Valentine's Ball by Jennifer Brock Andy's best friend needs to show up his ex with a date to the annual Valentine's Ball – how far will he go to help him out?

Here's a Valentine story that I've been working on for a while. It’s still February, so I think it’s still seasonal. I’ve been out of practice for a while, so this ended up coming out way too long. The logjam cleared and I can write again, but I’m not that good at editing out unnecessary details into a concise form.

This might be the fourth most overdone trope in the realm of TG stories, so if you're tired of stories like that don't bother reading this one. There is no violence or force involved here, just adult language and sexual situations.

"Before you say no, hear me out." Justin had come into the living room with a frantic look in his eye. I knew that I'd be totally opposed to whatever hare-brained scheme he was about to describe, but I could sense that he was on edge so I let him continue. "Okay, I need a huge favor. I just got off the phone with Sarah." This was not good. Sarah was Justin's ex-girlfriend, the cause of his breakdown, and the main reason why I was now living in his house.

Justin and I have been friends ever since we were little kids and lived next door to each other. Even when puberty and middle school sent us into different cliques, tall athlete Justin and shrimpy dork me stayed close. We went to different colleges, but hung out together on our holiday breaks. Well, until he started seeing Sarah in his junior year of college and she took all his free time. Still, there were occasional phone calls here and there and we kept in touch. She talked him into going for his MBA, and went with him to Boston, and she liked her insurance job there so when he got his degree he found a job with a bank there. And as far as I knew things were going great between them.

Me, I moved to New York as soon as I got my Bachelor's and never went to grad school. I was making a decent living in web development, but I had the worst luck at picking companies. It seemed like as soon as I started feeling good about a place I was working, there would be a lay-off and I'd have to work to find another job. This economy sucks!

Unless you're a banker, apparently. Justin was doing great, taking amazing vacations, buying expensive cars, getting all kinds of gifts for Sarah. They were together for six years. It seemed like they were always inches from getting engaged, but then something would get in the way. The way he tells it, it all started to fall apart when he surprised her by buying a house. He got a great deal on a foreclosed property in a well-to-do suburb, and I think he paid cash for the whole thing. But Sarah didn't like it or didn't like not having any say in the situation or something like that, and they fought for about a month before she finally walked out.

He called me in the middle of the night, devastated. For a big strong guy he's really pretty fragile. I'd been out of work at that point for so long that I was living in my car, so I hit the highway and drove to his place. It took me weeks to get him out of his funk, so he could function enough to get to work. When I first got here, I put out a few resumes in the Boston area, but no one was interested. I'd been kind of freeloading in his house ever since.

So that all goes to describing my state of mind when he said he wanted a favor, but a phone call from Sarah was pretty unusual. "Why were you talking to her?"

Justin rubbed his face with his hand. "She called to let me know that Dylan was going to take her to the Valentine's Ball. She made it sound like she was asking for my blessing, but really she was just either warning me or gloating. That was our tradition, and she knows it. I mean, we went to that every year we were here. She just wanted to rub my face in the fact that she's replaced me. So I had to remind her that I'd replaced her, too."

Uh oh. "What did you do?"

He gave a half smile and looked at me with pleading eyes. "I told her that I had just as many fond memories of the Valentine's Ball as she did, and that's why I would be taking Kelsey this year. What else could I say? As far as she knows, that would be a totally reasonable thing. So will you do it?"

So yeah, there's this other thing I should have mentioned. Like three months after she broke up with Justin, Sarah changed her relationship status on her FaceBook page to "In a Relationship," and there are all these photos of this guy Dylan. And Justin lost it all over again. So after trying everything else I could think of, I suggested to him that he could make it look like less of a big deal that Sarah had a new boyfriend if he got himself a new girlfriend. And he was in no condition to get back into the dating game, but I suggested he could hire one of those fake internet girlfriend services who would do all sorts of girlfriend stuff on his social media.

But Justin was sure that wouldn't be good enough to fool Sarah. So we put together a plan and created Kelsey Faulkner. I spent weeks creating her internet presence, with a FaceBook page and a Twitter handle, and she commented on a few different blogs and forums. She liked puppies and had strong opinions on the TV show Outlander. She was a somewhat typical Post-Feminist Millennial girl who cared about politics and making the world a better place but didn't feel it diminished her if she wanted to talk about cute shoes. Only after she was well-established did Kelsey's relationship status change and pictures of Justin started showing up in her pages.

