no idea that this was even a thing? I guess I just don't have that much experience dealing with breasts of this size, or at least not with trying to cover them up. With the next bra, she insists that I try doing it myself. She gives me step by step instructions, how to lean forward, pull the breasts up fully into the cups, make sure the nipples are centered, adjust the straps, etc. etc. The net effect of this maneuver is to make the breasts look as full and prominent as possible. It is insanely awkward. My goal had been to minimize the size and forward projection and now here's Samantha dictating that I do the exact opposite. She is trying so hard to be helpful and teach me everything a girl needs to know, but I could not be more embarrassed and just want to get this over with. She settles on one of the heavily padded push-up bras! It is white with lace at the top and a delicate bow nestled strategically between the cups. I knew I was in trouble when she paused to survey all of the bras she had made me try on and then decisively selected the one that gave me the most cleavage! It makes the boobs look gigantic! I guess from the point of view of a sixteen year old girl with dreams of one day having very robust development of her own, this was obviously the best choice. "Hurry up, Mom's going to be waiting," she says as I strain to get my blouse back on. This breast enhancing contraption is stretching the thin material to its maximum, that combined with the fact that the buttons are on the wrong side is giving me no end of trouble. Samantha dutifully springs to my rescue and does up the remaining buttons, leaving several undone at the top. I start to do the last of the buttons and she grabs my hand and says, "No, leave those. You never button a blouse like that all the way up to the top. You leave the top buttons open to display your cleavage." "I want to 'display my cleavage'? At the breakfast table?!?" "You can button it all the way up if you really want, but you'll look ridiculous." What else can I do but comply with her instructions. "Mom" had all ready sent me back to my room once to change clothes. Didn't want to risk getting it wrong again. So, cleavage on full display, we head back down the stairs. With each downward step I can feel the breasts bounce up and go momentarily weightless before settling heavily back down into their bra cups awaiting the next step. It's going to be a long day. CHAPTER 3: THE FIRST WEEK AND PREGNANT I'm supposed to be spending the first few days resting, regaining my strength, but it turns out I really don't have anything to do during the day! No school work, no job, nothing to distract me from all the problems I'm dealing with. It's hard not to just sit around dwelling on the recent trauma. I don't know what other demands the mom is going to make of me, or when Josh will make his next move, or what medical issues the future holds, or if I'll ever get to see Emily again. The combination of extreme boredom and absolute uncertainty is creating a tremendous amount of stress and anxiety. It's like being back on the front lines again. Sitting around for weeks, bored out of your mind, but knowing that you could be blown away at any minute with little to no warning, that any day might be your last. I make it through the first week more or less without further incident. The basic living conditions aren't too bad, other than the fact that I'm trapped here and can't leave or get back to Emily. I'm just keeping my head down and going along with whatever I'm told for now. It's like boot camp all over again! I'm really not sure what else to do? My options are find a way to fit in here or get shipped off to a psychiatric hospital! The family members are cutting me some slack because I basically don't know anything. I can tell that they are pretty shaken whenever I say or do something particularly unexpected or out of character. Crazy questions keep coming up that emphasize my total cluelessness. Everything from "how do I wash this hair" to "what do you guys do for a living" or "where's the laundry room?" The laundry actually ends up being an issue. I have no problem helping with cooking or cleaning or completing a list of daily chores, but I really don't know how to do the laundry properly. Hand wash this, gentle cycle that, don't put those in the dryer. All of that is a mystery to me. Once the mom and sister realize what a threat I am to their precious and delicate wardrobes, I'm promptly banned from accessing the washer or dryer. I am, however, still expected to do the sorting and folding once the washing is completed. It is kind of unsettling being required to root through all of the family member's clothing and underwear. They don't seem to realize that most of these clothes I've never even seen before, so it's a real guessing game as to who gets what! I can recognize the things that I've worn, but I'm still obligated to try and figure out the mom and younger sister's clothes. Sorting piece by piece through the bras, panties, slips, stockings. No idea what I'm doing. Very weird. Having to sort and fold the dad's boxers and briefs, also disturbing. As an adult "child" living at home, Amber had been expected to do a lot of the domestic work, in exchange for not having to pay rent or anything. The mom and dad both had jobs. The kid sister was still a full time student, so she got off easy. Amber was out of school and only working part time, so she was more or less treated like the family maid when it came to house work! The fact that the mom insisted that she wear a frilly apron while doing some of the messier chores only added to this impression. I'm caught off guard the first time it happens. I'm standing around in the kitchen after dinner when the mom asks me to help with the dishes. That sounds like a reasonable request so I turn to the pile of dirty dishes to get started. "Mom" grabs something bunched up on a hook near the towels and holds it out too me. I stare at her in blank faced confusion for a full two seconds. No idea what I'm supposed to do here. I don't need a towel now. I haven't even started washing yet. "Here. Put it on," she says as a very effeminate white apron with ruffles around the edges and a big bow in front unfurls from her hand, hanging by it's straps from her fingertips. "That's okay, I've got this," I reply and turn back toward the sink. She holds up the apron with both hands and gives me a very stern look. "Put it on. You'll ruin your blouse," she says in a tone that tells me clearly that refusal is not an option. The mother and two daughters really value their extensive wardrobes, so it is just understood that whenever there is a chore to be done that has any possibility of spotting or damaging clothing, an apron is to be worn. Of course the very feminine fashion conscious women living in this house are going to choose to wear the most sexy girly apron they can possibly find. They insist on something that will "look cute" rather than looking like something the "lunch lady" at a public school might wear. So resigned to my fate, I slip the apron's frilly straps over my shoulders. The mom ties it tight behind my back, causing it to cinch in around my waist while the lower portion flares out over my hips and upper thighs. So here I stand, doing the dishes. The very compulsory apron diligently protects my precious blouse while the rest of the family watches me fulfill my obligations of domestic servitude. Another thing that is giving me a really hard time is getting used to some of the anatomical changes. Surprisingly, sitting down to pee wasn't that big of an adjustment once I got the hang of it. At least that was totally private. The large breasts however, are proving to be a real problem. They are constantly on display. They draw the attention of everyone in the room. They seem just freakishly HUGE to me! I know that isn't true at all, but that's how it feels from my new perspective. Realistically, a full D cup is not an unusual size and Amber certainly was not abnormal or disproportionate in any way. In fact, her figure is about the closest thing to perfection I've ever seen! Imagine "Penny" from "The Big Bang Theory" had a much younger, much hotter sister, who had a penchant for wearing sexy lingerie all the time, and there you go. That could be Amber! I guess the shock of going from a large man with a flat chest to a slender young woman with very healthy feminine development is just really distorting the hell out of my perception of this new physical reality. I have always had a lean muscular build with good pecs, six pack abs, etc. Now whenever I move unsupported I experience the load on my chest. It tugs on my skin, even to the point of being somewhat painful. I constantly feel the soft warm wobbly weight of the two masses just hanging off my rib cage. Their endless attempts to bounce and sway and move even when properly strapped down. The ever present boob sweat on the underside where the skin folds over and touches itself. The frustrating hard prickly sensations from the nipples when they are getting aroused which seems to be most of the time. It's just so completely absurd, like suddenly growing a couple extra arms or a tail or something and then having to pretend that it's normal and that everything is fine. The new additions to my anatomy also require special clothing that I'm not really comfortable wearing and apparently I know very little about. Even the mom and kid sister seem to be obsessively concerned with how they're dressed and how they look! Ever since the dreaded "sports bra incident" they've both been monitoring what I wear on a daily basis. They openly discuss the pros and cons of what I'm wearing, what I should be wearing, what I'll wear the next day. The dad seems a bit embarrassed by such conversation, but I guess he's used to it after living in a house full of nothing but women for the past several years. I'm aghast to have my underwear being publicly debated like it's the national debt or something, but that's the world I'm living in now. When I try to sleep on my side I can feel the breasts smashing up together between my arms and I can feel them flop and roll to one side or the other as I move around at night. One minute getting pushed up towards my face the next sliding back toward my armpits! I can't sleep on my stomach at all any more. It's unreal, to suddenly be living with these two new completely alien appendages. The only thing that keeps them even remotely in check is wearing a bra, but that is also a completely new and unnatural practice for me. I wake up in the middle of the night and have to go pee, again. My God! What is that like the third time tonight? I try to sit up and feel the painful swollen breasts shift on my chest. I feel two wet spots on the front of my night gown. Shit! I'm leaking again. I really don't want to have to sleep in one of the uncomfortable maternity bras, but it looks like that is the only way I'm going to be able to keep the nursing pads in place. Great, that should pretty much guarantee that I don't get a good night's sleep for the next couple years. My huge distended belly makes getting up a real battle. I try to roll to my side. My aching back argues that I should just give up and stay put. I think, "This baby can not come soon enough." The concept slowly begins to penetrate my foggy consciousness. Oh my God I'm pregnant!!! How did I get pregnant!?! The events of the past several days run through my still hazy memory. I remember waking up in the hospital and realizing that I was in the body of a woman. So what the hell is going on now? My mind reels. I guess that it makes sense that if I could suddenly wake up a woman, I can just as easily suddenly wake up nine months pregnant, but exactly what the hell has happened here? Am I still Amber or did I switch again, am I someone different now? Glancing around the room, the low light coming through the window reveals what appears to be the now familiar surroundings of Amber's bedroom. So if I'm still Amber, what's happened to my body? Have I moved forward in time and if so how did I get pregnant? I can't imagine that I would have agreed to sleep with a man. Is it possible that Amber was pregnant before she was killed? Oh shit! That actually IS possible!!! But where did the last eight and a half months go and how did I suddenly get here? Am I suffering from some actual memory loss now? Ugh! Is there no end to this nightmare? I sit bolt upright. I feel like I'm going to be sick. My hands shoot to my stomach, then my chest, then all over. Normal! Well, normal for Amber at least. Nightmare was right. It was just a bad dream. I'm in a cold sweat and breathing hard with long hair tangled across my face. I can tell instantly that there is no way I'll be getting back to sleep any time soon. I guess all of the stress is literally starting to drive me nuts. My lungs expel every last bit of air in a great exasperated sigh as I roll my eyes and flop back onto the bed. I wince as the unrestrained breasts express their displeasure with my overly vigorous back flop. "That's just fucking great," I think as I clutch the mistreated breasts to my chest. Cursing my carelessness as I wait a few seconds for the residual discomfort to clear. "Just fucking great..." I've been suffering from all manner of anxiety since the change, panic attacks, night terrors, you name it! Time was, a live grenade falling at my feet wasn't enough to rattle me. Now, I feel like I'm constantly teetering on the brink of an emotional abyss, always just one sad look or comment away from tears or hyperventilating. I don't know if it's the change in hormones, or physical changes to the brain structures? I actually wonder if some of the trauma of death was somehow left in this body. I've never had a problem like this before, but I guess being murdered can mess you up. I've woken up in the middle of the night screaming several times. Sometimes I'm back in the restaurant bleeding out on the floor. Sometimes I'm in the ambulance, hooked up to tubes, clinging to life. The very worst nightmare, Emily is dead and I'm wasting away in a hospital bed, comatose, unable to move, speak, or do anything. It all feels so real at the time, but then I wake up. By the time I'm fully awake, I often can't even remember what I'm screaming about, but my heart is racing and I'm usually covered in sweat. I'm sure that it's all the trauma that I've been through combined with the enormous strain that I'm still under. Worrying minute to minute that I'm going to be found out, as if that were even possible. I imagine this must be what it's like for a deep undercover cop, being forced to live a lie in every aspect of your life, knowing that at any moment you could be discovered with catastrophic results. Surprisingly, when I wake to the sound of my own blood curdling screams, no one comes to check on me! I don't know if they can't hear me because of the large size of the house or maybe they are just a family of really heavy sleepers? All I know is that I've never felt more alone or scared or helpless, not in combat, not when I was a little kid, not ever. "Mom" said she contacted the doctors and they chalked it up to post traumatic stress disorder, PTSD, from the shooting. Frankly, I found the gun play much less stressful than trying to live under cover as a young woman in someone else's home. With my background and military training, going man on man with an armed idiot felt pretty much like business as usual. I paid a heavy price, but I had achieved my objective of protecting Emily and stopping the gunman and felt generally pretty good about the entire incident. It was like the landing at Normandy. There was a bloody bill to pay, but the beach was taken and the war was won and that is generally regarded as a good outcome. My real problem now is I just want to get back to my old life, my wife, my house, my body, but I'm trapped in a nightmare that I just can't wake up from. I'm trying to get by day to day, but things are only getting worse. The parents want me to get out more and socialize to try and get "back to normal", but that's the last thing I want. The thought of socializing dressed as a girl and trying to bullshit my way through conversation with people that I don't even know is just repulsive. I've also heard that there is some kind of family beach outing in the works! I've checked. Amber doesn't own any one piece or conservative swimsuits! The prospect of being forced to go out in public for the day wearing nothing more than a skimpy bikini gives me heart palpitations every time I think about it, but how was I supposed to get out of these obligations. I can't just shut myself off in my room every weekend and shout "GO AWAY!" from behind a locked door. That would lead to the even more terrifying prospect of being shipped off to a nut house. Another huge concern is being pressured into being alone with Josh. He has mentioned something about an upcoming camping trip. I can only imagine being stuck alone in the deep woods in a tent with this guy for the entire weekend. Trying to fend off his endless sexual advances when we're sleeping in the same little tent sounds like a complete nightmare. It's impossible to tell where a situation like that might end up. The thought of an unwanted pregnancy, or that I might all ready be pregnant, again fills my heart with a black dread. My current situation is bad enough, but I know it could be a million times worse. It might all ready be a million times worse! I have no way of knowing. I just have to wait and see what happens. The stress and anticipation is almost unbearable. The little dog between my legs steps up onto my stomach, tail wagging. It must have jumped up on the bed during the night. That's probably what woke me up! The pup licks at my face. I think it's trying to cheer me up. Good luck with that! I sit up and hug the friendly corgi to my chest, or I guess I should say bosom as the bulging mammaries get in the way. I spend the next hour just sitting there in the dark, clinging to the compassionate corgi, pondering what a miserable state I've come to. I have no idea how I'm going to be able to endure without going completely insane. I want to get back to Emily. Maybe I could call her, try to explain what's happened? I can just imagine how that would go. "Hi Emily? This is Amber. I'm also your dead husband. You have to come rescue me from my own family!" Emily knows that I have brain damage, that I'm mentally ill, and of course I never mentioned anything about being her husband in the hours and days we spent together in the hospital. There is no way she would believe me. As soon as we hung up, she would contact the mom and describe the weird call she just received from Amber. Then the mom would call the hospital. I'm certain that I would end up back in the psych ward with Doctor creepy, by the end of the day. No. When I talk to Emily, tell her what's happened, it will have to be in person and in private. I will have to make sure that there is no one around who can interrupt and that there is enough time that I can find some way to convince her. Just reciting personal facts won't be enough. Anyone can get that sort of information off the internet or social media. What can I possibly say that will convince an intelligent person that the impossible is not only possible, but true? I keep thinking about it until my head hurts, but every path back to her seems to lead to a dead end. Exhausted, I eventually fall back asleep with the excessively warm pup nuzzled into my armpit. The next day, "Mom" pulls me aside and asks if I'm feeling all right. I have no idea what she's getting on about. The realization that she might be talking about a possible pregnancy blasts into my consciousness. Could that dream have been more than just a dream? I still have no way of knowing if I might actually be pregnant. I can't exactly ask someone to go out and buy me a pregnancy test! "I feel fine." I'm pretty sure my heart has actually stopped beating as I stand in silence, terrified of what her next words might be. "Is your leg giving you problems or are you having any other pain or discomfort?" She asks giving no indication as to her motivations. She must know something that I don't. "I'm doing okay, really!" I reassure her. "Why do you ask?" Here it comes... "Mom" says with sincere concern, "I noticed that you'd been walking kind of hunched over since you got out of the hospital and I thought you might be in some kind of pain." She's not talking about pregnancy! I could not be more relieved, but I also immediately notice my posture. I WAS somewhat hunched over, shoulders forward. I remember seeing some young girls walking around like this back in middle school to hide their developing breasts! I had been feeling really embarrassed and self conscious about suddenly having these alien things stuck on my chest. I guess I had been subconsciously doing the same thing as those tweens. "Maybe we should go back to the doctor to get a more complete physical," the mom suggests. Shit!!! I'm still in trouble here. That's all I need, to be in a backless paper shirt, in a doctors office, getting poked and prodded in every way imaginable! I can just imagine "Mom" insisting on being in the room during the examination and asking ridiculously embarrassing personal questions throughout. "Oh, sorry Mom! I guess I kind of let myself go over the last few days." "I don't want to be a nag, but as big as you are, you're going to end up with serious back problems if you don't really focus on maintaining good posture," the mom nags. "I'll make sure and watch it." I say as I thrust the two huge swellings on my chest forward, back ramrod straight. Hoping to convince her of the sincerity of my efforts. "It's okay. I know you've been dealing with a lot." The reply is in a very sympathetic tone that I find strangely comforting. "I really do have a lot to re-learn. I appreciate your help." The mom hugs me while I still have the boobs pushed out to their maximum potential. Not at all awkward! That was a close one. I guess I'm in the clear for the moment, but I'm going to have to make a point of walking around back straight, chest out, from now on if I want to avoid further problems. Bad enough I have to deal with these things, now I have to make a point of parading them around high and proud for everyone to see wherever I go. I really do wish I could just keep trying to minimize them, but nope. It's got to be "here come the boobs" whenever I walk into the room! CHAPTER 4: MY COMING OUT PARTY The family wants to help me get back in the swing of things and return to normal life. The mom and Samantha insist on instructing me on how to care for my hair, presumably so I can go out in public. I would love to just cut the hair short, but ever since Britney Spears, "suddenly cutting off all of your hair" has been seen as the classic "I'm completely insane now" indicator for women, so that's out of the question. They also insist in "helping" me with my make-up. Apparently, a woman can not go out in public without first painting her face up like some kind of prostitute. That sounds really harsh, but seriously, it's the twenty-first century. What happened to equality and choice and all that crap? Guess it hadn't made it to Amber's house yet. Washed face and pony tail is fine with me, but they want me "back to normal", so every morning they "help" me do my hair and do my face. I end up sitting in my underwear getting pampered, painted, and perfumed before I can even start my day. Despite my best efforts, I'm not even able to avoid an impromptu eyebrow plucking! I adamantly insist that they're fine! The mom and Samantha gang up on me and pretty much force me to sit still while they savagely pluck out one eyebrow hair after another. They leave my eyebrows thinned with a feminine arch! This is going to be really hard to get used to. They belong nowhere but on the face of a beautiful girl. Nothing like the scruffy hedgerow brows I'm used to sporting. I hit an all time low when I realize that my first period must be coming soon, assuming that I'm not pregnant. I have no idea when it will be or how to prepare for it. I'm sure Mom or Samantha would gladly fill me in, but my God, that is going to be a weird conversation/experience. I plan to ask one of them about it, but before I can work up the courage, it shows up suddenly one morning. I end up spending half an hour in the bathroom reading and re-reading detailed instructions from the boxes of tampons and pads. I break down in tears over the sorry state I've been reduced to. I realize that I'm probably just extra emotional because it's "that time of the month" and that makes me even more depressed. The good news is that I'm definitely not pregnant, but other than that, the situation seems hopeless. The thought of just killing myself crosses my mind and not for the first time. I don't know how I'm going to be able to keep going like this. I'm just sitting around in a daze, feeling cramped, bloated, and sorry for myself, wishing I was back in my own home with my beautiful wife. I can't imagine what poor Emily must be going through. I also can't imagine her ever wanting me back the way I am now. In desperation I try popping a couple of the left over pain pills and some of the anti-depressants too. A half hour later I'm sinking into a pharmaceutically induced haze. All of my anxiety and dysphoria about being someone else or being trapped in the wrong house, just disappear! I feel like myself again, just hanging around my house. Sure it's that time of the month, but what else is new. These pills are great! I'm going to have to start taking these things more regularly and talk to the mom about getting the prescriptions refilled. In the days that follow, I start taking more and more of the powerful meds just to get by. When I feel one cycle starting to wear off, I just pop a few more. I try to stagger the pain pills and anti- depressants to get the effects to overlap. It is so much easier fitting in around here when I'm basically high as a kite. Just being myself, hanging out with Mom and Dad and Sammie. It all feels so happy and natural as long as I can maintain the high. I come to dread the hours when the pills will have worn off completely, like first thing in the morning or even the middle of the night. I fear that I might be growing dependent. The pills seem to be getting a little less effective with each passing day. I was taking more than the prescribe amount to start with. Now I have to take even more to get the same result. They're starting to give me stomach problems. I'm also a bit concerned that the anti-depressants might actually be anti-psychotics. I'm going to have to look that up. I don't think I can trust what they told me at the hospital. The next crisis to come along is a baby shower! I don't even hear about it until the day of the shower!!! Kind of a "guess what we're doing today" type situation. The mom and sister could not be more excited to show off my recovery to all the friends and relatives. Samantha has been assigned to help "get me ready". I'm informed that it's a semi-formal event for some kind of snooty family friends and that I'll have to wear a dress! They all ready have the "perfect one" picked out for me to wear. It's made out of something called silk taffeta. It's kind of a pale blue colored thing with lace trim and a decorative bow in back. Form fitting on top and flaring out at the waist, kind of shiny and crinkly and generally looking pretty uncomfortable. It reminds me of something you might see at a fancy tea party or maybe a bride's maid might wear. It seems like way too much for a "baby shower", but apparently that's the expectation that's been set for this particular gathering. I had always hated having to put on a suit and tie for formal affairs. The tie always felt uncomfortable and tight around my neck. The jacket was usually too hot to wear indoors for an extended period of time, but you had to wear it anyways. The leather wingtips didn't really pinch my feet, but were certainly less comfortable than my casual shoes. Now, I'd kill to have one of my trusty monkey suits to put on, but no such luck. A sinking despair fills my soul. It's not just this baby shower, it's going to be absurd dresses and gowns for every formal public event from now on! My mind races to come up with an excuse to get out of this, but I can't think of anything even remotely plausible. I could claim that I was sick, but the mom would almost certainly want to run me back to the hospital for a check-up given the dire warning that the doctors had given her. The possibility of wearing more casual clothes had all ready been ruled out. Apparently getting dressed up was one of the main reasons women put on events like this! Was there some kind of women's pant suit available that I could borrow? That didn't seem likely. My heart races and I think about just making a break for it. Jump out the window, hitchhike back to Emily, or maybe steal a car? My reason tells me that if I try it I'll end up in a rubber room by night fall, with truly no hope of escape. Acting in such an insanely irrational manner was pretty much guaranteed to ruin my chances of ever getting back together with Emily. Samantha declares that my legs are an atrocity and will have to be job one as the dress I'll be wearing is "knee length". A panicked expression crosses my face as I consider my complete lack of experience in the art of leg shaving. Samantha looks momentarily pained as her shoulders slouch. "Don't worry, I'll let you borrow my old electric razor." I smile meekly as my stress abates, at least a little. Holy cow, the girl seems to be able to read my mind. I head into the bathroom with the donated pink electric shaver. It is completely out of charge, so I have to plug it in. After ten minutes of straining and scraping the legs are more or less hair free. More importantly, they are not bleeding anywhere! I come out wearing just a light pink stretch satin thong, a thick pink bath robe, and a pair of fuzzy flip flops. The unfamiliar thong is squirming further up between my butt cheeks with each step I take! The dress poofs out at the waist so it seems to me like regular undies should be okay, but I've been severely admonished that the thong was mandatory. To date I had been aggressively avoiding wearing any thongs, which might have something to do with why they are insisting that I wear one now. It's clear that I really don't have a choice and I'm not going to start a fight over a pair of underpants, so here I stand uncomfortably enduring the ultimate wedgie, my bare butt cheeks perfectly framing the stretchy strap of satin. Next I'm plopped down in front of the vanity for hair and make-up. It's a tedious process involving all manner of paints and potions, ending with extensive use of a curling iron and an almost certainly toxic application of hair spray. The hair ends up a mass of loose curls framing my face and spilling onto my chest and down my back. I'm directed to put on a pair of pantyhose. Samantha hands a new package and holy crap, it's labeled Sexy Women Oil Glitter Tights 1D Ultra Thin Super Shiny Pantyhose High Waist Collant Femme Transparent, whatever the hell all that means. With no alternative but to follow the orders I've been given, I tear them out of the package and start to pull them on like a pair of pants. Samantha is aghast and lunges to grab my hands. "NO! Not like that! You'll put a run in them. Here, let me show you." She grabs the pantyhose and bunches them up completely from top to bottom. "Here! Put your toe in here all the way to the bottom." I insert my toe as directed and she pulls the hose up over my foot completely. One foot then the other. They unbunch as she slides them up my smooth legs. They smash my underwear against my crotch and feel rather uncomfortably tight and clingy overall. She pulls the waist band way up over my hips. It ends up a couple inches above my bellybutton. My immediate thought is that I'm glad I went to the bathroom before this whole process began. Samantha takes my robe and leaves me awkwardly standing topless in just the shiny pantyhose. Without the warmth of the robe, a slight chill sets off the nipples. They clench into hard red knots of wrinkled flesh, topping off the pendulous breasts. I'm sure she's going to notice, but what can I do? I start blushing. I try to think of an excuse to cover up or leave the room, but that would kind of defeat the purpose of actually getting the dress on. I'm stuck just standing here, waiting on Samantha. The whole situation just seems completely inappropriate. I look down at the painfully puckered nipples, jutting out ridiculously. This is wrong! I shouldn't even be here! This is just insane! What the hell is taking her so long? I'm buried under a torrent of nervous agitation, like I'm starting to have a panic attack or something. I start to shiver even though it's not actually cold in the room. I have a desperate urge to run, but there's no escape. I seriously can't believe this shit! There must be something really wrong with me? I've disarmed live IEDs under fire without breaking a sweat. Now I'm standing here completely frozen, trying desperately to keep a sixteen year old girl from seeing me shake. I take a seat to try and steady myself. Samantha turns and looks at me with a quizzical expression. "Are you all right?" Shit! She's noticed. "Just a little chilly." I reply. She accepts my explanation. Mercifully, she has finally finished futzing with whatever she was futzing with. She gestures for me to stand as she holds up the dress. It is pretty much a mystery to me. Emily certainly has nothing like this. It has a long zipper in the back with a hook at the top. I don't know if I'm supposed to pull it over my head or step into it like a pair of pants. I couldn't care less either way. I'm just anxious to get some clothes on, anything to cover myself. "I'm going to need some help putting this on." I meekly observe. The kid sister comes to my rescue again. She unzips the back all the way down and then holds it low enough that I get the hint that I'm supposed to step into it. I hesitantly place one stocking clad foot into the dress and then the other. She carefully slides the smooth fabric up over the sheer nylon encasing my hips and thighs. I feel her working the zipper upward, first cinching in the top of my hips, then crawling up the small of my back. Being at least partially covered up provides instant relief. I can feel my heart rate and respiration starting to return to normal. A fine sheen of perspiration is coating my clammy skin and my stomach is doing flip flops, but at least I won't be standing here naked for much longer. I'm relieved to be getting at least somewhat covered, but I'm concerned that the dress doesn't have any shoulder straps or sleeves and I can't figure how this is supposed to stay on. "Wait! Don't I need to put on a bra first?" It suddenly occurs to me. I certainly don't want to have to get undressed and start all over! "No, this dress has built in bra cups." "What, seriously? That's a thing?" I ask. "Don't worry about it. You'll see. You're going to look great!" She says as the zipper continues up, and I feel my mid-section being significantly compressed. "If you say so. I just don't want anything falling out." "Don't worry! You'll be covered. It has a sweetheart neckline. See!" She holds the front of the still loose upper portion of the dress up to my chest. I look down doubtfully. The two boob-shaped arches on the front of the dress make a shape like the top of a heart, but only partially cover the exposed breasts. I don't seem to have any say in the matter, so I'm resigned to my fate. "Yeah, okay, but what is going to keep it from falling down? There's no straps or anything!" "It's structured. See it's got some boning in the side to keep it upright and then it's tight in the waist so it can't slide down past your hips." So the narrow waist and hips are going to hold up the whole thing? That's a new one on me. As a guy, even a tight fitting thick leather belt was barely enough to keep my pants, pockets loaded with keys, wallet, phone, etc., from falling down. Now the flare of these hips was supposed to support this entire contraption, including the dubious front. It doesn't seem likely. She has me hold the heart shaped top of the dress over my upper torso as she finishes working the zip all the way up and then hooks the little hook at the top. I'm completely trapped. There is no way I'm getting out of this by myself. The breasts are smashed somewhat awkwardly by the upper part of the dress which seems completely inadequate to its task of containing the overly generous endowments. With both hands I dig in and start trying to adjust them to a more comfortable and symmetrical position. Samantha is looking on anxiously like she wants to help. I really don't want her joining in on the impromptu groping, so I turn away from her slightly to send the message that I think I can handle it by myself. There really doesn't seem to be enough room at all, but I do my best to try and get things evenly distributed. Properly arranged, the breasts completely fill the built in bra cups and then some. I'm terrified that things are going to spill out. "Is this right?" I stand with my arms out stretched and bounce up and down a little to try and demonstrate my concerns. The exposed tops of the breasts shake and jiggle like some kind of obscene creamy flesh colored jello molds. It feels really weird having the chest propped up like this, like the breasts are being held up by a little shelf, like they're being put on display or something. Ripe melons for sale at a farmer's market come to mind. "You look perfect! Oh my God! Mom is going to be so happy!" Well crap. My protests didn't work out at all. The dress is stiff and constricting around my torso, stomach, and the top of my hips. I guess it's not unbearably tight, but it is snug, definitely snug. I honestly can't imagine it moving at all. Even my breathing is slightly restricted. I guess this might work. I'm just going to have to make sure not to lean over, and be careful how I move, and getting in and out of cars, and reaching for things, and breathing for the next several hours. I'm not even sure how I'm going to go to the bathroom? As I'm pondering these issues, the shoes appear. Sort of an off white with about a three inch heel and a little bow over the toes. "These are just darling!" Samantha declares as she stuffs one shoe onto each foot. She takes my hands and pulls me to my feet. Upper back and shoulders bare, legs exposed, perched atop my new heels, I feel a precarious sense of vulnerability. I glance down to see the new shoes, but give up on the idea when I find that my view is completely blocked by the cleavage being pushed up and out and the flare of the lower portion of the dress. Even if I can't see the shoes, it does feel nice to be a little bit taller again, having recently shrunk down from six foot two to just five foot six. I immediately start wobbling around like a new born fawn as I have no experience walking in heels. "Come on! You know how to do this. Heel, toe, heel, toe..." Samantha insists as she demonstrates, striding across the room, shoulders back, chest pushed out, placing one foot directly in front of the other with an exaggerated swing to her hips. Wow! This kid really looks like she would be right at home on any fashion runway in New York or Paris. Samantha takes my hand and proceeds to walk me back and forth across the room several times. I am certain that there is no way I can possibly match her performance, but she is trying so hard to help me that I feel like I have to give it a go. I do my best to try and copy her example, crossing my feet over so that my steps are inline with each heel landing directly in front of the previous toe. This puts an unfamiliar sway in my hips as I'm required to sashay back and forth repeatedly under Samantha's supervision. The silky sheer hose encasing my freshly shaved legs is producing an unnerving swish that I can feel with each subsequent step as I continue to promenade the length of the room again and again. Samantha encourages, "Shorter steps. You got this! Lean back a little. That's it! Swing it!!!" Swing it? I'm not trying to "swing" anything. It's just kind of a side effect of the way these heels are making me walk. I do eventually start to get the hang of it, at least enough to avoid falling on my face or rolling an ankle. Samantha beams at my progress. I feel like some kind of parade float prancing around in the shiny noisy taffeta. Samantha rushes off to get the mom so she can see "how nice I look". The baby shower itself is a weird and stressful experience. There are no men present at all. Out of respect for the mother to be, there is also no alcohol! I have no idea how to act or what I'm supposed to do. I cling to Sam like she is some kind of life preserver. She introduces me to people I should all ready know. I try to be polite and make reasonably intelligent small talk. The experience crawls on for hours. There is gift opening and food followed by a series of truly bizarre baby themed games. Dessert includes some kind of crumb cake. I've been doing my best not to embarrass myself, but all of that goes to hell when some of the crumbs decide to jump off and fall right down the front of my exposed cleavage. More than a few people notice! I panic slightly, but I quickly realize that there is nothing to be done about it. I can't go fishing around down the front of the dress trying to dig out the crumbs. I brush the few remaining stray bits off the uncovered tops of the breasts and just carry on as shame flushes my cheeks. Sam notices what a hard time I'm having, her eyes deep with pity. She leans over and whispers, "It's okay. It happens to the best of us," with a reassuring smile. I bleakly smile back, more grateful than ever for her presence. It's all ready been a long afternoon and it's no where near finished. Eventually I can't hold out any longer and I have to use the bathroom. I have to bring Sam in with me because I can't get the pantyhose down without unzipping the dress and I can't unzip the dress by myself. The thought occurs to me that if I had stockings, I would be able to take care of this myself. That seems like it would be so much easier and more comfortable too. Seriously, I can't understand why anyone would ever choose to where pantyhose? "Do you want to just take the dress off?" Sam asks. I consider it, but that would leave me wearing just my high heels with my panties and pantyhose down around my ankles, standing almost completely naked in front of an underaged girl. God, that sounds awful! Once again, I didn't think things could get any worse, but there you go. Things keep getting worse! "That's okay. I think I can manage," I conclude. I proceed to hike up the loose dress with one hand while trying to keep the top from falling down with the other as I squat over the toilet. At the moment I'm somewhat grateful that I don't need a third hand to point a penis in the right direction. It seems really inappropriate to have a pretty sixteen year old girl standing there watching me sit on the toilet and waiting for me to pee. I feel like I should ask her to leave or something, but then what would I do? I can't even get these clothes back on without her help! She turns to the mirror and starts unnecessarily touching up her make- up to alleviate the ongoing awkwardness. With the difficult maneuvering and the uncomfortable lack of privacy, it's taking me a minute to get started. My main concern now is trying to get done and trying to keep the dress dry. Other people are waiting to use the bathroom. Even in the hospital I had been able to piss in private, but here I sit, with a kid sister required to help me take a leak. As a middle aged guy, I can barely wrap my head around how I ever ended up in such an incomprehensible situation. This kind of thing NEVER happens to guys unless you're some kind of an invalid or in a nursing home, but I have to go, and this is the only way I can see to get it done. I'm completely humiliated by the loud splattering sound it makes when my bladder finally decides to let go. I finish up and Samantha helps me get everything put back together. The zipper slides up my back, between my shoulder blades, where it terminates with the little hook. Once again I'm left fumbling to get the boobs properly situated into the dress's preformed cups. Observing my struggles, Sam casually mentions, "You're lucky that this dress doesn't have any petticoats." Without really thinking about it I blurt out, "What's a petticoat?" Samantha comes to a full stop. She gives me a world weary stare, complete with exasperated sigh. "Come on. Let's get out of here," she replies and we vacate the bathroom, the mission complete. Eventually the party winds down and we are able to leave. This has been one of the most stressful and unpleasant experiences of my life, which is really saying something considering the three tours I spent in the Mid-East. Having to lie to all these people and pretend to be someone I'm not. Wearing this ridiculous uncomfortable get up. Putting up with hours of the most tedious and inane conversation and activities. I honestly believe that spending the last four hours in a dentist's chair would probably have been preferable. I understand that having a baby is a special event, but why anyone would want to subject themselves to such an absurd ritual is just incomprehensible. Adding to my torture, the family thinks the baby shower was a raging success and wants to continue to show off "how great I'm doing" to all their friends, neighbors, relatives, and co-workers. I think they may also be trying to help me regain my memory by having me interact with "people I know". They force me to get dressed up with hair, make-up, the works, and go out and socialize with every friend of the family or relative they can think of. I take to putting away significant quantities of alcohol whenever I'm forced to interact with people, just to keep the fake smile plastered to my face. Trying to maintain a sunny disposition with all this required socialization while wearing a push-up bra and pantyhose and makeup and dangly ear rings, surrounded by people I don't know is beyond my current abilities without a liberal application of booze. My "parents" seem to be a bit concerned, but make some allowances for the very difficult situation I'm going through. Out in public, I feel like the prey, constantly being stalked, having to be on my guard and defensive at all times. I'm living in a world where my entire existence is defined by female sexuality. I just can't get used to the idea of people, specifically men, being sexually attracted to me everywhere I go. I know that the parents are trying to help me, but since I don't want to dress like this and I don't actually know any of these people, I feel like I'm being dressed up and put on display just so these strangers can ogle me. On Friday night they take me out to a popular local bar/club called Pokey's. It has a bit of a western theme to it, but is basically the same as any other sports bar with a small stage and dance floor added. Emily and I had actually been to this place a couple of times, but it was generally too loud and too crowded for our middle-aged tastes. There is a band I've never heard of scheduled to play later tonight, but they're not starting until nine-thirty, so it's just generic country music thumping over the impressive house speakers for now. I throw down a couple of quick shots to take the edge off, after which the "friends" and "family members" present encourage me, in the strongest possible terms, to get out and dance! They desperately want to see me "back to normal" and "having fun". This body is truly beautiful, but I have no idea how to make it dance appropriately. What am I supposed to do, get out there and start twerking or something? I have always been of the opinion that a man shouldn't dance unless another man is shooting at his feet! Slow dancing with Emily was always great, but that was about it. I can just imagine the spectacle I would make if I actually tried to "bust a move", lurching about spasmodically as one suffering the final death throws of mad cow disease might. I'm saved at the last moment when I come up with the brilliant idea of claiming that the painful gun shot wound to my leg makes dancing impossible at this time! I conspicuously rub the front of my thigh to tragically emphasize my plight. Everyone responds with expressions of sorrow and pity, rightfully shamed for thoughtlessly daring to ask me to dance!!! Problem solved. Heh heh heh... Even without being required to shake my assorted bits out on the dance floor, I'm still VERY self conscious about the big old flesh melons wobbling around on my chest when I'm out in public. After all, I was a middle aged guy just a few weeks ago. All of the forced socialization is just making things worse. I can feel the little bounce and jiggle reverberating on my chest after every step! I feel like they announce my presence whenever I walk into a room. Every man stares at them with lust and every woman stares at them with envy or jealousy and I just wish I had a flat nondescript chest again. I feel like every single person I interact with, except immediate family, is 100% focused on my rack and interacting with me like some kind of living sex object instead of an actual person. Worse than that, every piece of clothing I have is designed to emphasize the breasts and present them to the world like a giant neon billboard. My bras enlarge them, push them up and out, creating truly epic cleavage lavished in lace. Even my most basic tops are tight fitting or cut low in the front, making a deliberate presentation of my chest no matter how conservatively I try to dress. I try something bulky like a sweater, but it still looks almost obscene once I stretch it over the ample sweater stuffers. To top it all off I have my very helpful mom and younger sister insisting on playing wardrobe police, making sure that I'm wearing "the right bra" and putting together sexy matching outfits to look my best. I think about going out and buying some new clothes, something loose and baggy and gray, preferably something from the men's department. That would be awesome! It was theoretically possible. Amber did have some credit cards and she was in pretty good shape financially. She was living at home and didn't have any student debt because she went to college on scholarship. Luckily some kind of insurance from work was covering all of my medical bills. The problem was getting a ride. This house is isolated way out in the country, way too far to walk or bike. I'm not even sure what the nearest town is! The doctor said I couldn't drive yet. That meant the mom and sister would want to come along. I'm sure they would just make me buy more girly stuff, not the baggy tees and sweat pants I yearn for. Living with Amber's family is continuing to be very challenging. They try to get me to do simple tasks like making coffee. I know how to make coffee, but I don't know exactly how it is done in this household. For example I don't know where the coffee grounds or filters are kept. So they make me try to find it to "help jog my memory". I search the entire kitchen, but it turns out someone had hidden the coffee filters in another room. The family has a good laugh at my expense and thinks that they're bonding, but I am royally pissed. My poor memory and odd behavior becomes the butt of the family's jokes. They make fun of me for eating yogurt with a tablespoon. I guess you're only supposed to use a teaspoon for yogurt? They tease me about always wanting to wear sneakers with everything. It becomes some kind of game to hide things on me like the TV remote or my phone and then make fun of me for "not remembering" where I put them. It seems like they think this is all in good fun. Maybe they think we're bonding or maybe this is just a family where people tease each other a lot? Maybe they're using the teasing to try and correct my behavior to get me to act more like I used to? I really don't know, but it is very annoying and actually feels hostile in a way. CHAPTER 5: THE FIANCE EFFECT Then there's Josh, the ever present fiance. A few weeks ago the parents had decided that it might help "restore the relationship" or at least bring back more of my memories to have Josh move in and live with the family full time! I of course, was not consulted prior to this decision being made. I'm sure that this omission was not an oversight. The parents must have known exactly what my response would have been if I'd been given a say in the matter. I managed to convince Josh on the first night, much to his chagrin, that I would be sleeping alone for the foreseeable future and that was that. He was not thrilled about being forced to sleep in the guest room and keeps trying to regain admission into my bed room at every opportunity. When he looks at me, I see that there is a hunger in his eyes, like he is barely able to restrain himself. He has had this body before and I know he wants, no, he expects to have it again. I catch him staring at the breasts all the time! It's really unnerving to constantly be in the presence of a man who wants me sexually, who could take me physically anytime he wants, with only his own self control holding him back. I had spent my entire adult life knowing that I was always the toughest guy in the room, that I could handle any situation that life threw at me. Now I was living completely at the mercy of another man who wanted nothing more than to stick his dick in me. There is no hint of physical force, but his psychological campaign to regain access to this body is relentless. "I just want to be closer to you... I really miss snuggling with you at night... I've got something to show you that might help jog your memory... Come on baby, let me show you some of the things we used to do... I really think it might help you remember... But we used to do this all the time... Let me show you how much I love you..." He is endlessly trying to touch me, to sneak kisses, to sit uncomfortably close to me when the family is together. It is really difficult! The family loves this guy and he loves Amber and everyone wants to see us back together. At first I'm aggressively repelling his advances, but the whole family looks at me like I'm the bad guy when I swat his hand away for putting it on my ass. Mom pulls me aside and tells me how much Josh loves me and that I really do love him and that I have to try to remember and give him a chance! I feel like I have to allow some small intrusions to keep the family from jumping down my throat. A kiss on the cheek in the morning at the breakfast table. Hand holding when we are out in public. Putting his arm around me when we're sitting on the couch. It makes my skin crawl, but what can I do? The whole family is ganging up on me and pressuring me to put up with this. If I just break off the engagement and tell him to go to hell, the parents will think that I've really blown a gasket. I can't even guess how far their reactions might go? I'm pretty sure that they would conclude that there was something REALLY wrong with me and take me back to that creepy doctor for a full mental evaluation. I all ready know what his reaction would be. Best case scenario, a bunch of powerful anti-psychotic meds that would probably leave me mentally unable to fend off Josh's sexual advances. Worst case scenario, committed to a psychiatric hospital for round the clock observation, therapy, drugs, and God knows what other abuses. I can imagine being stuck there for years, unable to leave until I've been so thoroughly brain washed that I actually DO believe that I'm Amber! One night after brushing my teeth, I'm walking to my bedroom when Josh silently comes up behind me. He slips his arms around my waist and then proceeds to grab the boobs with both hands and starts caressing them. The semi-sheer fabric of my shorty pajamas with the low cut front and ruffles provides no protection. He nuzzles and kisses my neck as he gently tweaks my nipples between the sides of his fingers while continuing to massage. I have really not had any time to get used to the incredibly sensitive and stimulating nature of the two large breasts now hanging freely from my chest. This is the first time that anyone has touched them in a sensual manner. Holy shit! The feelings are overwhelming. Josh seems to know exactly what to do to make this body respond! My normal instinct to turn and slap his hands away fails me. He is so large and physically imposing. I know that it is going to take a real effort to get him off of me, but I just stand there frozen and allow him to do what he wants for several seconds. I hear a low moan escape my lips as my eyes close. A completely unfamiliar feeling washes over me as a warmth begins to flood my body. I feel like I might be on the edge of loosing myself. I'm terrified that I'm not fighting back, that I'm letting him do this! I'm finally shocked back to my senses by the feeling of an unmistakable bulge pressing against me from behind!!! Jesus Christ! How did things get so out of hand so quickly! I had been just minding my own business, getting ready for bed and now this. I forcibly turn towards him, his muscular arms still wrapping around my midsection. "Josh NO." I say firmly as I give him a really hard shove to get him off of me. He seems to barely notice the push as he steps back only slightly. He has the tragic look of a lost puppy on his face. I flee to my bedroom and shut the door behind me with my back up against it, just to make sure he doesn't follow me in. I can feel my heart beating fast and my face flushed. Shit, that was close! This body seems to be responding all on its own with complete indifference to what I'm actually thinking or feeling! I guess it must be some kind of conditioned response? The female drive and hormones might be much stronger than the male, or maybe I just haven't had enough time to adjust, to get used to it. Either way, I worry that there might come a point where I can't hold out against this body's physical urges. I am going to have to find a way to get out of here and soon! Heart still beating fast, I'm trying to get my head around what just happened and my body's unexpected reaction to Josh's advances. Maybe it's all the drugs I've been taking? They certainly make Josh seem a lot less objectionable. Sometimes it almost feels like I should just say "what the fuck," and let the good times roll. That can't be right! I'm really going to have to watch that. The horrifying thought creeps into the back of my mind, what if this body's physical response is indicating that I really am Amber?!? What if this idea that I'm some middle aged man, that I didn't even really know that well, is just a fantasy or delusion caused by brain trauma? All the pills I've been popping lately are not helping my reasoning abilities, but I'm still trying to figure this out, one way or the other. Everyone who knows me, family members, the doctors including the top neurologists, are all certain that I'm Amber. I'm the only one who thinks differently and I do have brain damage. In fact I was brain dead for several minutes. Is it more likely that the brain damaged person is right or that everyone else is right? That seems like a no-brainer. Is it possible that I really am Amber and just don't remember? It's not that complicated. Physically, I'm definitely a beautiful young woman. I look in the mirror and I see Amber. Everyone knows that I'm Amber. It's an indisputable fact! I also think that I'm a "walk in spirit" of some middle aged dead guy. That is obviously wrong. Walk in spirits aren't even a real thing, just fairy tales, bad TV shows, fictional bullshit! "Body swapping" simply does not exist! It's just a fact that no sane person would ever even try to dispute! I'm shaken to my core. I exhaust the rest of a sleepless night trying to remember my life as Amber, trying to poke holes in my memories of being a man. If I can find even one true Amber recollection, then it's all true! I wrack my brain to find a memory, taking an order from even one table at the restaurant, getting my ears pierced, prom night, anything that would definitely be from her and not me. It's the only logical answer, the only thing that makes sense. If I find even a single puzzle piece, I might be able to follow the trail and unlock everything. Then this nightmare will be over. I can concentrate on my recovery and just being a normal person again. They had mentioned hypnotherapy at the hospital as an option. I cringed at the time, thinking having my brain scrambled even more was the last thing I needed. Now it seems like it might not be such a bad plan. Get hypnotized. Get my mental image of myself to match my physical body. Get comfortable with the idea of letting Josh have his way with me. Really not looking forward to finding myself stuck on the wrong end of a dick, but if that's what it takes to forget all this "I used to be a man" nonsense, I might not have a choice. I guess that's how it works? I really have no idea. I'll have to look into that further. Maybe see what the parents have to say? I all ready know how Josh will respond to the possibility of getting back into my bed sooner rather than later. I spend the next few days thinking that I might actually be Amber. Going through all the items in my room. Trying to remember where even one of them came from. I find an old diary. There is some pretty personal stuff in here! Seems like the majority of it is from my early teenage years. It looks like some of the pages from the latter half have been torn out? That seems really odd. Seriously, who rips pages out of their own diary? It's not like anyone else is going to be reading this. I read through most of what's there. None of it's familiar. My hand writing isn't even the same. I guess hand writing can change over time. This was from like ten years ago. I'm twenty- three now, or Amber is twenty-three, which means that I am twenty- three if I'm Amber. There are just a hand full of more recent entries. Most of them referencing Josh, or more accurately complaining about Josh. Apparently he was more interested in hanging out with his friends than he was in hanging out with me. One entry describes his friends picking on me and him refusing to come to my defense. Then there were general complaints about him taking me for granted, being overly controlling, inconsiderate, and on and on. I certainly don't remember writing any of this, but it seems like the Amber/Josh romance may not have been all that it was cracked up to be. It might not be such a bad thing that I've put the whole engagement on indefinite hold. Amber is one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. She's smart, educated, funny, athletic, and a ridiculously nice person. Why was she putting up with someone like this? Or was I the one who was putting up with this? Was I trapped in a situation that I felt I couldn't get out of? Could the amnesia be some sort of escape mechanism, my subconscious forcing me to get out of a relationship that I wasn't strong enough to get out of on my own? I do some research online. There is actually a thing called hysterical amnesia where the brain blocks out memories as a defense mechanism to protect the individual against particularly stressful or traumatic events. I can't imagine anything much more stressful than being trapped in an engagement that you're desperate to get out of. I've been a first hand witness to all the pressure that Josh and the family have been putting on me to get the engagement back on track. That compounded with the trauma of the work place shooting and near death could have pushed her, or possibly me, over the edge. That would mean that I really am Amber and I developed hysterical amnesia as a response to stress and trauma. Oh my God! That actually makes sense! That would explain everything!!! It looks like there might be something to this whole amnesia idea after all. I redouble my efforts and start rooting through my laptop for anything that might seem familiar. I come across a folder labeled "Resumes" on the desktop. I figure this will be a great way to get some comprehensive background information. Inside the folder there are several draft resumes and cover letters. It turns out that I have a Bachelor of Arts degree in something called "Communication Studies". Ha! Not as bad as a degree in Philosophy or Political Science, but still not something that's likely to land you a good job after college. No wonder I'm still living at home and working as a waitress. I find another folder labeled "Research". Clicking it open, my eyes are assaulted by dozens of large thumbnails of naked oiled up men with over sized tools. I certainly don't remember any of this. There are several video files lacking thumbnails. I decide to give one a look and click it open. It's more porn as expected, but it's guy on guy! Seriously, no chicks at all! Just two shaved body pretty boys going at it. I click on a few more of the video files and it's just more of the same. Jeez, I guess Amber really liked looking at naked men! Seems like she is really going out of her way to avoid seeing any women participating in her private fantasies. Wonder what's up with that? I keep watching the videos for a few more minutes to try and determine if they're "doing anything" for me? Nope. Not at all. Actually kind of gross. I wonder how I could have possibly forgotten something like that. That makes my hysterical amnesia idea seem a little less plausible. I click everything closed and shut the computer. I continue exploring the house and yard. I try playing with the pets. I'm told that I love this dog. There is a montage photo with several images of Amber playing with the corgi taped to her mirror. How can I not remember that? Reminiscing with the family members. "Tell me about my last birthday. Where did I go to high school? Who's the person in this picture? What's my favorite food? Tell me something personal that only I would know." None of it's familiar. When I try to recall facts from my life as a man it's all there. Names of grade school teachers, first bike, favorite toys, first girlfriend, high school, college, my military service, etc. That should settle it, but I have a fear that my mind might just be making up the details on the spot as I try to recall them. Kind of an ongoing free form delusion. I have no way of verifying any of those memories without talking directly to Emily. I'm left again with the thought, do crazy people know that they're crazy and how would you know the difference. The way I see it, there are three different possibilities. Number one, everyone else in the world is wrong and the brain damaged walk in spirit person is right. Ugh, that doesn't sound too likely. Two, I'm completely crazy and everyone else is right. If that's the case, then I really am a girl with some very serious mental problems. I could just try to forget any memories of life as a man and accept everything that everyone else is telling me about myself as gospel fact. I could go back to waiting tables at the restaurant in that ridiculous outfit, go back to sleeping with Josh every night, get the wedding plans back on track, and just go full speed ahead trying to rebuild my life as Amber. Josh doesn't really seem like that bad of a guy. The parents sure seem to like him. Maybe those diary entries were taken out of context? I guess every couple will have their differences and disagreements. Maybe I was just venting when I wrote those things? Lets skip that one for now. Number three, this is all just some kind of dream. That actually could make sense! It would explain all of the ridiculous fake supernatural stuff. Is it possible that what I'm experiencing right now is a dream? It's been going on for weeks, unless I'm just dreaming that it's been going on for a long time and the dream has in actuality only been going on for moments. It seems like there is an impossible level of detail! I can go to the kitchen and read a dozen cook books cover to cover. I really don't know much about cooking, so where would that information come from? I suppose it's possible that my brain is just making up details of what I would expect a cook book to have in it, so to me it seems convincing since it's what I expect. Or maybe I would just dream that I all ready looked through them and everything was in order without ever opening a book. How would I know any different? Here's one! I've found that Amber has a mole on the lower inside edge of her left breast. I sure as hell never saw that before! So how do I know about it? That is, unless she doesn't actually have a mole there and that's just a detail my mind made up. One way to be sure, they say if you kill yourself in a dream, that you will wake up, but I'm saving that as a very last resort... Still trying to work things out, I manage to get Emily to come over for a visit in the days that follow. She sounds terrible, like she's in no mood for visiting, but she is also a very nice person who will go way out of her way to help a friend in need. I lay off all the pills for a full twenty-four hours leading up to her arrival. It's the first time I've seen her since the hospital, so I have to be clear headed. When she finally walks in the door, the realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I can remember every moment of our lives together, when we first met, dating in college, our wedding, buying our first house, right up to the shooting, all of it! There is no way all of that could be fake! Of course this is my wife! How could I let these people even begin to convince me otherwise? This settles it! I'm as sure as I was when I first saw her in the hospital. If I'm crazy, then fine, I'm crazy, but I also know that I'm right. I resolve to accept that as a matter of faith, a first building block that I will use to reconstruct my life. I won't let my beliefs be shaken again even if the facts, common sense, logic, and everyone I know all say that I'm wrong. In fact, if I'm wrong then I don't want to be right. I'm going to cling to this truth no matter what happens! This is the hill that I'll die on. I resolve to either get back to Emily and reclaim my life or end up in the nut house screaming to the rafters that I'm not Amber! The rest of the visit is all very formal and sad with the whole family sitting around making awkward small talk. Emily looks to be in pretty bad shape. Her eyes look like she hasn't slept in days or maybe spent the whole morning crying. I don't even get a chance to talk to her in private at all, but seeing her in person and talking to her again completely obliterates all the confusion I've been having about who I really am. It kills me that I can't just blurt out the truth and tell her everything, but if I want to have a chance to get back to her, I'm going to have to be smart about it or everyone including Emily is just going to end up thinking I'm completely nuts. At some point during the conversation it gets mentioned that the gunman from the restaurant had actually been after Amber all along, that he had been stalking and harassing her for months. Emily's face blanches white and the room goes silent as it becomes shockingly apparent to everyone present that this is a revelation to the grieving widow. Her husband was murdered and her whole world had been annihilated because months earlier a waitress had rebuffed the crude advances of an idiot and the idiot couldn't take no for an answer! One more blow struck by a cruel and indifferent universe. The excruciating get together eventually comes to a merciful conclusion. We're making our way to the door. On impulse, I give Emily an uncomfortably long and passionate embrace. She seems a bit stiff and put off, but I'm just so glad to be with her again. When it seems like the hug is not going to end any time soon, she gently but firmly pushes me away. I can tell that she's uncomfortable. She doesn't recognize me at all and is just putting up with my awkward affection out of pity. "I'm so glad to see you're feeling better," she offers as she works her way out the front door. "Thanks," I reply, heartbroken. "Thank you for coming to see me!" I shout after her as I watch her walk out to her car. She glances in my direction briefly and forces a smile as she gets into her car and then it's over and she's gone, leaving me alone, still trapped in the prison of someone else's life. The next day some of Amber's other friends come over. I claim to remember the bartender Julia. Emily and I were good enough friends with her that I know some basic details of her life, so I can fake that a bit. I know the name of her husband, her kids, her sports obsession, etc. Julia was also present the night that I was shot, same as Emily, so there is a logical consistency that I might remember her too. This has the additional benefit of keeping Emily from being the weird "only person I remember". I do remember Julia, but as my bar tender, not as my co-worker. I take this as more proof that I am right about not being Amber. I continue like this for one more day, but I've had enough! These people are strangers to me and I'm sick of trying to humor them. I have to find a way to get back to Emily! I can only imagine the hell she must be going through, home alone in that empty house, thinking that her husband has been murdered. I guess technically I was murdered, but I wasn't actually gone and I had to find a way to let her know that! CHAPTER 6: GET OUT I start working on a plan to get back to my house. I use the story that Emily was the last person I saw before I died, so maybe that's why I remember her clearly. I explain that I think spending more time with one of the few people that I actually do remember might help restore my other memories. I also express what a great debt I owe her since her husband died saving my life and how devastated she is. I eventually parlay this into an agreement to let me stay overnight with my friend Emily! Back in my house, alone with Emily, I try to convince her of the truth of what's happened. I insist that I am in fact her husband despite the way I look. There is sympathy in her voice as she tries to convince me that I'm just a very confused girl. She starts reviewing the details of my recent medical history, asking me if I remember the shooting and our time together in the hospital. With a very worried look on her face she patiently explains that I am not in fact her husband. I listen as she calmly tries to prove to me that I could not possibly be her deceased spouse, but her mood changes drastically when I'm able to recite our bank and investment passwords off the top of my head! "What? How the hell did you get my passwords?" she exclaims. She's obviously upset, but her reaction confirms that my information is correct! Thank God! That is the first concrete proof that my memories of being Emily's husband are true and accurate and not just some fantasy of a delusional mind. Up until this moment, it was all just in my head without even the tiniest shred of proof that what I believed was true. At first there is a glimmer of hope in her eye. She wants to believe that by some miracle her husband/soul mate might have survived, but then reality sets in. She doesn't know what nefarious means I used to get her bank codes, but she is absolutely sure that the twenty-three year old woman sitting in front of her is not her husband. Almost as quickly as it had appeared, the spark of hope mutates into a terrifying expression of fury and rage. She is very alarmed that I'm obviously lying to her and that I've somehow gained access to her bank accounts. There's a anxious moment of deathly silence before she finally explodes. "WHAT THE HELL'S THE MATTER WITH YOU!!! How could you!?! My husband dies saving your life and you come into my house trying to pull some kind of sick scam!" I recoil instinctively. I've never seen her like this! I think I just broke the last bit of whatever it was that was holding her together! My beautiful wife, always the perfect picture of calm and compassion looks like she is about ready to physically attack me! I guess I can't blame her if she really thinks that I am trying to take advantage of her grief and loss to play some kind of cruel trick or scam. In an attempt at self preservation, I instantly start rambling off every horrible personal thing I can remember about myself, things that only we would know. Crazy things like getting caught masturbating or what song was on the radio the first time we had sex. Her anger moderates slightly as she focuses intently on tripping me up, proving that I'm lying, so that the homicide that she is planning to commit will be morally justified. She grills me like a flounder, asking me every obscure trick question she can think of. It turns out that for the most part I can answer her trick questions better than she can, reminding her of tiny details that even she had forgotten. I'm forced to recite an intimate step by step narration of our honeymoon, a list of the gifts that I gave her last Christmas, bloody detailed accounts of clandestine missions in Afghanistan, everything she can think of. Having found her bank codes is one thing, but she has no explanation for how I could possibly know so many precise details about her husband's life. After almost an hour of this and some references to "walk in spirits", I feel like she might be starting to believe me a little, but just isn't capable of accepting the possibility that I might actually be her murdered spouse. This is really bad! I can't think of anything else to say to prove that my claims are true! She might even be starting to wonder just how much time "her husband" had been spending with the beautiful young "Amber" prior to his "death"!!! SHIT! This isn't working! At my wits end, desperation sets in. If I can't convince her, it's over, nothing left but living out the rest of my days as Amber! THAT IS SOME BULLSHIT!!! After everything I've put up with to get here, there is no way I'm getting kicked out of my own fucking house!!! Time to settle things once and for all! I march to the bedroom closet with Emily in tow. I shove the clothes aside to access the gun safe hidden in the back corner. I spin the dial for the combination lock like I've done a thousand times before as all the tumblers smartly click into place. A ninety degree turn of the big handle and the door unlocks with a metallic clank. Swinging the door open, I grab my hunting rifle from the padded foam brackets inside the safe. I turn towards Emily, rifle in hand. Her eyes go wide. I'm done with all of this ridiculous bullshit! The time for talk has ended! I pull back the bolt on the rifle. This is all I have left! This will show her! Emily stands frozen, completely speechless. I proceed to field strip the gun down to its basic components, tossing the parts onto the bed as rapidly as I can strip them off. I then reassemble it just as quickly, the whole process taking less than 30 seconds. With an exasperated look on my face, I briefly hold the rifle up in front of Emily. I manually cycle the bolt a couple of times confirming that yes, it has in fact been properly reassembled and is in good working order. Stomping back to the closet, I stuff the gun back into the safe, close the heavy armored door, spin the dial, and shove the hanging clothes back over to where they had started. "Still think I'm Amber?" I half growl. Emily's breathy stunned reply is barely audible. "Holy shit..." She knows damn well that I would never divulge the secrets of my personal armory to anyone outside of our little family, not ever! There is no way that I would ever endanger my family by allowing sloppy word of mouth to invite a potential home invader to try and make off with my prized gun collection. Loose lips sink ships! So, there's no way Amber could know about that safe, its location, its combination, what would be inside it, or the manual of arms of how to break down and reassemble that particular rifle in world record time. I can see it in her eyes. The scales just tipped in my favor! "Yeah. It's really me," I mumble as Emily looks on in stunned amazement. She's not saying anything, so I just start spilling my guts. Telling her how bad it has been, not only having to deal with the psychological trauma of being killed and abruptly changing genders, but also trying to pretend to be Amber with Amber's family. Embarrassed, I even describe the relentless pressure from Josh for physical relations and how he is convinced that a round of passionate lovemaking will somehow restore my memory! Emily is appropriately horrified by my explanation of this situation. After it all starts to sink in, and she is beginning to accept the insane concept that I might actually be her husband, Emily blurts out, "Why the hell didn't you tell me sooner!?! I thought you were dead!!! Do you have any idea how hard this last month has been, what I've been through?!?" Tears forming around her eyes. The thought immediately occurs to me that the last month has been pretty hard for me too, but whatever. I have to try and calm her down before this spirals out of control. "I wanted to tell you, but I didn't think you'd believe me. They had me on so many drugs at the hospital that I wasn't even really sure what was going on! Plus that piece of shit doctor was trying to have me committed full time to a mental hospital and Amber's family almost went along with it!!! If I had said or done anything that seemed even the slightest bit out of line, I might never have gotten out of there and I certainly wouldn't be here with you now. Ever since I first woke up in that hospital I've been doing everything I possibly could to try and get back to you so I could explain what's happened and have at least some hope that you might believe me." "If I had just sat up in the hospital and said, Hey, I'm your husband, I don't think there is any chance that you would have believed it, especially with all the other people at the hospital declaring me mentally ill." I think the truth of this statement dawns on Emily and begins to sink in. I go on to explain to her how difficult it has been to try and get some free time and get away from the family. "They think that they have been helping by providing constant supervision for the brain damaged daughter, but in actuality I've been more or less a prisoner." "I knew that I would need to get you completely alone and in person with no doctors or family members within ear shot and that it might take a long time to convince you that I'm really me. This is the first chance I've had. Up until right now I really didn't even know if you would believe me, if I would be able to convince you or if you would just think I was nuts. It is so incredibly stupid! This kind of thing just doesn't happen in the real world! Everybody knows that this is impossible. You could spend all day looking on line and you will not find a single authentic documented account of people swapping bodies like this. Just a few crazy urban legends or folk tales or tin foil hat bullshit, but no one really believes any of that stuff. It's like one big nightmare that I can't wake up from, and here we are. You do believe me now, don't you?" I ask tentatively, truly uncertain of what her response might be. "I do," she replies and my heart soars. Her jaw drops and her eyes go wide. "Oh my God! That was you in the hospital!!! You didn't have amnesia at all, you just never met any of those people before! That's why I was the only one you recognized! Holy shit! It all makes sense now! You really are telling the truth!!! I thought that it was incredibly bizarre that you would remember me and not any of your own, or Amber's own, family members." "Pretty much." Thank God! She really believes me!!! I can tell that Emily is completely overwhelmed emotionally. She is manic and giddy with tears on her cheeks. She leans over and hugs me so hard it hurts. Yup, pretty sure she's stronger than me now. "I had prayed that it was all some kind of a bad dream or mistake. A thousand times over I wished that I had been killed too! Every morning I wake up, and for a few seconds I feel normal before I remember that I'm alone, that my husband was murdered! I've been crying every day for a month. I cry until my eyes go dry and then I just keep crying," she sobs uncontrollably. I do my best to comfort her for the next several minutes. When the tears stop she is suddenly overflowing with joy again. Giggling to herself at the crazy wonderful miracle that somehow her husband has survived. Finally trying to wrap her head around my shocking revelation she asks, "So how did this all happen? I mean this makes no sense at all!" I tell her a little more about my "walk in spirits" theory, using the TV show "The Ghost Whisperer" as an example. My reference to the Ghost Whisperer is actually appropriate in more ways than one. For almost a month now, I have had quite a bit in common with the show's star, Jennifer Love Hewitt. I had watched that show on occasion. To be honest, it was not for the plots or the dialog, but pretty much just to see how she would be dressing up her magnificent melons that week. She always wore low cut tops and dresses and sexy bras and night gowns. It seemed like there was at least one scene in every episode that was put in there specifically to show off her boobs. Good for the ratings I guess. "I've found out the hard way that it's not nearly as much fun from the other side of the over burdened bra straps," I try to joke, but it comes out as more of a lament followed by awkward silence. Emily smirks with great sympathy in her eyes, but still amused by my comment. Then, with a look of sincere curiosity, in a low conspiratorial whisper she asks, "So what's it been like?" Ugh! I really don't want to go into all of the details, but here we go. I try to put a bit of a positive spin on it. I don't think she's ready to handle the full truth. I explain to her how it's actually kind of amazing to have a life time of little aches, pains, old injuries, wounds, and scars suddenly gone. What it's like to have the energy of a twenty year old again. I purposely leave out specific details about changes in anatomy and plumbing. "Yeah yeah yeah, what's it been like having boobs???" she says playfully poking her finger into one of the two large mounds protruding under the lace of the silky beige colored blouse that I'm wearing. "You have them! What's it like for you?" I reply in a somewhat aggravated tone as I brush her crudely intruding finger to the side. "Okay, fine," she backs off a little. Still dying of curiosity she presses on. "But what about the clothes? You are really dressed up here. I can't believe you put that outfit together yourself. And your make-up, it's better than mine! You look like you're ready for a Hollywood glamour shoot? You're kind of making me feel under dressed in my own home." I roll my eyes. An effect that I'm sure is accentuated by all of the mascara, eye shadow, and eye liner that I'm currently wearing. "I just want to wear baggy sweats, but the family all want me 'back to normal', that is normal for Amber! The mom and sister have been setting my wardrobe out ahead of time for me each day, from bras and panties, to designer blouses, pantyhose, skirts, dresses, and pointy heeled shoes." Emily fights to restrain a smile at that. "I love the pink nail polish, and your ear rings are darling." "It's not funny! I don't even get a say in the matter. If I refuse to go along with any of their suggestions, including full make-up every morning, they view it as a sign of some possible progression in my mental illness or lack of recovery or something and start talking about sending me back to the hospital again! For Christ's sake they even make sure and watch me take my birth control pill each morning. They are sure that my memory is shot and they are afraid that I'm going to get knocked up!" Emily struggles to contain a laugh. "You really do look nice," she jokes, still smiling a little. "And we definitely wouldn't want you getting pregnant you naughty girl!" Maybe it's just the incredible relief of knowing her husband/soul mate has somehow miraculously survived combined with the overall ridiculousness of the situation, but somehow my torment has turned into a comedy routine. I decide to go ahead and give her a little bit fuller picture. I tell her about the night Josh came up behind me and tried to initiate a sexual encounter by massaging my chest and how I had to hold the bedroom door shut to keep him off me. I leave out the part about how this body had responded to his advances. Emily's face goes dark as she suddenly realizes what a serious situation I've actually been dealing with. We continue talking for hours, sharing our tales of what a nightmare the past month has been. We hold each other, bare our souls, comfort each other and cry and laugh together. Eventually, exhausted, we get some coffee and start working on a plan to get me out of Amber's house. I wake up the next morning and something is very wrong. I can't see. I can't see or move. I can hear. I hear the beeping, the beeping from the hospital. Am I still in the hospital? I struggle to open my eyes, to move. Nothing! Paralyzed. Engulfed in blackness. Panic starts to set in! Over the beeping I hear my wife's voice. "Sweetie can you hear me?" My eyes pop open. Something was really bothering me a minute ago, but for the life of me, I can't remember what it was. Everything seems fine. The sun is all ready shining through the windows. We've slept in! It's shit eating grins all around. We are both just giddy to have found each other again. I'm so happy to be back in my own home, in my own bed, with my beautiful wife. Emily is completely overjoyed because she has her soul mate back, sort of. We are both just carrying on as best we can, as if nothing has happened, as if nothing is different. The smell of fresh pancakes fills the kitchen as we enjoy a lovely breakfast together. It is the first breakfast I've had in a month where I wasn't forced to take a birth control pill in front of witnesses before being allowed to eat! The parents will be pissed if they find out, but that's just too bad. I'm pretty sure that I'm not going to be having sex with anyone or getting pregnant any time soon. Things get a little weird when we're in the bathroom together brushing our teeth. I had been forced to keep wearing the Amber clothes I'd brought as Emily had packed all of my old clothes off for donation to some charity. I'm still wearing my short nightgown because I'm planning to take a shower before getting dressed. I've taken my silk robe off to keep the sleeves from getting wet. As soon as I start, I notice that the over sized breasts are wobbling a bit with my brushing efforts. I glance over at Emily in the mirror and observe her perky modest sized boobs are not wobbling at all. I think we both notice. It gets a little awkward. I decide to wrap it up. I lean forward to rinse and feel the breasts hanging heavily against my short nightie. I notice her staring wide eyed at the breasts straining against the semi-sheer fabric. Getting a little hard for both of us to keep pretending that nothing is different, but we carry on as though somehow everything is going to work out. Denial is not just a river in Egypt! After I get out of the shower and dry off, the morning's oddness continues in the master bedroom. We are both getting dressed, just like we used to do every morning. I find myself feeling somewhat hesitant about getting naked in front of my own wife! We've seen each other naked literally thousands of times over the past several years, but it feels like maybe I shouldn't let her see this body naked, because it is technically another person that she has never seen before, but it is another woman so that should be fine shouldn't it? So why does it feel so weird and inappropriate? Still wrapped in a big fluffy bath towel, I start to dig out the clothes I brought with me from my little overnight bag. Emily is just staring at me making me feel very self-conscious. I'm sure that she's not doing it on purpose, so I try to ignore it and carry on as though everything is fine. Emily snaps out of her trance and starts getting dressed herself. I lose the towel and pull on some panties to try and cover myself somewhat. My wardrobe includes a smooth padded white bra that I've been told is a "t-shirt bra", what I feel are some overly tight designer jeans, and a green knit top with long sleeves that's cut low in the front. I'm not really thrilled with the choices, but this was the most simple and conservative outfit I was able to put together out of all of Amber's clothes. I think about asking Emily if I can borrow some of her more casual stuff, but the family is coming over later. I'm sure it would look incredibly strange if they show up and I'm sitting there wearing someone else's clothes! I'm positive that the first words out of their mouths would be "What happened to your clothes?" and it would all go down hill from there. I notice Emily staring at me, first as I'm trying to wiggle into the undersized stretchy jeans, pulling alternately on one side then the other as I switch my hips from side to side. Then struggling to shimmy into the snug fitting top. I fight to adjust the uncooperative breasts. I had the bra on and adjusted and filled out perfectly just like Samantha had taught me, but things got all out of place when I tried to pull the clingy top on over my head. Now I'm reaching through the front of the neck hole trying to scoop and center the breasts back into the bra cups. I'm pretty sure this is not the way you're supposed to do this, but I'm not really sure how else to go about fixing things. As I finish making adjustments, I find Emily full on staring at my unladylike struggles with her mouth hanging open. God only knows what she must be thinking. "Sweetie, do you need some help?" She asks hesitantly with concern in her voice. "I think I'm good." I sheepishly reply, looking down at the breasts with a forlorn expression on my face. I notice that she is still calling me "Sweetie". She never referred to me as Sweetie when I was a guy. That's just what she called me when she thought I was Amber. I find that a bit odd and disturbing. I guess the way I look, it's hard to stop thinking of me as one of her girlfriends. That seems like it doesn't bode too well for my chances of eventually regaining my position as her actual husband, but I decide to let it go for now. I think it's becoming apparent to Emily just how very different my experience has been for the past month. I'm feeling pretty uncomfortable. Even though it's a very plain outfit, the clothes are practically painted on, like something a woman might wear on a first date if she really wanted to make a dramatic impression without wearing something overtly sexy. They show off and enhance every curve, line, and detail of my body. I would love to try and explain that Amber didn't really have a lot in the way of frumpy, baggy, or loose casual clothing to choose from. It's getting pretty difficult to keep pretending that everything is fine or that things will ever be getting back to normal. I talk to the family and with Emily's help, I get them to agree to let me stay with her for a few more days. She is so lonely and it is helping me remember and her husband did save my life! They all take turns coming to visit. The first visit it's Amber's parents and sister. Emily sees what a hard time I am having trying to be polite and faking being related to these people. Samantha enthusiastically offers to put together a bag for me with some extra clothes and supplies for the next few days. Apparently she sees this as another opportunity to play life sized Barbie, to live out her own fantasies of being a voluptuous fully grown adult woman! Internally I'm dreading what this sixteen year old is going to pick out for me. I don't want to have to go back over to Amber's house and I can't decline her generous offer in front of the parents, so I'm pretty much stuck with whatever she comes up with. "Oh thank you! That's so sweet." I say, doing my best impression of what I think Amber would sound like. Emily gives me an odd look. She's noticed that I've been speaking in a different, more effeminate manner ever since the family members arrived. I look back at her with an "I know I sound all girly, but what else am I supposed to do?" look on my face. About an hour after the family departs, Samantha comes back over by herself toting the threatened bag of clothes. Everything she's picked out is overtly sexy or revealing, nothing that I would have chosen. That's just fucking great. Like I hadn't all ready been humiliated enough. I can just imagine what Emily is going to be thinking tonight when I put on another sexy negligee or tomorrow when I'm strapping on a lacy push-up bra and some French cut panties to wear under some frilly summer dress! The fact that I even know what French cut panties are, is pissing me off right now! We have both been doing our best to just ignore how I dress and how I look, like the subject is radioactive. The sister's care package is not going to make things any easier. She wants to stay and visit for a bit. I can't really refuse after the effort she has gone to in bringing me extra clothes. I end up giving her sort of a rudimentary tour of the house. It was a really nice house, but it had been just the two of us for years, so it was pretty small, only two bedrooms. Emily and I hadn't been able to have children despite years of trying and thousands of dollars spent on a fertility clinic, so we just never bothered upgrading to something bigger. The back bedroom was my home office that I ran my business out of, so there was actually only the one bed in the entire house, the big king size bed in the master bedroom. When Samantha realizes this she asks, "So where are you sleeping?" fearing that I might be sleeping out on the couch or down in the basement or something. "Well, actually, I've been sharing the king size bed with Emily." I hate to admit this to her and have no idea how she is going to react, but what else can I say. "You two are sleeping together?!" she asks, her eyes going a bit wide, almost implying that there might be something inappropriate going on there. Jeez! What is wrong with this kid? Why would her mind immediately go to something like that? I blame the internet! Everybody always things the worst of everything nowadays. "It's not like that!" I reassure her. "It's a huge bed. There is plenty of room for both of us. Look, I don't know if you know this, but I've been having some pretty bad night terrors." She blurts out, "Oh my God! I know! Your screams are absolutely terrifying! They wake me up and then I can't get back to sleep for the rest of the night." "YOU KNEW! Why the hell didn't you do something! I was screaming bloody murder and no one ever even came to check on me. I thought maybe nobody else heard me." "The whole house hears you! Everybody knows! Mom even called the doctor at home on his private number the first night it happened, but he said not to intervene, that it was best for you to just work it out by yourself." "That doctor is a complete piece of shit! He's trying to get Mom and Dad to commit me to a mental hospital. I don't know if he just wants to milk the insurance money or wants to have me as his personal plaything for the next several months, but he is absolutely bad news! Obviously leaving me screaming my head off in the middle of the night, every night is not in my best interest when I'm trying to recover from such a severe trauma." "That's what I thought. That's what I told Mom, but you know how she is. She thinks all doctors are some kind of holy men who can do no wrong." Samantha is starting to lose it. "I know. I know. It's not your fault." She leans against me starting to sob. I wrap my