It's hard to be believable on the internet if no pictures of you exist, and I wanted to just use a stock photo for Kelsey, but he was paranoid that Sarah would do an image search and find out that she wasn't real, so I actually ended up posing for the few photos of Kelsey that exist. I don't remember exactly how Justin talked me into it, but it was weird dressing up as a girl and posing with him for simulated spontaneous pictures. Because Sarah had met me a couple times, and also because we wanted Kelsey to look better than me in a wig and makeup, I did some Photoshop work on the images to make her pretty. In a weird way, I'm kind of proud of how good she looks.

And then the weirdest thing happened. Kelsey's blog comments and tweets ended up getting so popular that she got offered a job writing for a women's website, doing occasional assigned opinion pieces and a general column. So I ended up having to go to a lawyer and file a "Doing Business As" form that let me cash checks made out to Kelsey, and it also let me get a bank account and a credit card in her name. The part of the job that took me the longest to get used to is writing product reviews. Every so often they'd send me some free thing to try out and then write a piece on, and I tried to do the job as honestly as possible so I actually wore the clothes or applied the makeup or played with the gizmo or whatever. The only time I sent in a review that was completely fabricated was when they sent me a box of some new kind of tampon to review.

So most of my days were spent being Kelsey, either working or doing things as Justin's pretend girlfriend. I even had to learn to talk in a girl voice so I could leave him voice messages that he could play in front of people. He tried having me Skype him once, but I was uncomfortable appearing in an unedited image. Since he didn't want anyone to suspect me, I wasn't allowed to tell anyone I was living in his house – in fact, my FaceBook page still had me in New York. This meant I didn't get out much into the real world, and had to get most of my social interaction in virtual spaces, and sadly Kelsey had more friends than me so I did a lot of just plain hanging out as her, too.

Also, even though all her clothes were hanging in a closet in his house, Justin didn't want to officially be living with her. So I also had to pretend that she lived in an apartment in Cambridge. I kept having to turn down invitations from online friends that were visiting the area and wanted to meet In Real Life, and it sometimes made me feel a little guilty.

So I had to answer his question the only way I could. "I can't. There's no way Kelsey can be seen in public. Can't you just say you broke up with her and hire an escort for the Ball or something?"

He shook his head. "No way, dude. That would give Sarah the last laugh. She'd gloat that I couldn't even last six months in my new relationship. And I'm not going to hire an escort – Sarah would snap a photo with her phone, do an image search, and find out I hired a hooker with plenty of time to humiliate me in public. It's got to be Kelsey."

I tried brainstorming. "Well couldn't you hire an actress to pretend to be her?"

Justin frowned. "I don’t think so. Even if we could drill her on all the stuff about Kelsey you already know, she'd have to be able to imitate your Kelsey voice, and that's on top of finding a professional actress who looks like Kelsey."

He'd just made my point for me, so I crossed my arms in victory. "That's the thing – I don't look like Kelsey either. There's stuff I do to those pictures that makeup and wardrobe can't do. It just won't work."

He seemed to get it. "So you're saying that the reason you won't do it is that you can't look like Kelsey? Okay."

I thought that was the end of that. He didn't bring it up again for a few days. Then he came home late from work the day after New Year's and handed me a report binder with his plan on how to get me to be Kelsey at the Valentine's Ball. I wonder how much of his time at work he wasted on it. It was titled, "Project Cinderella." He said he'd showed pictures of me and Kelsey to experts, and they were confident that I could look like her in time for the Ball. His plan boiled down to seven steps, for which he agreed to pay all the expenses. First, he'd take me to his experts for a makeover. Second, I'd agree to spend the six weeks until Valentine's Day as Kelsey 24/7 to make sure I wouldn't break character. Third, Kelsey would officially move in with Justin and he'd buy her more clothes so I wouldn't be stuck in the same few outfits I already had. Fourth, which was clearly a bribe to get me to sign on to this whole plan, it wouldn't be right for Kelsey to be seen coming and going from his house in my old junker so he'd be buying her a new car, or "Cinderella's pumpkin coach" as he put it. Fifth, we'd practice acting affectionate to one another so that our body language when we were out in public would be that of a real couple. That one scared me a little but I didn't think he'd try to go too far and anyway I was getting a new car. Sixth, I'd let him teach me how to dance, so we'd outshine Sarah and Dylan in the ballroom. And the seventh step was an escape clause. If we went through all the previous steps and on Valentine's Day when I put on my ballgown after a day at the beauty parlor, if I still felt like I wouldn't be able to convince anyone I was Kelsey, I didn't have to go to the Ball.