arms around her as she buries her face in my shoulder. "I'm so sorry! I didn't know!" "Look, Emily lost her husband. She has been through a lot and is in pretty bad shape. I don't know if you can understand, but, it's just really nice not to be alone sometimes." A look of absolutely fierce compassion descends on the kid sister's face. "I understand, I really do. And I'm going to kick that doctor square in the nuts as hard as I can the next time I see him." The weeping sixteen year old girl transforms into a raging Spartan warrior mid-sentence, eyes blazing with murderous fury. Then it hits me. I've been thinking of this person as just the helpful younger girl who lives at the house I've been forced to stay at, but now I realize, this person would probably walk strait through hell fire for me without hesitation! This person, my sister. "I don't think you have to go quite that far, but I appreciate the sentiment." Emily enters the bedroom. "Is everything all right in here?" I'm not sure how much of that she heard. "We're fine. Just sister stuff I guess." Emily looks at me with some confusion. I'll have to explain it to her later. Samantha tries to act like everything is fine. She stays for a little while longer, but then makes up an excuse about having to go. I don't really know her that well, but I can tell that she's pretty shaken up. She could have "saved" me that very first night, but she let the terrors go on for weeks because a crooked doctor had lied to her parents and they were dumb enough to believe him. I know she must feel terrible about not acting to help and worse about being betrayed by the adults in her life. She probably even realizes that the doctor's malignant influence on the parents may have had a lot to do with why I was so desperate to get out of the house. It's a painful revelation, a really tough spot for a kid. Shit. I got to do something here. I know that in a way, Samantha feels like she's lost her sister. When I was in sixth grade one of my best friends, Billy Mathers, lost his older brother Tim in a car wreck. He really looked up to Tim, his big brother, his role model, probably his best friend. The loss left him an only child. I had grown up an only child, so I knew how difficult and lonely that could be, but I couldn't even really imagine how much worse it must be to have had a brother and lost him. I remember something kind of broke inside Billy. He was still a good guy, still one of my best friends. Everyone supported him and he did his best to keep going, but his childhood had ended, his innocence lost. He was never the same after that. The spark and joy had just gone from his life. I remember this sense of aching loss hanging over him like a dark cloud for the rest of the years that I knew him. I've been getting that same feeling of loss from Samantha, ever since I had to ask her what her name was that first day back at her house. Even though she's not really my sister, I'm going to have to try and find some way to be there for her. I know that's what Amber would have wanted. I swear that Sam is not going to have to suffer like Billy did if there's anything I can do about it. Later that day the door bell rings again. Emily goes to answer it. I hear her talking to someone, so I go to see who it is. Rounding the corner I'm surprised by Josh in the foyer! He wraps me up and kisses me before I can act to stop him. He catches me completely off guard so I don't even get my mouth closed in time! Ugh. I recoil from the abrupt confrontation, his arms still around my waist, and try to compose myself. Hoping my body doesn't decide to "react" the way it has in the past to this sudden and unexpected physical contact. Hoping Emily doesn't notice if it does. I wish there was some way to get him to stop touching me, but there is no easy or casual way to brush off unwanted contact from someone who is just so much larger and physically dominating. I formally introduce Emily to "my fiance Josh" and she invites him to come in and sit down. As Josh turns to walk toward the living room, Emily gives me a horrified look. "I know!" I silently mouth back to her. Josh still has a hold of my hand and is pulling me toward the sofa. We sit down together and he puts his arm around my shoulders. Emily is sitting across from us, staring at me blank faced from the comfy chair. What follows is about an hour of the most painfully awkward conversation ever. Josh alternating between putting his hand on my thigh, rubbing my hand with his, and putting his arm back around my neck. Reminiscing over old times and all the great things we've done together. Carrying on about how deeply in love we are and outlining upcoming plans. Dinner with his folks, camping at some remote state park, a beach outing. Emily and I are just cringing inside. Eventually he cuts his visit short as he has to get back to work for some meeting. On the way out the door, Josh puts his hands on my hips and kisses me again! I give him the kind of kiss that grandma gets when she wants to kiss me on the lips, my body rigid, my teeth clenched together, just waiting for it to be over. Emily looks appalled behind his back. I feel mortified. After he has left, Emily asks, "Why do you let him do that?" "The family has been forcing me to put up with it ever since Josh got back in town. If I object or make a stink about it they assume that there is something really wrong with me and start talking about sending me back to the hospital! I also know from weeks of experience that if I dodge or push him away, it will be half an hour of: 'Come on! What's the matter babe? You're my fiance! I really want to show you how much I love you. Just give me a chance and you'll see! We really need to talk about this. I think I've been really patient...' I've had to tolerate it at Amber's house to avoid being sent back to that crooked doctor, or therapy, or worse. I put up with it here, just now, because I simply wanted to get him to leave as quickly as possible." "Wow, you're practically a victim of domestic abuse! Being pressured by your family into putting up with unwanted sexual advances...," Emily says, only half joking. This makes me realize just how low I've sunk, all the embarrassing things I've been willing to put up with just to try and get by, and how much I've been forced to accept and submit to living at Amber's house. I am so ashamed and humiliated that I just about want to cry at this point. I feel like I'm about to start shaking all over. Damn this stupid new body! Totally unreliable. My old body would have stood rock solid in the face of Armageddon. Walking through a hail of gun fire pretty much proved that. Don't know if it's the hormones or nerves or all the stress I've been under or what, but I just seem to be much more easily shaken nowadays. Emily notices and puts her arms around me. I sink into her embrace. Her hug is gentle and comforting and very welcome, unlike the unpleasantness that proceeded it. I feel her warm body pressed against the soft full front of my stretchy knit top. I wish I could kiss her, but I'm afraid that she might be repulsed just as much as I am when Josh tries to kiss me, so I don't even try. It's all so crazy! Starting to lose it, I just start babbling like an idiot. "I'm sorry, so sorry. I just don't know what to do or how to deal with this! I mean, I've always been 'the man', your man! Your provider, protector, the guy who could handle anything, your Superman! Now what am I?" "You could always be my Wonder Woman," she offers optimistically, trying to make a joke to lighten the mood. "My blond Wonder Woman!" She smiles her goofy nervous smile as she begins to realize that her joke has gone over like a lead balloon. "That's not funny!" I say in my best grumpy voice which sounds more like whiny coming out of Amber's mouth. After an awkward pause, we both end up smiling at the absurdity of the situation. "Come on, lets get you something to drink," she offers. It's the best idea I've heard all day and it's been a very long day. She puts her arm around my shoulder, inadvertently reminding me that I'm now the shorter partner, as we head to the kitchen. Yup, definitely a very long day. I feel so much more comfortable here staying with Emily. I'm able to get my first really good night's sleep in weeks, back in my own bed, resting peacefully, dead to the world. I feel like I can finally relax as all the stress and anxiety from the past month just drains away. I'm no longer under the constant pressure of trying to pretend to be someone I'm not. After getting settled in, to my surprise, I find myself at a bit of a loss without the support/dictates of the mom and kid sister. I would really like to ask Emily to help me with some personal issues, but it's just super awkward and embarrassing. It also really emphasizes the fact that I am trapped in a woman's body, a fact that we are both putting Herculean effort into trying to ignore. I have no clue about how to actually do all of the feminine rituals that are familiar to every girl on earth. I had not been paying attention when the little sister was doing my hair and make-up. I am a guy after all, so that's pretty much hopeless. I also don't know how to shave my legs. I had been using Samantha's old electric shaver, but that was left back at Amber's house and I sure as hell didn't want to go back to get it. Nothing but razors here! After a few more days, legs are getting a little shaggy and the weather is warmer, so I can't leave them like that. I pretty much go trial and error and end up with a couple of nice cuts. Emily cringes when she sees the results of my unskilled efforts. Eventually the family decides that they want me back. I of course express that I would rather stay with Emily. They end up going to court to try and get legal guardianship over me as an incompetent adult. Amber is twenty-three years old, an adult, obviously entitled to make her own decisions, but she has also been officially diagnosed as having significant brain damage. The parents can provide endless anecdotes about how strange and confused my behavior has been. They also have the crooked neurologist in their back pocket, so my legal status might be very much in doubt. Amber's parents manage to get an emergency guardianship hearing scheduled for the end of the week. If I don't show up, the court will issue a summary judgment in favor of the parents, so there's no getting out of it. I'm nervous as hell. My life is literally on the line here. I barely get any sleep in the days that follow. By the morning of the hearing I look like hell. That's not going to help my case at all! Emily picks out an outfit and helps get me put together with the most conservative and professional look we can manage. We arrive at the court house a half hour early. I feel stupid. I'm heading into the fight of my life and I'm wearing a dark blue skirt and fitted blazer, both borrowed from my wife's closet! I actually feel like I'm going to throw up. This is awful. I'd rather face a whole compound full of Taliban than have to face this. At least versus the Taliban I'd have pants. And my M-4 carbine! Thinking about "problems" that I've "solved" with an M-4 actually calms my nerves a bit. This whole situation is so messed up. When the hearing starts, I am relieved to see that Dr. Creepy is not in attendance. It turns out he wanted the parents to pay him $10,000 to come in and testify on their behalf as an expert witness. That guy continues to be an amoral money grubbing piece of crap, but it's worked out well for me! He badly over estimated the family's financial resources and willingness to pay him off and wound up with nothing. Serves him right! I put on an impassioned plea to the judge. I describe some of the things the family has done "in good fun" that I found to be cruel or abusive. I also explain in detail how I've been the victim of constant sexual harassment from "my fiance" Josh who has been living in Amber's house for almost three weeks! I make it clear how incredibly uncomfortable it makes me having to spend so much time with a strange man who is constantly hitting on me, telling me explicit stories of previous romantic activities, physically groping me, and pressuring me for sexual acts. I explain the horrible situation with the entire family constantly urging me to have a relationship with this man, who is in fact a complete and total stranger to me! From my point of view, I had never met Josh prior to seeing him at the hospital, I have never dated a man, and I certainly have never had any kind of sexual relations with a man. I make it obvious to everyone including Josh that all of their constant pressure has been extremely repellent. In addition to getting out of this house, I request a restraining order against Josh to prevent him from having further contact with me. I sincerely apologize to him from across the courtroom, but then adamantly insist that I don't know him and am not interested in dating or having any kind of adult relations with him. The court room showdown with the family comes to a climax. I spell it out to everyone that I know they want "the old Amber" back, but that is simply not an option. From there I break down a bit. I'm holding back tears as I speak. Stupid crazy new hormones! I feel terrible. I know Josh is innocent in all of this, but what am I supposed to do? Let him fuck me for old times sake? I am definitely 100% not into guys, so that's just not happening. Any bit of kindness I show him would just be leading him on. It's tragic, but he's just another victim of the shooting and he's going to have to take his lumps like everyone else. Amber and I have lost way more than this guy, so I guess it's just too bad for him. Ultimately the judge acknowledges that I am legally an adult and that he believes I am competent to make my own decisions. He agrees that Emily, as a long time friend, responsible adult, well respected professional and member of the community would be a suitable pseudo guardian. My petition to move in with her and be emancipated from the parents is granted. My "family" is denied any claim of guardianship over me and the matter is finally settled. After the court hearing concludes, there is a very tense and unpleasant gathering of everyone over at Amber's family's house. Luckily Josh has finally gotten the hint and doesn't bother following everyone over. I actually feel sorry for him! He really did love Amber and I guess she loved him too. He had one of the most amazing women in the world, only to lose her to something as stupid as a random stalker. Even worse, she's not actually dead. She's still alive, but he can't get back to her. The parallels to my relationship with Emily are impossible to ignore. I feel like it's all my fault, like I'm the bad guy here. The more I focus on Josh, the more terrible I feel. I really can't stop thinking about him. My blood runs cold as I wonder if that's just me, or if some of Amber's true feelings or emotions are starting to seep through? I force myself to stop thinking about it. We proceed to Amber's bedroom. Emily and I are grabbing up pretty much everything she owns and stuffing it into large black garbage bags. We dutifully carry the bags out to the car as Amber's mother cries and begs me to stay. The dear sweet kid sister knows more than any of them about the hard time I've been having here, but she keeps coming up with what she thinks are good reasons to give living with the family another chance. She is holding back tears as her pleas become increasingly desperate. I can't stop thinking about Billy and the loss of his brother. This is all so sad! It's kind of breaking my heart. The dad is just looking pissed and being quiet. The car is finally loaded and the family is lined up near the driveway. "Mom" approaches and it becomes clear that I'm supposed to hug everybody. She says, "I love you!" and I have to say it back to her in turn as she hugs me with all her strength. Mom and Samantha are crying when I say, "Don't worry. This isn't the end. This is just the way it has to be for now. I promise to stay in touch with everyone. And don't be mad at Emily! I'm sure some day you'll see that she is the best friend anyone could ever have." With that Emily and I pile into her car, that used to be my car, and are down the driveway and gone. CHAPTER 7: NO DIRECTION HOME I move in with Emily. She is very uncomfortable and things are obviously very different. I totally understand. If, when I was a guy, I had found out that I was suddenly married to a very manly dude and would have to live with that guy for the rest of my life, I am sorry to say I probably wouldn't have been able to accept it. To my shame, I would walk. How can I expect Emily to put up with a similar situation? Getting away from Amber's family and back to my own house was my ultimate hope. Likewise, having her husband returned to her had been a miracle almost completely beyond her wildest dreams. So we have both been extremely blessed. Our most heartfelt deepest desires have been fulfilled, but it all seems to be going south. It is a very dark time for me. This is not my life. I feel like I'm growing more depressed and withdrawn with each passing day. She knows it is me, but is just not adapting to having a beautiful young girl for a husband. We are both trying very hard, but my own wife is becoming alienated and drifting further and further away from me. One day she spells it out that "It's not working". I tell her I'll leave if she wants me out of her life. In my mind, I don't mean going back to Amber's family when I say leave, I mean just plain checking out. I've been put through more than any human being could be expected to endure. Between being killed, switching bodies and genders, continuing to recover from Amber's gun shot wound, losing my home and my business, being forced to pretend to be Amber, and then the court battle, and now losing the love of my life. Eventually every man reaches his breaking point. It's not really the physical changes that are causing me to lose hope. I know plenty of guys who have had arms or legs blown off and found a way to carry on. I've always assumed that I would be able to do the same if it ever came to that. Having a leg blown off actually seems preferable to my current situation. At least I'd still be me, still be Emily's husband. It's the fact that these changes are costing me my marriage that's making the situation unbearable. I love Emily with all my heart. During some of my darkest days in Afghanistan, thinking of getting back to her was the only thing that kept me going. She means absolutely everything to me. I would gladly give my life for her, all ready proved that, but I don't think I can live without her. Seeing how much she's hurting, seeing it get worse everyday, watching her suffer, I'm really starting to wish I'd died that night at the restaurant. Then she could move on, and I wouldn't have to endure the excruciating experience of watching my marriage die a little bit more each day. Things continue to deteriorate and at one very dark moment I end up grabbing one of my guns and heading out of the house. The stress has been building for weeks. My marriage, which truth be told is the ONLY thing that I still care about, is on the verge of total collapse! I head to a local wooded area fully intent on killing myself. Yup, just kill myself and hope that I wake up back in my old body. Pretty much down to my Hail Mary last resort. Going all in. Betting all my chips on the theory that I've been trapped in some kind of dream or nightmare reality ever since the shooting, and that killing myself is the only way I'm going to get out! It sounds as stupid as it is desperate, but stupid and desperate is all I've got left. I'd been putting it off for weeks, hoping it wouldn't come to this. Who knows? Maybe it will work. I can just imagine waking up and telling Emily about the crazy dream I had. Or not waking up at all. Either way it'll be over and I'll be free. I make it to a secluded spot. I'm holding my loaded Glock 17, just waiting for the right moment. The Glock's once familiar grip is now way too big and chunky for my hand. Emily had always complained about the Glock's crude bulky grips. It had seemed okay to me, but now I see what she meant. It's like grabbing a damn two by four. That's okay. Poor grip ergonomics is not going to be an issue for much longer. I'm looking down at my dark blue leggings, prominently displaying the shape of my feminine thighs, before tapering down to my slender calves and girly hiking boots, now covered in mud. This entirely depressing tableau is making my final decision seem pretty obvious. Suddenly Emily appears running up the trail. She had realized that something was wrong and came chasing after me. When she finally catches up with me there is a confrontation. With tears in my eyes I tell her that I've lost my life, my body, my job, my wife, everything! She was my last lifeline and if she doesn't want me any more, I'm just done! She cries with the realization that she does still love me no matter what I look like. I kiss her square on the mouth, a culmination of all of the love and longing and loneliness I've been feeling for the past several weeks. This is the first time we've kissed since the shooting. I'm pretty sure this is the first time Emily has ever kissed a girl. Her lipstick tastes like strawberries. To my surprise, she reciprocates with passion matching my own. We continue to kiss and embrace and cry together and it is understood that we are still in love, that our marriage vows still ring true. This proves to be a watershed moment when Emily really accepts me for the first time as the person who used to be her husband and a person who is currently stuck in the body of a beautiful young woman. We move forward in the days that follow, trying to adjust to what passes for the new normal. Surprisingly, my next big problem ends up being boredom! Emily has finally used up all of her accrued vacation days and has to get back to work for the first time since the shooting. With the loss of my income, there is no other choice if we're going to keep the mortgage paid and food on the table. I find myself sitting home alone for at least ten hours a day while Emily is at the office. Since I'm out of work, I have nothing to do. I'm just rambling around the house, looking for something to keep me busy. Nothing to occupy my thoughts but the constant feeling that I'm trapped in the wrong body. I'm not myself. I can't be who I want to be, wear what I want to wear, do what I want to do, or go where I want to go. It just grinds on me endlessly, like something is really wrong, but there's nothing I can do about it. I'm dressing head to toe in women's clothes because that's all there is. I feel completely bizarre, like I'm a stranger doing some kind of endless masquerade in my own home. I don't even know why I bother getting up in the morning. I'm just mindlessly going through the motions, pretending to be something that I'm not. Expecting things to get better if I just hold out long enough, but knowing that they won't. I'm even wearing some basic make-up in case any members of Amber's family decide to stop by. They are certainly not prohibited in any way from coming to see me. I'm actually trying pretty hard to maintain cordial relations with all of them and to convince them that I'm doing well. I certainly don't want a repeat of the recent nasty court business. The makeup I try doesn't look right, but I'm not sure why or what to do about it. For almost a month, the mom and sister had drummed it into my head that it was a daily essential. Even here in my own house, I now feel like it's expected of me, like it's just part of the outfit I'm supposed to wear. I don't know how Emily feels about this or what she must be thinking? She's a woman. She wears makeup every day, so I feel like I'm obliged to do so as well, but is that right? Maybe I shouldn't? The first morning she caught me putting on the bright red lipstick, she gave me a look that was somewhere between confused and horrified! Neither one of us wanted to talk about it, so I still don't know if it was the color that I had selected, my crude skills of application, or the fact that I was trying to put on lipstick at all that had left her stunned? After being practically traumatized by all of the recent forced socialization, I now find that I don't want to leave the house at all, not on my own, not dressed like this! I don't want to go out in public. There is an irrational fear somewhere deep in the back of my subconscious. It says that if I leave the house, someone will shout out, "Look it's a man wearing women's clothes!" That obviously isn't going to happen, but I did say it was irrational! I'm not even comfortable walking around my own neighborhood for fear that when I run into people I know, they will be able to tell how nervous I am, how strangely I'm acting. They'll start to question just what the hell's going on with me and I'll break down or something. I feel trapped in my own house, like I'm under house arrest! After days of just sitting around reading old books and streaming videos, I'm close to going out of my mind! No work, no golf, no gym, no friends, not even working out in the yard! I try to think of some kind of activity that I could do outside of the house that wouldn't involve any chance of seeing or interacting with any other people in any way. My mind cycles through all of my various interests and hobbies. The only thing I can come up with is hunting. That's something I can do by myself, way back in the solitude of the deep woods, with no one around for miles. I envision myself in that remote wilderness, far from all my troubles. The thought is intoxicating. I still have my rifle, and I know plenty of women who are fantastic shots, so that might actually work. Dragging a two hundred pound deer carcass through miles of brush, when the deer weighs significantly more than me instead of the other way around, doesn't sound like much fun, but not impossible. It's a great idea, but hunting season isn't until the Fall, so it doesn't help me at all right now. From my kitchen window, I can see the neighbor's dog "Scout" laying out in their backyard. I wish I could go out and join her. Scout was a female golden retriever with a reddish coat, small for her size due to poor nutrition throughout her early life. The neighbors had adopted her from a shelter when she was three years old. Neglected and abused early on, she was now timid and fearful of most people, but she always liked me! I think maybe she could sense a kindred spirit, someone who was at heart kind and gentle, but had seen a lot, been through a lot, and had been marked by it. But more than that, I think she sensed that I was someone who could, and would, protect her. I had spent years deep in the shit, surrounded by danger, and having to be constantly on guard, ready to deal death to anyone or thing that threatened me or mine at a moment's notice. I'm afraid that's left me in a permanent state of low alert, unintentionally projecting an aura of lethal dominance to any space I'm in. Subtly comforting and reassuring to any friend, but sending an intimation of impending doom to any who mean harm. Most of the time I don't even notice that I'm doing it. I've spent years trying to reacclimate to civilian life, but I can't say that it had been easy or entirely successful. I think Scout could sense this. She would always run up to me when I was outside. This shy dog, who would avoid human contact with anyone but her immediate family members, would greet me with leaps and bounds. After settling in, she would invariably sit leaning up against my leg or curled up at my feet or where ever should could that was close to me. It was a bit embarrassing that the neighbor's dog seemed to like me more than it did them, but that was the relationship we had. I was the biggest scariest thing this dog had ever seen, yet I was always calm and friendly. In my presence, for maybe the first time in her entire life, she felt truly safe. Emily and I had a big dopey dog named Sport. If we couldn't have kids, we at least wanted to have a rambunctious dog running around the house, just to stir the pot if nothing else. Introducing Sport to Scout was prickly at first, but after some trepidation, they became fast friends. He was in fact the only other animal that she would play with. Unfortunately, after a long and happy life, Sport had passed away about a year ago. It left the house kind of empty, but we hadn't had the heart to get around to replacing him yet. Scout and I both missed Sport terribly, so we kind of made up for the loss whenever possible, spending extra time together, scruffing around in the yard, or sitting in the driveway, or whatever. The neighbors knew how much we missed Sport and appreciated having someone that could dog sit their very nervous pet for them when they were out of town, so it was all fine, a perfect situation, but now it's gone. I haven't reached out to Scout since the shooting. I can't even go over there. The neighbors would be like, "Who is this weird girl in our backyard and what is she doing with Scout!" Scout probably wouldn't even like me now. Like I said, she's scared of almost everyone. So, I'm just sitting here, watching her mope around her lonely yard, while I mope around my lonely house. This sucks. I have always been a super active and busy person. Sitting around all day trying to find ways to kill time is just about killing me! I guess keeping busy was a blessing in disguise at Amber's house. Just pretending to be Amber seemed like a full time job. Then the mom had me going out to meet people or socialize or had people coming over to visit with me on an almost daily basis to try and help restore my memory. Finally, there was the endless list of chores to complete when nothing else was going on. That seems like an at least somewhat useful way to kill some time, so I start cleaning up around my house, just to stay busy. While cleaning, I'm haunted by the memory of being forced to wear the extremely lacy girly apron on an almost daily basis at Amber's house. I wonder if I should be wearing an apron now? Ugh. That's stupid! What am I thinking? I don't give a shit if these clothes get dirty or ruined. I guess living with Amber's family has really messed with my head. A week goes by and every square inch of carpet in the house has been vacuumed and re-vacuumed repeatedly, every window is spotless, and the whole house has been cleaned to withing an inch of its life. When I first got out of the service, I was self employed, working from home. Emily worked as the assistant manager at a small textile firm. It was a good paying, but demanding job that would typically eat up about fifty to sixty hours a week, so it was only natural that I would help out more around the house. It would have been completely unfair to expect her to come home from a hard day's work only to be confronted by a long list of chores that needed to be done, so over time I ended up doing more and more of the house work. Now house work is pretty much all that I'm doing, all day long! Emily used to joke about how nice it was to have a "live in maid". She would even joke about getting me a proper "maid's uniform". She had in fact made this "joke" several times, which made me think it might not be just a "joke", but something she thought about on a regular basis! A secret fantasy that she harbored but would never express to me as anything other than a silly jest. It never bothered me because back then, my masculinity was unquestionable. Now, I can't get the image out of my mind! Whenever I'm doing the dishes, or vacuuming, or cleaning the bathrooms, I can't help but remember those comments and imagine what it would be like doing those same chores dressed as a sexy French maid. I've seen pictures of that kind of thing. A frilly black mini-dress poofed out by layers of white petticoats, the lacy white cap and collar, a ridiculously effeminate apron, ruffled panties, garters holding up sheer stockings with seams running up the back, shiny black high heels buckled at the ankles, and the obligatory feather duster. It sends a shiver down my spine whenever I think about it. It occurs to me that if Emily ever brings it up again, with my current situation, she might not be joking! I can just imagine her coming home with a costume like that one day and insisting that I put it on! Wait! That's crazy!!! It was Amber's mom and sister that had been forcing me to dress up, not Emily! Emily doesn't do that! I'm safe here. Emily has never put any pressure on me at all. That's right. And I'm not imprisoned here! I'm not trapped. This is MY house! I can leave anytime I want, go where ever I want. I just don't want to go anywhere. Not right now. If I want to go out, I'll go. Maybe later? Yeah. That's it. That makes perfect sense. Later will be fine. I'm fine. Everything's fine. I feel like I'm starting to lose it. In some ways, this is actually worse than living at Amber's. I'm stuck here, alone all day, just wandering around the house. No one to talk to but myself. Working more or less full time as a domestic servant. I can tell that being forced to live this new "quarantine" lifestyle is starting to do a number on my all ready battered mental health. I can't even imagine how I'm going to endure living like this for the rest of my life! Wardrobe is another big problem. I don't have anything to wear except my unnecessarily sexy "Amber" clothes. I can't bring myself to wear any of my wife's things. It is some last bastion of manliness that just will not let me utter the words, "Honey, how about I borrow some of your panties?" Shopping is also a problem. I don't want to leave the house by myself. I could get Emily to help, but she was never really big into shopping and fashions and it's a really hard conversation to start. "Hey honey, would you like to help me buy some new bras and panties?" Of course her bras are too small, so it is still nothing but sex bomb, push-up, miraculous bras for me. Up to this point my wife has made no comment at all about what I've been wearing or the way I dress. The silence on the subject has been deafening. My lingerie during the day is like a Victoria's Secret model and at night it's all skimpy baby doll's, silky night gowns, and things I don't really even know the name of. I realized from the beginning that this was a little unusual. I'm certainly no expert on the subject of women's underwear, but it's my understanding that most women have plenty of "comfy" undies and night wear and generally save the really sexy stuff for "special" occasions. I guess Amber was just really into sexy lingerie? She was engaged and sleeping with her fiance every night. Maybe she dressed like this for him? Whatever. There was certainly no law against it, but her preferences are causing me a world of grief now. I don't know what my wife must be thinking. There is no way that she can be okay with this. Why doesn't she say something? Sometimes I think that even a full blown meltdown would be better than just nothing. As a guy I always used to sleep in just a pair of boxers. I wore briefs during the day, so I bought my boxers extra big, so they would always be loose and comfortable for sleepy time. They were a couple of sizes too big, so they rode low across my hips as a guy. On this new frame, they would simply fall off when I stood up, or even if I just moved around too much in bed, so that would not be an option, even if Emily had not donated all my old stuff. Next to me my wife is sleeping in her cotton bottoms and a worn out t-shirt. I'm actually jealous and really wish we could swap. We've both been going to great lengths to avoid mentioning the obvious elephant in the room, but eventually this issue comes to a head. One night as we're getting ready for bed, I'm pulling a lacy camisole over my head, stretching it down over my chest, straightening the straps on my shoulders. I make some adjustments to get the bow to sit "just right" between the breasts. It sounds a bit ridiculous, but I have been making some effort to try not to look like a slob or an idiot in the clothes I've been pretty much forced to wear. I fail to notice my wife watching me with a somewhat distressed look on her face. I'm all ready wearing the matching rumba panties with the ruffles in back. Emily stares at me for a few seconds as though deep in thought and then asks why I'm always decked in sexy lingerie? I can only imagine what she is thinking, that my mind has been turned into some sort of sissy girly mutation of it's once masculine self. I explain flat out, that it is not a preference, but it is all I have to choose from. She is somewhat shocked as I explain to her the situation with not a single pair of plain old white cotton undies to be found in my entire wardrobe, no flannel pajamas, baggy fleece, nothing! She hadn't even considered this! I tell her how unbearably embarrassing it is for me, as her husband, to ask to borrow her underwear. I further detail how I don't feel comfortable going out to shop for girl's clothes or even asking her to shop with me, so in typical guy fashion, I've pretty much just been putting it off. Just my stupid male brain holding out against the forced femininity. Emily has a good laugh, having her mind put at ease, and ends up actually feeling sorry for me. I say, "How would you like it if your entire wardrobe was suddenly reduced to nothing but Frederick's of Hollywood and Forever 21?" She literally had no idea and feels bad for thinking I had gone twitchy in the brain or something. Although, I have to admit the silky undies and lacy negligees have been growing on me a bit. I find myself looking forward to slipping into new delicate fineries each morning and evening. This actually has me a bit worried. As a basic manly guy, I certainly never had any interest in women's sexy undies, other than seeing them on, and then taking them off of a beautiful woman. I know that there are guys out there who are into that sort of thing and would have no problem with being forced to wear women's lingerie, but I'm definitely not one of those guys, at least I never used to be. I can't help it if the things that fit me now and happen to look good on this body are all women's clothes. I mean what the hell am I supposed to do? These are the only clothes that I currently own! My old guy wardrobe could best be described as adequate. Low cost, functional, comfortable. It was enough to meet basic public expectations and not much more. Casual and lounge wear, enough decent clothes for work, a few nice things for a formal occasion or date night and that was about it. Now, if I was being honest, I had to admit to myself that a silk robe first thing in the morning or a slippery satin gown at night felt amazing. It was actually something I might have looked forward to, maybe a little. Even just sheer, feels like you're wearing nothing, panties were starting to seem pretty appealing. Just made me feel really unbelievably comfortable and I guess "special" all day. And seriously, what about yoga pants? I never would have guessed it! So comfortable! Feels like wearing nothing at all, yet you're completely covered. You can wear them anywhere, lounging around the house or even when you're going out because they go with everything. They go on and off so easily. No annoying draw string to tie and untie. They stay up completely on their own! They're head and shoulders better than sweat pants, the undisputed ultimate in guy lounging luxury. And you don't have to worry about your junk showing or getting pushed off to one side or the other, because there is literally no junk to show! Maybe I was feeling somewhat attracted to these sensual new clothes, because this new body was just that much more responsive to tactile sensations. Maybe my brain WAS being affected by the hormones flushing through it. Or maybe I was grasping at this one straw because I had been living a twilight zone hell for the past several weeks. Every aspect of my life had been train wrecked by the shooting. Being immersed in a decadently indulgent wardrobe was the one not terrible thing that had come from the tragedy. This could be why I was gravitating towards these new sensual garments, at least that's what I'm telling myself rather than admit that I might be starting to like dressing in sexy women's lingerie. We end up with a funny reverse situation. Emily asks me if she can borrow some of my sexy clothes! She had been raised in a very modest conservative home. She had never had much in the way of fashionable clothes growing up due to cost and she had never been allowed to wear anything sexy. As a result her wardrobe was always just basic and functional even well into adulthood. She now had some nicer professional suits for work and such, but sexy or trendy clothes, never. Emily is a little bit taller, but can basically fit into everything from the sexy panties to the designer tops, pants, swimsuits, dresses etc. Even the bras fit her if she uses the silicone inserts. She can go from a modest B to a C with inserts to a D with a padded bra! This amuses and excites her to no end! I knew she had always wanted bigger breasts, but it just hadn't been in the cards for her and surgery had been out of the question. I tell her she can have it all if she wants. She spends the entire day just going through and trying on everything like a little girl playing dress up! She even talks me into trying on a few things with her. After a marathon dress up session, I end up in Daisy Dukes, cowboy boots, and a flowered halter top. I'm disturbingly reminded of my night out "dancing" at Pokey's. This really isn't my thing, but Emily is having fun and it makes her happy, so whatever. It's really amazing. I see that slight Emily smile on her face. It's still that same smile I remember, nothing forced, nothing strange about it. Just Emily being Emily. For the first time since the shooting it feels like we are really bonding again. We are being truly honest and sharing our most intimate thoughts and feelings on a topic that had really been bothering both of us for a while. We are actually making new positive memories, not just reminiscing over earlier times and all that we had lost. Laughing together as she tries on one thing after another and encourages me to model some of the sexier items too. That night she sleeps in the absolute sexiest night gown I own, long flowing stretch satin type material with elastic lace panels over the breasts and double spaghetti straps. This is one of my favorites! It is so light and fluid it feels like wearing nothing but a warm summer breeze. It washes over and clings to her body obscenely, enhancing every line and detail. I have never imagined seeing her in anything like this. It just isn't her style, but after being handed this giant sexy new wardrobe, she never sleeps in a plain cotton tee again. It is feminine negligees every night from then on. I definitely don't mind. It's amazing to finally see my wife dressed in provocative lingerie for the first time ever! The first night we sleep together, me in a sheer pink lace teddy and her wearing that luscious gown is amazing. As strange as it sounds, I feel like we are a couple of teen girlfriends having a sleepover or something, hands caressing and snuggled up together, but not going any further. I guess it's clear now that it is okay for me to wear some of her things without me ever even asking, since she is basically living in my wardrobe. She never asks me why I keep wearing the sexy nighties. I think deep down she appreciates how amazingly pleasurable and luxurious it feels to sleep in such wonderfully alluring finery. She never asks, just like I would never ask her why she doesn't go back to sleeping in her old worn out tees. It is an unspoken understanding between us that it is just too deeply satisfying and intimate to ask anyone to ever give up, even someone who used to be a man. After living through several of the most traumatizing and difficult weeks imaginable, I finally feel like I'm home at last. I hear Emily's breathing slow as she drifts off to sleep. I'm still laying awake, staring off into the darkness, contemplating the insoluble predicament I've found myself in. I can feel the lace trim of the teddy that I'm wearing conspicuously stretched across my chest and around the high cut leg openings. Emily and I have more or less accepted the current situation, but there is obviously a problem here. Things seem to be all right for now, but there is no possible way that this is going to work out long term. I can't imagine that Emily will want to keep living like this for years to come. Something's got to give. I decide that it's up to me. No matter what's going on with my body, I've got to get back to my old life, back to work, to the gym, the golf course, everything. I want it all back! I decide that the first step will have to be the clothes! CHAPTER 8: CLOTHES MAKE THE MAN! Back when I had been living with Amber's family, pretending to be her, all I could wear were her sexy, fashionable, unmistakably female clothes. I had the mom and kid sister thinking they were doing me a favor by pretty much dictating what I had to wear each day from panties to finger nail polish. Everything was very feminine or fitted or revealing. I prayed for even one baggy article of clothing that I could use to cover up this body, some pajama pants, a sweatshirt, anything, but was left wanting. My clothes had me on full display everywhere I went and there was nothing I could do about it. When I first moved back in with Emily, I was no better off. I hadn't gotten up the nerve to go out shopping yet, so I had nothing to wear but the clothes I'd brought from Amber's house. Eventually, I tried borrowing some of Emily's stuff, but it didn't help much. I could fit into a lot of her things, but with my fuller chest and curvier hips, her clothes ended up fitting just about as tight as Amber's. I had hoped that I would still have access to my old male wardrobe, but I found that Emily had donated all my old clothes too a local non-profit resale shop. I assume that they're gone for good and that's that, but Emily suggests that I give them a call and see if there's anything that can be done. I should have thought of this sooner. It's been a long time, so I'm not very hopeful. In desperation I call them up to see if there is any chance of getting my stuff back. It turns out that the place is badly understaffed, being run completely by part time volunteers. I find out that they haven't even gotten around to unbagging anything yet! I discover that the bags of clothes are just sitting there, right where Emily had dropped them off. It takes a while for them to sort out which bags were mine, but I eventually succeed at retrieving my old male clothes! It's a miracle! The impossible dream has been realized! I now have an endless supply of loose fitting baggy masculine clothes to cover up this ridiculously feminine body. This could be it! The first step to getting my life back! The turning point where everything starts getting better! My plan is actually working!!! With the recovery of my old male clothes, I'm thinking, "Great! I can finally choose my own clothes and wear whatever I want," but this tragically proves not to be the case! Emily is like, "What are you going to wear? A burlap sack?" I smugly respond, "No, but what I wear will be my choice now. I can finally get back to being myself." "So, you're just going to walk around wearing your baggy man clothes? You have boobs, big ones at that. You're going to have to wear some kind of bra unless you plan on flashing your nipples to all the neighbor kids." Okay, so I did have to wear a bra, pretty much all the time. "And you have a girl bottom now. You're going to need girl panties. You can't just wear your old droopy over sized man briefs! People will be able to see them bunching up under almost every piece of clothing you own. Talk about visible panty lines! You definitely won't be able to wear them at least one week out of the month." Ouch. She has a point there. "So you've all ready conceded that you will have to wear bras and panties, and what? You're going to wear your frump a dump baggy man clothes over that. Do you really think you can cover up those curves? You're going to look like some kind of crazy homeless chick?" Shit. Another good point. If I wanted to look like a "normal person" and pass for normal, I would pretty much have to wear the kind of clothing that society would expect a crazy gorgeous blond twenty-three year old woman to wear. I was having more regular contact with my "family" and if I started dressing like a homeless chick or some butch man-woman they would definitely think something was wrong. They might start to question my relationship with Emily or even try to re-open proceedings into my mental competency! My dream of being able to dress and live a masculine lifestyle despite my feminine appearance has developed cracks in its facade, but I'm still determined to give it a try. I experiment with wearing some of my old "man" clothes, but the results are pitiable at best. The undies bunch up crudely in the front. The pants are way too big, especially in the waist. The giant shirts hang on my frame like an empty tent. The clothes don't look too promising, but I decide to give'em a shot anyways. The next day I'm happily decked out in one of my favorite hooded sweatshirts, blue fleece with a zip in the front, and some gray sweat pants. The hoodie is obviously oversized. The sleeves hanging down below the end of my fingertips if I don't pull them up. The pants are similarly huge. They look big enough to invite a friend in. The last six inches of cuff drag on the ground if I don't roll them up. Not great, but workable. I'm feeling pretty comfy lounging around the house, but things kind of go to shit when Emily comes home with the groceries and I go out to help her carry them in. I get spotted by my next door neighbor Dan, who's working on his