Most guys would have turned him down, but like I said before, I already owed Justin big time, and I really could use a decent car. Plus, there was a part of me that thought that if it really did work and he'd found a way that I could look like Kelsey without Photoshop, maybe I'd be able to meet some of Kelsey's friends face-to-face. Don't get me wrong – I wasn't gay or anything, but sometimes when I was pretending to be Kelsey it didn't always feel like pretending. I could share my real thoughts, my real feelings, and my real personality with other people without worrying about whether I came across as too unmanly. So even though I had some misgivings about this plan, I told Justin I'd do it. He thought we should formally sign the agreement, and since it wasn't notarized or legally binding or anything I didn't have any problem with that. I even reminded him of my DBA and signed it "Kelsey M. Faulkner." He smiled at that.

The next morning he woke me up at 7:00 and told me that Phase One of Project Cinderella was about to begin. He told me to shower but not to wash my hair or shave, and to skip using any deodorant or cologne. I shrugged and did as he requested. He didn't say where we were going but he was dressed casual, so I did the same and wore my usual outfit of jeans and sweatshirt. After a quick breakfast, he rushed me out to his car and we drove into the city.

We pulled up next to a small yellow concrete building. The sign out front identified the place as "Fuzz Phaser." Justin took a large suitcase out of the trunk (he wouldn't tell me what was in it) and we walked to the entrance. Inside, there was a small waiting area with chairs and magazines and a receptionist behind a counter. A list of their services and prices was on the wall behind her, and I realized that this was a laser hair removal place. That made sense.

Justin told the receptionist we had a reservation. We only had to wait a little bit before the technician came to get me. She was a tall, model-thin brunette in a lab coat styled shirtdress that showed off her amazing legs. Justin offered to keep an eye on my jacket, wallet and phone while I was in there, and then he passed the tech a folded twenty and told her, "We're not in any hurry, so take as much time as you need." Unfortunately, he didn’t leave it at that and embarrassed me by adding, "I want to see her baby smooth everywhere but the top of her head, and be extra sure to get all the facial hair. I really don't want a girlfriend with a beard." I was glad there were no other customers waiting, but it was rough being referred to as female in front of the workers. To make matters worse he then passed her another bill and told her, "Come out and get me when it's all done, and don't let her get dressed. I've got her new outfit here." He tapped his suitcase. I realized that he was going to make me leave the place cross-dressed in public, and almost wanted to run away immediately, but he had my coat.

She turned to me and introduced herself as Beth. Since Justin had done all that she/her/girlfriend labeling I had no choice but to say my name was Kelsey. It's sort of an androgynous name, what with Frasier and all, but it still felt like I was referring to myself as a girl and it made me nervous. Beth said we'd be doing the facial hair first and she led me to a little room that looked a lot like a dentist's office, with an adjustable chair and a fancy machine on a jointed arm. She had me take off glasses and my sweatshirt and then sit in the chair, which she then adjusted so that my head was in the right position. She put on a pair of latex gloves and told me to close my eyes. This mask thing went over my eyes and it was heavy enough that I'd have trouble opening them if I wanted to. Beth told me that I needed to keep my face as still as possible while she was working on me, so if I needed anything I was to push a button on the arm of the chair with my finger. She let me practice a couple times, and then she turned on some soft music and after that I really couldn't tell what was going on. She covered my face with some kind of lotion that felt more greasy than sticky. There was a faint vibration, and a funny smell, and my face was warm and it stung a little. A couple of times I got to take a break where she turned the machine off and I could open my eyes and sit up. When she was all finished, she took the mask off and cleaned my face with a wet cloth and then applied a different lotion that she left on for a minute or two and then cleaned that off with a different cloth, and finished me off with yet another kind of lotion that left my face feeling kind of numb. I got to put my glasses back on so I could look in a mirror. My face was a little red, but smoother than I'd ever shaved it. I couldn't resist touching it. My skin was soft and clear and seemed more delicate.