lawn, right next to our driveway. He used to be one of my best friends, but I haven't spoken a word to him since the shooting. "Laundry day..." he spouts, and I think that I must have heard him wrong. "What?" I reply frozen in place. "Laundry day. It looks like it might be laundry day," he explains. "Oh," I say somewhat stunned and not sure what to say next. "Oh! I'm sorry." He suddenly offers. "I didn't mean any offense! It's just that you're dressed kind of like my wife when she runs out of sweats and starts 'borrowing' my stuff." "Sure. I get it. No problem. I guess maybe it is laundry day," I admit somewhat heart broken. My experiment with baggy man clothes isn't working out quite as well as I'd hoped. In fact it's off to a pretty terrible start. "You're Amber, right?" Dan changes the subject. "Yeah, I guess that's me." "My wife, Cynthia, mentioned that you might be staying with Emily for a while." "Yeah, I'm going to be here for a while I guess. Emily has been very generous in offering to put me up." Super. Emily must of told Cynthia about my situation, so Dan probably knows all about the tragic "charity case" living next door. This just gets more and more awkward. "Well, that's great! Welcome to the neighborhood! I guess we'll be seeing a lot more of each other..." Dan says with a little too much exuberance. Wonder what he means by that? I know guys really like "seeing" Amber, but Dan's a good guy. I'm probably reading too much into it. Most guys, married or not, start acting like hormonal teenage idiots when in the presence of a beautiful woman. Guess Dan's no different. "You know, my wife and I are looking for a new baby sitter. I don't know if you have anything else going on right now or if you'd be interested, but we'd love to have you over some time. You could meet our two little girls. I'm sure they'd just love you!" Ugh! One of my best friends has just offered me a baby sitting job! I guess I look like someone who should be employed as a baby sitter now. He must have heard that I'm "out of work". Dressed in oversized rags, he probably thinks that I need the money. I know he is just trying to help, but this is SO humiliating! Just then a furry red torpedo comes bounding around the corner! It's Scout!!! She makes a beeline for me, completely ignoring Dan. She is up on her hind legs, greeting me with sloppy kisses and a violently wagging tail while I scruff the fur around on her head and neck. "Hey Scout! How's my girl!" I exclaim, overjoyed by the dog's exuberant expression of recognition. This dog is scared to death of everyone. She won't even approach another human being without weeks of careful preparation and introduction, but she sure as hell knows me! This is amazing! Not Amber's parents, or sister, or fiance, or even my Emily, none of them knew who I was, but this dog, this dog knows exactly who I am! The one living thing on the face of the Earth that actually recognizes me. My heart explodes with the joy of the reunion! Dan is looking on in stunned silence. "I can't believe this," he finally mumbles. "What?" I say, comically feigning ignorance. "She doesn't like strangers!" "Guess I'm not that strange." Hmm. Maybe I'm really not that strange after all? Scout still thinks that I'm me. Maybe I am still me? "No, I mean like, she is really scared of people, like anyone that she doesn't know. The only one she ever really liked like that was Emily's husband." "Maybe it's the clothes?" I suggest, before Dan's brain suffers a total meltdown. "What?" he states even more confused. "This sweatshirt and these pants, they were Emily's husband's. I borrowed them. Maybe that's it?" I suggest as Scout sits on my foot while I continue to scratch her ears. "Oh yeah. I thought you looked familiar. Maybe that's it." Dan looks even more confused, not at all convinced by my paper thin explanation, still wondering how I even knew the dog's name. An awkward lull in the conversation stretches out as Scout continues to lean against my knee, panting happily. Dan looking more befuddled by the second. He finally snaps out of it. Setting his dog's very uncharacteristic behavior aside, he gets back to the topic at hand. "Well, you can think about it if you want, the baby sitting job that is. Just let me know if you're interested. I'm out of town a lot and Cynthia could really use the help, not just with the girls, but maybe helping around the house too." "Thanks, I'll let you know," I say with my best fake smile pasted to my face, trying to be polite. I would LOVE to be able to get out of the house and have some other people to talk to, even if it's just the neighbors, but playing house with my friend's beautiful young wife while he's out of town feels like all kinds of wrong. Unthinkable as a guy, but now I feel like it's almost expected. From what Emily's told me, I've gotten the impression that Cynthia gets pretty lonely when Dan is away on business. I can tell from his expression that he's honestly hoping that I'll except his offer. "Okay, well, let me know and we'll see you around," he waves as he heads off towards his garage. He calls for Scout and she just looks up at me. She doesn't budge. He calls again and claps his hands and she slowly, begrudgingly, starts to wander after him. "See you," I reply while scooping up the last bag of groceries. Crap. Finding out that Scout still recognizes me was amazing, but the rest of that was just awful. If I accept his offer, guess I can look forward to an exciting career as a baby sitter to go along with my very fulfilling career as a domestic servant, first at Amber's house, then in my own home. Might as well do Dan's house too! Get a sexy French maid uniform! Start my own business! Why not!?! It all makes perfect sense!!! One thing is for sure. My "laundry day" look is a complete failure. I didn't make it ten feet from the house without getting called out. The dream of getting my life back, starting with my clothes, shatters into a million broken pieces, scattered at my feet. Having a variety of clothes to choose from and being free from the wardrobe dictates of Mom and Samantha results in something of a personal crisis. I'm a straight man! I should not choose to wear or enjoy wearing women's clothes, but this body and society mandate that I wear at least some items of female clothing. Now it's up to me to draw the line. Too feminine and I worry that Emily will feel that she's lost the manly man that she married, that I've turned gay or swishy or something. That our marriage obviously can not endure. Too butch or manly and I just look like an idiotic mess. Good luck trying to explain that to Amber's family. So I live in constant fear that my wife will say, "So, you chose to wear a push-up bra today?" or a short skirt or sheer undies or high heels or whatever the case may be. I can imagine the sideways glance I might get with a comment like that. Anything even slightly feminine reflects on my "manhood" and the more feminine the worse it gets. I feel driven to try and wear more manly clothes to save myself and even my marriage. I feel like I must actively resist or even hate the female items that I can't avoid or I risk loosing myself all together. Emily knows that I look ridiculous with the items of male clothing that I've tried to incorporate into my current wardrobe. She also knows the reason I'm trying to work with some of my old clothes is that I'm having some serious psychological issues with the girl clothes. I still have essentially a male brain after all. Being forced to wear those clothes in the beginning by my "family" was one thing, but now it is my choice! So, if I am wearing something distinctly feminine, it is because I have chosen to wear that particular item. It's all on me, and that just feels wrong. I try piling on extra layers to cover. Somehow in my mind that makes me feel more comfortable. Sneaking an unnecessary tank or cami under a blouse and then throwing a sweater, unbuttoned of course, on over that. I guess I'm thinking that it will help cover up the curves, but it ends up just making me hot and sweaty most of the time. I'm sure Emily knows exactly what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. I think it makes her feel sorry for me, but she's polite enough that she never even mentions it. My wife is very compassionate and understands what a difficult time I'm having. She knows that I look stupid, not cute, or fashionable, trying to wear my old oversize male clothes or wearing extra layers. She understands that I'm suffering some kind of identity crisis. She also knows that I really do have to wear clothes that are appropriate to my age and gender and she is trying to help me out as much as possible. Emily constantly reassures me that it doesn't matter what I look like or what I wear on the outside, that I'm still me on the inside. She even suggests giving the hypnosis a try, not to get me to remember my old life, as suggested in the hospital, but to get me more comfortable and accepting of my current situation. I assure her that letting some head shrinker try to re-wire my brain is a definite non-starter. Even after bluntly shooting down her hypnotherapy idea, she still tries to console me, saying that it's going to be okay and that I'm reacting the same way anyone would in a similar situation. Of course no one has ever been in my exact situation before, so I'm not entirely sure how accurate that statement is. She has taken to saying, "You look beautiful!" to try and make me feel more comfortable and talk me into wearing more of my sexy or girlish clothes. Saying, "You look handsome," would have been ridiculous. That obviously isn't the case. To be fare everything that Emily dresses me in does look beautiful/amazing! So we fall into a routine, where Emily is incrementally encouraging me to feel comfortable wearing more and more feminine clothing. She wants me to try wearing skirts out in public. "You look beautiful in skirts! Try pantyhose under the skirts, makes your legs look better! Try wearing dresses, why not? You wore them when you were living at Amber's. How about garters and stockings, much cooler in the warmer weather! Of course you need to wear a thong so you won't have panty lines. Why not wear a short sexy dress when we go out to dinner? You sure have the figure for it." The latter led to me getting hit on by a LOT of guys, not cool! Emily was right. Amber had been a stunningly beautiful girl. Pretty much anything I put on makes me look like a model on a runway. Seriously, even just simple jeans and a t-shirt makes guy's jaws drop pretty much everywhere I go. Of course they're sexy skin tight jeans, that barely stretch over my ample hips and butt, and a baby tee that puts my chest on display like it's waiting for a wet t-shirt contest to break out. I start getting Emily's input on a daily basis as to wardrobe choices. I've come to trust her opinions and advice. It's really nice to finally understand that she wasn't making fun of me. She has in fact been trying to help me all along. Of course! What else would you expect from a best friend/soul mate. She has actually been helping me to accept my new circumstances, feel more comfortable, and keep up the masquerade. I still don't like leaving the house by myself, but I'm feeling a lot less insecure and seem to be doing better overall. I ask her, what goes with this, or what underwear should I wear with that. I get her opinions on shoes and jewelry. She helps me with hair and make-up when required, which is pretty much just when I'm interacting with Amber's family or going out to some social event. In a strange way, she has taken over the despised role of the mom and sister in helping decide what I should wear, but in this case the assistance is both requested and greatly appreciated. Having Emily in on the decision making process each morning takes a lot of the stress off of me. If she suggests that I should wear a particular dress and asserts that said dress requires a half slip, strapless bra, thong, stockings, and heels, who am I to argue? I'm starting to get a bit of a Sammie vibe off of Emily. Samantha had seemed to REALLY enjoy using my body to play dress up each morning, putting together outfits that were way above an beyond what was actually needed for any given day. Now Emily is basically doing the same thing. I guess most little girls grow up playing with Barbie, endlessly dressing and undressing the fashion fantasy doll in different styles and outfits, so that she can always be en vogue. I don't even think that they realized that they were doing it, but based on Sammie and now Emily, I'm guessing that given the opportunity, the subconsciously ingrained temptation to "play Barbie" must be just too much to resist. Emily ultimately suggests that I should approach it like I'm just trying to play a role. Ask, "What would Amber wear today?" and then wear that. This is so sweet of her. She's giving me a get out of jail free card for any sexy, silly, or effeminate thing that I might end up wearing. A little white lie that buries the question of why is my husband wearing a garter belt or false eyelashes or whatever today. Obviously I'm playing my role to the best of my ability. I'm certainly not just wearing this stuff because I'm secretly starting to enjoy it or anything, or at least that's what I keep telling myself. Even with Emily's help, getting ready in the morning is certainly a lot more work. Everything just takes much longer than it used to. Before my transition I could step in the shower and be out the front door just ten minutes later. Now with washing, rinsing, and conditioning the hair, and shaving the legs and pits, just the shower can take half an hour or longer. Add in doing my hair, makeup, finding the right clothes to wear, and actually getting dressed and I'm up to an hour or more. One morning I'm complaining about what a hassle it is and Emily casually comments, "That's just the cost of being a beautiful woman..." My heart sinks. I'm sure she doesn't mean anything by it. It was just an off hand remark and she didn't even notice my reaction, but does this mean that she doesn't think of me as a man any more? I guess it only makes sense that's how she would see me. I mean, she does have eyes, and that's obviously the case now. I'm just left to wonder if in her mind I'm still her husband or if she's starting to see me as more of a girl friend or roommate? I certainly know how I feel. I guess only time will tell. CHAPTER 9: HUSBAND 2.0, ALL OR NOTHING Emily and I continue to move forward together as more or less a couple of some sort. She is more than just a friend. She is my wife and I still consider myself her husband, or secret husband at least. This leads to another problem that has to be addressed. I have not had any sexual release in almost seven weeks! Probably has something to do with my out of control stress and emotions. I've tried to masturbate by hand, but just can't seem to get things to work. I've gone from being a forty-one year old man to a twenty-three year old woman and the difference in sex drives and hormones is staggering. God I miss my wiener! It was so fun and great. Gave the bulge to the old jeans or briefs that set the ladies to drooling. Super low maintenance. Whip it out anywhere to throw a wazz. Just a couple minutes of privacy anytime was enough to get some sexual relief. This new equipment was very messy and complicated and high maintenance and not very "user friendly". Between all the hormones and not being able to get off, I decide that it's no wonder that so many women end up bat crap crazy! I explain to Emily how terribly embarrassed I am, but that the situation is getting so bad that I can't sleep at night or even think straight. She offers to try and help me learn how to get off in this new body. She very understandably doesn't want to go down on me or anything. I think that would make me feel weird and uncomfortable anyways, but she offers to try and show me how to do myself and maybe help out a little. Emily states "I want to try and help you, but you know I'm not gay, like, not at all, and I'm not really comfortable doing stuff with another girl." I point out that, "I get that you're not comfortable being with a girl sexually, but just imagine what it's like for me, having to try to do sexual things AS a girl! Like in a girl's body! With girl parts! As in NO WIENER!!! Talk about outside your comfort zone! I'm pretty sure that's the main reason I'm having so much trouble getting off on my own. And you know, it's like desperate times call for desperate measures!" Emily laughs at the exaggerated mock look of desperation I put on my face. We both laugh. We had been together almost all of our adult lives. We had been through everything, from multiple excruciating deployments overseas, to the ongoing heartbreak of being unable to get pregnant. We had seen the best and the worst of each other and come through it all, stronger than ever. This is really just one more step on our life journey together. Spending the rest of our lives in a completely sexless marriage is a pretty bleak prospect. She had also been without any sexual contact for weeks. I think at this point we have both resolved to at least try and give it our best shot. We walk to the bedroom, hand in hand. The first step, I slip out of my shoes and then pull my knee high stockings off. I hesitate and look to Emily. She remains motionless. I proceed to untie my drawstring. The fuzzy form fitting pants of my turquoise colored track suit slide down my smooth legs. I'm feeling very nervous, standing there with my smooth silky lace panties exposed. My feminine mound clearly visible where my masculine bulge should be. I'm scared to death that she is going to walk out of the room or that the entire experience is just going to end up an incredibly awkward failure. Gathering all of my courage, I unzip my top and let it fall onto the bed, revealing that I'm wearing nothing underneath but the luscious lace push-up bra that matches my peach colored panties. Emily still hasn't moved. I freeze up, just standing there. I can't even imagine what she thinks about the way I look or how she really feels about what we are planning to do. My heart is racing. My respiration is quick and heavy. I can feel the breasts embarrassingly heave on my chest with each intake of breath. I don't think a virgin bride on her wedding night could possibly be any more nervous then I am right now. A fear overwhelms me that Emily is going to reject me, that she is not attracted to me, that she now finds the idea of being with me repulsive. Years of happy marriage to my soul mate might come to an end at this very moment! Emily can tell that I'm really nervous and hesitant. "You know you look really hot..." she throws out casually. The ludicrous timing of her goofy observation forces me to smile. She smiles back at me and my heart melts. Finally, mercifully, she kicks off one of her shoes, then the other. Now it's my turn to stand and watch her undress. I've seen it a thousand times before, but I don't think it's ever been more exciting or erotic. We're both just standing in our underwear staring at each other, neither one of us knowing exactly how to proceed. I decide that I have to be bold, all or nothing, and make the next move. I reach around to unhook my bra. I'm still not good at this so I end up fumbling around for several seconds. Emily can't help but smile at me as I bite my lower lip and roll my eyes squirming to get the hooks to let go. That actually does a lot to further break the tension. Abruptly the over burdened bra gives way like the snapping of a rubber band. The straps pop off my shoulders and the whole thing slides down my arms. I let it fall to the floor. The heavy breasts drop and hang under their own weight. That was much more sudden then I had planned. Emily's eyes go wide as she just stares at my chest. I feel completely mortified. Maybe this whole experiment was a bad idea? I contemplate just grabbing my clothes and running out of the room. She slowly reaches out with one hand and then pauses. "May I?" she asks. "Sure, go nuts." I'm pretty sure only a guy would ever say something like that in a situation like this. She reaches over and starts fondling and hefting first one breast, then the other. We've been together a very long time. I know exactly what she is thinking. I can tell from her face that she is feeling a little dejected, not because she isn't into this, but because the breasts that she is caressing are so much larger and fuller than her own. It breaks my heart a little that she could possibly feel that way. If she feels bad about having smaller breasts, then I should feel a hundred times worse about having breasts at all! "Holy cow! They are so big and firm." "Really? Cow! You had to go there?" Emily burst out laughing at my comment, still holding the two large handfuls. Thank God. My well timed joke has broken the ice in what was getting to be a very uneasy situation. It's hard to feel bad when you're laughing. In her new found enthusiasm, I think she's forgotten that I'm actually attached to her new playthings as she is now caressing and squeezing them with a vigor that is almost painful. After a brief should I or shouldn't I hesitation, she switches to the nipples. Gently pinching them a little then rubbing them in small circles with the flat open palm of her hands. I'm guessing that this is probably something that she likes. Wow! That feels amazing! I bet she knows exactly what to do to make a woman's body feel good. Starting to think that this new situation may have some definite advantages. My eyes roll back into my head a little and my shoulders slump as all of the tension leaves my body. Emily senses this and moves forward slightly. She playfully pulls my right nipple and gives it a little twist. I yelp in surprise and flinch back a few inches. Then with a new found acceptance, she leans in and I feel her hot breath on my exposed breast. She pauses briefly before taking the needy nipple into her mouth, gently licking the tip before eventually beginning to suck in earnest like a starving baby. The feeling is shocking and intense. I can't decide whether it's terrible and painful or an absolutely pure ecstasy. I quickly conclude that it's the latter! After all too brief an interlude, she unlatches and backs off. The formerly soft pink nipple is now rock hard and an angry shade of red. "I guess someone likes having their nipples sucked." I just stand their with a defeated look on my face. This really isn't the way I want to express myself sexually. At this point I should have a raging Mr. Happy to menace her with, but no, this is all I have left. "Come on Sweetie...," she says as she pulls me down onto the bed. I smile and comply. The whole situation with both of us getting naked on the bed in the middle of the day turns very erotic. She shows me a little of what she does. She says, "You have to figure out what feels good for you and just go with it, just relax and let go. Think of something that excites you and just enjoy the moment and feeling and let whatever happens happen." The experimentation continues, making out, fondling and suckling each other's breasts. My new found sensitivity is really astonishing. As a guy, almost all stimulation was centered around the groin, but now I think I'm feeling as much arousal from upstairs as down. My whole body feels electric and alive in a way it never has before. She ends up getting me off with her hands while kissing and sucking my tits. I then do the same for her. It turns out to be one of the most erotic and exciting encounters of both our lives! Even though I've all ready gotten my relief, I feel like I'm ready to go again, or to just keep going! We continue playing with new found exuberance and enthusiasm and end up bringing each other to climax again. Feeling much more relaxed and confident, the experience of this second orgasm is insanely more intense than the first. I think I even black out a little towards the end. This may be some of the best sex I've ever had! Once things get going, this new body is just much more sensitive and receptive to all forms of physical stimulation than anything I've ever experienced before. Emily is excitedly stunned by this surprising new turn her sex life has taken. She seems to have lost her inhibitions and is happy to roll around and explore with me. I think she has really realized what a stunning beauty I am and maybe even feels a little lucky to be with someone like me, even if I am currently female. "That was actually kind of great!" I offer, my comment surprising even myself. "I could tell you were having fun, but what do you think? Do you think this is something you might want to try again some time?" "It was a lot of fun, but different. It's hard to say. It's like comparing apples and oranges," she pauses. "Or grapefruits in your case," she adds. I roll my eyes and give her a look of shock and righteous indignation. She smiles broadly at my response. Soon we're both smiling, and then kissing again. I guess that answers my question. CHAPTER 10: WORKING GIRL Later that week I get a call from my friend Julia. Actually, to me she was more of an acquaintance. Emily and I had known her for more than five years, but it's not like we hung out with her outside of the restaurant. Julia, however, was best friends with Amber, so I guess that makes us at least "friends" now. She wants me to come into work. Everyone is really anxious to see how I'm doing. Most of the co- workers had sent me sympathy cards and well wishes, so I guess I owed it to them to make an appearance. Emily doesn't really want to go with me. I think she anticipates that it might get pretty awkward. That does seem likely, but I feel like I need to go, just to keep up appearances. I know that Amber's mom is still in contact with at least some of my old co-workers like Julia. The place Amber worked at is a theme restaurant. It's called Oktoberfest and is based loosely on the concept of a German beer hall at you guessed it, Oktoberfest! Their gimmick is that all the waitresses are young and beautiful and dress as sexy beer wenches or serving maids or whatever you might call it. This is one of the things that originally attracted Emily and I to this place. Quite frankly it is a lot nicer to have your food served by someone who is pleasant to look at then by some crusty old lady, or morbidly obese dude with swinging arm fat, or someone with a big hairy mole on their face, or other similarly unappetizing features. The waitresses here know that the main reason people come in is for the specialty wait staff, so they go out of their way to be extra warm and inviting, make conversation, or even flirt a little, and generally make the customers feel welcome. It is legitimately much better service then you get at most places and the fact that all the attention is coming from a beautiful young woman certainly doesn't hurt. Even Emily really liked chatting with the waitresses. At her work she always had to be so formal and professional. It wasn't really a place for "girl talk", so she loved just getting a chance to socialize, to here what was going on in their exciting young lives, new boyfriends, trips they were planning, the latest gossip about social lives, celebrities, current events. As we crept into middle age and had fewer and fewer young friends, it was really nice to be able to be part of a youthful social scene, even if it was just a small part and just for a few hours a week. The outfits the waitresses were required to where were sexy, but not so much as to be offensive. They were mostly covered up. Their uniform was a very short stylized version of a traditional German folk dress with a lacy petticoat underneath. The upper part of the dress was laced up sort of like a corset in the front. The lacing stopped just under the bust line. A frilly white peasant blouse covered the bust, leaving the shoulders bare and a lot of cleavage to be displayed. The girls were also required to wear white stockings and shiny black high heels with a little bow on the back. The intention was to create the look of a sexy idealized Oktoberfest barmaid at a beer garden in Munich or some place. The concept was popular enough that the "Oktoberfest barmaids" had become iconic with calendars, posters, t-shirts, the works! I remember a while back, before the shooting, I had asked Amber about how she felt being required to wear such a deliberately sexy uniform. I knew she didn't have a choice in the matter, so I would have felt really bad is she had said it was shameful or embarrassing, but her response surprised me. She told me that she actually didn't mind it at all! That most restaurants, even low end diners and dives, require their waitresses to wear some kind of uniform and that the uniforms were almost always unflattering or degrading or both! She said that she thought that the Oktoberfest uniform was "sexy as hell" and she didn't mind wearing it at all. She concluded by saying the barmaid outfit also got her double or even triple the tips she would have made working at a regular restaurant! I remember that last comment was accompanied by a wink and her trademark sexy smile as she pivoted and dashed off to get our drinks. Amber, so beautiful, so full of life, so unfair. Propelled by the universal popularity of amazing representatives like Amber, the restaurant chain had managed to go nation wide with franchises in almost every state. At one point a group of kill joy shit heads had gotten together to try and sue the franchise for discriminating against fatties and uggos in their hiring practices. Some liberal activist judge had actually sided with the plaintiffs, but it was overturned on appeal when the new judge cited, and rightfully so, that part of the server's job in this business model was as an entertainer, as in playing a role and therefore the franchise was legally entitled to hire workers who specifically fit that role. When I arrive at the restaurant, it's early, so the parking lot is not very full. As I walk in the door, somebody shouts, "It's Amber!" A cheer erupts and all of the wait staff and employees run over to greet me. It's enthusiastic hugs all around. I don't even know the names of some of these people, but every last one of them is overjoyed to see me. Everyone is talking at once. I can't even make out the individual comments, but it's generally along the lines that they are all very glad to see me. It occurs to me that the last time most of these people had seen Amber she was lying on the floor in a big puddle of her own blood, dying. No wonder they are so excited! It's not everyday you get to see a real life miracle. After greeting everyone and thanking them for their well wishes, Julia grabs my hand and starts dragging me in back. Apparently it is the beginning of the evening shift and several of the girls are not out on the floor yet. Well, this is interesting! I've never been back here. She pulls me around the corner and into a little room with lockers and a curtain across the door that turns out to be the changing room for the wait staff! Holy shit!!! Here are all the beautiful young girls who have been bringing me my beer and burgers for the last few years in various stages of dress and undress. One of the girls, a pretty young blond named Laura, runs over and hugs me so vigorously that she is just about squeezing the life out of me. She also happens to be completely topless at the moment, but obviously doesn't care, overwhelmed by the surprise of seeing one of her best friends back from the dead. She holds the embrace for longer then is comfortable and of course I have no choice but to respond in kind! When she finally lifts her head off my chest, there are tears in her eyes. "I was so scared. I thought you were going to die!" She's tiny, just a little over five feet tall. I really do feel so sorry for this poor frightened girl. She can't be more than a teenager and had to be witness to the bloody murder of one of her best friends, surely the most traumatic event in her life. I lean forward and pull her back toward me, wrapping my arms around her and hugging her for all I'm worth. She throws her arms up around my neck. I straighten up, lifting the weeping petite topless girl right off the ground with my embrace. There's real emotion pouring out of me. Tears actually start rolling down my cheeks! I don't really know Laura all that well and I'm actually happy for her, but my eyes just won't stop watering. As a guy I could go for years without ever shedding a tear. Now it seems like almost anything can cause the emotional floodgates to burst open. It is so weird!! I understand the science, that it's the hormones circulating in my blood stream that cause chemical changes within the brain that lead to a stronger emotional response, but to have to experience it, to not be able to do anything about it is just unreal. As a man I felt like I was in control of my emotions. Now I feel like I'm just along for the ride. We separate as I lower her to the ground and her arms release from around my neck. She sniffles and goes to blot the corner of her eye with one of the stockings she's holding. She jokes, "You're going to ruin my makeup!" "Watch out, or your makeup will ruin your stocking!" I reply with a goofy grin. Everyone laughs and closes in. One of the girls hands me a tissue to dry my own tears. So nice! Girls sure are a lot more thoughtful than guys. There is a rapid succession of warm embraces from all of the other semi-clad beauties present. I don't know if I can recall ever feeling so much warmth and true affection in one room. I'm bombarded with questions. They all want to know how I'm doing. I tell them I'm physically almost completely healed, just the scars from the small entry wound and the larger exit wound. Then I drop the bombshell on them about my memory. I tell them the truth, that I have almost no memory of my life before the shooting. There are gasps of shock and horror. I guess Julia hadn't shared all of the ugly details with everyone. I think that's actually pretty nice, showing some respect for my privacy like that. One by one they ask what I remember, if I know who they are or can remember their names. I tell them quite truthfully that I didn't even recognize my own family members when I first woke up in the hospital. One of the girls asks if "Kelly knows" about what's happened. The crowded little locker room goes strangely quiet for a moment. Not sure who this "Kelly" is? Must be one of the other waitresses. Based on the way everyone is reacting, she must have been pretty traumatized by the shooting. I honestly tell them that I'm not sure, and the excited interrogation resumes as before. They want to know when or if I'm coming back to work. I explain that I won't be coming back to work at Oktoberfest. I use the excuse that it would be just too traumatic. The truth is I can't imagine walking around in public in this very short dress, wearing thigh high stockings and high heals, with maximum cleavage on display, not to mention having to spend my evenings fending off an endless stream of drunk guys hitting on me. Over the years, I'm sorry to say that I have heard some of the most respected upstanding men say some of the worst things to waitresses. When men get in groups with other men it can be almost like a pissing contest to see who can say the most perverse things about women. And there?s almost always one in the group that has to make sure to let the waitress know what he?d like to do to her, even though there?s a ring on his finger. I can't imagine being the target of such comments and have nothing but respect for the women that somehow manage to put up with it. The manager is there and she suggests that if I'm not coming back to work, I should probably clean out my locker. The lockers don't have names on them and someone has to show me which locker is mine. Luckily it's a key lock not a combination. The manager has an extra key and is able to open it for me. There are two complete barmaid outfits, several extra pairs of stockings still in the package, a very heavily padded push-up bra, two pairs of the special barmaid panties that are completely covered in overlapping layers of ruffles and lace, some makeup, and a few other personal items. Someone hands me a plastic Oktoberfest bag with handles and I dutifully start scooping up all of Amber's belongings and stuffing them into the bag. In the back of the locker I find a fancy little blue box. I open it up and discover an engagement ring! Josh had asked me what happened to my ring. I had told him that I couldn't remember, which seemed pretty funny to me at the time, what with the amnesia and all. I guess this is where that went. It looks pretty expensive. I'll have to make sure and get this back to him. Guess that means I'm going to have to see Josh again! I just know he's going to show up with flowers, a bottle of Champagne, and tickets to some get a way resort or some such bullshit. He's going to give me the full court press on why we should run away together and how I just have to give him a chance to "prove his love" to me! I absolutely do not want to have to see him again in person and I certainly don't want to have to go through the drama of trying to convince him that, yes in fact, it is over. The thought of having to sit through an hour of "Give me one more chance baby! We can work it out!!!" turns my stomach. I consider having the mom give it to him, but then I'll probably get the same thing from her about not being too hasty and giving him another chance. This sucks. Looks like I'm going to be dealing with Josh again, one way or another, in the not too distant future. My ring dilemma is set aside when one of the girls insists that I should stay for drinks. The manager throws in a free dinner and everyone is begging me to stay. Julia even offers to be my designated driver. Frankly this is an offer too good to pass up! I order the salmon fillet and a margarita and set up at a table by the bar. The manager gives Julia the rest of the night off and we spend the entire evening going on and on about every stupid thing we can think of. I'm three margaritas in and have a vivid opinion on almost every subject. All of the other girls and even the kitchen staff come out and sit with us in turn. It turns out that Amber really can't hold her booze the way I used to. I'm stuffed full of salmon and tipsy as hell. Julia has to help me wobble to the ladies room. I flash back to Emily helping me in a similar situation in the hospital. A tsunami of melancholy hits me as I suddenly realize everything that I've been through and everything that I've lost in recent weeks and the fact that Amber can't even be here to see her own welcome back party. Julia notices my mood change and suggests that it might be time to go soon. I say goodbye to everyone and thank them for everything. Julia helps me gather up my stuff and leads me out the door. She is holding me tight around the waist, hip to hip, as she helps me stagger out to her car. An endless stream of supportive dialog seems to be coming from her. "I know that tonight must have been pretty overwhelming, but you did great! Everyone was so happy to see you. I'm glad you were able to come out. Don't you worry one bit. I've got you. I'll make sure you get home okay." Her kind and emphatic support remind me of Samantha when I first got out of the hospital. So weird. Julia is twenty-six years old. I was fifteen years older than this girl. We were friends, but I was obviously her elder. Now she thinks that she's three years older than me. She is so worldly and thinks of me as some kid just out of school. She thinks that she's the one who got me the job at Oktoberfest in the first place. She sees herself as a mentor, looking out for me, caring for me, like a big sister would. I welcome her help and support. My brain awash in booze, in a state of near helplessness, I glance over to Julia. "Thank you," I whisper. Her only response is a heartfelt smile. We arrive home and she walks me up to my front door. She gives me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek and tells me that she is so glad to have me back in her life. This was one of the best nights out I've had since the hospital and I really am glad to have Julia as a friend, maybe even a best friend after Emily. She hands me my Oktoberfest bag of sexy clothes and says, "Don't forget this!" "Oh no, wouldn't want to forget that! You are such a good friend!!" I reply too loudly. "You're one of my best friends!!!" "That's great Sweetie. Watch your step," Julia says, concentrating on getting me up the steps onto the porch. "I feel like I can tell you anything! Maybe some day I'll tell you everything and it will blow your mind!" "Okay Honey you do that." "Oh here, let me help!" Emily appears in the doorway, looking a bit alarmed by my most recent comment. She takes the hand off from Julia. I smile stupidly at everyone. "Hey Emily! Brought your roommate back. She had a really good time!" "I can tell," Emily says with a bit of a frown. "Okay, you guys have a nice night, take care..." Julia trails off as she sheepishly retreats from the door, a bit embarrassed by the mess she has just dropped off, hoping that Emily won't blame her too much if Amber barfs salmon all over the house. Emily wraps my arm around her shoulder and helps me to the door. "Come on Honey, time for bed." I stare deeply into Emily's eyes. "I love you!" I say to her loudly with drunken sincerity. Julia is just getting to her car. It barely occurs to me that she probably heard that and that I probably shouldn't be shouting things like that in public. I half stumble through the door, my vision obscured by my disheveled hair hanging in my face. I vaguely wonder what Emily is going to think of my new outfits. God I hope she doesn't insist that I model them for her. I've always loved looking at the sexy girls wearing these outfits, but I don't want to be one of them. Oh well, that is something I can deal with later. Time for bed now. Sun streaming in the window forces me to wake up. Emily has opened the shades. It's eleven o'clock in the morning and she thinks it's about time that I get up. My consciousness is greeted by a grinding hangover. I definitely can not drink as much as I used to! "Go'way! Sleepy time!" I mumble. "Come on, time to get up," comes the cheerful reply. Emily has found the Oktoberfest bag and has spread the dresses and accessories out on the bed. She is holding up the very ruffled panties. "Is this what you're going to be wearing today? I'd love to see you in your uniform!" she states with a sadistic grin. I roll my eyes and bury my face in the pillow. "If you like it so much, why don't you put it on?" I grumble into my pillow. "You know you have two complete costumes here. Maybe I'll put one on if you'll agree to put on the other one!" Holy crap! I bet she really does want to try on the barmaid outfit. We had been going to that place for years and the dresses were so cute, maybe this had always been a secret fantasy of hers. I actually really would like to see her in that sexy getup. That has been a fantasy of mine for quite a while too. Out of the blue, Emily brings up the subject of her company's all out Halloween costume party. What? Where did that come from? I guess we're talking about costumes now? They have this party every year, but it's not for several months. It seems pretty random that she is bringing it up now? She mentions that she has some "ideas" for it. That sounds a bit ominous! This actually has me a little worried about what her "ideas" might be, but I guess that's a problem for later. I'm currently struggling just to sit upright. Her words are floating in one ear, then pummeling their way through my poor brain, before drifting out the other ear as sort of a monotonous buzz. Right now, finding some Tylenol is the sole focus of my existence. Without comment, I crawl out of bed and head to the bathroom. Just then the phone rings. Emily picks up. It's Julia calling to check on me. She and Emily review all the "fun" I had last night. They're still talking on the phone, laughing together, obviously about me, when I crawl back into bed. Emily realizes that I am way too much of a hurting unit to get involved in any cosplay fun time today. The next day however, her suggestion does end up leading to a very fun afternoon of playing "the two naughty bar wenches"! This is a scenario that we have a lot of fun with and ends up being repeated more than once. So Amber's career as a waitress is definitely done. I want to get back to my old business. I had taken a metal working class in college to fulfill an elective requirement. When I was serving overseas I started making jewelry on the side as a way to alleviate stress and boredom when I wasn't actually being shot at. You couldn't get a God damn shot of scotch over there to save your ass, but loose cut gem stones and precious metals were readily available and surprisingly cheap! Turns out I was pretty good at it. Anyone who saw my work would end up begging me to design their wedding rings or put together an anniversary gift for them or something. There was so much demand that when I got out of the service, I started making custom jewelry full time. Making and selling individual pieces was profitable, but selling my designs to the big franchise jewelers so they could mass produce and sell them world wide was downright lucrative! I even made a custom solid gold jewel encrusted "pimp cup" for this really famous rapper once. It had almost two pounds of pure gold plus the gem stones. He ended up paying me a hundred grand for it, which gave me a pretty decent profit. He couldn't have been happier about it and even featured it in a couple of his videos. I want to get back to this work, but I need to figure out some way to explain this to Amber's family. Eventually I go back over to her house to announce my plans. I explain that not remembering anything of my prior career goals or education, I've decided to begin training for a new career. I tell them that Emily was a silent partner in her husband's business for years and she knows the whole thing backwards and forwards and that she has offered to take me on as an apprentice. She wants to keep her dead husbands business alive, but doesn?t have time to do it on her own. I want to get back on my feet and start a new course of study, to keep me busy if nothing else, and maybe give me a potential career. The family thinks that this is a great idea which ultimately allows me to resume the home business I had been doing prior to being "killed" no questions asked. My new "dad" comes over and I show him all the stuff I'm doing from actual work to managing the website and accounting. I show him some of the stuff I've done and he is truly stunned by the intricate complexity of the work. I lie my ass off and explain to him that Emily had actually done a significant portion of the work for her husband and was teaching me all of his secrets. The dad instantly appreciates what a great opportunity this is for me to have a real long term career! I explain this is one of the reasons I've been spending all my time at Emily's, because I'm essentially working on an apprenticeship for myself and trying to save her husband's business. I've had the impression that the relationship between Amber and her dad had always been a little prickly. She dressed way more sexy than any father could ever be comfortable with, although the mom seemed to encourage it. She completed a college degree, but never made use of it and just kept working as a sexy "barmaid" at Oktoberfest. He certainly wasn't happy when I gave Josh the boot and moved out. But after everything I showed him today, I think he's suitably impressed. He is happy for me, and gives me his blessing and encouragement. This might go a long way toward patching up the rocky relationship with what he may have seen as a somewhat disappointing daughter. Weeks go by and I have completely taken over my old business. I update the website to reflect the heretofore unknown young super sexy apprentice of Emily's late husband. I post some new work online and everyone is stunned by the comparable level of quality. It sets off something of a firestorm of buzz in the community. I prominently post a sexy picture of my new self on the website explaining how I am the top student and true sole apprentice and how I am working to continue the business and am taking new orders. The facebook page is on fire with every new post. I include pictures of myself in slightly sexy poses, or costumes, wearing the newest work samples. It's a bit embarrassing actually having to model a platinum necklace or a pearl tiara instead of just taking still photos of the individual pieces of jewelry, but the customers seem to love it! Every piece that I "model" with a sexy pose sells almost instantly. Even things that had been sitting around for months prior to the shooting sell as quickly as I can get them photographed and posted online. It is a very direct continuation of my career prior to my death and rebirth. There is more than enough work to keep me busy and life goes on. CHAPTER 11: THINGS GET PHYSICAL After a few more months go by, I come to a disturbing revelation. My bras are getting tighter. Holy shit! Are the huge boobs actually getting bigger!?! At exactly what age do these things stop growing? I thought things were feeling a little tight over the past few weeks, but had hoped it was just my imagination, or maybe things had shrunk in the washer. I mean, what the hell? I had been doing my best, but I don't really know how not to ruin girl clothes when I'm doing the wash? When it came to laundry, Emily seemed to have a bunch of complex rules for how her clothes had to be washed. As a result, I wouldn't touch her stuff, but I've always done the sheets, the towels, and most of my own laundry to ease the load. My old guy wardrobe was survival of the fittest. Washer, dryer, if something shrank or got ruined, into the rag bag or garbage, so