Beth took me to another room, where she'd be working on my body hair. It had a padded bench/table like a masseuse uses. She went into a cabinet and took out a clean white sheet that she used to cover the table, and handed me a white cotton towel. She then gave me a few minutes alone in the room to remove all my clothes and lie on the table with the towel in my lap. When she came back she said that seeing as how I was smooth to my neck she'd start with my chest so it would be continuous. For the laser to work the hairs had to be short so she began by shaving me with an electric razor. Beth was a little friendlier than before. Since I didn't have to hold my face still, she was able to be chatty with me. Sadly, the first thing she wanted to talk about was my "gorgeous boyfriend." I guess it was supposed to make me feel more relaxed and less self-conscious, but having to talk to a total stranger about my fake relationship just made me nervous and tense. Having to tell the story of how Justin and I met and how long we'd been together was probably good practice for me. I did my best to smile wistfully when thinking about my pretend boyfriend, and I think she bought it.

After shaving my chest and arms including trimming my underarm hair, Beth had me put on a pair of special sunglasses that were more like goggles to protect my eyes. Then she put on a pair of her own, as well as a surgical mask, and then it was time for her to rub me down with that lotion. Next she fired up the laser and slowly ran it along my skin. She started with the hairs around my nipples. The laser works by being more attracted to dark hairs than light skin so where my skin is darker like near my areolas she had to change the frequency or intensity of the light. She explained it but I wasn't paying enough attention. After the laser the steps were the same as with my face – a wash, a strong cleanser that got the hairs out of my dead follicles, and a soothing moisturizer.

After my arms were done, she ran through the same procedure on the front of my legs. Then I had to roll over so she could do my back and shoulders and the backs of my legs before taking away my towel. It felt weird having an attractive woman touching my ass in a completely nonsexual way, and since Beth thought I had a boyfriend she had no idea. She reminded me that I'd asked (but really Justin had decided for me) to be completely hairless, so I had to spread my legs so she could zap all the little hairs around my anus and then down my perineum. She told me that there's an urban legend about someone exploding when they farted during this procedure, but it couldn't really happen. But I was to warn her if I felt gassy since it might cause a burn. I'm not sure if that was a joke. When she pronounced me to be "smooth as a baby's bottom," I had to roll over again so she could do my pubes. I had to zone out so that I wouldn't pay attention to a pretty girl touching my junk, so I really say exactly what happened. But it wasn't long before she gave me back my towel and I got to sit there completely naked and hairless. I felt very vulnerable, like she'd taken away my manhood – not in the sense that I was a woman, but more that I felt like a prepubescent kid.

Beth reminded me that I wasn't supposed to get dressed, and left the room to go tell Justin we'd finished. When he came in with his suitcase I felt even nakeder than before and my towel seemed to have shrunk. Beth left us alone and Justin set his case down on the bench next to me. He ran his hand along the side of my thigh and whistled. "Mmm, smooth!" I tried to shoo him away with my hand, but he just started unpacking my things. He must have gone through my room because he started by handing me the stuff I'd worn under my clothes for my Kelsey photos, special cross-dresser supplies that we'd bought online. Even though Justin and I had grown up together and had changed in the same room more than once, I made him turn away while I put my underwear on. First I tucked my genitals away and pulled on the thong gaff to keep them there, and then over that went my padded panty that rounded out my hips and ass. Next I put my silicone breast forms in the pockets of my mastectomy bra and put it on. When we created Kelsey, Justin had been insistent that she have bigger boobs than Sarah's. So I had to wear a 38D, and the silicone ones were seriously heavy. I would have preferred we'd gone with the cheaper, lighter foam rubber breasts, but Justin worried that they needed to look heavier. I finished my conversion by strapping on my waist cincher and doing up the hooks. It pulled me into as feminine a shape as I could get. Justin had wanted to go for a sexier and more uncomfortable corset, but I'd convinced him that it would have produced unnatural poses and I could tweak Kelsey's figure in Photoshop. I let him know I was ready and asked for more clothes.

He passed me a roll-on deodorant, which stung a little on my freshly bare underarms, and a perfumed body spray that smelled of jasmine with a spicy hint of something more. He told me how he looked through my wardrobe and saw nothing appropriate for winter so he'd bought me some new clothes. He had no clue about women's fashions so he had a salesgirl at Neiman's help him assemble an outfit. The first piece he gave me was a clingy slip in a neutral beige shade. He said my new dress was soft but it was wool so just in case they decided I might want something under it. I told him that it would be easier if I put my hosiery on first, and he gave me a pair of charcoal gray over-the-knee socks. He said that the assistant had recommended tights, but we'd be going to a beauty parlor next to get my hair and nails done and Monique (the salesgirl) had said that it was better to go with socks, at least until my pedicure. Justin told me that there was a pair of tights in my purse in case I wanted to change later. I tried to tell him that only old ladies say "beauty parlor," but he'd already moved on to fetching the rest of my ensemble.