I wouldn't be surprised if I had inadvertently shrunk some of Amber's clothes. A little more investigation shows that some pants and shorts that had fit me well at the beginning are now uncomfortably tight when I sit down. After frantically trying on numerous different items from my wardrobe, I determine that it's not the clothes! It's my ass! My ass had gotten bigger along with the boobs!!! Panic starts setting in, so I of course to the reasonable thing. I start jumping up and down. Ah yes, the old jiggle test! This should sort things out. I really didn't think there would be a noticeable difference, but there is!!! The enlarged breasts tug sharply on my chest muscles and skin, bouncing up and down more painfully than ever. It feels like gravity is trying to tear them right off my chest. Butt cheeks actually slapping together, rebounding and continuing to reverberate. I instantly realize that I've made a serious mistake. Kind of wish I hadn't tried jumping after all. I dig out the old bathroom scale and yup, there it is. I've put on weight, almost fourteen pounds from what they said I weighed at the hospital. Shit! I thought I was doing okay. At only five foot six, the extra fourteen pounds really makes a difference. Why didn't Emily say something? I had certainly been eating a lot less than when I was a guy. Seriously, bigger boobs, a bigger ass, and even tighter clothes! Kill me now! This is the last thing I needed!!! Guess I'm going to have to watch it even more closely and get back to doing some regular exercise. Really not looking forward to resuming my old jogging routine. The sway of these hips and the bounce of this new top heavy chassis promise a whole new world of difficulty and embarrassment. We have a pretty quiet neighborhood, so the first time I go out I am hoping that it will be uneventful. I could just run my regular five mile circuit and be home for breakfast. I put on my two sturdiest looking sports bras, one on top of the other. Each bra has a thin layer of padding, just enough for modesty and protection. When you double them up, it ends up looking like A LOT of padding! The resulting visual is almost enough to make me give up on my dream of getting back to running. Almost, but not quite. It's not comfortable at all. I feel like my chest is in a clamp and it makes breathing more difficult, but I am sure it will be necessary. Respiration shouldn't be a problem. After all, I had run the circuit almost every morning at forty-one years old! Being an athletic twenty-three year old should more than make up for the restriction. I slip on the most full coverage athletic shorts I can find. They aren't skin tight and almost cover my ass! They have a built in liner or panty thingy or whatever you call it, so I guess that should be good. Better than a thong or lacy VS special. I add some socks and a pair of trainers labeled Skechers D'Lites and head out the door! I had hoped that running in just a sports bra and shorts was okay. It was all ready over eighty degrees out and I sure didn't want to have to add another layer on top. Used to run the course shirtless when I was a guy, grrrr. I had certainly seen a lot of girls down on campus running in just a bra top and shorts, but this was the suburbs. Were the rules the same? No matter. Within thirty seconds I would be onto the next block and away from my home. A few more blocks and nobody would have any idea who the hell I was. Then I wouldn't have to care one bit what I looked like. Sweet anonymity! As soon as I hit the sidewalk, I spot my next door neighbor Dan working on his truck out in his driveway. His eyes lock onto me and his head slowly pivots as I jog by. I decide to mess with him and shoot him a smile and a little wave. His jaw drops slightly as he hesitantly waves back. Ha! That's priceless! He drops his wrench as I pass. It hits the pavement with an alarming clank and clatter! Hilarious! I wonder if his wife Cynthia saw that, and what she's going to say to him when he goes back inside? Proceeding down the block, the first thing I notice is actually the shoes. I thought they were regular running shoes other than some pastel girly details, but after just a few steps, I register something odd. They don't feel quite normal. I figure out it's the heel! The heel on these shoes is about an inch thicker than a normal running shoe. Shit. I managed to sneak out of the house without Emily noticing. I certainly don't want to go back now. I decide to continue hoping that the weird "high heel" girly running shoes don't give me broken arches or something. Houston we have a problem! By the end of the first block I can tell things are not going well. Even strapped down as tight as bearable, the boobs have a mind of their own. With every step, they are pounding up and down within the confines of the doubled sports bra cups. They are all ready starting to ache a little. I have no idea how much worse this will get? I have horror visions of being two miles out and having to walk back holding the sore breasts in my hands all the way. I knew that Amber had been very athletic. She even ran a half marathon once. That was way back in sophomore year of high school and she was much less top heavy then, but I remember seeing her post about it on facebook, so it must be possible to run with this body. I had done as much as I could as far as wrangling in the rambunctious breasts. I decide that I will just have to soldier on and hope things get better. I've marched twenty miles and more in stiff army boots, carrying a seventy pound pack. This can't possibly be worse than that! The next very noticeable problem is the hips. Not to get too anatomical, but the wide set pelvis means I have to cross my feet over further with each step to get a proper inline stride for running. This is really throwing me off badly. I go from almost tripping over my own feet to "running like a girl" back to stumbling. It takes several minutes to work out a comfortable pace that I can maintain. The optimal form ends up putting a serious swivel and bounce in my backside. I'm sure that I am putting on a real show for anyone that watches me go by. This combined with the unfamiliar jump and shake I feel in my butt cheeks and thighs with each foot fall makes the entire run a very peculiar and difficult ordeal. I don't mean to brag, but my old male body had pretty much buns of steel. Low body fat and years of regular strength training meant pretty much nothing jiggled, ever! This new body, though still pretty taught and fit and athletic, is in constant motion. Boobs going up and down as much as the tight double sports bras will allow. Trying to sway from side to side in direct opposition to my stride. The backfield continuously moving, shaking, jiggling, and rolling as though my powerful strides were creating a continuous earthquake throughout the land of my softer feminine form. I'm sure that the extra weight I've put on is contributing significantly to the effect. It makes me want to run even faster. So unbelievably strange having significant portions of my anatomy pretty much doing their own thing throughout the whole ordeal while my mind and muscles continue to drive this body onward. As new beads of sweat form on my chest, they collect and trickle down the valley between the breasts. Well, that's unexpected! The weird and unprecedented sensation is impossible to ignore. Like some kind of Chinese water torture, drop after drop slowly rolls down my sternum like clock work. Each drip eventually encountering the elastic bands encircling my rib cage, adding to the pool of perspiration that is slowly soaking through the exposed bra tops. The compression on my chest is really getting to be an issue. When I first put on the doubled up sports bras, it was like yeah, I can feel that, but it's no big deal. Now that I'm getting tired and my breathing is labored I can feel the elastic compression fighting to keep my ribs from expanding with every breath. I go to inhale and for the first time in my life feel something fighting to stop me from taking in the oxygen I so desperately crave. I'm getting more and more tired, but the elastic compression around my chest is exactly as strong as when I first put these bras on. It feels like each breath is getting just a little bit harder to draw. Feeling a little light headed as the soggy straps and bands dig deeper into my soft skin with each swing of my supple arms. Wish I could just take these damn things off, but then I would probably end up riding home the rest of the way in the back of a squad car. I eventually complete the whole five miles and make it home not too much worse for wear. Emily's jaw drops when she sees me walk through the door in just a bra and shorts, drenched in sweat. She didn't even know I'd gone out. She just stares at me and smiles as I walk by. I'm like, "What? You've never seen a guy jog before?" I am a little sore in certain places, but the aches dissipate by mid-morning. So once again, running becomes part of my daily routine. This is a good start, but I want more. Surprisingly, I find out I have an active membership at a local gym! They have an Olympic sized pool! Normally I loved swimming as a great overall workout, but there was no way I was going to wear a girl's swimsuit. I couldn't even imagine showing that much crotch in mixed company. As a guy, wearing something that showed so much leg that you had to trim your pubes was incomprehensible. I rack my brains trying to come up with a solution that will let me use this amazing pool. Maybe I could wear some men's swim trunks to cover my bottom half? I would certainly feel more comfortable with that. Hell, it might even look cute? But then what, a bikini top to go with that? Not too thrilled with that option. Maybe I could wear one of the more conservative one piece swimsuits and then the men's trunks over that. That would certainly cover everything up nicely, but I'm pretty sure that would draw a lot of attention and not the good kind. Everyone at the gym would probably assume I was a total weirdo or trying to cover up some skin disease or something. I give up on the pool and end up just sticking to the weight room to start with. This is not the kind of gym where old gray haired guys and fat house fraus go to try to get up off the couch. This place is more expensive, much more upscale. The kind of place where you had to be in pretty good shape just to walk in the door if you didn't want to be the object of scorn and ridicule from the other worshipers of workout. The kind of place where fit young hotties and studs go to show off and hook up. Of course a young beautiful woman like Amber would seek out a place like this, even if it was more expensive. She wouldn't want middle aged creepers staring at her the whole time she was working out. This whole gym was like a hot yoga class, specifically designed to drive off oldies and fatties, so the young gods and goddesses could have their space to bathe in their own radiance without the intrusion of the crude wallowing masses. Here I am just one beautiful young woman among dozens. Here most of the narcissistic shaved body guys are more interested in looking at themselves in the wall to wall mirrors than scoping out the female talent. And oh my God, the perks! Both men's and women's only sauna and hot tubs! There is no way to avoid seeing what you're going to see in a steam room, or locker room, or shower. Hanging out, literally, becomes my favorite part of working out. Walking around half naked just casually checking out all of the other ladies in various degrees of undress. Just because I'm married doesn't mean I can't look! I'm sure there are at least a few other girls who are into girls present. They probably think I'm a lesbian, because despite my best efforts, I'm sure I've been caught staring much too long much too often, but nobody seems to care! I think they actually take my interest as a compliment. I guess both genders appreciate being admired by a stunningly beautiful woman. Almost everyone is a serious fitness fanatic, so if I get caught staring too long I just say something like, "You've got an amazing ass," or "I love your breasts," and their faces light up like they just won the lottery. They will actually thank me gleefully! If I had said or done anything like that at a gym as a man, I would have gotten slapped and probably thrown out! Now it was appreciated! So nice!!! I never invite Emily to come with me to the gym. I had mentioned to her that it's expensive, even for a day pass. I knew the cost would be off putting to her and besides she liked her jogging outside and doing some stuff with the equipment we have in the basement. With her daily commute and long work hours, having to make a separate trip to a private gym just to work out, really wasn't an interest for her. I'm certain that if she did come along, it would absolutely ruin my fun. As long as I look, but don't touch, I feel like I'm one hundred percent within my rights to take advantage of this situation. It is after all one of the only real perks that my new physical condition has to offer. From the first day that a young boy starts attending a school that actually has a girls locker room, it is the ultimate fantasy of every teen boy to be able to hang out/sneak around in that locker room undetected. And here I am, in the girls/sexy adult women's locker room, wearing the ultimate disguise. Up until now the unwanted change of gender has been almost all down side, but this, this is a definite major bonus! If I were a guy right now, I would have a terminal boner. Getting a boner in the locker room is one of the worst things that can happen to a guy, unless you want to be called homo for the next several years. That's crude and offensive, but also true to the way teen boys treat one another. In this situation, as perpetually aroused as a cat in heat, no one can see a thing other than a set of perkies. But hey, maybe it is just a little cold in here or I've just stepped out of the shower, so, no big deal there. It is all good, so good... I don't think my wife ever caught onto this. If she did she had certainly never let on. After the incredibly difficult circumstances I've been through, maybe she's just letting me have this one? She knew the terrible ordeal I'd been through and she had seen me practically catatonic when I first changed and then again more recently when I had figured out that I was outgrowing my bras and briefs. I think she is just happy that I have found something that is making me feel better both physically and mentally. Emily is the love of my life, my soul mate. We have been together since college, almost twenty years. She knows that I am absolutely devoted to her and will never stray, so she never really cared if I looked. Likewise, I know she is a woman with the natural needs and desires of any woman, so if she wants to stare at some naked actors butt in a movie or a cute guy at the beach, I've never had a problem with it. I know that I will always be the one taking her home, and if she is a little extra revved up, the more the better for me. So I guess our policy has always been look all you want as long as you don't touch or act on it. I'm taking this policy to extremes, but hey, who could blame me? So, making progress at the gym, I pass by one of the big mirrors. I think, "Wow! I'm looking pretty good!" This is an absolutely honest and spontaneous assessment of how I feel right now. At first consideration, this seems completely reasonable. Objectively, anyone would agree with that assessment. I've put in a lot of work, lost the extra weight, all my clothes are fitting. Why wouldn't I be proud? But then it hits me. I'm proud that I have regained my sexy hourglass figure! I'm proud of the contrast between my ample breasts, my ever shrinking waist, and my curvy hips! This is a pretty disturbing realization for a middle aged man. A bit of a mind blower really, but what am I supposed to feel? I've been working really hard. The improvement is obvious. Man or woman, who doesn't feel proud after working hard to achieve a difficult goal? I decide to just keep moving forward and to try not to think about it too much. Progress is progress and it surely beats just sitting at home, feeling depressed, and getting fat. I continue to make gains by altering my old work out routines to accommodate the changes to my body. For example, I no longer do jumping jacks as part of my regular warm up, for obvious reasons. No jump rope either. Push-ups and pull-ups are both much harder. I have way less overall strength, but it's not all downside. I have greater flexibility, endurance, and much faster recovery time. I can go hard all morning without getting tired or even being sore the next day. One of the things that I find really surprising is trying to do basic sit-ups! I have always had a lot of upper body muscle mass, so whenever I did sit-ups, I needed to have my feet securely held down or it just wouldn't be possible to get my back off the mat without my feet coming up. The hips and thighs of my new body are well enough endowed that they stay absolutely anchored. My slender feminine torso and arms have no hope of overcoming the dominance of my lower center of gravity. I can pound through sit-ups as vigorously as I want and my feet stay completely planted to the ground due to the now very different overall body proportions. Of course, when I tried doing sit-ups without a snug fitting bra, it was another revelation. Boobs hanging forward only to be mushed against my thighs and then flopping back towards my armpits on the way back. I found that I could of course hold them in place pretty well with my hands and my arms folded across my chest, but this created a bit of a spectacle at a public gym, so I decided that particular technique was best left at home. With the breasts properly controlled by a good sports bra, I could do the more classic form if I wanted to, with my fingers interlaced behind my head and my elbows flared out to the side, but I decided that this form was also best kept private due to the comically exaggerated display it ended up making of the overly generous feminine assets! In a matter of weeks, I have dropped all the excess pounds and pumped up my cardio. I can tell that I'm putting on some actual muscle. I put special effort into working to build up my arms and shoulders. It's nothing like what I used to have, but there is no way in hell I'm spending time in a gym without working the biceps, triceps, traps, and delts! I have a few buff guys awkwardly offering to "spot me" from time to time when I'm lifting weights, but over all things are great. With getting back to my regular workout routine and getting out of the house a little more, I'm starting to feel like my old self again. CHAPTER 12: FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS One very happy day, I actually run into our friend Julia in the locker room. I'm just leaving the showers and I turn the corner and bump right into her! I hadn't seen her since the restaurant, so unexpectedly stumbling upon her half naked and heading for the showers is definitely not the worst thing that has ever happened to me. She is overjoyed to see me and spontaneously clamps me in an enthusiastic bear hug! She catches me off guard and leaves me gasping for breath. Her soft cheek presses against mine and our breasts smoosh together as she hugs me for all she's worth! I can tell that she must really be into her workouts, because she is unexpectedly strong for her size! We're both so surprised and really happy to see each other. The prolonged and slightly awkward hug sends my blood pressure through the roof. I'm going to need another shower, this time a cold one. A bit shell shocked from the unexpectedly exuberant greeting, my towel manages to slip loose as we separate. I quickly fumble to grab it before it completely falls to the ground. Awkwardly clutching the run away towel to my chest, I agree to wait for her. She unwraps her towel and drapes it over a nearby hook. The view as she turns and proceeds into the shower is mesmerizing! I have to physically force myself to turn around and walk away before anyone notices that my eyes are about to pop out of my head. We catch up after she gets out. I'm half dressed by this point, trying to keep my cool. We make small talk as I casually watch her dry herself off. Julia is stunningly beautiful. In her late teens she had actually been a professional model! She had traveled the world extensively and was featured in titles such as Glamour, Vogue, and even Playboy! I absolutely could not believe it, when I found one of her Playboy pictures online and realized that the girl I had known for four or five years, saw on a weekly basis, and was even facebook friends with was an actual published Playboy model!!! She is now in her mid-twenties with two kids, but is still crazy gorgeous. I'm pretty sure the local Oktoberfest owes at least half their business to people coming in just to see Julia in her super sexy barmaid costume! "I had no idea you had a membership here!" I offer. "We used to come here together sometimes," she replies with a suddenly sad look crossing her face. "I'm so sorry. I don't remember that at all." Now we both feel awful. The conversation comes to an awkward and terrible pause. "We'll just have to start again!" I suggest optimistically. Julia's face is illuminated by her supernatural smile. "It's a date!" Now I can't stop smiling either! We laugh and start talking again like old friends. This is great because Emily and I had been friends with Julia for years before the shooting, so it's kind of like I actually have one of my own pre-shooting friends back. She asks me about my family and friends and about how Emily is doing. I give her a brief overview of the situation. She is pretty worldly and kind of gets what is going on. She is a very honest and open person at not judgmental at all. Here I have a confidant! Someone I can actually share my personal thoughts and feelings with. We go through our schedules to try and find a good time to work out together. It is harder than you would think. My schedule is very flexible, but Julia's is pretty hectic with her work schedule, her husband, and her kids. We agree to take a class together. She won't be able to make it every time, but if we're both in the same class we should run into each other pretty regularly. She insists on the "Hot Yoga" class, which is apparently her favorite and the one she is most likely to attend. Following through on our plans, we sign up for class. They have a women's only Hot Yoga class so that's obviously the one we go for. Julia actually misses the first few classes I attend and I find myself completely on my own in this strange environment. The temperature in the room is kept at ninety-five degrees, alleging some kind of health benefit, hence the term "hot" yoga! Only the youngest and fittest could survive this class. Sweaty skimpy spandex and lycra everywhere. Each lady trying to out shine every other woman in the room to assert their dominance and proclaim themselves the hottest in the land! I was just happy enjoying the show. So much stretching. Partner stretches and poses! It was all so easy. As a forty-one year old man I could barely touch my toes. Now as an athletic twenty-three year old woman, I can stand flat footed and effortlessly fold completely double with my face on my shins if I want to! Lithe, limber, and flexible as a cat, this stuff is definitely a lot more fun when it's easy and painless. It is seriously some of the most fun I've had in a long time! That may sound ridiculous from someone who was actually a middle aged guy. I had always been into cars, golf, hunting, fishing, etc., and never much into anything feminine. So what gives? I think about it. I'm in a room full of very sexy ladies dressed in some pretty skimpy and revealing yoga outfits. Every last one of them is putting on a show. It's a popular class, so the ladies are packed in pretty tight. The views in the room are stuff you could not show on network TV, maybe not even on cable. Nobody here knows me from before. I don't have to deal with the expectations of Amber's family or even my Emily. I can just completely relax and be myself! I'm getting a good workout and it's complex and difficult enough that it actually makes me forget about all of my horrendous recent problems for at least a little while. The sweet exhaustion at the end of the hour is pure bliss. In addition to Julia, I eventually make a few new friends! They would always ultimately get around to asking if I was seeing someone. I would honestly say I was living with a girl, which was true. If they wanted me to go out with them to chase guys, this would shut them down and if they were gay and trying to date me same thing. It was perfect. This gives me the benefit of just being friends with the girls that I meet with no other complications. Meeting these new friends turns out to be a much bigger deal than I had expected. I really appreciate the new relationships, even if they are shallow and stupid. "How's it going? What are your plans for this weekend? What do you think of this new top?" Even this basic level of interaction with another human being, who is pleased to see you when you walk in the door, and actually cares about what you are saying, is a life saver! It fulfills a tremendous yearning for friendship and camaraderie, that I didn't even know I had. Dressed in pastel spandex, in a mirrored room full of hot sweaty young women, the context is so weird and different from what I have known as a guy, but this social interaction does manage to fill the gaping void that had been left in my life when I lost all of my old guy friends. I have always had a lot of friends, through high school and college and after, from work and sports and hobbies. I guess I had never noticed what a really social person I was until I lost it all. Now I can't even begin to imagine a pretense under which I could get back together with my old golf buddies. There is just no way to do it without my old guy friends looking like a bunch of creeps and pervs, not to mention what their wives would say. I had recently tried taking a few practice swings at a local park to see if there was any way I could get back out on the greens. Nope, not at all. My swing was a mess. The mechanics of a proper golf swing require the upper arms to sweep right across the front of the chest. This seemed really unlikely to work, so first I tried putting the arms to the outsides of the breasts. This was fine for putting, but my first attempt at a long drive was catastrophic! I then tried laying the upper arms over the tops of the breasts and leaning forward more to accommodate my swing. I missed the tee completely. After hacking a couple of nice deep divots out of the dirt, I packed up my clubs for good and went home. It turns out that my favorite pass time has become an unpleasant combination of awkward and painful! I sadly, can't imagine ever trying to play through eighteen holes with my current encumbrances. I guess that's why I'm doing yoga now instead of golf. After the shooting, I also had to lose contact with all of my old service buddies, my brothers in arms! We had been through hell together, trusted each other with our lives. Now I can't even talk to them. I can't even acknowledge their existence! I can't just reach out to these guys, who are some of my dearest friends, and say, "Hi, I'm Amber. Want to get to know me?" I can just imagine how some of the younger guys from my unit would respond to meeting Amber! I remember all of the long heartfelt embraces at our last reunion, celebrating those who had survived and remembering those who didn't. I imagine what experiencing all of those brotherly embraces would be like now, with those strong confident arms wrapping around Amber's soft slender body. My mind lingers unintentionally on the thought of what it would feel like to be Amber in a situation like that. Wow. That brings up some very disturbing feelings. Note to self, refrain from imagining embracing former comrades. Yup, reconnecting with the guys from my old unit is definitely going to be out of the question. Even my next door neighbor Dan, now walks on eggshells around me. We had been friends for years, fishing, Superbowl parties, the works. Now I can tell he tries not to look directly at me for too long whenever I see him. I can also tell that he puts great effort into not saying anything that might be deemed inappropriate. The fact that his wife is probably watching might have something to do with it. I really appreciate that he is such a good guy, but it makes it impossible to converse with him. Usually just a few sentences at most. Probably something about the weather. No basis for any real friendship. I, of course, have to pretend that I don't even know him. I wish we could just spend some time together talking the way we used to. Maybe I could even explain to him what's happened, but the way that he keeps inadvertently glancing at my chest while we're talking makes me feel like that's probably not a good idea. My wife is truly my best friend, and the only real friend I have left from before the shooting, but having only one person to confide in or talk to, especially when they are at work all day, just isn't enough. Bottom line, I can't make any new guy friends. One look at me and guys have only one thing on their minds and it isn't friendship. Other than Julia, I can't really open up to any of Amber's old friends or family members either. I am living a lie to all of them. I can't really relax and be myself around any of them for fear of the questions it might bring up. Of course Julia doesn't know that I'm really a guy. I don't think that she would ever believe that I am in fact Emily's dead husband, living in Amber's body. I believe she does have some clue that there's something going on with me and Emily and is cool with it. She knows that we have both been through a terrible ordeal and if we've found some "comfort" in each others company, that's great as far as she is concerned. Leaving the gym one day, I notice a new flier stuck to one of the front windows. It features a big colorful graphic of beautiful women in exotic middle eastern dance costumes, with long flowing silk scarves, bare midriffs, and something that basically looks like a highly decorated bra top with floral brocade and little gold bangles and bells, etc. It's a belly dance class. They had hired some new big shot instructor from Thailand. This immediately captures my imagination! I would absolutely love to watch the sexy women from my gym dance around in harem girl costumes for an hour! What guy wouldn't? I had so much fun in the other class I'd taken. The great new friendships, the endorphin rush from the work outs, it was one of the only times that I really felt "normal" and happy since the shooting. It looks like so much fun and definitely good exercise. I would REALLY like to take this class, but could I do it? What would Emily think if she found out? My body was certainly up to the task and would definitely look great in the outfit. Learning how to sway and shimmy and jiggle all of my respective parts in as sexy a manner as possible was certainly about the least manly thing imaginable, but should I forgo this opportunity just because I was afraid what Emily might think or should I accept that I was in fact stuck in a female body now and this was a perfectly reasonable thing for a female to do. I really didn't want Emily to think less of me, but what harm might it cause? Would she start drifting away from the person I have become? Was it possible that she might be into it? Maybe I could dance for her? I could also imagine Emily trying to hide an expression of disgust as I tried to explain to her why I wanted to dress up in a sexy revealing costume and wiggle around for an hour a week with a bunch of other girls. God! Just thinking it to myself sounds terrible! Was I even thinking straight anymore or had feminine physiology and hormones corrupted my thought processes? It really wasn't that different from the Yoga class was it? Anything that helps keep the weight off has to be good and this was one exercise where all of the very unwelcome shaking and wobbling from my running experience could actually be put to good use. The first class was only a few days off, so I guess I would have to make a decision soon. If I go for it, should I tell Emily or maybe keep it to myself? This was going to be a difficult decision with potentially serious ramifications. CHAPTER 13: MODERN FAMILY Things with my new family get much better. I think they realize that they are going to have to make some adjustments. They truly love Amber/me and are just happy to have her alive. I'm really unhappy that I can't tell them the truth. It feels extremely dishonest, but there is no way they would ever believe me! They would probably go right back to trying to have me declared mentally incompetent. I can't just cut this new family completely out of my life either. These people love "Amber" with all their hearts. It would be utterly cruel to just break off all contact and go about my business. So for better or worse, I have to try and fill the role they expect me to play as daughter and sister. Every time I'm around them I just feel so much love and compassion and concern coming from these people, I can't help but be moved. It's like I really have been adopted as a member of their family. It's impossible not to return the love and kindness they've shown me. They come to visit me. I go to visit them. I plan to go out to a girls lunch with Mom and Samantha. I know it's really important to Mom that I look good/put together/fashionable when we go out. I'm trying to convince her that I'm doing well and that there is no need for further concern as to my mental state. If I can get past that hurdle, then maybe I can start repairing the badly damaged relationship with Samantha. For better or worse, I decide to pick out my own outfit for this visit. Emily has been encouraging me to try not to rely on her so much in deciding what to wear, to make more of my own choices. I guess she's right. By this point, I should know as well as anyone what looks good on this body and what's appropriate to wear for most occasions and events. I should know, but I don't, not really. I'm still pretty much just winging it. I go ahead and try on a few different things in my attempt to put together a competent look. Ultimately, I go with something called a "romper". It's a one piece pink outfit with a zipper up the front, kind of a halter top with shorts built in. The material is shiny and fitted. If I lower the zipper, it shows off a dangerous amount of cleavage. Being a one piece, I figure the romper is something I couldn't screw up too much as far as matching and coordinating pieces, and it's pretty hot out, so whatever. It reminds me of something a female superhero might wear. So different than the clothes I've spent most of my life wearing, but it seems like a good choice. I could have gone with a dress of some kind. That would also be a "one piece" option, but that brings up the issue of what to wear underneath it. Would a dress require a thong to avoid panty lines or could you wear more "regular" undies with that? Would I need stockings or pantyhose, or would bare legs be okay, and how to know what shoes to choose? Screwing up on any of these small issues could tip off Mom that something was amiss! I was pretty sure that normal undies, bare legs, regular ankle socks, and athletic trainers were fine with the romper so that made the final decision pretty easy. Somehow the romper also felt a lot "less girly" than a dress which still made me feel a lot more comfortable out in public. Going out in public with your bare ass and undies just hanging out in the breeze, even if it was under a skirt or dress, was still a really hard idea for me to get used to. For make-up I go with some eye liner and basic light pink lipstick. Mom expects me to do my make-up if we're going out. When Samantha and Mom were forcing/helping with my make-up, it could take up to twenty minutes, with scrubs and moisturizers and foundation and blush and other stuff that I don't even know what it was. Using an eye pencil and lip stick only takes about a minute or two, but generally creates the impression of being "made up". I'm hoping this will do the trick. I want to put an end to any possible consideration that I'm not managing or that I'm still mentally ill or not competent to make my own decisions. I reach for a pair of sunglasses and notice the little blue box with Josh's ring in it still sitting there on the dresser. I wonder why I haven't gotten around to getting this back to him yet. Mailing it to him should be fine. I use Registered mail all the time to ship expensive custom jewelry out to my clients and they haven't lost a package yet. So why am I still holding onto this thing? I think about it for a few seconds and realize that I really have no good answer. Oh well, I'm sure I'll get around to it eventually. It's not like I'm holding onto this thing in hopes of seeing him again or something. Disregarding the ring for the moment, I put on the big pair of sunglasses. Holy shit! Catching my look in the mirror, I'm stunned by an overwhelming sense of deja vu! Extra large "Aviator" style with a silver frame and mirrored lenses. This is the exact same style I used to wear before the shooting! I've stood in front of this exact mirror and put on these exact shades a thousand times before. Time snaps and the last few months just disappear. I'm myself again, doing what I always do, like nothing's happened. My life flashes backwards and forwards and I feel like I'm going to pass out. The whole universe pivots on a knife edge with me at the center. For a moment, I'm not really sure who I am, where I am, or what I'm supposed to be doing. I grab the edge of the dresser to steady myself. I am pretty sure that I've stopped breathing. Did Emily forget to throw these out when she cleared out the rest of my personal effects? No, my old ones were prescription. This pair looks identical, but has non-prescription lenses! So where the hell did these come from? Is it just a coincidence? Must be. My world zooms back to normal to my great relief. What a weird feeling that was! I don't think I've ever felt anything like that before. I was confused for a minute, but now I distinctly remember bringing these over from Amber's house. I used to wear these, or glasses that looked just like these, because I thought the military style looked pretty cool on a big old burly dude, but they seem way too big and harsh for Amber's angelic face. Why would she choose to wear this style of frames? What are the odds that Amber and I, with our VERY different facial features would choose to wear the exact same sunglasses? Thinking about such an odd coincidence is pretty trippy, but I don't want to be late, so I don't waste any more time on it. I just head off to meet Mom and Sammie, hiding behind the strangely familiar oversized shades. I still can't believe I've gotten all dressed up like this to go out to the mall all by myself. It wasn't that long ago that I was afraid to leave the house at all. A short drive later and I'm looking for a parking spot at our local shopping center. It's a sprawling complex with most of the big name franchises well represented. It was the absolute center of social life when it was first built. Decades later, it's still holding it's own, even against the endless waves of online shopping options offered by the internet age. I make my way to the food court. Mom and Sammie are no where to be found. This is where we had agreed to meet, but I guess I'm early, so I end up sitting and waiting. No food, just sitting there like a bump on a log feeling very nervous and uncomfortable. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea. Every heterosexual man that walks by is staring at me. I can tell some are obviously commenting to their friends. I can only imagine what they're saying. Right now I feel exactly like a man with big boobs, wearing girls clothes, sitting alone in a crowded mall. I'm surprised to see a woman punch her husband in the shoulder as they pass by! She then turns and gives me a dirty look as they continue to swiftly walk away. Oh my God! She must have caught him staring at me! That's not fair! I didn't do anything! I'm just sitting here minding my own business. I know that logically there is nothing wrong with a young woman sitting alone at a table in a food court at a mall, but the wait seems interminable and I don't think I've ever felt more out of place. A few more minutes pass by. I'm alarmed by a man who suddenly sits himself down at my table uninvited. "Hi there. I'm Derek. Are you here by yourself?" "I'm waiting for someone," I say flustered by the abrupt intrusion. "Perhaps I could wait with you?" he suggests. "No thank you," I reply, trying not to engage. "I've got a place nearby we could go if your friend doesn't show up," he presses further. Ugh, what a creep! He looks much older than Amber. I've never been in a situation like this before. I'm stunned into inaction. What am I supposed to do, throw a drink in his face? I don't even have a drink. I can't get him to leave and if I leave the area Mom and Samantha won't be able to find me! "No thank you. Please leave me alone." "I guarantee you won't regret it," his cringe inducing attempt at a pick up persists. A sliver of panic starts to set in. I'm all alone. I don't want to make a big scene, but this guy won't quit. If I walk away is he going to follow me? Would he follow me out to my car? Should I try to find mall security? "Take a walk SKEEZER! NO MEANS NO!" a young female voice growls from behind me. It's Samantha! Her glare could peal the paint off a battleship and there is no doubt from anyone present that she is prepared to escalate the situation to an infinite level if creepy Derek doesn't depart immediately. Mom raises an eyebrow at the hundred and five pound lioness roaring at her side, but doesn't say anything. "My mistake," creepy Derek mumbles as he beats a hasty retreat. I've gone from alone and persecuted to supported and saved in the span of a single heartbeat. I think this must be what salvation feels like. I pop up and hug Mom and Sam with both arms. They hug me back. They understand the unpleasant situation I was caught up in and what they just saved me from. "SKEEZER?" I question Sam. "Skeezy geezer," she explains matter of fact. "Ah, I see. Yes, that sounds about right." Mom tries to change the subject. "Oh honey, you look amazing!" Sam enthusiastically agrees! I had completely forgotten about the morning's dilemma of choosing an outfit. I'm relieved that I managed to get this right. Their comments make my spirits soar and I think I might be blushing. Doing my own make-up felt really weird and I really wasn't sure if this outfit was a good idea or not, but now I can't stop smiling. We proceed with what turns out to be a pleasant and uneventful lunch. Mom and Sam insist on doing some shopping afterward. SO boring, but I have to participate. Ooooh! Big sales at Nordstrom, H&M, Macy's! Check out the jewelry! Free samples at the make-up counter! Oooh, look! Victoria's Secret!!! I have to play along. And good Lord the shoes! Why does every store we go into have to have a shoe department? What is it with women and shoes? Normally I'm all for getting a new pair of Reeboks or Nikes or something, because I'm always wearing my shoes out, so when Mom suggested looking at shoes, I'm thinking, "Great! That's something sensible that I could actually use!" When we get to the women's shoes, there is nothing sensible about them. No athletic or normal walking shoes at all in the somewhat upscale boutique we're in. All of the shoes look so thin and delicately made, I wonder if any of them will even last long enough to give me blisters or make my feet bleed before they split a seam or otherwise fall apart. Of course the prices are ridiculously high. Every single pair looks like it was intentionally designed to be painful to wear or difficult to walk in. Why do women want to wear these? I just can't get my head around why any sane person would ever want to do this to their feet. "Look at these peep-toe kitten heels! They come in periwinkle!" my sister exclaims! She really is overjoyed to be spending time with me again. As a sixteen year old girl, I think she really looked up to her exceptionally beautiful, twenty-three year old, adult, college graduate, sister. It must have broken her heart when I came home from the hospital a mouth breathing halfwit. It is brutal to see your idols fall. I feel terrible that I added to her trauma when I had to move out of the house. I really am trying to spend more time with her and live up to the ideal paragon of perfect womanhood she believes me to be. I think the best I've been able to achieve so far is "not embarrassing", but it's a start. She pounces on my feet and starts pulling my shoes and socks off. Some little foot length stockings appear as if from no where. Apparently there is a box of these free stockings nearby for trying on shoes. Who knew? Somewhat to my surprise, Samantha gets the stiff narrow shoes to slide right onto my feet. They come to a point with a hole at the end showing off my badly neglected toe nails. They also have a super pointy little heel, about two inches high. These look dangerous to walk in, not just the risk of rolling an ankle, but if you step on someone else's foot with the pencil thin heel, you're probably going to go right through to the floor. My eyes go wide and my mind boggles trying to understand how this could possibly be so exciting to anyone. "What's the matter? You seem kind of distracted?" mom asks. Damn. I thought I'd been doing a pretty good job faking it. I could not be less interested in shopping for clothes and make-up and shoes. "I guess it's just that I'm a little short on money. I found out that I have some significant credit card debt for stuff I don't even remember buying!" Brilliant! That should solve everything! I felt a little bad, because it wasn't entirely true. It was true that Amber did have a few thousand dollars in credit card debt, but I was actually not short of money. I was making serious cash working my old job designing custom jewelry, but Mom didn't necessarily know that. I hadn't been back to the restaurant since the night of too many margaritas, so as far as she knew money may well be a little tight for a shopping spree. She had been so nice all day, but I just had to find a way to end the interminable expedition. "Don't you worry about a thing. Everything is on me today, my treat!" Mom replies with a big smile and a sparkle in her eye, obviously overjoyed with this wonderful new bonding opportunity and a chance to spend even more time together. Not so brilliant. Now I'm trapped AND I feel guilty about lying! We spend the rest of the afternoon shopping. It actually proves to be a pretty frustrating experience. Mom and Samantha have me try on all sorts of stuff, but most of the off the rack clothes don't fit at all. Things that fit in the bust hang droopy and baggy everywhere else and just make me look fat. When I had first changed, wearing big baggy clothes had been the dream, but now it feels completely unacceptable. With all the recent work I've put in at the gym, there is no way I want to walk around looking like a big fat mess! The sudden revelation that I now prefer looking curvy to looking blobby in public is a bit of a mind blower! Of course the dresses and shirts that fit in the waist are too tight on top. This might explain why so much of Amber's wardrobe is so fitted or made up of really stretchy materials. I guess I had never really thought about it, but just finding clothes that fit seems to be a real problem when you're very thin and slender in the middle, but well above average on top. I have to try on a LOT of clothes because Mom insists on finding something that fits me almost every place we go. Every undersized article of clothing that I can't get zipped or buttoned or hooked just makes me feel bad. Every oversize piece that hangs off my body like a disgusting mumu adds to my depression. Going through a dozen different items and not finding even one that fits or looks good is downright frustrating, but Mom and Sis are determined and encourage me to keep trying. The first thing I find that actually fits is a frilly white blouse. Yay. It incorporates some deep darts in the front that allow it to encompass the full dimensions of the bust without bagging out enormously at the waist. Mom points out that it's somewhat sheer, so I'll have to make sure and wear "the right bra" underneath! Inside I cringe trying to figure out exactly what that must mean? Next she finds something she calls a sundress. The bust is gathered with a lot of elastic, so it will stretch to accommodate almost anything. It's yellow with flowers and leaves my shoulders completely uncovered along with my legs from the mid-thigh down. We move on to make-up which they have to test to make sure the blush and lipstick will match my complexion. Next more earrings, just what I need! Then a very expensive lacy bra and panty set for $49.95. Seriously! $49.95!!! As a guy, I could probably buy forty-nine pairs of undies for $49.95. Of course anything more than a weeks worth, or enough to get from one laundry day to the next, would be ridiculous. Finally an expensive shiny blue bikini. Here I draw the line. "Come on Mom! I don't want to try on swimsuits." Another brilliant dodge to avoid having to do a bikini fashion montage in the changing room. "Don't worry, I know your size. This will fit you perfectly!" "Are you kidding?" "Of course I know what fits you, I'm your mother. I've been dressing you since you were born!" Samantha chimes in, "You just have to get it! You'll look amazing!" and the decision was made. It turns out that ultimately I didn't even have a say in the matter. Mom went up to the counter and purchased the suit. I would end up taking it home with the rest of her purchases. As we're walking out of the mall, Mom brings up the subject of Josh, the fiance. They've been in contact and he is still awaiting his opportunity to try and get back together. She asks if I've thought about getting back together with him or giving him another chance? I tell her that no I hadn't thought about it and did not want to see him again. I explain, "I'm really sorry, but from my point of view, he is a complete stranger. That combined with the horrible experience I had, having to live with this man for several weeks while he continuously propositioned and groped me. I can not even begin to explain what a nightmare it was going through such a difficult time and being force to live with someone I've basically come to see as a stalker or sexual predator! It took everything I had just to try and be polite. I really can't imagine ever feeling comfortable around him or ever wanting to see him again." Mom and Sam look appropriately shocked. Good. They had put me through hell and never even noticed. "I'm sure he's a nice guy and all, and I feel really bad for him, but from my perspective, I've never even been out on a date with a man! The only experience I have with a man that I can remember is being harassed and subjected to endless innuendo and pressure for intimacy and that all came from Josh! It's going to take me a while to get over that, and when I do, it will not be with him. I'm sorry, but that relationship died, literally, and it would be best for him if he just moved on." Mom and Samantha are wide eyed, jaws hanging open, as I spell all this out to them. I see the corner of Mom's eye starting to tear up. Yikes! Too far. Now I feel bad, but Josh needs to know. I have the worst feeling that Mom still wants me to get back together with this guy, but a clean break is better. They move in for a hug. I'm a bit stunned and just stand their like a dope. "Sorry to be so harsh, but I just want to be honest. Guess that was building for a while. Right now, I really don't even feel interested in boys or dating." There's some extreme honesty for you. I'm thinking this might even help lay the ground work for some future revelations regarding my actual gender preferences? Mom pulls back a little and smiles. "You don't need to apologize. We love you and whatever you decide, we support you." "So you'll talk to him, let him down easy? Oh! And could you get his ring back to him for me? I was going to mail it to him, but for some reason, haven't got around to it yet." I hadn't planned it this way, but I guess that will take care of the ring. Poor Josh. I bet he's going to try and contact me again after getting his ring back. I hope he doesn't show up over at the house! If he comes by during the day when Emily's at work, it might be pretty hard to get rid of him. Mom nods. We hug again. "Thanks Mom." Wow! This really does feel nice. It's like I can feel the love just radiating through my entire being. Kind of feeling like I do love this mom, and Sammie too! After walking out to the car in an awkward silence, Mom brings up the subject of some looming family event. I end up getting roped into attending a big family reunion the following weekend. Emily is invited too, so that helps. There isn't any more animosity. I think the new family appreciates that Emily has been trying to help me all along. They recognize that I am basically a new person starting over from scratch and that they're just going to have to get to know me all over again. I am building a new relationship with all of them and it's actually kind of wonderful. I come from a very small family. All my relatives live back east. Emily is the only family I have in state. I have to say I find being part of this big loving extended family kind of amazing. Getting ready for the big family get together, I resolve to try and do a better job with my hair. I've been wearing it mostly tied back, but it seems to be important to Mom and Sam, so I put in a little extra effort. I brush out the snarls and part it to one side. Luckily, I seem to have some kind of magic hair with just the right amount of waves and curls without having to do much extra to it. So we are on our way over to Amber's parent's house. Emily is driving. I would like to drive my own car, that is the car that used to be mine, that I bought and paid for, but I'm afraid that it might seem peculiar to the family if I show up driving what they would see as Emily's car. So, here I sit as the reluctant passenger. The seat belt is uncomfortably mashed diagonally between the breasts. Every bump we hit makes my chest jump and jiggle increasing the irritation. Jeez, you'd think I would have gotten used to it by now, but nope. Still weird. Still annoying. On the way, I leave the window open as I've always done when the weather is nice. Once we get up to speed, I find out why my wife always hated this, as the wind does a number on my carefully untangled hair. This is not something I had ever really considered. I could certainly use my brush again, but it's sitting back home on the edge of the sink where I left it. It occurs to me that I really need a purse! I've been trying to avoid this by just sticking my driver's license and a credit card in a pocket or sneaking things I needed to carry into Emily's purse or just leaving bigger items in the car. Since getting stuck with this new wardrobe, I have no place to put my stuff! When wearing skin tight jeans, skirts, or dresses, there are generally no pockets available to carry larger items like a phone for example. Up until now, having to carry around a purse full of girly stuff just seemed like a step to far, but at this moment I do wish that I had that brush. I really hate to show up looking like a mess. Starting to look like my future may involve having to carry a purse everywhere I go. That is really depressing. Amber had a ton of purses that I could use, Emily too. Guess I'll have to pick one and fill it with what? Phone, keys, wallet, obviously, but then what? Brush, mirror, maybe some make-up for touch ups, some feminine products? Ugh. That is really adding insult to injury. My heart just sinks at the prospect of spending the rest of my life having to carry around a woman's purse. Then the thought occurs to me that I will probably need more than one to match different outfits and for different occasions! I feel a cold lump form in the pit of my stomach as I realize that this is just one more expectation that I will have to submit to if I'm going to fully comply with the requirements of my new role in society as a female. After we arrive, Emily graciously offers to help me fix my hair. She gets it sorted out in less than two minutes. It looks ten times better than what my best efforts of the morning had managed to accomplish! I guess I still have a lot to learn. We proceed to meet and greet. I'm trying hard to remember people's names and doing a rather bad job of it when I'm suddenly struck blind! Not really struck blind, but blinded by someone who has come up behind me holding their hands loosely over my eyes. I think I recognize the beautiful caramel colored skin of the petite hands that are obscuring my vision. "Guess who!" an excited voice melodically intones. I instantly recognize the voice that goes with the hands. It's Julia! I guess Mom must have invited her too. "Grandma?" I question loudly, knowing that implying that Julia has "Grandma hands" will infuriate her to no end. I pivot to face her and the look on her face is priceless! Mouth hanging open in stunned silence, eyes as wide as saucers, her comedic expression completely exceeds my expectations. "Who you callin' Grandma!?! I'm only three years older than you!" she retorts. I shrug, "Not my fault if you got Grandma hands." Julia looks like she wants to slap me, but flashes her dazzling smile, so I know it's okay. I'm smiling back at her in response so hard that my face hurts. A quick hug and kiss on the cheek and everything's good. Julia gives Emily a quick hug and greeting. We commence standing around making basic girly small talk. I feel like a complete fraud standing hear, with a stupid grin pasted to my face, talking to two beautiful women, gushing about how much I love their hair and makeup as they go on and on about how much they love my dress. I'm wearing the yellow flowered sundress that Mom had bought for me on our last shopping excursion. It leaves my arms and shoulders completely bare, necessitating that I wear a strapless bra underneath and exposing a lot more skin than I really feel comfortable with. I'm hoping that the gathered elastic band, that holds the upper most portion of the dress up, will continue to successfully do its job for the remainder of the afternoon. I still feel really guilty about Mom buying me all these clothes after I gave her the false impression that I was somehow destitute. I knew that it would make her happy to see me wearing the dress that she had picked out, so I felt obligated to put it on and wear it for this party. I guess it's working out okay so far as I'm getting lots of compliments, but I want to get indoors soon before I end up with sun burnt shoulders or something. Julia, Emily, and I continue to perform the feminine ritual where everyone agrees that everybody loves everything about everybody else. It seems like a completely bizarre farce to me, but I have observed that this is the traditional ceremony that female friends act out when they greet each other socially. Julia mentions how nice my hair looks. "Emily did the hair for me after I made a royal mess of it," I explain. "He left the window in the car open on the way over here. He's always doing stuff like that!" Emily adds casually. "He?" Julia questions. "Oh, I mean she! Of course he's a she, I mean she's a she. Obviously. I mean just look at her! Definitely a she." Emily stutters, flustered by her catastrophic gaff. "Well of course she's a she," Julia confirms sympathetically. "You might want to pace yourself there," I say with an exaggerated glance at Emily's wine glass. She's only had a few sips, but I'm trying to create a plausible excuse for why she might be confusing her pronouns. This earns me a rueful frown in response from Emily and a laugh from Julia. I carry on, going through the motions, doing my best to emulate what I think an effervescent vivacious young woman would sound like talking to her friends at a party. It feels really unnatural, but everybody seems to be buying it, so I just carry on smiling, giggling, gesticulating excessively, and laughing out loud at almost anything anybody says that is even slightly funny. Emily is familiar with the "Amber act" that I put on in front of Amber's family members and friends, so she lets my exaggerated effeminate behavior pass without commenting. When the conversation comes to a pause, Julia announces, "I'm really happy for you..." On the surface she is obviously stating how pleased she is with my recovery, but the look she gives Emily and me while she's speaking implies a knowing subtext. Emily's eyes go just a bit wider. She knows I've been working out with Julia on and off. I can tell she is wondering just how much I've told her! I interrupt, "Thank you so much, that's so sweet of you! It's really been quite a big adjustment and I can't tell you how much I appreciate your support. It's really nice to have people you can talk to and trust." Emily gets the hint that whatever Julia knows, she's being cool about it. Emily resumes her relaxed demeanor and polite conversation continues. Eventually almost everyone makes a point of coming up to Emily and introducing themselves. They thank her for her husband's sacrifice in helping to save Amber. They praise her for helping Amber get back on her feet. It had been a nice get together. I'm thinking that it's really great that everyone is getting along after the unpleasantness of the court hearing, but afterward I can tell that Emily is actually pretty upset. She is basically a very honest person and has felt really uneasy deceiving these people all afternoon. When we get home, she spills, "I'm really not comfortable with lying to all those people. Their daughter or relative or whatever is dead and you're just going around pretending to be her, doing your ridiculous 'Amber' impersonation. I mean it's kind of sick! How long do you plan on keeping up this charade?" "What the hell? What brought all this on? You've met Amber's family members before, several times, and never had a problem with it." After further questioning Emily admits, "Amber's mom pulled me aside at the party. She was asking me all kinds of questions about you. First it was just how you were doing, but then she was asking specifically about how long I had known Amber prior to the shooting and if I had noticed anything 'different' about you since you got out of the hospital. She's convinced that you're a totally different person!!! I had to make up all sorts of bullshit about how brain damage and amnesia could change a personality. I had to lie my ass off and tell her that you were really the same and you were getting better and that she just had to give it more time. I could tell she was just so terribly upset and concerned! It broke my heart to have to lie to her like that." I explain, "Look, they think Amber is still alive and for better or worse, they think I'm Amber. What am I supposed to do? Tell Amber's mom and dad and sister to just fuck off and never contact me again? That would be unbelievably cruel! Should I sit them down and say I'm really some middle aged dude possessing the reanimated corpse of your dead daughter? You know they would still be 100% certain that I was their Amber, just a very mentally ill Amber. They would try to regain custody or have me committed to a mental hospital." "Even if I could somehow convince them that I'm not really Amber, which I'm sure is impossible, they would probably see me as some sort of horrible ghoul or monster! They would hate my guts for sneaking into their family under false pretenses, playing on their sympathies, and lying to them. Never mind the fact that they forced me to live with them against my will and my only other option was being shipped off to the loony bin." "Look these are really nice people! I can't just rip their guts out, so for better or for worse, I have to be what they need me to be. Physically and legally, I am Amber! So that's just the role I'm going to have to play going forward. After all, we wouldn't have this second chance together if it wasn't for her and I guess I feel like I owe her or her family or something. For all I know maybe this was Amber's intention all along. She said that she had to go, but maybe she thought this was a way to spare her family some grief and give us some more time together too?" "What! When did you talk to Amber?!?" "At the hospital." "Amber died before she ever got to the hospital!" "I know, we were both dead. I was just standing there in the emergency room watching the doctors work. Then all of a sudden, Amber was standing next to me." "WHAT!!!" "She started talking. She said that she had to go and said that I should come with her. I told her that I couldn't, that I had to stay. She mentioned something about Samantha and then BAM! She disappeared! I woke up some time later, stuck like this!" I gesture with my hands indicating the feminine appearance of my current body. "Are you kidding?!? WHAT THE HELL!!! That's completely nuts! Why didn't you tell me any of this before?" "I was trying to get you to believe me without sounding completely insane. I didn't think describing the whole out of body teleconference would be particularly helpful as an opener." "Yeah, that was probably a good call." Emily just smiles and shakes her head and gives me a big hug. The embrace is long and loving. With all that being said, I think Emily feels a lot more comfortable. She can see that what I'm doing is right given the absurd hand I've been dealt. She can see the family's point of view. There are no other options. There is no alternative. Amber's family members are basically Emily's new in-laws! They all care deeply for Emily knowing how much she's lost. They are additionally grateful for all of the help she's given "Amber". So there it is. It isn't an evil scheme. Her husband is acting out of kindness not malice, doing everything he can for these people. It is nothing but love, everybody trying to take care of everybody through a time of terrible loss for both families. CHAPTER 14: BACK IN THE SADDLE Life with Emily has resumed in a somewhat normal fashion. She was two years younger than her husband. Now she is sixteen years older than her live in girlfriend/wife/roommate/partner/reincarnated dead husband. It is a bit of a strange adjustment for her as she has to get used to physically being with a woman, and a much younger, much curvier, much blonder woman, with a much higher sex drive. I'm constantly approaching her with random hugs, caresses, invitations for more physical intimacy. She had been a bit withdrawn and hesitant at first, but eventually warmed up to my advances. We are now more regularly physical. We greet each other with casual hugs and kisses. Butt grabs and swats become common place and even the occasional playful boob grab or caress. Deep French kissing for the first time in years. As a man, I had for the most part stopped French kissing except during sexual encounters. In this female body, I just feel much more sensual. I love to kiss more deeply and passionately now than I ever did as a man. I even interrupt her when she is busy working! This was a complete no go when I was a man. Now I walk up behind her and just start caressing the outer edges of her breasts. I playfully lick the side of her face. I know she hates that, but then I kiss her cheek on the same spot and she can't help but smile and squirm. I whisper, "Come on. I know you want to." And she can't deny it because we're so much closer now. We've shared our deepest secrets and intimate moments. Technically, we're both women now and I really do know how she feels and what she wants! "Come on. Help me. I'm horny!" I plead, kissing her cheek again as I reach around from behind massaging her breasts with both hands. "I can't stand it! I'm a horny old man trapped in the body of an even hornier young woman. You've got to help me please!" This type of plea would never have worked when I was a guy. I think she feels sorry for me now or maybe she is just intrigued by the exotic new turn her sex life has taken. I don't care. Either way, I'm taking advantage. She concedes and we head off to the bedroom again, me pulling her by the hand. Eventually our bedroom activity becomes a bit more adventurous. Neither one of us had ever been big fans of oral sex. Maybe we were old fashioned. Regular intercourse always just seemed so much better! At some point I intimate that I would like to try having sex "the way we used to". Emily is completely confused by this, not having the broad level of knowledge I've gained from watching years of lesbian porn as a man. I describe how a strap on generally works and assure her that it is an extremely common practice with lesbian couples. Her shock at the unexpected suggestion causes her response to be a bit more harsh and crude than normal. "You want me to fuck you with a fake strap on dick?" she responds with a hint of disgust in her voice. "No," I state. "I want to be able to make love to you the way I used to. It just feels very important to me to try and reclaim that portion of our relationship as husband and wife." "So you would just want to use it on me?" Emily asks, apparently not thrilled with the idea. Also appearing to cut off the possibility that her "husband" could possibly want to be "fucked like a woman". I really can't blame her at all. I know it has been a very hard adjustment for her and she's probably gone a lot further than I would have if I had found myself suddenly married to a man. She puts on a good front, but I know at some level, being abruptly forced into a lesbian relationship has been very difficult. Having her husband changed into a woman, and a younger more beautiful woman at that, and having to watch him swish around in lingerie and get more effeminate over time must have been brutal. This latest request might just be a bridge too far. I blush a bit and admit that I wouldn't be opposed to her trying it on me, at least once. Just to see what it's like? I am after all, in the body of a very healthy young woman with needs that just aren't quite getting fully satisfied by hand work alone. Even the basic dildos we had acquired in recent months seem like poor substitutes in comparison to a good old fashion fucking. Emily somewhat begrudgingly agrees and it is settled that we will acquire our first strap on. I guess it is completely up to me as Emily isn't even really comfortable talking about it. I think about mail order, but that could take a while and I really don't want charges like that showing up in my bank records. I am also somewhat embarrassed about the idea of buying a strap on dick for myself, but I work up my courage, bolstered by my epic levels of horniness and I decide to just go to the local smut shop and buy something for cash that very day. I select one with what seems to be comfortable adjustable straps and a very modest sized phallus, not much bigger than my original equipment. Frankly I would be hard pressed to find one of equal or smaller size as my original equipment was no more than average. My purchase does have one sneaky extra feature. A powerful hidden vibration function with a remote control. I am thinking that will definitely provide a surprising bonus. I can't wait to try this thing out. I used the vibrating dildo portion to diddle myself to a few explosive orgasms over the next few days while Emily is out. I am planning to do everything possible to get this thing into action this weekend. I think Emily suspects that the very next time we are intimate there will be a strap on involved, but she is some what dismissive and hesitant to discuss the subject any further. Saturday comes. We both have the lazy afternoon free and it is pretty obvious what direction things are going. I eventually lead her to the bedroom with the old "I've got a surprise for you", and my sexiest impish smile. I'm not sure how I think a sexy look is going to work on my wife who is after all not really sexually interested in women? It just feels very natural to bat my eyes, give the old come hither stare, and waggle my world class back end as I trot and bounce to the bedroom. It strikes me that I really have no idea where this behavior and these mannerisms are coming from? I am really not sure if she is going to follow? If she was a guy she would be utterly defenseless to this invitation and my allure, but for all I know she may be feeling repulsed? Thankfully she does follow me into the bedroom. I don't know if she is actually interested in the planned festivities or is just going along "to make me happy". If it's the latter I feel terrible! Hoping it's at least a little bit of the former. I start to undress and kiss her. She eventually gives in and starts to go along with the general action. Her tongue presses past my creamy lips to explore my eager mouth. We roll in the bed and fondle and make out with each other as usual. There is some significant hand play. Just when things are starting to get pretty serious. I say just a minute and excuse myself from the bed and the room. Emily is left a bit dumb founded as she sits alone, left hanging on the bed. I flee to the bathroom, whip out the strap on from it's secret hidey hole in the back of the closet, and put it on as fast as I possibly can. I pull all the straps tight, make sure the magic love wand is centered and looking okay, and head back to the bedroom. I swing open the door and burst into the bedroom with a "Ta-dah!" expression on my face. Emily is somewhat stunned. I think that things had proceeded so far that she is assuming that it is just going to be business as usual and not involve the item we had discussed earlier in the week. To the best of her knowledge I had not even yet acquired such an item. I flop it up and down a few times with a shit eating grin on my face. Emily's eyes go a bit wide and she gets a some what panicked look as I approach. I stand in front of her, proudly protruding. My perky full breasts with their large pink nipples standing out. My black rubber dick pointing straight at her face from about a foot away, framed by my ample hips. "What do you think?" I ask hoping not to get a look of disgust as my response. She smiles a somewhat wicked smile and my heart melts. I guess I'm not the only one who was growing some what desperate for a little proper intercourse. I climb into bed next to her and we resume our kissing and making out with new vigor. Eventually the time comes. She rolls onto her back and spreads her legs a bit. I get a handful of lube and lube up the strap on just to make sure and maneuver myself over her in classic missionary position. Without any sense of touch to go by on my part, we both have to help guide the intruder to the correct spot. It pops in easily, to both of our surprise, and we are off! I try to follow the rhythms and techniques I used when I had my own original equipment, but it is SO much harder, when you can't actually feel what's going on!?! Am I in the right spot? Is this working or jamming up? Is it going to fall out? I am receiving very little sexual pleasure at this point. Just the fun of our thighs slapping together. The feel of my full breasts flopping up and down with each stroke. Emily tweaking my engorged nipples and kissing my luscious red lips. She seems to be enjoying herself, but I can tell it's not quite happening. Time to pull out the secret weapon! I slide the little remote control that I had stashed earlier out from under a pillow. I click the button for the first level. Emily reacts like a jolt of lightening! Confusion and a little panic on her face. For a moment she doesn't know if she is having an orgasm or been injured or what exactly is going on. I smile a devilish grin at her and keep pumping away. She figures it out, her eyes as wide as saucers and clawing the bed with her hands as if to get away from the intrusion. I give a few long slow vibratey strokes. "Surprise!" I declare. She stares at me with a surprised look on her face and smiles a little. I click the remote again to increase the vibrations to level two. Her eyes roll back into her head and she's not trying to get away any more. I go from pumping to pounding and in short order she is coming hard. I, of course, am not. I am receiving very little stimulation from my end of the strap on, but that's okay. My main goal here was to introduce the strap on and get her off. After about half a minute of silent spasming, I can tell she's just about had it. I reduce my pace to a long slow stroke. Emily had a giant just been fucked grin on her face. She squirms with her hair a mess and the fake penis still buzzing away inside her. Her eyes pop open and lock onto mine. With a mischievous smile she demands, "Okay Sweetie, your turn! Come on hand it over!" A bit taken a back I sheepishly comply. I carefully dismount as the dildo pops out and springs free. I undo the buckles and harnesses and hand the whole messy rig over to her. She is not shy about grabbing the thing and enthusiastically strapping it on, even though she does not really know how all the straps and buckles work. I end up having to help her as she fumbles to get it right. "Okay, lie down," she proclaims. I'm like, "Wait a minute!" I've never done anything like this before! My body is not a virgin of course, but the idea of just lying there and taking it as someone pounds away at my empty groin is pretty damn new! I make a joke, "What, no foreplay?" She is not having it. Rambunctious and very aroused, Emily is excited to have her turn in the driver's seat and is not really concerned with my fears or hesitation. I guess I really do know what if feels like to be a woman now. She pushes me down onto the bed and awkwardly tries to climb on top of me. I scooch to the side a little to avoid a direct mounting and try to counter her aggressive advances. She is still more or less on top of me, but at a bit of an angle with our legs more entwined than cooperating. I wrangle her into some hugging and groping and kissing while skillfully keeping my box out of the line of fire of her recently acquired member. Emily is on top and really using her weight and strength to control me, so it's no easy task. I'm not particularly aroused by this aggressive approach. I'm thinking, "Oh my God. This is going to happen. Is this really what I wanted?" Again, I feel that now I know even MORE what it's like to be a real woman! Eventually I get into it a little more as she massages my chest while kissing me deeply and passionately, our tongues entangled. She switches her mouth to the breasts, forcefully suckling first one nipple than the other. I think she is looking for the subtle body language that indicates that it is okay to proceed. At some point I guess she feels that she's gotten the go sign because she assertively starts pressing my knees apart and maneuvers between my legs. I have never experienced anything like this before. I have no real idea what to expect. She is just fumbling and poking around "down there". First I feel her cock rub against my lips, then being pushed inside. All of a sudden, POP! It's in! I feel it spreading me wide and driving up deep into my pelvis! There is an odd sensation, the shock of knowing that there's a foreign object inside of you, but enjoying it at the same time. I am an absolute deer in the head lights at this point. I think the look on my face is about as surprised as if someone had suddenly started fucking me up the ass when I was a guy. All the alarm bells wringing in my mind! Not sure how it is I'm supposed to enjoy this. Having very definite second thoughts about instigating this entire situation. Then she finds her rhythm. Slow steady strokes. I can feel it getting smoother as she slides in and out more and more easily. I feel myself softening to her intrusion as I just lay there with a glazed far away look in my eyes. Suddenly sharp pain! Emily gives both my nipples a hard twist just to make sure I'm paying attention I guess. She then starts pumping more aggressively. Massaging the nipples. Squeezing the large breasts almost to the point of being painful. Ravishing me with kisses as she pushes past my painted glossy red lips and starts caressing my tongue with hers. My pelvis unconsciously bucking to meet her thrusts. My full round hips surging upwards as her crotch bangs into mine. I am almost completely out of it at this point, like an animal running on instinct. She starts really driving it home. Oh my God! This is crazy! It's her first time ever with a dick of her own and she's deep stroking it!!! To my embarrassment, low moans begin to slip from my lips. I'm just existing in the moment when I feel it start to subtly wash over me. It sneaks up on me, unnoticeable at first. Then suddenly, a throbbing crashing orgasm and my wet pussy clenches down hard on her stiff pumping cock. Ten seconds into it, I'm thinking, "Wow! That was it!" But then it keeps building! I thought it could not get any stronger or more overwhelming. Twenty seconds in and it's ten times more and still building! I hear uncontrollable squeals and cries escape my lips. Just holding there on the mind blowing edge of annihilation for the better part of a throbbing minute. Finally coming down. Shivering, spasming, lying there dead weight in the bed as Emily slowly finishes pumping out the last of my earth shaking, life changing climax. "How was that baby?" she asks, panting and grinning like the cat that just ate the canary. I look up at her, too tired to lift my head from the mattress. "What are you stupid?" I think. Seriously what kind of question is that? I'm starting to feel pretty embarrassed about the noises I was just making and the compromising position I'm now in. My legs are spread wide. My wife is still lying on top of me, her weight pinning me down, her dick wedged all the way up inside me. Still half dazed at this point when she says, "Ready for round two?" Before the meaning of her words even begin to penetrate my shell shocked brain, she taps the button on the remote cranking the vibes all the way up and starts pounding again. I let out a startled yelp! Somehow, all in one move, she grabs one of my legs swings it over and has me face down on all fours. The thundering robo-cock slips out during the move. Caught completely off guard, I instinctively try to crawl away, to gain a brief respite to come to terms with what's just happened, but without even giving me a chance to protest she sinks her finger nails deep into the soft flesh of my broad hips and pulls me back to her. With one crazed thrust, the latex monster is back in me up to the hilt. My face is mashed down into the pillow. Her fingers are clawing into my thighs as she bangs away like she's trying to win a prize or something! I had always been much bigger than Emily, but she is bigger and maybe even a little stronger than me now! This makes it possible for her to physically dominate me for the first time in our long history of love making. In my entire life, I've never experienced being manhandled, being thrown around like this in bed. Not at all sure how I feel about it. It brings back a part of me that absolutely hates feeling so small and weak. But it also brings up a part of me, that finds being tossed around a HUGE turn on! My eyes widen as an unexpected new surge of hormones rushes through me. The idea that I can't stop her from doing what she wants or even get away from her is both terrifying and exhilarating! This possibility had never even occurred to me before, but here I am being flipped over like a pancake and I am completely unable to resist or do anything about it. Round two is happening whether I like it or not! I'm being fucked doggy style! I never really liked doggy style that much even when I was a guy! I liked to be able to see a girl's face, kiss her lips, play with her boobs. With doggy style you just have a big old bunch of ass and nothing else, but here I am being drilled from behind. Listening to the FWAP, FWAP, FWAP, of her hips banging into my ass and feeling the ripples reverberate throughout my endlessly jiggling ass flab as the unrestrained tits flail wildly. The black rubber dildo buzzes away invincibly as she continues her assault. I am horrified to catch myself unintentionally arching my back and pushing back into her thrusts to facilitate the faux penis ramming into me as deeply as possible! I am literally out of my mind, having almost an out of body experience, thinking how the hell did I end up like this!?! I'm not even really feeling that particularly aroused at this point when suddenly it happens. Hot fire from my nether regions. Utterly intoxicating. It's like every muscle in my body is clamping down in rhythmic spasms trying to squeeze the life out of the unstoppable intruder, but my wife's pace only increases! Exploding throughout my body, from my groin to the tips of my toes to the top of my head and everywhere in between. Completely flooded by the white hot light of ecstasy, crashing over me in wave after wave. Leaving my mind flayed, my body spent, and my toes cramped. At some point she stops and withdraws. I'm left with my face mashed down in a puddle of my own drool on the pillow. My lady bits throbbing and burning like they had just run a marathon. Quivering, spent, mindless with ecstasy and fulfillment. Emily sees me in this compromising exhausted position and I think she might feel a little scared or bad or guilty or something. She probably guesses that she has gotten a bit carried away, especially considering that it is technically my first time. "Are you okay?" she asks slightly dreading the response. Still feeling the blissful ache from the pounding she had just given me, I pause for a moment and then slowly respond, gasping short labored breaths between sentences. "I'm good... That was pretty intense... You really seemed to get into it." An exhausted smile. "We might have to try that again sometime." She blushes, having found a whole new carnal side to her personality that she never before knew existed. "I guess we will," she agrees matter of fact. With a mischievous grin she asks, "How about tonight?!" After that somewhat startling request, signing up for the belly dance class is starting to seem a lot more reasonable. CHAPTER 15: THERE'S SOMETHING ABOUT KELLY Samantha really looked up to Amber. Her big sister, a twenty-three year old, an adult, a college graduate, a role model who looked like a super model and was everything the little sister dreamed of being. Having her hero and inspiration reduced to a mental midget who could barely dress herself had been quite a blow to the poor kid when I first came home from the hospital. I could tell that seeing her older sister unable to hook her own bra or mystified by an eyelash curler was literally breaking her heart. I think from day one it became her personal mission in life to try and get me back to the paragon of modern womanhood that she expected me to be. It had been really difficult at first because I couldn't have cared less about all the girly stuff she was trying to teach me. I was a terrible student. She would go on and on at every opportunity about make-up and fashion and popular music and social media and whatever and I would just roll my eyes and sit there feeling sorry for myself. The main problem was that I resented needing to know this stuff at all. I'm a middle aged man! Why the hell should I care about fashion trends or beauty secrets? Also, to my shame, I didn't really appreciate how much she had lost, how much she was suffering, how desperately important it was to her to get her big sister back. I've made great efforts since then to restore the relationship between Samantha and her sister, but that was the situation back then. It was sometime after I moved back in with Emily, when I wasn't being told how to dress anymore, when I had to start making my own choices, that I finally realized that it was at least somewhat important to know some of this stuff. Being back with Emily, getting to make my own decisions, I eventually realized that it was up to me. I could decide to be miserable or I could try and make the best of the cards I'd been dealt. That's when I decided to stop dressing like a slob or trying to be a man-woman. I decided to accept what couldn't be changed and to try and do an acceptable job managing the body I was now stuck with. At this point, I knew just who to go to. Sammie had been trying so hard since she gave me her very first "bra lesson" that I couldn't help but try to live up to her expectations. Her tireless efforts had worn me down. I ultimately accepted this sixteen year old girl as my Sherpa and guide to all things feminine and she couldn't have been happier. Since then we have had regular outings. We'll go to a movie together. She takes me shopping and tells me what to buy. She keeps me abreast of all of the latest trends. She's been through a lot in the past several months and been forced to grow up way to fast. She looks up to me so much, that I just really want to be the cool big sister that she wants me to be, that she deserves. She makes me not only accept my current self, but want to try to be the best version of myself I can be. We talk a lot. She tells me about what I used to be like. I try to glean what I can from her comments about how to fit in better or "be more normal". I try to give her what advice I can about growing up, school, boys, getting along with parents, etc. I do have over forty years of life experience so I can come of with a few convincing or reasonably intelligent things to say, even if I don't actually have any real experience being a teenaged girl. This week's outing is to Olive Garden. After perusing the menu, we somehow come to the decision that dreadful overpriced salads would be the best option for lunch for two girls who are watching their figures. Over the course of the last few months, I've found that this body absorbs every single calorie I eat and tries to turn it directly into fat. This is very unfortunate. My old body, with its heavy musculature and athletic build, always had a high metabolism, so I used to be able to eat more or less anything I wanted and weight was never an issue. I wish I could have a steak, but I'm pretty sure that having a giant steak for lunch wouldn't constitute proper care and feeding of this body, and I don't think Olive Garden even has steaks, so that's pretty much that. So we're sitting eating dreadful salads together. Talking over our lunch brings us around to a conversation about staying in shape, which eventually leads to a question of if she was dating anybody at the time. Up to this point, we have been intentionally avoiding the topic of boys and dating, ever since the Josh fiasco blew up. She had really liked Josh and expected him to eventually be her brother in law. She was looking forward to standing up at my wedding. I had blown that all to hell by flat out rejecting him. It turns out that there is a boy she likes at school, but apparently he doesn't know that she's alive. I assume the guy must be some kind of idiot. I give her some fatherly advice, telling her to take her time and not get too wrapped up in boys, to enjoy her school friends and being young while she can because it will all be changing in just a few years. She's not thrilled with my advice, but nods and accepts it. "So how about you? Are you dating anyone?" she asks. There is a pregnant pause that probably goes on for a little too long before I say, "Dating? No not dating anyone. Not even looking!" Technically this was completely true. Emily and I were not "dating", we were just living together and married. I also was definitely not looking for anybody else. I am feeling very proud and a little smug about how cleverly true my evasive answer is. "So there's nothing between you and Emily?" I choke on my bread stick which suddenly seems abnormally dry. Some of the crumbs spontaneously stray from my mouth before aggressively proceeding directly down the front of my exposed cleavage. Other rampaging crumbs decide to attack my lungs directly, causing me to cough and gag. "Me and Emily?!?" I struggle to reply, still battling the munched up bread stick and not being able to come up with something more intelligent to say. "So it's not like a Kelly thing?" Okay, now I'm confused. "What's a Kelly thing?" Is this some hip new slang term the kids are using? "You know, the girl you dated for a year and a half in college." My mind is turning to sludge. I try to think of any girl that I dated who was named Kelly. After several seconds of that the brain slips back into gear. Not someone "I" dated, someone "Amber" dated! "Oh my God! Are you serious? I was in a long term relationship with a girl?!? I don't remember that at all." "Oh my God! You don't remember her? Cute, blond, a kinesiology major. I think you guys met at the gym? You two were like totally serious. She was the last person you dated before you started dating Josh!" "Holy crap!!!" "I know!" "Wow. I mean like just, WOW!" I sit dazed, like someone just punched me in the face or something. A disturbing silence hangs over the table for what seems like an eternity. Mentally, I fall back and try to regroup. "So, what did Mom and Dad think of that?" "Mom was cool with it, but she said it was just a phase that you would grow out of. I guess she was right. Dad was polite about it, but was not nearly as accepting as Mom, especially that one year you brought her home for Christmas break." "Wait. I'm calling bullshit. If I dated this person seriously for over a year, why are there no pictures? In my room, on my phone, on social media, nothing!" HA! Stupid kid thought she could pull one over on the brain damaged big sister. "You erased them all. You guys had a bad breakup and you went through everything and deleted every trace of her." "Jeez, that sounds terrible! Is that true? You're serious?" A bomb goes off in my brain as I suddenly recall the diary that I had found in Amber's bedroom and the pages that had been mysteriously torn out of the back. "Come on. I wouldn't lie to you about something like that." "So what did you think of Kelly?" "She was all right. A little standoffish. Of course I was only twelve at the time so I pretty much got treated like the annoying little kid sister, which was fair. I was pretty annoying." "So what happened? Why did we break up?" "How the hell should I know? Nobody tells a twelve year old something like that, although I think the fact that you've only dated guys since Kelly might be a clue..." "Holy crap," I repeat. Brain is still stuck in slow gear. Still can't think of a more intelligent reply, but this might explain why Amber's personal porn collection, the one that I found on her laptop, seemed to have a 'no girls allowed' policy. Maybe she was trying to suppress her feelings of sexual attraction to other women once she broke up with Kelly and started dating guys again? Off the top of my head that thought sounds like some psycho babble bullshit, but I have a sneaking suspicion that it might also be correct. "Tell me about it," Sam adds sympathetically as she resumes munching her salad. "So, was I like gender confused or something?" Ugh, I don't even know what the proper terminology is for a situation like this. "I think you're 'generally' confused," she smiles. "Shut up!" I reply playfully. I feel like kicking her under the table, but that would probably be too much. It's actually really nice that she feels comfortable enough to joke around with me. "So what did you think about it? About me dating a girl I mean?" "It was all right I guess. I mean, what do I care? You can date whoever you want. It's not like I never kissed a girl," Samantha mentions casually. "WHAT? You've kissed another girl! Who did YOU kiss?" I stammer, stunned. "You know, just one of my friends back in middle school. I wanted to see what it was like before trying it with a boy. No big deal. I'm sure you must have tried the same thing at some point, or you wouldn't have ended up with Kelly," she explains matter-of-factly. "Oh! Yeah. I guess. If you say so. This is A LOT to take in." I guess it all makes sense, assuming that everything she has been telling me is true. I think it must be. She has really been trying to help and I know she only wants what's best for me. It's kind of weird to have such an intimate relationship with someone I've only known for a few months, but I feel like I really trust her, like I would trust her implicitly with anything. The conversation pauses as we both concentrate on finishing our terrible salads. The good news is that Emily is definitely not Amber's first girlfriend. That is quite a bombshell! Also, at least some members of Amber's family might be cool if they found out she was in a relationship with another woman. That is a very interesting bit of news. I wish I could tell someone about Emily, but I think it's too soon. I need to make sure we are completely past the "Amber might still need a straight jacket" phase of my recovery, before making any such big announcements. After lunch, it's onto the rest of the afternoon's festivities. We've been having these "girl's days" together on a regular basis, about once a week. I let Sammie plan everything because I really have no clue. I tried to get Emily to come along in the beginning, but she would have nothing to do with it. I think she likes having the house to herself for a few hours or maybe she still isn't that comfortable hanging around with members of Amber's family, having to hide what she knows about what really happened to Amber. Either way, it's just me and Sam out for the afternoon. It's funny, before the shooting, Emily would have blown a gasket if I told her I was going to be hanging out at the mall on a regular basis with a beautiful sixteen year old girl. Now it's just fine. I guess the social stigma has been removed since we're both physically female and closer in age. The fact that we are literally biological sisters is pretty definitive too! This relationship is put to the test when we pass by Victoria's Secret. I try to ignore it, increasing my pace as we walk past. Sammie grabs my hand, pulling me back and insists that we have to go in. Really dreading this, but what can I say. At only sixteen, Sammie doesn't really have a lot of sexy adult lingerie, so a stop at VS with big sis is practically mandatory. She drags me inside and starts buzzing from display to display, going on and on about the wonders and virtues of the various flimsy examples of female undergarments. A sales girl joins us and inquires as to what we are looking for. Sammie and the sales girl are instant best friends, conversing in an almost short hand about what would look good and what she should buy. The sales girl approaches me, but I insist that I'm good and won't be shopping for any underwear today. This doesn't solve my problem as Sammie all ready has a handful of hangers draped with various bits of lingerie that she intends to try on. I'm dragged into the back where the changing rooms are. There is no way I'm trying on any lingerie. I had to change clothes in front of Sammie frequently when I was living at her house. She's seen me naked several times and even ended up groping my chest/adjusting my bra more than once. That was quite enough thank you. Samantha is determined not just to try on every item she has brought back, but to get my appraisal on each item as well. This is not good! I wish to hell that there was some way I could get out of this. Ogling adult strangers in a public locker room like at the gym is one thing, but I've gone to