The "soft wool" dress turned out to be cashmere! It was a long-sleeved cowl neck sweaterdress that came to just below my knees, in a bold royal blue. It was very comfortable, form-fitting, and touchably soft. Monique had chosen to accessorize the dress with a wide belt made of what looked like real ostrich leather in a slightly orange tan, almost a mango color. The belt coordinated with (without being too matchy) my footwear, a pair of tan leather knee-high boots with a warm fuzzy lining. They had high heels, but they weren't too spiky and the soles were textured to get a good grip in an icy New England winter. Justin gave me the purse he'd mentioned before and my jaw dropped. It was a Prada, a roomy tote made of soft leather that must have set him back a couple grand! And then he showed me inside where he'd bought the matching wallet, and had transferred my cards and cash and added some more money, for "incidentals."

He'd done a decent job filling my purse – Monique must have coached him. My phone was in its own accessible pocket, as were my keys which he'd moved to a new key chain that was adorned with a large gold-plated cursive K. In another pocket were a spray bottle of perfume that matched my body spray, a compact mirror that had both magnifying and regular reflections and a tube of lipstick in a nice orchid color. I sprayed on some scent and applied the color to my lips. The main compartment of the purse had every girl's essentials: my reusable water bottle, a chocolate chip granola bar, a tin of Cinnamon Altoids, a paperback romance about a vampire that I hadn't read yet, the deodorant and body spray I'd used, the pack of tights he'd mentioned, a hairbrush, some hand sanitizer, a package of dental floss, three tampons from the package I'd reviewed, a strip of four condoms, a resealable pack of baby wipes, a bottle of Tylenol, a package of tissues, and a new pair of designer sunglasses in their case. Justin thought I might be feeling a little self-conscious and want to hide my face before my makeover.

But before I could wear them there was something important I needed to do. He handed me three more things – the case for my glasses, the case with Kelsey's blue contacts, and a small bottle of saline. Luckily there was a sink in the room so I could wash my hands before putting my lenses in. I checked myself out in my little mirror and my eyes looked as blue as they were supposed to. I dropped those things into my purse and I thought I was almost ready to go.

The last things Justin had for me were my outerwear. The long red wool coat he got for me explained why he needed such a large suitcase. It was accessorized with a matching off-white scarf, hat and pair of gloves that looked like they were knitted by hand from very soft yarn, probably cashmere again. Justin packed up his suitcase with the clothes I'd come in wearing and opened the door for me. At the receptionist's desk, Beth was waiting so we could tell her we were done with the room. She did a double take when I thanked her and passed her a tip. She smiled and said that I looked much better this way. She also told us that the process would not have been able to shut down all my follicles, so I'd need to come back in three to six weeks. Justin said he'd already made an appointment, so I just shrugged. She warned me not that if I did see any hairs appearing I shouldn't pluck them but shave; the laser process needs growing hairs for it to work. Justin paid the bill and we left.

We had enough time before my next appointment for an early lunch. I didn't feel like I looked passable enough to want to go into any restaurant, so we hit a drive-thru. I had chicken nuggets and a Diet Coke and half of Justin's fries. As I reapplied my lipstick after lunch, I came to appreciate the vanity mirror car makers put behind the sun visor. It was weird how normal everything seemed. The fact that I wasn't freaking out at all nearly made me freak out itself, but that would just be too bizarre.

The place Justin had called a "beauty parlor" was Femme La Plus Belle, an exclusive salon over in Back Bay. I tried to pull my hair back into as feminine a style as I removed my hat. Justin took my coat and purse and found a seat in the waiting area. I stepped up to the desk and gave my name to the cute blonde receptionist. She looked me up in her computer and confirmed that I was there for a session with Yves-Alain (I initially heard the name as "Evelyn," but luckily I didn't say anything) for a new hair statement, and then a mani/pedi and eyebrow shaping in the spa, to be followed by a makeup application and tutorial by Katrina. I looked over to Justin to see if that was right, but he wasn't paying attention. I smiled and agreed to it all.