great lengths to avoid seeing my underaged sister undressed. I think she must have noticed by now the bizarre efforts I've made over the past several months to abstain from being in the same room with her when she was getting dressed, regularly turning my back to her or making up odd excuses to leave the room. I have no idea what she thinks about this as she hasn't mentioned it so far. She probably just adds it to the laundry list of peculiar things she's noticed about me since the shooting. So once again, I make a point of not being in the changing room with her and not looking at her unless I am reasonably sure that she is covered up. This is not an easy task as she has no modesty around me whatsoever. I guess it's only natural that she would be completely comfortable being naked in front of her own sister. After trying everything on and getting opinions from me and the overly helpful store clerk, she zeros in on a half dozen items that she just can't live without. There are some bras and panties, including one ridiculous push-up bra that makes her look way too big for her age as far as I'm concerned. There is also some kind of sleep set and a bikini. I guess Victoria's Secret sells bikinis now. Who knew? Anyway we head to the checkout and I offer to pay for everything. Of course I'm going to pay for everything. Sammie doesn't even have a job and there is well over a hundred dollars worth of "secrets" here! We exit the store with Sammie practically glowing as she carries her large sized "Victoria's Secret" bag as a badge of honor and trophy for all to see. I try to take advantage of this happy bonding moment to bring up a subject that I've been wanting to discuss. "Could you do me a favor?" "What's that?" Sam replies with her perky smile, still basking in the afterglow of her successful Victoria's Secret shopping safari. "Could you tell Mom that I'm doing okay. That she doesn't have to worry about me so much. She really went off on Emily, telling her that I was acting weird, like I was a totally different person or something. Emily was freaked out, but I'm actually more worried about Mom." "Oh, that. I guess I know what she's talking about. The things you say and do, the way you've been acting since you got out of the hospital, it's kind of like you really are a different person, not bad or anything, just... different. Mom and I know you better than anyone. Even a slight change would be noticeable to either of us and you've been acting like you're totally from another planet or something." My blood runs cold as Samantha details just how completely I've failed in my attempts to fit in. "You caught me! I'm from Mars. Take me to your leader!" I reply, trying to make a joke. "It's not funny. Mom and you were always so close. You guys did everything together. I'm pretty sure that you were always her favorite, and now, all those experiences, all that history, the memories, they're just gone." Sammie states in an all too serious tone. "Shit. I'm so sorry! I've been trying so hard. I thought I was doing a pretty good job. I guess I don't even know enough to know what 'a good job' would actually look like. It's like my life began that day in the hospital. I've been just sort of faking it, trying to do what's expected of me and make everybody else happy, but I really have no idea what I'm doing or even what I'm supposed to be doing!" I say with a surprising amount of honesty. "I know how hard you've been trying, I really do. Sometimes it just breaks my heart to see you struggle. Other times I can barely keep from laughing at some of the completely goofy stuff you say, the way you act! Sometimes you're just so EXTRA! It's almost like you're actually trying to be funny, but I know that you're not, not really. Most of the time you're just kind of adorably clueless." We both smile at that. "What can I do to make this better?" I ask in all honesty. I really want to find a way to fix this. I've patched up the relationship with the Dad. I've restored the sisterly bonds. I guess the Mom is next on the list. "Spend more time with Mom. Find ways to reconnect with her the way we've reconnected." "Okay, I promise that I'll try to find more ways to reach out to her, but you've got to help too. You've got to be my P.R. Woman. Tell her how great I'm doing. That I'm getting better every day, like totally back to normal!" "So you want me to lie to her?" "Exactly!" "Okay, for Mom's sake!" "For Mom's sake!" I concur and the pact is set. Sammie will be my inside man. We'll double team the Mom and work on finding some way to make her feel better. The next stop is the Cherry Bomb Salon. This is Sammie's favorite hair salon. She had been introduced to it by Amber several years earlier and now she is returning the favor. I could care less, but I've found that life gets a lot easier and a lot happier when you stop fighting against the current and just go with the flow. Everyone here is thrilled to see me. They all know Amber. I apologize for not remembering any of them and give a brief summary of my memory issues. They had all heard about the shooting. I guess that there is no place that gossip flows more freely than in a barber shop or hair salon as the case may be. I'm directed to one of the chairs by a hair sink and the girl asks me what I want to have done. I say, "the usual," thinking that's pretty clever. Sammie chimes in with all sorts of ideas about highlights and layers and bangs and God knows what else. "Pretty much like it is, but a bit shorter. I want something that is easy to take care of," I request. "Don't worry I got just the thing," the stylist replies. I have no idea what's going to happen. I just let her tip my hair back into the sink and go with it. There is washing and cutting and drying, then some goop and rollers and a plastic bag on my head. I pretend like I know what the heck is going on. There is endless conversation between all of the women in the salon, employees and customers alike. It is exhausting. I'm actually relieved when they turn on some of the big driers and give my ears a rest. It takes forever, but I eventually get the impression that they're almost done, once they've taken all the stuff out of my hair and start to comb and blow it out into what looks like the finished product. Sam gets done about the same time with something called "frosted highlights". It looks pretty good. Still basically blond, but more blond in places. I'm actually pretty happy with the way my hair turned out. It's very similar to what it was, but about six inches shorter and a little more wavy. I'm happy because I'm thinking that will be a lot easier to manage. When we're finished, I get to pay the bill and holy shit! It's a hundred and eighty dollars with tip! I used to cut my own hair and even if I splurged and went to an actual barber it usually was not more than fifteen bucks max. Whatever. I don't care. Whatever it costs to help rebuild the relationship with the hopelessly devoted kid sister is fine with me. Amber gave me a second chance at life. I owe her everything, and this is one of the ways I'm going to try and pay her back. I grew up an only child. Both of my parents worked. It was a pretty empty pretty lonely house most of the time. I always wished I had a brother or even a sister. Hell, I wished that I had a whole house full of siblings and a stay at home mom who spent her days baking cookies and taking care of the family. All I know is that suddenly having a kid sister is just about the coolest thing that has ever happened to me. I know that I'm not actually her sister, not really, but I also know how desperately she needs her big sister, so I'm going to keep trying to be the best big sister I can, for her. CHAPTER 16: NOBODY FUCKS WITH MY SISTER We exit the salon. I'm not sure exactly if Sam has anything else planned. "So, it's getting kind of late. Did you want to head home?" "Not really. Mom's pissed at me." "What! What happened?" Surprised. I'd never seen anything but perfect harmony between Mom and Sam, at least not while I was around. I think they've actually been doing it, maintaining perfect familial harmony, for my benefit, to create a safe and nurturing home front for the poor confused daughter/sister. I can't believe any normal sixteen year old girl could possibly get along that well with her mother! It must have been a tremendous effort! God, these really are such nice people. I suddenly feel like they deserve better than me. They deserve Amber, the perfect daughter and sister, not just some stupid guy trying to fit into their wonderful family. "Well, I had my regular check up yesterday and I ran into your creepy neurologist in the hallway..." "Oh no! You didn't..." "I told you I was going to kick that bastard square in the nuts! NOBODY FUCKS WITH MY SISTER!!!" I can't believe this! Sammie had just finished telling me how I was the one causing all of Mom's anxiety and then she drops this little bombshell! "Oh my God Sam! You didn't?!? What were you thinking!?! Did you hurt him?" "No. The son of a bitch managed to block most of it. Mom pulled me off of him and then he called security. They grabbed me and he started talking about filing assault charges. I started screaming about having him charged with insurance fraud and perving on my helpless sister. The waiting room was full. It was quite a scene! He shut the fuck up and told the security guy to let me go with a warning." A spark of malicious joy sneaks into my heart as I imagine the scene. I'm smiling at her account of the battle, but I have to bite my lip to keep it from quivering as my eyes start to tear up. "MY HERO!!!" I lunge at Sam and hug her with all my might. I'm almost shaking. Other than Emily, she is the ONLY one who has been on my side since the very beginning. I really do love this kid. Sam is a little shocked. "It's no big deal. I'm a minor. What's he going to do to me? I told you I was going to kick him." Sam hugs me back as hard as she can as months of compounded stress begin to drain from her body. "Nobody fucks with my sister...," she mumbles into my shoulder as her eyes mist over. I think it's the first time since the shooting that she really feels like she's gotten her sister back. I whisper it back to her like a sacred oath, "Nobody fucks with my sister." She hugs me even tighter. We continue to embrace like the world will end if we let go. I feel like there's nothing I wouldn't do for this kid. I'd bet my life that she feels the same. This kid, my sister. We wander aimlessly through the mall, holding hands, walking in silence. We come across a nail salon called Just Claws. I'm guessing a bad play on the slang term "just cuz". The unpleasant smell of the solvents being used is overwhelming, but Sammie suggests we go in. Her mood is instantly elevated as she is overjoyed with the infinite number of options and the prospect of another hour of girl talk and gossip. Anxious to cheer the poor kid up, I smile and say, "Whatever you want." I don't have the heart to tell her that I probably won't even be able to work with the big acrylic extensions she wants me to get. I do have to say the pedicure was nice. Very relaxing and it fixed up all of my sad neglected looking toe nails. I end up leaving the place with something called "French tips". They are not ridiculously long, but they are sticking out well beyond the end of my fingers. I have never in my life had anything other than very short cut finger nails. The extensions are really hard to get used to. They limit the way I can use my fingers. I'm also cautioned that I have to be very careful to avoid chipping or cracking them. They are attached with something similar to superglue so the only way I'm going to be able to get them off is to cut or grind them off. That will probably break Sammie's heart, but these things are really getting in the way. I try to call Emily. It feels like I'm playing one of those ridiculous claw machine games when I'm attempting to fish my phone out of my purse. Then I have to use the edge of the side of the pad of my thumb to try and hit the right buttons on the touch screen. It's awkward and inaccurate. Sammie thinks it's hilarious. I have to agree. I can't imagine how people live like this, but I guess it's doable given enough time and practice. All I know is that Sammie and I had another great afternoon together and that choosing to embrace my new role and make the best of things is what made it all possible. By the time we exit the mall it's gotten dark, really dark. It had been crowded earlier in the day when we arrived, so we had to park pretty far from the entrance, but the lot is desolate now. Sammie is carrying on about this and that. I miss most of what she's saying. I'm distracted by an uneasy feeling that something's not right. I hear heavy foot falls coming from behind us. Normally this wouldn't be something to worry about, but they're getting louder, so I can tell they are coming towards us. I can also tell the footsteps are going just a bit faster than they should be. Combat senses, honed to a razors edge after years spent surviving in a brutal war zone, light up red across the board! "We may have a problem," I subtly comment to Sammie, interrupting her mid-sentence. She gives me a quizzical blank expression. I turn to look behind us at the exact same moment that a rough hand violently grabs her arm and pulls her away from me. A large, dark complexioned, shabby looking creep yanks her around and says, "Where you goin' girl?" Her only response is a look of frozen horror! His accomplice, an equally burly thug, grabs my arms, forcefully slamming my back against the side of a nearby SUV. My lower back gives and audible crack as pain radiates from my spine. My head bounces off the door frame and I'm seeing stars. It reminds me of that time I got knocked on my ass by a near miss from a Taliban mortar barrage. Is that it? Shit! That was close! Where's my rifle? I got to get up, get moving, get back in the fight! Wait, I am up. I'm being held up against the side of a car. That's right! Not the desert, the parking lot! Sammie!!! NO! NOT AGAIN!!! The attack from the restaurant that ended up costing me my life has played through my mind a thousand times over, haunting my dreams. Now I find myself here again, my loved ones in jeopardy and fighting for my life. My nightmare's come true, but worse. Out numbered and outmatched without the resources of a jacked forty-one year old combat veteran at my disposal and with Sammie's life hanging in the balance. I make my choice. I choose death. Simple as that. Tomorrow's been canceled. I accept that I'm probably going to die. Every last bit of everything that I have and everything that I am, I dedicate to this cause. Whether I actually live or die is inconsequential now. The entire purpose of my continued existence comes to a single laser focused point. I will stop these guys and save Samantha, whatever it takes. After months of incomprehensible insanity, everything is finally clear. Here at last is a situation that makes perfect sense to me. The feral scumbag's large calloused hands roughly grope at my chest as I'm pinned to the side of the vehicle. Every question I had about our assailants is answered completely. I hear Sammie screaming! That's it. THAT IS FUCKING IT!!! A curtain of murderous fury descends, white hot rage forcing out all rational thought. Something dark and primal and horrible takes over. I had tried to leave this part of me behind, back in the sand, but when you've spent three tours covered in the blood of your friends and enemies, the darkness, it stains you, it never goes away. I had promised myself I would never do this again, never give up that thing that makes us all human, never pull out ALL the stops and let the monster off the chain. Even in the restaurant, while being literally shot to death, I had remained cool, professional, methodical in my tactical response. But tonight there can be no half measures. It's got to be all or nothing, to the death, no mercy. I let all of my humanity, my thin veneer of civilization, just fall away. I know that I might not ever be able to reclaim it, some survivors never do, but that's fine. The way things are looking, there's a good chance I won't be living long enough to regret it, so it's settled. Let the gates of Hell spill open and the blood rain down. With iron will, forged hard into steel, I push the thug off of me with all of my might. Time was that would have sent him sprawling. Now, even with all the strength training I've been doing, driving him back about a foot is all I can manage. Good enough. Propelling off the SUV, I smash my right knee into his groin with enough force to crack a brick. He sure as hell felt that, but isn't going down. In my slender frame, I know I won't survive his retaliation. While he's still stunned, I grab the lapels of his jacket and wind up again. Fully intent on splitting the bastard in two, I ram the same knee straight up between his legs, lifting him off the ground a good three inches! His face is a mask of agony. He tips forward towards me and I twist and shove him to the side as he crumples into a heap. That's one! Smug with my victory, empowered by a surge of adrenaline, I allow myself the smallest sliver of hope. A familiar savage ferocity flows through every fiber of my being. Wild and urgent, blazing electric! It feels good, really good. It's been a while, years in fact, but I'm back in my element, doing what I've spent a lifetime training to do, what I do best. Sammie's screams from behind a car jolt me back into the moment. Rushing to her aid, I find the assailant has got his hands full trying to contain the struggling terrified teen. Her shirt is ripped and her lip is bleeding, but she's still on her feet, still fighting. A swell of pride fills my chest. She really is a tough kid! With the stealth and murderous intent of a starving jungle cat I approach his blindside. I grab the thoroughly distracted rapist's sleeve, twisting him toward me. The finger tips of my right hand are pinched together into a tight wedge, a spearhand. With all the speed and brutality I can muster, I swing the tip straight into the front of his trachea. It's a killing blow, but that's just too fucking bad. Two of the fake fingernails bite deep into his throat. The middle one bends backwards tearing the nail half way off. Good. The pain will keep me sharp! He clutches his throat, gags, and sputters blood. A smile stretches across my lips as I bare my teeth. I take advantage of the momentary pause and dig the gravity knife from the bottom of my purse. The four inch blade flicks open with a click. Short enough to be legal, but long enough to be lethal, in the right hands, my hands. The man collapses to his knees, still clutching his throat and gagging for breath. His eyes lock onto my knife and fear streaks his face as I stalk towards him. He's gotta know what's coming next! If his trachea has collapsed and he doesn't get immediate medical help, he will die soon. If either one of these assholes tries to get up off the ground, they will die now. That's for God damn sure! Both of the damaged thugs are still a lot bigger and stronger than me, but knife fighting is all about speed and compared to me, these bulky idiots are moving in slow motion. Sammie's eyes go wide as I advance on the predator, now prey. I think of the gunman I killed in the restaurant. I'm sure that these guys deserve the same or worse. There is nothing but hot murder in my heart. "Nobody fucks with my sister" is roaring through my brain on a loop like thunder. I know this feeling. I've been here before. Death is coming. Can they see it? Feels like it's written all over my face. I try to think of even one good reason why I shouldn't kill both these bastards right now. Nothing comes to mind. Every pool needs a filter, including the gene pool. A service to humanity that it will be my privilege to perform on this occasion. I creep forward, savoring the thought of the gush of arterial spray I'm going to get when I harpoon this scum's carotid. Sammie grabs my arm and tries to pull me back. "Come on! Let's go! Let's go!!!" she pleads, but I barely hear her. I think she is more scared of what I'm going to do next than anything else. She keeps pulling. The pain from my injured back and torn fingernail starts to reassert itself. Like a bucket of cold water to the face, sanity begins to nudge it's way back into the edges of my consciousness. I realize that getting Sammie out of the area immediately is probably the best course of action. Thank God. Thank God for Sammie. Shit. That was close. Too close. We run for the car and speed off into the night. Blood is running down my finger and onto the steering wheel. I might have a concussion, probably shouldn't be driving, but I'm in a lot better shape than Sammie and we gotta move, so I just suck it up, drop the hammer on the accelerator and hope for the best. Sammie calls 9-1-1 and gives an account of the assault and a good description of the assailants to the police. The cops will be waiting for us to take a complete statement when I drop Sammie off at Mom and Dad's. I'm imagining the look on the parents faces when Sammie dramatically recounts the "battle", how I went totally HAM on their asses! That should be fun. Surprise bitchas! The helpless brain damaged daughter's got TIGER BLOOD!!! I openly acknowledge that I suck at baby showers and tea parties, but when it comes to dealing with rapists and murderers, I'm still Jesus fucking Christ on steroids. I'm sitting in silence, concentrating on the road, still trying to shake off the blood lust and rage. I really wish I'd killed those two bastards, but I'm glad I didn't. I'm glad that Sammie stopped me. She doesn't need to see something like that. Hopefully the police will catch them. It will be interesting to see if trachea guy died or not? I hope so. I hated letting those guys go. The thought of them possibly attacking someone else when I could have stopped them both for good, makes me sick. With the power of my old body, that strike would have killed him for sure. The cartilage of his windpipe would have collapsed into a flat clog, sealing tighter and tighter with each attempted intake of breath, leaving the victim to slowly asphyxiate. I'm bizarrely trying to calculate how much force I can generate now and comparing that to how much it takes to crush the average trachea. It's weird the things that go through your mind in the lull post combat. What's really funny is, with the way I used to look, if I'd killed one of those guys, even in a very legitimate case of self-defense, I'd probably be facing manslaughter charges. But with the way I look now, it's a free pass! If sweet young "Amber" managed to take out a couple of violent predators, they would probably give her a medal, put her picture in the paper, and throw a parade! It's not really fair, but it guarantees that I won't be facing any legal jeopardy for tonight's action whatever the outcome. I look over to Sammie. She has been sitting in silence for a while. She was very vivid and coherent when she was talking to the 9-1-1 operator, but now she looks like she's in shock. Probably really feeling it as the adrenaline rush wears off. I've been there myself plenty of times. You go from hurtling along at a million miles an hour to feeling like you can barely even move. "Are you okay? Did he hurt you?" I finally ask when I'm feeling more composed and capable of speaking calmly. "Fine. I'm fine." She replies, still shaking a bit and holding the front of her torn shirt together. After a long pause she states, "That was amazing! How did you do that? I mean you were really scary! Like a monster or something!" "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. It's just that, I've all ready been killed once and I'm not going to let that happen again, not if I can help it." Sammie seems stunned by the reminder that I have in fact come back from the dead. For a long moment she just stares at me like she's never seen me before, like I might be a complete stranger, or even some kind of inhuman thing belched up from the pits of hell. I pause and smile. "And nobody fucks with my sister." She smiles at that and the dark spell of whatever she was thinking is broken. The oppression of all of the night's terror evaporates as we just grin at each other like a couple of idiots, invincible together. I shudder to think what would have happened if I hadn't been there! Rape, abduction, worse? Then it strikes me, did Amber know that this was going to happen? Did her final views through the vale of life and death give her some kind of precognition? Did she know that this moment was coming, that Samantha was going to need a champion, someone who could fight for her? Could that be why she left me the keys? My mind boggles and I force myself to stop thinking about it and focus on my driving. "Were you really going to kill those guys?" Sammie asks after a while. I stare at the road and coldly recite, "Nobody fucks with my sister." This time neither one of us is smiling, the message is clear. A bit of the darkness of the evening's events creeps back and the discussion ends. I'm feeling overwhelmed by everything that's happened and how close we came to tragedy. The emotional dam finally breaks and a tear rolls down my cheek as I continue to concentrate on the road. Sammie sniffles and grabs my hand, squeezing it in support. It's my injured hand. In the dark, she doesn't notice as my blood slowly spreads across our fingers. It hurts like hell, but I don't say anything and we just drive the rest of the way home like that, in silence, alive and grateful. CHAPTER 17: IF YOU CAN'T BEAT 'EM I'm in bed with my beautiful wife. We are making love. I'm above her thrusting in and out. Her hands caress my broad shoulders and back as she rolls her pelvis with my thrusts. I'm hoping my erection will hold out long enough to bring her to one more climax before I finish. We're both sweating and breathing heavy. I'm a little concerned about going to hard, possibly hurting her. It was always a possibility with my huge difference in size and strength, but she doesn't seem to be complaining. My hair falls forward into her face. I brush a honey blond lock back behind my ear. Wait, what? I've never had hair more than two inches long. "Sorry," I say and keep pumping. She reaches up and starts to fondle the breasts. I flinch slightly as she pinches one of the large pink nipples and then leans forward to suckle. Breasts!?! I don't have breasts!!! She hugs me tight and rolls me over. I try to resist at first, but she is too strong. How the hell is she stronger than me? I've got like a hundred pounds on her! She ends up on top of me, thrusting away. I can feel the bulbous head and raised contours of the new strap-on sliding in and out. It is much larger than our old one. When we bought it, I wasn't sure that I would be able to take the whole thing, but Emily assured me that size really does matter and it seems to be working out. The over sized phallus is stretching me to my fullest as it buzzes away angrily. I wrap my legs around her and use them to pull her into me as deeply as possible as she continues to pound me to my finish. Something is terribly wrong here! Wracked with ecstasy, I can barely think straight, but I'm pretty sure that I'm the man. I should be on top doing the thrusting! My mind goes on overload and everything goes black. My eyes pop open and I bolt upright, sweaty and panting. The covers are twisted around me and I struggle to untangle myself. I'm glad to be awake, glad to be myself again. For a moment I think, "What a bizarre dream! I can't believe that I dreamed that I was a woman having sex with my own wife!" My confused perception lasts less than a second. Assailed by the sensations, long blond hair cascading over my shoulders and on my face, the substantial breasts hanging from my chest, the sight of pale slender hands and arms extending from my shoulders. Oh yeah. That's right. I'm still stuck in Amber. Emily sits up and looks over to me. "Are you all right? Did you have bad dreams again?" "Yeah. Seemed so real! For a moment I forgot about everything that had happened and was just me again. Then everything started to change and I woke up like this." Can't believe I'm still having nightmares, even back home in my own bed. "I'm sorry..." "It's okay. I guess it can't be helped. It just bugs me that even in my dreams, I'm not myself any more." "It'll be okay. We'll get through this together. Just know that I love you no matter what! I'll always love you." I smile bleakly and hug her with my head collapsing on her shoulder. It's been weeks since the incident at the mall and life has returned to what now passes for normal. Emily slides out of bed and heads for the closet. She pulls something out of the back corner that looks like a gift box. Bringing it back to the bed, she presents it to me somewhat tentatively. "Here I got this for your birthday, but maybe you can have it early." I slide the lid off of the flat rectangular box. Emily looks on nervously. I'm somewhat stunned by the contents. The box contains a semi-sheer bright blue baby doll style nightie and panty set. I pull it out of the box and hold it up by the straps. It has an elastic band that sits right under the breasts with a shiny blue bow in the center. It ends in white lace trim flaring out around the hips. The tap style panties, still sitting on the tissue in the box, are made out of the same material with matching lace. Caught off guard, I ask, "Is this for me?" "Yeah, I thought you might like it, that it would look good on you." She's a bit nervous, trying to sell me on the idea of this gift that she's obviously put a lot of thought into. Not just for practical reasons, but for what it represents. It isn't something I really wanted or needed, but it represents an acceptance. That she accepts me for who I've become and that she wants me to accept it too. It's the first time she has ever bought me something like this. She thought sexy lingerie would make a good birthday present? It feels like a big deal. She's gone out on a limb chancing a gift like this. I don't dare refuse it. "Thank you. That's so sweet!" She smiles ear to ear. We lean together and kiss. What else could I say? I guess that's where we are now. Buying me neck ties and after shave for my birthday doesn't make a whole lot of sense any more. So something comfortable and sexy that I might enjoy sleeping in is now a perfectly reasonable gift. It's a special morning. The smell of fresh blueberry crepes cooking greets me as I enter the kitchen. My favorite! Emily is really going all out to cheer me up. She really is the best! I check the mail as I take my seat at the breakfast table. Nothing but a statement from that clinic we went to a few years back. What's this doing here? Emily usually just throws these out. Oh well. There isn't any other mail to deal with and I guess no news is good news. The blueberry crepes are almost ready, so I got no complaints. I'm still not sleeping well. Disturbing visions of being trapped in the hospital continue to haunt my dreams on occasion, but this day seems to be off to a pretty great start. Emily and I have settled back into a routine of sorts. I'm getting back in shape, and working full time. Our sex life is almost better than ever. It's hard to imagine now, but after a long marriage and approaching forty our sex life had been getting pretty lifeless. Now every weekend is an unbelievable adventure with new toys and costumes and generally much more regular cuddling and touching then we ever had as husband and wife. In my mind, I still consider myself a man regardless of what I look like or how I dress. When I first moved in with Emily, I was resisting and trying to wear more manly clothes. I guess subconsciously that is what I thought I was expected to do. I felt compelled to say, "Girl clothes are yucky," like it would betray my wife or my marriage vows or my gender if I admitted wearing Amber's sexy clothes wasn't so bad. Over time, with Emily's help, I've managed to overcome most of my hangups and become accepting of this new status quo. She has been supportive and encouraging throughout all of the unbelievable weirdness. She saved my life and then taught me how to live again. A new life, a different life, but not a bad life. I guess it was inevitable that after several months of being forced by Amber's family and then encouraged by Emily to wear all of this stuff, that I would eventually get used to it. You can get used to anything if forced to endure it long enough. I think that the attack at the mall has given me some new perspective on my situation as well. If loosing my manhood was somehow the cost of saving Samantha, then that's fine by me. Hell, I'd give my life for that kid. Middle aged man's life for a young girl's life? That's a good deal. I'd make that trade all day long, especially when the girl is family. And I'm not actually dead! Here I am alive and kicking, just different is all. I am now, for the most part, accustomed to this new life style, although whatever is left of my manliness will never let me fully admit this to Emily. I can't just blurt out that I've grown fond of wearing sexy clothes and even sexier things underneath. Confessing that I'm actually starting to enjoy playing a female role might somehow mean that I am no longer truly her husband. Maybe she wouldn't even want me anymore? It is some kind of last straw that can't be breached. I feel like I still have to at least try to maintain the pretense that I'm not really into this, although I'm pretty sure that she knows what's up. She's really smart and knows me better than anyone. I guess it was a few months ago that I noticed that I was starting to enjoy dressing. I've been trying to be honest with myself, so eventually I just had to admit that I actually was growing fond of wearing some of the more sexy and appealing items in my wardrobe, from the skimpiest undies to the frilliest dresses. Everything I own fits this body extremely well and things that fit well are naturally very comfortable in addition to looking great. I can't deny that it is certainly a lot easier just wearing what fits and going along with society's expectations. It's just an objective fact that sheer silk panties are definitely more comfortable than some big old cotton briefs. Anyone who's worn both would have to agree! The support of a bra does feel a lot better than just hanging free, and an underwire push up bra feels even better than that thanks to the extra levels of support. A satin night gown is like heaven compared to my old baggy boxers and t-shirts. The designer jeans made out of viscose and lycra and tencel and god knows what else, feel better and fit better than my old rough jeans ever did. Being able to go out side on the hottest of days wearing just a light summer sundress and yes, a thong, with the breeze blowing up and around my legs is just about the best of all. Even wearing heels has become a part of my normal daily routine. If they go with my outfit, I'll wear them all day long, when I'm working, when I go out, even just relaxing around the house in the evening. When I first started with the heels, they felt completely torturous, unstable, and awkward. Now they seem completely natural. It's pretty shocking, but after months of being forced to wear them most of the time, they now feel just about as comfortable as any of my other shoes. I certainly don't mind the boost they give to my height. I find it infinitely satisfying to once again be taller than my wife, which leads to wearing three and four inch heels around the house being my regular state of affairs. Getting dressed in general has changed from a boring daily chore to an exciting adventure. I've gone from having basically no choices at all as a man to having almost infinite choices as a woman. If I come up with an outfit that is particularly cute or sexy, heads turn and I am rewarded with compliments all day long! It feels just incredible. I mean, who doesn't like having people tell them that they look amazing? I think this must be how a celebrity feels when they walk around out in public! It encourages me to try even harder, combining outfits, hair, make-up, jewelry. I still don't really know what I'm doing, but with this body and face it's like shooting fish in a barrel, almost anything I put together looks incredible. It's as if I found this whole new aspect of the human experience that I never even knew existed before. It is really hard to explain. It's like someone who had never learned to read suddenly discovers reading and books or maybe someone who had never heard music before, hearing it for the very first time. Every day is a sexy, creative, costume party! I finally understand why women love clothes shopping. When your choices extend beyond pants, shirt, pants, shirt, pants, shirt, pants, shirt everyday, adding new clothes to the wardrobe is actually really fun and exciting. Even just a simple pair of blue jeans can be exhilarating. I remember when I first started trying to wear Amber's jeans. There were a lot of brands that I'd never even heard of. Some of them made of material that was so thin and stretchy, they were almost more like leggings than jeans. I remember feeling embarrassed and worried about just how much they might be showing off out in public. And I remember just how wonderful it felt when Emily gave me a sincere compliment on a particularly form fitting pair that I had been really nervous about wearing. I must have close to twenty pairs of designer jeans now, each pair more sexy than the last. There are super low rise hipsters that show off the top of your undies. There are high waisted jeans that only a woman can wear. Some have extra long flare legs to be worn exclusively with high heels. Others have strategically placed holes showing off patches of thigh and even butt cheek to the world. They make my ass look amazing and cling to my long legs all the way down. I always was an ass-man and I've always felt that the very best way to display a well turned ass was in an amazing pair of jeans. Now I can do my own denim fashion show in the mirror every morning and it seriously never gets old. Not just the jeans, but everything I put on from a simple blouse to a slinky gown fits like a second skin. Each item seems to accentuate some part of the natural beauty, the hips, the breasts, the narrow shoulders and tiny waist, the long legs and beautiful face. The effect of the complete outfit is to somehow make me look even more beautiful then when I stand before the mirror totally naked. Like any respectable woman, I still have my modesty. The lingerie is mostly just for the bedroom. My yoga clothes are just for the gym. I love my sexy stretchy workout gear, but I would certainly never wear my semi-sheer pink leotard out on the street. I still haven't worked up the courage to use the pool despite the fact that I love swimming. I would never wear something outright slutty or inappropriate outside the house, but other than that I'm generally pretty comfortable wearing my sexy wardrobe in public, and of course, anything goes in private! After being forced to live the life for several months, I guess I now find a lot of aspects of being an attractive young woman really appealing. I love the feel of smoothly shaved legs. I love wandering around the house in the morning in just a bra and panties. Catching glimpses of myself in the mirrors. Showing off the goods to Emily, foreshadowing potential intimate activities for the evening to come. After initially being the source of terrible embarrassment, I have even started to embrace the idea that whenever I go out in public, my chest is always going to be on display. I know that every eye is going to be glued to me with desire or admiration. I'm finding that it actually feels kind of nice to be the center of attention wherever I go. This seems extremely strange to me, but if I'm being brutally honest, I just have to concede that this is how I've been starting to feel lately. I've also come to appreciate the long hair. It is a lot of hassle to care for and maintain, but I get so many compliments, it seems to be worth it. The idea of actually being able to arrange your hair in different styles for different occasions was completely alien to me. I've never had hair more than a few inches long before and it always just sort of sat on my head. Keeping it clean was pretty much my only concern. Now, it's one of my best features and I'm actually kind of proud of how good it looks even when I don't really do anything special with it. One thing that's kind of strange is that despite my changing attitudes on clothes, hair, make-up, etc., I'm still a heterosexual guy, attracted exclusively to beautiful women. So every morning when I wake up, I'm greeted by a full length mirror image of one of the most gorgeous women I've ever seen dressed in a painfully provocative negligee. I then get to spend some significant quality alone time with this beautiful body in the shower and while toweling off. I know that might sound terrible, but hey, I always had private fun time with my old body. Don't see why being killed should suddenly change the rules. After drying off, I have the privilege of selecting what delicate fineries the beautiful girl in the mirror will be wearing next to her skin for the day. This is followed by not only watching a goddess slip into the dainty confections of silk and lace, but also getting to luxuriate in the sensation of wearing such intimate items. I looked it up on line. There is an actual psychological condition called autogynephilia. I guess I have that in spades now. In my mind I'm a heterosexual man who is aroused by the sight of a beautiful woman. I also happen to be one of the most beautiful women I've ever seen. There is just no way I can help but be excited by the way my own body looks and feels. I think Emily senses some of my changing attitudes. She has been extremely accepting and supportive all along, more so than I ever would have expected. I think it's in part because she knows what an incredibly tough time I've had, especially early on, and in part because she is just so glad to have me back. She had to live with my "death" for almost a full month before I was able to get back to her. I think it nearly broke her. She is just really glad to have me back, no matter what shape I'm in. Eventually she even finds out about the belly dance class I've been taking. She has been so wonderful, I should have been able to guess what her reaction would be. She isn't disgusted or scornful at all, but is legitimately interested in what I have been doing. The why is pretty obvious, exercise of course! She isn't buying that at all, at least not as the only reason, but she lets it go at that with a wink and a nod. She absolutely insists that I show her the costume. Then of course I have to try it on and model it for her. She is giddy when she begs me to show her some of the moves I've learned. For the next few minutes, I'm in constant motion, snake arms, belly rolls, steps and turns, shakes and shimmies. My hips swiveling in sensual circles the entire time. When I finish with a little bow, she is sitting on the edge of the bed wide eyed, mouth hanging open, clapping her hands and stamping her feet as enthusiastically as possible. She is REALLY into this! Who knew? I was certain that the revelation that I had been practicing to be a Turkish courtesan would have earned me the most dour of stink eyes. There is after all a pretty big difference between "wear some clothes that actually fit you" and "start publicly shaking your ass in Mediterranean lingerie!" I guess she is happy that I seem to be making progress or adjusting or just feeling more comfortable about my situation. She wants me to be happy. She really is my best friend and cares about me in all things. At that moment, for the first time in months, I stop worrying about my problems and really realize how lucky I am to have such an amazing wife and friend. She stands up and puts her arms around me, kissing me lightly on the lips while caressing my hips and backside, the smooth flesh molding to her fingers, beneath the gauzy flowing scarlet skirt. My nipples are painfully tight and hard, stabbing impatiently into the cups of the elaborately decorated gold brocade bra top which makes up the top portion of my formal dance costume. It's not particularly comfortable, but I'm hoping for relief in the very immediate future. I wonder if Emily is feeling the same thing? She had seemed pretty excited by my rhythmic gyrations and jiggles. I notice my breathing, fast and shallow. She kisses me again more passionately, her soft wet tongue exploring my lips and mouth. I hug her tightly to my exotic gold spangled bosom, crushing her to my chest, trying to find some respite for my pointy aching nipples. She leads me by the hand to the bed. Reaching back, I start to undo the harem girl costume's hooks. "Why don't you leave it on?" she says with a mischievous gleam in her eye. "Fine by me!" I respond eagerly. I guess my dancing has really got her turned on! We slide onto the bed, both hungry for the sensations of our bodies combined. Our passions proceed with vigorous abandon. Emily takes one of the long scarves from my costume and deftly wraps it around one of my wrists, tying it in a quick knot. She then loops it through the bars of the top of the bed frame and secures it to my other wrist. "What are you doing?" "Just wait. You'll see." I think I see where she's going as she double checks to make sure both the knots are secure. She then opens the top drawer of our night stand and starts pulling out ALL of our sex toys. "Now wait a minute," I stutter as my eyes go wide. "Shush! Slave girls may only speak when spoken to!" What the hell? This really isn't like her at all! Maybe the extra glass of wine she had with dinner has something to do with it? Or maybe it's that new "Sunstone" book she was reading? I don't know exactly what's going on, if this is going to be just a one time drunken adventure or a new regular addition to our repertoire, but after all she has had to put up with and everything she's lost, there is no way I'm going to fight her on this. I'm her husband and if she wants to have sex with me, even kinky bondage sex, that's every bit her right as far as I'm concerned. She has come a very long way agreeing to be with me at all in my current condition. I'm committed to letting her do whatever she wants, so I roll my eyes, smile nonchalantly and sigh, "Whatever you say dear." With a lascivious grin, she pulls out a pair of vibrating nipple clamps from the back of the drawer. I've never seen these before! Must be the fruits of some secret shopping. While sitting on me, straddling my waist, she reaches down and pops the breasts up over the top of my belly dance costume's bra cups. She then expertly slips a clamp onto each of my exposed plump pink nipples. With the flick of a button on a remote, both of the clamps begin vibrating furiously. My nipples are immediately on fire with an almost electric stimulation. I've never felt anything like this. My back arches and my eyes roll back as my little pleasure nubs explode with ecstasy. A long soft moan slips from my lips as I pull at my restraints and the back of my head grinds into the pillow. She next picks out a big tube of "tingling" jelly type lube along with two large dildos, one of them double ended, as the rampant nipple clamps continue to do their work. I'm not sure I like where this is going. My heart is racing a mile a minute. When I first came home from Amber's house, Emily wouldn't even kiss me. As time went by and her experiences with me increased, her inhibitions inevitably decreased. Now with me wearing my harem girl costume and tied to the bed, it's her chance to do absolutely anything that she has ever thought about doing, but had been to shy or embarrassed to ask about or try. I'm not going to say no. At this point, with my wrists bound tightly over my head and her weight on top of me, pinning me down, I couldn't stop her even if I wanted to. Fueled by pent up desire, curiosity, and booze, she experiments with every lewd or erotic indulgence she has ever imagined for me, for herself, for the two of us together. It's all her. She is in total control. She makes creative use of all of our sex toys, some of them more than once! I follow her direction and participate as fully as I'm able while still tied to the headboard. She brings me to climax after climax. It seems to go on for hours. I'm too tired, too physically and emotionally exhausted, to object to whatever crazy thing she wants to try next. I'm at a point where I almost wish it would stop, but tonight her alcohol enhanced appetites and desire for exploration seem to know no limits. When she finally lets me rest, I'm completely spent. It turns out that she can't undo the knots that she's tied and I'm worried that she is going to have to cut my scarfs if I don't want to spend the whole night tied to the bed! I'm covered in sweat and a little sore in places, but I'm happy, really happy! Happy knowing that Emily truly and completely accepts me physically. With considerable effort, she finally gets the knots untied. After a quick trip to the bathroom, I return to our warm inviting bed. She whispers, "I love you." I mumble, "love you too..." A moment later, I'm fast asleep, fulfilled and satisfied beyond anything I ever even knew was possible. Much later in the evening, I find myself lying awake, completely naked, pleasantly exhausted, staring at the ceiling. I'm thinking this has probably been the single best night of my life. Life hadn't always been this easy in recent months. Sometimes it was tough, because we did have to keep up appearances. Emily doesn't want the neighbors thinking that she is having a lesbian affair with this much younger girl, even though that is exactly the case now. It is a strange situation. It's not just her conservative upbringing that's preventing her from publicly admitting that she is having sexual relations with a woman. She also thinks that everyone, the neighbors, Amber's family, etc., would have a major problem with her and "Amber" engaging in physical relations so soon after her husband's death, and rightfully so. Seriously, that would look pretty bad. Her husband dies, so she immediately turns gay and pounces on a straight girl who was barely out of school and was suffering from amnesia!!! That obviously sounds terrible! Hard to imagine Amber's family or even the doctors or the courts not getting involved. Other than that, at this point Emily has gotten very enthusiastic about our romantic couplings. She seems to legitimately appreciate and admire my newly acquired beauty and she is much more excited about our weekend romantic adventures than she had been in years. So we are in fact lesbians in every since of the word, but we still have to keep up appearances. For now, at least, no one can know. I'm sure as time passes it will come up eventually. I all ready know how we're going to explain it. Emily's husband was the love of her life and she can never see herself being with another man, which leaves her only one option for a relationship. Likewise, having had such terrible experiences with men since the hospital, and having all ready had a long term lesbian relationship, I've permanently switched to the other team. This makes Emily and I the perfect couple, other than the age difference, which is certainly not a deal breaker. I'm hoping that someday, at least some of our friends and neighbors and relatives will see it that way. CHAPTER 18: LIFE'S A BEACH Summer is rolling around and there is a really nice beach just a few blocks away from our house. It is a beautiful little lake and park with a big sandy beach, changing stalls, out door showers, a life guard stand and concessions. It is so nice that Emily and I used to go there all the time. It's a nice walk in the evening and a beautiful place to just spend the day on the weekends, even if you're just reading or working on your laptop. The picnic tables and beautiful view can't be beat. We often find friends or people we know there. You can usually find at least one puppy running around loose. The breeze keeps the mosquitoes away. It is really idyllic and so close by! We hadn't been there in a long time. It was too cold when I first changed and later there was the question of "what the neighbors would think" of Emily's new "live in friend". There was also the issue of what I would wear. It is regularly over ninety degrees in the summer and everyone at the beach during the day wears swimwear. Laying on a towel on the beach in baggy shorts and a regular shirt would just look weird. Again I am trying to keep up the pretense that I am just "a normal girl". It is bad enough that our friends and neighbors know about my amnesia/brain damage. I certainly don't want to give them another reason to think there is something wrong with me or talk about me behind my back. There is really no way I want to go out in front of our long time friends and neighbors wearing a girl's swimsuit. Local custom pretty much dictates that only fatties, old ladies, and little girls wear the more conservative one piece. So if I want to go to the beach and not stick out like a sore thumb, it will have to be a bikini. The problem is that in a bikini I am pretty sure that I will be sticking out everywhere. Emily really misses our beach time. She had found a picture on facebook of fifteen year old Amber, wearing a bikini and trying her best to look sexy. It was a skimpy white and orange striped string bikini, and there was no way anyone could help but admit that it did look sexy. Emily tries the old "you look beautiful" trick on me to encourage me into going out in a bikini. She is right. Fifteen year old Amber was a beauty. Twenty-three year old Amber is an absolute stunner. I could probably win any bikini contest I entered, if I was willing to go out in public in a bikini, which I am not. Going through my wardrobe, Emily had found where I had stashed the shiny blue string bikini that Mom and Sam had forced me to get. It still had the tags on it. It hadn't been touched since I brought it home. She badgers me into putting it on, just to see how it looks. Why not? She has seen me naked, as a sexy barmaid, a harem girl, and in every type of sexy lingerie. Pretty much everything short of a French maid or Wonder Woman costume, so what can it hurt just to try it on for her if she really wants to see it? So now I'm faced with putting on the dreaded blue bikini for the first time. This is tricky! No basic draw string like I'm used to with my old swim trunks, not even a simple elastic band. It ties on the sides! Too loose and it's falling off! Too tight and I can imagine it will be cutting into my now pretty soft and delicate skin. Worst case, if it's too tight it might even break when I sit down or something. Also, how to keep the strings from coming undone? I think I've mostly seen this type of bikini bottom tied in nice bows. That should be okay, but I really don't want the thing falling off. That seems like it would be terribly embarrassing, even just in front of my wife. I would like to do square knots, but I know that wouldn't look right and then I would probably have to cut the thing to remove it. I opt for bows tied in double knots. Looks okay and will probably stay tied. Takes two tries to get the sides to where it was reasonably even and comfortable and still didn't seem like it would come loose. The top is a different story. The cups are cut low with an underwire for shape and support. It has a pretty straight forward sturdy plastic clasp for the band, but the strings have to be tied off behind the neck. Another difficult balancing act. Too loose and things might flop out! Too tight and it will be cutting into my neck. Seriously, how do girls put up with all of this ridiculousness! Three tries later and I finally have the top tied complete with a double knot! I position the boobs, using the bikini top's form fitting cups to press them up and together. Emily really wanted to see this. Might as well give her the full show! Check my look in the mirror and heart sinks a little bit. Definitely look very sexy, but also feel practically naked. Full top half and a little of the sides of the breasts are showing. The dramatic curve between my waist and hips announces to the world that my body is unquestionably female. I turn to see the back and feel the barely supported breasts sway. Ass sticking out. This suit lifts my buns and separates them to clearly shape and define the cleft between my butt cheeks. The top and bottom edges of the bikini cut little indentations into the soft flesh of my hips and thighs. In front, I can almost see the shape of my feminine features filling out the suit where the elastic cuts in close to my crotch. This bikini fits like it's painted on. The suit dramatically props up or emphasizes all of my sexiest bits. I feel like the tiny bits of coverage invite people to want to uncover me! I can imagine perverts fantasizing about what might be underneath. Somehow I feel almost more naked than if I was actually naked, but this should be okay. It's just a goof for Emily and she is the only one who is going to see me like this. I tell myself again that she has all ready seen me in everything from a bustier to a belly dance costume to bridal lingerie in our dress-up games, so this really isn't much different. It's not like I'm going to be wearing this out in public! I walk out and Emily's eyes light up like a kid on Christmas morning! This isn't going to be good. I'm pretty sure she is trying to get me to go to the beach with her. I stand in front of the hallway mirror giving it my best dumpy man posture. I declare that I look terrible or obscene or both. "Nonsense!" Emily insists. She asks me to turn around. I comply. With all sincerity she spontaneously declares, "Your butt looks good. REALLY good!!!" What's this, a compliment on my female posterior? That's new! She has certainly complimented me on my clothes or my overall look before, mostly to try and get me to actually wear appropriate clothes and clothes that fit, but I think this might be the very first time she has actually, legitimately, complimented me on my body since the change. Not sure why exactly, but my heart soars and I really feel great about her comment. Before the change she always used to compliment my body, my muscles, my butt, my abs, my chest, but not at all since the change. Hearing her say that she actually likes some aspect of this new body feels like some new level of acceptance. Maybe putting on this bikini wasn't such a terrible idea after all? She then has the idea of taking a picture to get a better look. I sheepishly agree. The first photo I do the same terrible hallway mirror pose. She cajoles me into doing some better poses and I have to admit the photos look pretty damn good. She convinces me to do a couple shots out in the backyard. She is adamant that a good picture requires some natural light or background or some such thing. I figure why not, it's a private yard with a five foot high wooden fence and it's like ninety-five degrees out, so being out in your backyard in a bikini on a Saturday isn't completely ridiculous. We take a few pics and then a few sexy pics and then one really sexy pic with me sprawled out over a large flat decorative rock in the garden and that's when the neighbor pops her head over the fence. Our neighbor Cynthia, is a beautiful red head with pale skin and nice curves. Her and Dan are about 10 years younger than us, but they are still some of our closest friends, having been our next door neighbors for years. Dan travels a lot for work, so Cynthia is home alone with her two young girls most of the time. She desperately craves any intelligent adult conversation, so it is only natural that she comes to look over the fence when she hears Emily's voice. Alarmed by the intrusion into our private moment, I quickly crane my neck around to see if Dan is out in the yard too. He's not at the fence and I don't hear him anywhere, so hopefully he's not around. The last thing I want is for him to see me in this absurd bikini, especially after the way he drooled at me when he saw me jogging. Cynthia's mouth drops open as she stands staring goggle eyed at what looks like a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. Not what she had expected to find when she had heard her neighbor's voice. She quickly composes herself. I had ended up passing on Dan's "generous offer" to be their baby sitter/domestic servant, but I had talked to Cynthia several times since then, so she definitely knew who I was. She just wasn't expecting to see me lying there nearly naked when she came to the fence to chat. "Oh! Hey Sweetie. How are you doing?" she asks, recognizing who it was lasciviously sun bathing in the blue metallic scaled bikini. Ah crap! That is just freaking great. Not only has my neighbor caught me wearing the barely there bikini out in public, but she also just called me "Sweetie"! She must have picked that up from Emily. I guess that has sort of become my unofficial name. Emily and I both feel uncomfortable using the name Amber. Since we both know the truth about what really happened to her, it just seems wrong to keep using her name. Emily started calling me Sweetie when I first woke up in the hospital and she thought I was actually Amber. She continued calling me that on and off, even after she found out who I really was. I'm not really thrilled about it. It sounds like a nickname for a female friend, not a husband. I think she uses it in part because she doesn't want to screw up and accidentally call me by my male name in front of other people when we're out in public. I've also sort of surmised that using my old name might be somewhat painful for her. The contrast between my old male name and my current female body just serves to emphasize or remind her how much things have changed and how much we've lost, so for better or worse I guess I'm "Sweetie" now. Emily answers for me. "I'm trying to convince her that she looks beautiful in this swimsuit and that she should come to the beach with me later!" "Oh my God yes! You look amazing!!" replies Cynthia with a little too much earnest excitement in her voice. "I was going to take the girls over this afternoon. We should all go together and you HAVE to come with us!" Emily seeing a good opportunity to pile on vigorously agrees. "I know, right? She looks fantastic! Girls trip would be great, you have to come with us." I demur and try to explain that I'm not really comfortable at all being seen like this in public. Cynthia is seeing a chance to escape her boring daycare life style for a few hours. Also, to have an epic beach day! She will get her sexiest bikini, lie on a towel next to the newly exposed goddess Amber and be one of the queens of the beach and the envy of the neighborhood! It was too good. She has to make it happen!!! "Come on! What the hell do you think beautiful young women wear to the beach? It's like a hundred degrees out here. Don't you want to go in the water?" I suggest that I might try to find a suit with more coverage. Cynthia responds, "It's a bikini! How much more do you think it's going to cover up? It's not like it's a thong or something. That's a beautiful suit and you look amazing in it!" Emily chimes in, "That's what I've been telling her, but she has some kind of body issues. I'm thirty-nine years old and I'm going to be wearing a bikini. How can a girl as beautiful as you be ashamed of her body?" This is very dirty pool! Emily hasn't been trying to "help" me get over some shyness. I'm not some girl with an eating disorder and body image issues. I'm a middle aged man being asked to wear a skimpy string bikini out in public for my neighbors and the whole world to see. She has basically tricked me into putting this suit on and then going outside with an implied promise of privacy. For all I know she and Cynthia concocted this scheme together! Cynthia definitively concludes, "That's it! We're going to help you! You are coming to the beach with us and you are wearing that suit even if we have to drag you there!" A feeling of inevitable defeat envelops me and I concede. It's too late to even ask, but I'm sincerely hoping that Dan won't be joining us! I know he can't help himself. Hell, I don't blame him at all. I'd probably be doing the same thing in his situation, but I'm definitely not looking forward to spending the entire afternoon with one of my best friends uncomfortably ogling me. I also have to hope that I look as okay as they claim and that I am able to spend a few hours at the beach without anything to terrible happening. A curtain of dread descends. I try to think of it as playing a role like in a play or something, as Emily had suggested. No one thinks anything of it if you dress goofy on stage. This along with a couple of shots of scotch is the only real mental placebo I can come up with to ease my trepidation about the gauntlet to come. I would have Emily and Cynthia and Cynthia's two little girls for support. Hopefully that would be enough to keep any sex crazed guys at bay. So it's decided. Emily announces that WE have to go get ready. She says goodbye to Cynthia and I'm ushered inside. "What? I'm ready?" I protest. "What about your legs?" Emily asks. "What about them?" "They're all stubbly! And your arm pits! You've got some work to do." she chides. "You've got to be kidding! It's barely noticeable! Who cares if I have stubble legs or pits?!?" "Our friends, our neighbors, everyone! And don't think they're not going to be looking. So, hurry up we don't have much time. Cynthia and the girls are going to be waiting for us." So off to the bathroom I go. I strip naked over the tub and start to work trying desperately not to get a nick or cut. I know it will not have time to stop bleeding before we leave. Even worse, any cut will probably start bleeding again as soon as the water hits it and I don't think I'm going to be able to avoid going into the water. I also have to prevent the dreaded little red bumps! So I have to apply a generous amount of lotion. Of course it is lilac scented, so by the time I finish with the required defoliating I end up shaved bare and pretty much smelling like a French whore house. I can't help but notice that the ugly purple and red scars from the bullet wound are still readily apparent on the front and back of the inside of my left thigh. Oh well. My old body had bullet scars too. They never bothered me. I always considered them a badge of honor, proof that some son of a bitch had tried to kill me and failed, usually VERY MUCH to their detriment. Guess this will give the other beach goers something juicy to gossip about. I don't care. I find it strangely comforting, a link back to my old life, proof that I'm still me. Legs done, it's time to get the dreaded string bikini back on. Wonder if another swimsuit might be better? I try to remember the other suits I'd seen in Amber's collection. There was one that had basically a tube top. That's out. There was a very light blue colored one that was little more than a few triangles and some string. Nope. There was one that was cut ridiculously high on the hips. Don't think I'm quite ready for the Baywatch look yet. She did have one that had a green camouflage pattern to it. That one had some appeal, but it was damn near a thong in back! Not a true thong, but one of those suits that leaves most of your ass hanging out before it widens out around the hips. Thong-kini? Is that a thing? I decide to stick with the shiny blue suit I'd been wearing. That's what Emily and Cynthia expect and I really don't feel like having to explain why I might have changed. First the hair is getting in the way, so after a few failed tries I end up pulling it back with a scrunchy. I then find a C shaped plastic head band, hair clip, or whatever you call it with all the hair stuff under the sink. I put this over my forehead and push it back to keep everything out of my eyes. It's a pretty crude look, but what do I care? Should be good for swimming or tanning or whatever. I proceed to put the required bikini back on. I get the top and bottom tied perfectly on the first try. Shit! I'm all ready getting good at this. That's a bit disturbing. After a life time of wearing just my trunks to go swimming, I feel strangely overdressed on top and disturbingly under dressed below the waist. It occurs to me that I'm about to spend the day out in public wearing less than my underwear. How am I supposed to feel comfortable parading around like this? I can actually see the color draining from my face in the mirror as I really consider what I'm about to do for the first time. I have been through a lot in the past several months, but wearing a bikini out in public is a hell of lot different than wearing a dress at a family dinner. Definitely going to chug some scotch before heading out the door. I'm sure that will be an absolute necessity if I'm going to make it through the rest of the day. The only way I can even make it out the bathroom door is to continuously remind myself that this must be exactly how every girl feels when she goes out in public wearing a swimsuit. I figure most every girl has some issues about their bodies. Parading out in public nearly naked must be as terrifying for them as it is for me. The only difference is that they've had a lifetime of experience to get used to it, me not so much. That revelation is not much reassurance, but it manages to get me out of the bathroom and into the hallway. I feel like a cat burglar as I silently pad down the hall in my bare feet. I'm pretty sure if somebody jumped out and said "BOO" right now, I would have a heart attack and die. I make it to the bedroom and Emily is all ready wearing her sexy new bikini that she had bought on our last shopping trip. Oh my God, that's right! She did just buy a new bikini! She probably was planning this all along!!! Whatever. She does look amazing. She still eats right and works out everyday. I've always thought she was very beautiful and I'm so proud about the way she has kept herself up. She is thirty-nine, but with dedication to her fitness routine and having never had kids, she could easily pass for twenty-nine, and a very sexy twenty-nine at that. The beach is only a few blocks away so we always change at home and just walk down. Thank God! With everyone on the beach holding a high def camera in the form of their phones, I certainly wouldn't feel very good about getting completely naked in one of the little public outdoor changing stalls at the beach. These are basically like a bathroom stall, but smaller. Anyone can pretty easily look over or under them if they want. They are designed to give some privacy, but not too much privacy to keep people from trying to have sex in them. When I was a hairy middle aged man, I never really cared about this or gave it a second thought. Now that I actually have something to hide, that any guy would in fact kill to see, it is very concerning! The quarter inch crack around the door now seems like it is a foot wide. Emily then hands me a really big shirt. "What's this?" "A cover up." she replies. This is something I hadn't thought of. As a man, baggy trunks, bare chest, maybe a towel around the neck and good to go. As more or less a half naked super model, just walking to the beach in my bikini was likely to start a riot or at least cause a car crash or two. So now I have to wear a cover up. I hold it up and it's mostly see through! "What the hell?!? This isn't really going to cover up anything. Guys straining to see through this thing are going to make it worse if anything!" "Oh just be quiet. It's an accepted social custom that a really sexy swimsuit should remain covered up unless you're actually at the beach. You don't just walk down the street with your ass cheeks and boobs hanging out," my wife instructs. "Well if it's a cover up, shouldn't it actually cover things up!?! I mean this comes half way down my thighs and is baggy as a potato sack, but you can see right through it." "A woman has to wear a cover up when in public, but that does not mean she doesn't want to be sexy. Seriously, what woman do you know that would actually want to be seen walking around in a 'baggy potato sack' as you so eloquently put it? Besides, it's hot as hell outside. A regular shirt that big would hold all the heat in and you would roast. This one is nice and breezy. The breeze goes right through it. It could not be more comfortable." Well, I guess she has a point. I have to wear a cover up and the lighter the better, so I just drop my protest and slip the semi-sheer cover up on over my bikini. We grab some towels and lotions and other beach supplies and head over to pick up Cynthia and the girls. I snag my mannish aviator shades on the way out the door. I'm pretty sure that the oversized mirrored lenses make me look like a big bug! I have no idea why Amber would have chosen to wear these, but they seem to be the only sunglasses that I currently own, so I just go with them. The last time I wore these glasses, so similar to the ones I used to wear as a man, it gave me a very disturbing jolt of dysphoria. Now, viewing the world through these familiar lenses somehow makes me feel a whole lot more comfortable, like I'm me again, and I'm seeing the world like I've always seen it, and everything is going to be all right. The reassuring feeling is much appreciated as I head out the door for the first time wearing nothing but a snug fitting bikini, a see through shirt, and sandals. Cynthia is eagerly watching for us and comes out to greet us as we turn up the walk. HA! No Dan anywhere to be seen! Guess he's still out of town. Thank God for small favors. She looks fantastic! She is twenty-eight and still has a great figure. I think she is trying to one up me or maybe just to keep up. She strikes a very sexy pose with her arms extended over her head and exclaims, "What do you think of my new bikini?!" "You look amazing!" Emily declares. "Oh my God! You too!" Cynthia replies prompting Emily to also strike a seductive pin-up pose. I roll my eyes suspecting collusion. Two brand new bikinis for the supposedly spontaneous and unplanned beach trip? Not at all suspicious! Cynthia's two little girls, at five and seven years old, look darling in their basic little girl one piece swimsuits. They run up to greet us with hugs. This is very alarming. My cover up is unbuttoned and hanging open, because it really is HOT out. The little girls are about waist high and stomach high, so when they hug you there is a lot of direct contact. The youngest ones arms end up innocently going right around my bare butt cheeks! I almost jump out of my skin! Every guy is taught from a very young age that you don't have anything to do with any physical contact with any kid, especially a little girl! This is a suddenly terrifying turn of events. I'm sure Emily notices the look of panic on my face because she smirks as the little girl mushes her face against the exposed skin of my smooth flat stomach. If I was still a guy, I would probably be going to jail at this point, but I guess it's okay. Cynthia looks overjoyed when I declare, "Aren't they precious!" So I guess everything is fine, but it still feels creepy. I think Cynthia's two little girls look up to me. They are old enough to appreciate that I look like a really beautiful woman. An adult, not a girl, but also not a mom, which some how makes me amazing! I guess it's maybe the way a boy would look up to a big brother or a cool uncle. I am one of the only adults they know who wasn't a mom or a teacher, so that automatically makes me "super cool". When I talk to them, they always want to ask me questions, show me their latest drawings, or sea shells, or tell me about their day at school, or try on my sunglasses. I wonder if they recognize that these are the exact same glasses that Emily's husband used to wear? Kids can be pretty observant. I try to pretend to be interested in whatever they're saying. I think Cynthia appreciates it. Emily thinks it's hilarious when they call me "Auntie Amber"! The gathering is abruptly interrupted as all eyes turn to Scout, dashing around from somewhere behind the house. The normally timid dog must have heard my voice. Fearful that she is going to miss her opportunity to greet me, she races past everyone else and jumps up on my thighs. I'm afraid that her claws are going to scratch my delicate exposed skin, but the gentle dog is being careful despite her excitement. I squat down and kiss the overjoyed pooch's head while rubbing her ears with both hands. Scout lolls euphorically in doggy heaven. Cynthia and her girls look confused. Their shy and reserved dog transforms into a bundle of exuberant energy whenever I'm around. Emily tries to keep a straight face. She knows what's up, but there is no way she could ever possibly explain to Cynthia why her dog is so enamored with me. "Scout!" Cynthia exclaims. Scout ignores her while continuing to flop happily in my hands. "I'm so sorry. She's hardly ever like this. I just don't know what's gotten into her!" "Me neither!" I state comically. "I guess dogs just like me." Cynthia and her kids just stare at me like I've got two heads or something. My mock proclamation of innocents forces Emily to stifle a snicker. "Here, let me take her inside," Cynthia says with growing exasperation. Scout struggles against Cynthia's efforts to remove her, but eventually relents and trots back inside the house, led by Cynthia, collar in hand. Doggy drama concluded, we get on with the short walk to the beach. When we get there, to my dismay, I find that it's pretty crowded. Cynthia and her girls head off to the concession stand to acquire the kid's requisite sodas and snacks, leaving Emily and I to set up camp. We find a good spot, spread out our towels on the warm sand, and plop down. I really don't want to talk to anyone and the scotch is hitting pretty good, so I just put on my shades and lay back. Immediately an alpha male starts drifting towards me. He comes by and tries to strike up a conversation. I look over at Emily on her towel. She is trying hard not to laugh. I prop myself up on my elbows, look at the guy over the top of my masculine oversized sunglasses and say, "Not interested, beat it," in a gruff and manly tone. Emily snickers. I look to her and mumble, "This is all your fault." I'm resting peacefully for a few minutes when it happens again. Another goon wanders up and says something stupid like, "Hot enough for you?" I want to repel the guy so I say, "Don't let my boyfriend see you. He's super huge and super jealous!" I'm feeling pretty proud of myself for coming up with that line as I watch the guy shuffle off. Emily looks over at me. "So, you've got a boyfriend now? I never knew!" "Shut up." "And he's HUGE! How lucky for you!!!" "Shut up!" This is really starting to suck. I find myself wishing that Samantha was hear. My fearless protector! I can imagine her running these Bozos off with a face melting glower and threats of disembowelment. God I love that kid! I'll have to tell Emily that next time she is planning a secret unplanned beach trip to plan on inviting her too. Next some old guy wanders over. He tries to strike up a conversation and I am really not having it. "I'm going for a swim!" I announce. I'm pretty sure that geezers can't swim. I'm also getting hot as hell. Drinking booze and then sitting in the ninety plus degree sun was not a great idea. I stand up leaving my aviators and cover up behind, sitting on the towels. Without my familiar comforting shades and baggy shirt to hide behind, I suddenly feel very naked! Every head is turning towards me, every conversation is stopping, but I'm all ready up. There's no going back now, nowhere to go but forward, so me and the dazzling electric blue bikini head off for the water. I'm sure that every eye is staring at my back side as I walk down the sand. I am trying desperately to walk "normal", but find it pretty much impossible not to roll these hips with each stride. I guess it is just the way they are built. It's like my butt cheeks are pushing each other back and forth with each step, fighting for dominance or something. The tight string bikini bottom is only magnifying the problem. Finally make it to the water, but the slope of the beach is very shallow, so I'm ten feet out and it is still only ankle deep! No cover at all and I'm sure everyone is looking at me now. The guys all want to do me and the women all hate me. This sucks. I go out about fifty feet and it finally gets deep enough to swim in. Cooling off, check. No creepers around staring at me, check. I'm immediately struck by how different this body works in the water. My old body, a mass of knotted muscle and bone, had the buoyancy of a rock. It would take continuous effort just to keep my head above the surface when swimming or even just treading water. Now I can just hang here, bobbing up and down effortlessly, and the water never gets above my neck. I don't think I could swim to the bottom if I tried. This is the first time I've been swimming in almost a year. God it feels good, and not just because I now possess a more fluid friendly form. With the cool embrace of the chilly lake water, the mild case of alcohol induced hyperthermia is washed away almost instantly. My whole body rejoices at the revitalizing sensations! My whole body that is except for the nipples. The nipples seem very angry about the entire situation. Oh well. What else is new? I experiment with several different strokes, back stroke, breast stroke, freestyle. It is all very... "different". The breasts wallowing from side to side with each stroke. Noticing the extra resistance of my chest as I push through the water. Feeling the unprecedented drag against my long hair as it tangles around my face and neck. Being almost naked below the waist, wearing the skin tight bikini briefs instead of my familiar baggy swim trunks. Since I started swimming, I've also notice that the bikini top and bottom seem to be loosening up or stretching out a bit. It occurs to me that maybe this suit wasn't really made for swimming!!! That's going to be a real problem if it comes off or I have to try and re-tie the strings while I'm floating around out here. After a while, I'm getting bored/tired, and start to paddle back in. Standing up out of the surf, sun glistening, water dripping. It's the pool scene from Fast Times! All conversation stops. Everyone is looking at me like I'm some kind of celebrity or a unicorn or something. Without thinking about it, I swing my hair back to get the annoying wet strands out of my face. It only makes things worse. I feel like I want to crawl under a rock and hide, but I bravely soldier my way back to the blankets, trying to walk in as manly and unsuggestive a manner as possible. I notice I'm actually stomping my feet a bit in my attempt to "walk manly". I'm aghast to realize that this has the undesired effect of making the boobs jump and bounce in my bikini top with each heavy footfall. I immediately revert to non-stompy walking and proceed to the towels as quickly as possible. Mercifully, I make it back over to Emily. Cynthia and the girls have joined her on the towels. I situate myself in the middle of the gaggle. I'm Hoping that being in the middle of a group of women/girls will somehow ward off the interested parties. Some of Emily's other female friends from the neighborhood stop by to visit. Turns out my disguise is working perfectly! There is nary a raised eyebrow as we exchange pleasantries and small talk. The enlarged group of women seems to act as some kind of magic deflector shield to repel the prowling slow witted males. This is great! The "do not disturb" effect lingers, even after Emily's friends depart. With the constant harassment put to an end, I'm starting to feel a lot more comfortable. After about half an hour goes by without incident, I'm really starting to enjoy myself, just sprawled out in the hot sun, surrounded by friends and family, without a care in the world! With Cynthia's encouragement, I even try lying on my stomach with my top untied to get some sun on my back. I'm still a little drunk, so it seems like a good idea. I try to relax, but I notice a couple of creepers staring and pointing from not too far away. The lazy relaxed mood of the blankets is instantly obliterated. I can't believe this! Emily and I have been to this beach a thousand times, literally, and never had any problems like this before. Of course, Emily was always here with me, and I guess my jacked muscles and battle scarred bronze skin was enough to convince even the most obnoxious of jackasses to mind their manners. It just blows my mind what a completely different world women live in! Same people, same beach, but a completely different experience. I attempt to re-tie the top. Arms up over my head, hands trying to work the ties behind my neck, chest unintentionally thrust out, breasts wobbling with each renewed effort with the ties. I'm putting on quite a show for the creepers no doubt. I imagine Sammie running them down and beating them senseless with a Frisbee or something. That makes me feel a little better as I continue to struggle with the uncooperative top. Cynthia notices that I'm having a problem. She offers to help re-tie the strings for me. I end up holding the loose bikini top against my bare chest, boobs squashing out on all sides with the loose strings hanging down over my wrists. Cynthia maneuvers around behind me on her knees to get in position to rein in the free roaming mammaries. I could not be more embarrassed as the creepers stare on with glee. She gets it re-tied, a little looser than I'd had it. Don't know if she did a double knot or not. Don't want to make a big deal out of it. Hoping I don't end up with a "wardrobe malfunction" to give the local pervs even more of a free show. As a guy, my whole life experience tells me that I really shouldn't give a shit if someone sees me topless at the beach, but right now it seems like the most important thing in the world! There is no way I want some strange guys to see my breasts!!! That sudden thought leaves me a bit stunned! For the first time ever, I notice that I am thinking of "the breasts" as "my breasts". Well, shit. When did that happen? Am I actually starting to think of myself as a woman?!? It's like my reactions and thoughts are becoming the same as any other natural born female. Seriously, What the hell is up with that?!? I'm a guy, I reassure myself. I'm absolutely 100% sure that forty-one years of being a guy can not be wiped out by just the last few months of bullshit that I've had to put up with. Up until just this moment I have really been thinking of myself more as a guy in a costume or playing a role. I have been treating my new physical circumstances like that time I broke my leg, hobbling around in public with crutches and a big cast for months. It was an awkward and embarrassing medically induced physical annoyance to put up with in public and in private. The broken leg had changed every aspect of my life, the way I had to dress, how I got around in public, how people treated me, my love life, and even how I went to the bathroom, but was surely nothing that actually changed who I was as a person. I feel my blood run cold and the color drain from my face as the shock of this new realization starts to sink in. "This kind of sucks. Is it always like this for you guys?" I catch myself, forgetting that Emily is the only one here who knows that this is my first time ever on a beach as a sexy mostly naked girl. "I mean on this particular beach," I quickly add. "They're not so bad." Cynthia chimes in realizing that I'm talking about all of the unwanted male attention. "At least they're polite here. I mean you certainly don't have to worry about being groped or assaulted." GOOD LORD!!! I hadn't even considered something like that! Back when I was a guy, with the way I used to look, someone would have to be out of their fucking mind to mess with me. Even if someone did want to try me, I would probably find beating some manners into them more enjoyable than threatening. By my standards, if someone didn't have at least an AK-47 and maybe a couple of friends with him, they wouldn't even register as an actual threat. For the past several months as Amber, other than that one crazy parking lot incident, I have always been surrounded by friends and family. The most public places I have been to are the mall, the gym, a few restaurants. Pretty tame. I've been so completely sheltered that I've never really considered the concept of my own personal safety, something I'm sure that most women think about every time they go out. My stomach coils into a cold knot realizing how ridiculously vulnerable I would be on some beach full of significantly less reputable types! I had done okay with those idiots at the mall, but somehow the prospect of having to fight for your life while wearing a string bikini was infinitely more terrifying! Suddenly wishing I was wearing my army pants, a leather jacket, and a machete. "I had a VERY conservative upbringing and don't have a lot of experience with aggressive guys. How do you deal with it?" I ask Cynthia, legitimately searching for some useful insight on how to handle these kinds of situations. "I just give them a lot of attitude and a 'death stare' and they generally get the hint. If they don't, that's what the pepper spray is for." My eyes bug as Cynthia pulls a medium size can of Bear Mace out of her beach bag! Note to self, don't mess with Cynthia. Also, purchase Bear Mace. Things eventually wind down and we head home. When we get to her front walk, Cynthia turns to embrace me with outstretched arms. I don't know what else to do but yield to her expectations. She wraps her arms around me and I feel our hot sweaty bodies pressing together. Our semi-bare boobs meet in the middle and squash out to the sides as she hugs me. She presses her cheek to mine with her lips just inches from my ear and says, "I'm so glad that I finally got a chance to spend some time with you," as the full body embrace continues. Cynthia's actions are totally innocent and sincere, but I can feel my blood pressure rising as Emily watches this scene unfold from just a few feet away. If she had hugged me like this in front of my wife when I was a guy, it probably would have led to a divorce, but she is just really glad to have gotten out of the house for the afternoon and to have found a cool new girl friend. So other than my wife, the only real friends I have left from before the change are two beautiful young women, Julia and now Cynthia. It occurs to me that this is a little odd. I suppose it makes sense. How was a beautiful young twenty-three year old woman ever supposed to reconnect with a bunch of forty year old guys? So this was going to be it from now on. No more hanging out with the guys. I'm just cut off from that part of the world. I'm stuck being just one of the girls. Going forwards, all of my closest personal friends will be girls. The social gatherings that I attend will be groups of women, not men. As we walk away, my wife gives me a knowing look. I've been lost in my own thoughts and I wonder what she's thinking. Then it dawns on me, I can feel my nipples poking hard into the cups of my bikini top. I try really hard to hide it as my face begins to flush. Really hoping it's not showing. She can tell that I had been physically aroused by being 50% of a super hot girl bikini sandwich. I sure hope Cynthia didn't notice. Wonder what she would think if she knew that her "new friend" was really super into chicks? What a mess! Back home we are stripping off our sweaty swimsuits when I catch a glimpse of myself in the bathroom mirror. "SHIT!!!" I exclaim. "What?!?" Emily shouts from the hallway, thinking I must have stepped on some broken glass or something. "I've got tan lines! Crazy string bikini tan lines with triangles around my tits and crotch!!!" "Of course you have tan lines! You have very fair skin and you spent the whole afternoon out in the sun, wearing a bikini," she states flatly, as if explaining something to a slow witted child. Somehow this is just too much to take. I feel like I've been branded by the cursed bikini. For the next month at least, these tan lines would announce to the world that I wore a bikini out in public! The only way you would have bikini tan lines as a guy is if you were a careless cross dresser or were the victim of a terrible practical joke. Both of them unthinkable worst case scenarios of public humiliation. I guess it's the knee jerk reaction of what's left of my male ego. That's the shock effect it has on me when I see the semi- permanent lines. "It's no big deal. Every girl has those tan lines in the summer," she observes sympathetically. And there it is, the final nail in the coffin of my masculine identity. Up until now I have been thinking of myself, or at least trying to think of myself, as a guy. A guy with a very unusual physical condition, but still a guy. Now, for the first time since the switch it really hits me. I AM A GIRL! Not the bras or the tampons or even getting tied up and fucked doggy style. All of that stuff was private. It was the sneaky surprising revelation of the mandated public display of bikini tan lines for the rest of the summer that finally makes it sink in to the core of my being. I'm literally a girl now. I am going to be a girl for the rest of my life. This is my life. Just trying to get through the last several months has been so crazy, that this is the first time I've really stopped and considered what it's going to be like living the next several decades as a woman. I will have to spend the rest of my life carefully dieting and exercising to keep my beautiful breasts from sagging and my ass from spreading. Trying to wrap my head around the idea of having to regularly shave my legs and pits instead of my face from now on. Having to wear a heavy duty supportive bra all day, every day, for the rest of my life! Being expected to wear fancy dresses for family events, parties, holidays, and formal occasions instead of one of the few nice suits I owned and had always relied on. An explosive realization! I really don't feel like a guy any more. To tell the truth, putting on panties in the morning instead of boxer briefs just seems... normal. Wearing a bra every day is... normal. The clothes are just my clothes. Awaiting my monthly visitor... normal. Being a woman in society, in my home, in a relationship is... normal. It's just my life now. Nothing unusual about any of it. Even the formerly unthinkable possibility of one day having kids. Getting pregnant, having a baby, is no longer impossible or out of the question. Emily hadn't been able to bear children. For some reason, neither of us were that keen on adoption. If we were going to devote our lives to raising some kids, we wanted them to be OUR kids, our own biological offspring. When it looked like Emily just wasn't going to be able to conceive, we had accepted it and moved on with our lives and careers, but my new situation could definitely put that option back on the table. I wonder if that possibility has occurred to Emily? Oh my GOD!!!!!! That's it! It's bat shit crazy, but that has to be it! That statement from the clinic. The one I found conspicuously left sitting on the table next to my blueberry crepes! It was from the fertility clinic we went to, back when we were trying to do in vitro. They still have my remaining sperm samples in storage so they keep sending us statements. There is a monthly fee, but it's minuscule and it was set to autopay. Neither one of us had the heart to stop the payments and tell them to just cancel the account. Closing the account would have officially ended any chance that we could ever have children of our own, a step neither one of us had been quite willing to take before the shooting. So why are we still paying the fees now? Ugh! I wonder if Emily left that statement out on purpose! Was she trying to drop some kind of hint? She should know better than that! Men are terrible with subtlety and hints! Suddenly my mind is rocketing ahead at a million miles an hour. That could be it! Emily is really smart, probably smarter than me. She probably thought of this weeks ago and has just been trying to find some way to broach the subject. It was possible! I could theoretically get impregnated with my own sperm and then Emily and I could finally have the baby we had been unable to have together! That sounds like something she might really be interested in. She had always wanted to have a baby, babies actually, and we had spent thousands on that stupid clinic to no avail. As a guy, thinking about getting pregnant is unthinkable, but physically I'm not a guy any more. We've been given a second chance at a family. I guess that is something that we are going to have to talk about and soon! If she does want to start a family, she might want to start sooner rather than later! I have no idea how I actually feel or what the future holds at this point, but if that turns out to be something she really wants, then I guess the changes I've all ready been through are really just the beginning! I could be looking at some much more extreme circumstances in the not too distant future. A couple years from now I could be breast feeding our first child while carrying our SECOND!!! My pregnancy dream from months ago could end up being an actual premonition! It's a completely staggering, almost inconceivable situation, but there might be no avoiding it. Now that I think about it, I can't imagine that Emily wouldn't want to start a family given this new opportunity. There is literally nothing I wouldn't do for her. I pretty much proved that when I decided to act as her personal bullet shield back at the restaurant when this whole mess got started. So I guess that's that! I survived three tours in Afghanistan, being shot up, and outright killed. I guess I can survive carrying a baby or two and giving birth if we decide that that's what we really want. Asking your husband to get pregnant is a pretty big ask, but I guess it's no bigger than asking your wife to turn lesbian and accept spending the rest of her life married to another woman. I'm sure that there are plenty of biological women who are not thrilled with the idea of getting pregnant. In fact I'd bet most women are pretty terrified about the prospect of going through pregnancy and child birth, but do so out of a sense of societal expectations and family obligation. They really have no choice at all. At this point there is nothing that Emily could ask of me, that I would refuse her. When I think about it, if back when I was a man I had been forced to choose between living the rest of my life in a gay marriage or experiencing a full term pregnancy, I guess I would have chosen the pregnancy as the less objectionable option. So, here we are. I'm the wife, the one who can bear children. If we are going to have a child, it's going to have to be me. It's nothing I ever would have chosen for myself, but, everything considered, not too bad a deal over all. Emily and I are certainly having our fun together and it definitely beats being dead! I've lost my manhood, but I still have my wife, my home, my health. In fact, my relationship with my wife is probably closer than it's ever been. I've regained eighteen years of my youth. All of the little aches and pains and old time injuries are gone. I've gained a new family that really loves and accepts me along with the possibility of finally starting a family of my own. My business is actually doing better than ever and we want for nothing. We are literally living a dream. I guess I'm still looking forward to a pretty good life overall. Good enough. The end for now... If you liked this or managed to read the whole thing, please leave some comments. Thanks, P326R1