The receptionist disappeared into a back room and returned a couple minutes later escorting my stylist. I quickly realized my mistake about his name. He was tall and fit, in a tight black t-shirt that complemented his swarthy tan. His silver hair was slicked back and his intense grey-green eyes looked right into your soul. He took my hand and kissed it softly. "Bonjour, Mademoiselle. I am Yves-Alain."

I think I blushed a little. I said, "Hi. I'm Kelsey."

The receptionist chimed in. "She's that special customer you were expecting." Her emphasis hinted that they were aware of my masquerade. I wondered how often they get clients like me.

He nodded knowingly to her and then took me over to a workstation where he sat me in a chair. "So what is your vision for your hair? What do you want it to say about you?"

I'd been thinking about it ever since Justin had told me I'd be getting my hair done. "Most of all it needs to be colored. I want to go red, but not a coppery red, more of a soft auburn with perhaps some highlights. And I'd love if it could get curls for more volume and bounce, but they say you shouldn't get a perm and color at the same time so maybe I'd just have to live with a wet set for now and look into investing in a set of hot rollers. As far as style I was thinking of maybe a layered bob. Maybe with bangs, but I'm not sure. You're the expert. But I guess that was a little too specific an answer to your question. I suppose I want my hair to say feminine and playful, but not too avant-garde, if you'll pardon my French."

He laughed and took a step back to study my hair, and then came over and ran his hands through it. "Do you trust me, Kelsey?" Before I could answer he continued, "I think you're asking for a style that's loose and sexy and doesn't look like you spent a lot of time making it look just right even when you do. You don't want anything tied down or uptight. Are we on the same wavelength, here?" I had just enough time to smile and nod. "Good, because I'm thinking that what your hair needs most is wave and length." He tilted his head and looked at me. "And I believe you are right – red hair would suit you. Now let us begin!" He summoned one of his assistant girls, who covered me with a smock and set to work shampooing my hair.

All in all, they spent about an hour and a half on my hair. Yves-Alain said that he was so good at neutralizing that he could do a color and perm on the same day, so I ended up getting a body wave and a dye with highlights and he had his minions put in extensions and then he cut and styled my hair. It wasn't at all what I had pictured; it was better! I now had a shoulder-length wavy shag with uneven bangs, in an ombre color that started as a deep auburn at my roots that faded to a strawberry blonde at the tips. It was definitely the playful, feminine look I asked for, and made me feel a little prettier and sexier. When I returned to the waiting room to show Justin he insisted on tipping Yves-Alain himself, and thanked him for his amazing work.

Next I was escorted to a comfortable chair where I reclined and a girl came and removed my boots and socks and rubbed my feet before working on my toenails. Then a second girl came and started treating my hands with lotion to prep them for my manicure. It was all very soothing until the third girl arrived and attacked my eyebrows with a twisted thread, but she massaged my temples afterward so it was almost worth it. However, she surprised me again with a sharp sting to each of my ears. Justin must have added ear piercing to my list of treatments while they were doing my hair. The manicurist gave me gels, but I didn't want them too long. I still needed to type for my blog, so I opted for just enough length that they could be shaped into pretty ovals. I picked a nice pale mauve color polish, with just a hint of pearl to it. I felt slightly embarrassed when they finished and I had to say my boyfriend had my purse out in the waiting room so I had to go get it before I could tip them, which meant walking out to him in my disposable pedicure flip-flops and of course I had to flip up my new bangs with my hand so he could see my delicate new eyebrows, and turn my head so he could check out my earrings. He apologized that the prettiest studs he could get me at the salon were cubic zirconia and promised to buy me real diamonds as soon as my lobes had healed.

I left my boots with Justin but brought my purse when Katrina fetched me to go get my makeup done. She was a petite, elfin blonde with a butterfly tattooed on her collarbone. She gave me a very presentable daytime look, using a mostly natural palette, with just a hint of purple in my eye shadow, to connect to the color on my nails. Because she was hired to both apply my makeup and teach me how to do it myself, she went slowly and explained every step, including why she chose each product. Even though I'd read a lot of articles on techniques, I learned a lot. Due to hygiene reasons, she couldn't use the things she used on me with other clients, so I got to keep all the makeup products. And then when I asked her recommendations for how to remove all my makeup at the end of the day, she added some more products. My purse was almost starting to get heavy. When she finished, I had a slightly glowing even skin tone on my face, slightly flushed cheeks, eyes that drew attention, and full, dewy lips. It took me a couple minutes to stop staring in the mirror. It was hard to find traces of the real me in there, even though I still wasn't as pretty as Kelsey was supposed to be. I gave Katrina a big tip and a hug, and then went to show Justin. He liked it almost as much as I did. I asked to use the ladies' room and brought my boots in with me and changed into my tights after I took care of business. I made a few sexy faces in the mirror while I washed my hands. I didn't dare put my hat back on when I got my coat. I wanted to show off my new hairdo.

Justin told me that my hair took longer than expected, so we were running a little late for our next appointment. So he drove faster than I would have liked as we zipped over to the North End. I lived in New York for six years and the crazy drivers there have nothing on the ones in Boston. We went to a professional-looking office building that seemed to house a bunch of medical practices. I felt this stone growing in my stomach when Justin steered us toward a door labeled "Bay State Cosmetic Medicine." I tried to ask questions but he was in too much of a hurry to answer any of them. He opened the door for me and rushed me in. It was clearly a doctor's office, with a sterile cleanliness and semi-industrial seating for waiting patients. There were large framed portraits of beautiful people on all the walls. We walked over to a desk and Justin surprised me yet again by giving my real last name to the nurse. "Erickson. We have an appointment with Dr. Webster, but we're a little late." And the nurse or receptionist or medical assistant or whatever she was aided in the conspiracy to not give me enough time to find out what was going on and pushed a button on her intercom to tell Dr. Webster we were there.

He was a well-preserved guy of maybe forty, taller than Justin and with a thick head of brown hair. He wore blue scrubs under a white labcoat. He shook our hands and brought us into an examination room where a nurse was waiting. He gestured for me to sit on the table and pointed Justin at a stool beside it. He looked at me. "Ms. Erickson, your beau here has filled me in on your situation, and please understand that you will be treated with respect and courtesy the same as any other woman who comes to us for a procedure. Certain paperwork will have to refer to you as Andrew, but all our staff will call you by your chosen name."

He was being so nice all I could think to say was, "Thank you."

He went on to say that Justin had explained to him that I was a transgendered woman, but I was afraid of taking hormone treatments and so Justin had sent the doctor some pictures of regular me and Kelsey's photos which he'd called my ideal version of my female self, and he'd asked if Dr. Webster thought he could transform me surgically. He'd preliminarily said it seemed feasible, but he had to examine me in person. And unfortunately for that I had to undress and remove all my padding. The nurse led me behind a screen where I stripped down to my gaff and put on a hospital gown with the opening in the front. I felt really embarrassed, with my female trappings on an obviously male body.

I had to sit on the table again while the doctor felt my face, smudging my new makeover with his latex gloves. He had the nurse make some notes about my bone structure, and she snapped a couple photos. Then the really humiliating part happened and I had to stand up and take the gown off. He felt at the little flabby bits of my chest and gut where poor diet and lack of exercise had done their damage, and he felt around my hip bones. The nurse measured various parts of me with a measuring tape, and squeezed me with a caliper in a few places, and used this weird little suction machine to measure my skin elasticity in several of those same places. And worst of all she snapped a couple more photos.

I got to put the gown back on, but then I had to lie on the table while the nurse recorded my vitals and took some of my blood. The doctor excused himself for this part. She took quite a bit of blood, so I was still a little woozy when she had me sign a paper to verify my samples or something. She offered me a choice of beverages, so I had an apple juice and lay there until I was feeling less lightheaded. Then I was allowed to get dressed again and the nurse went out and came back and brought us to the doctor's office, where he was sitting behind a desk. He pointed at a video screen on the wall that was connected to his computer. He showed the pictures the nurse had just taken of me, and then hit a key on his keyboard and they changed into retouched versions not that unlike my Photoshops. Only this showed pictures of me in nothing but a thong, with curves. He said he was approximating the results of removing some excess fat from my waist and doing a tummy tuck, and then adding implants at my hips, buttocks, and breasts. It was surreal seeing a picture of myself as a mostly naked woman. I asked if he was planning on making me completely female, since you couldn't tell that from the picture. Dr. Webster put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "I realize that you want to be your true self as soon as possible, but AMA guidelines require you to spend at least twelve months as your new gender before any genital surgeries are done – I'd only be allowed to operate on your reproductive organs in the highly unlikely event that you were experiencing pain or infection as a complication of one of your other procedures. Besides, you wouldn't want me to perform a sexual reassignment surgery anyway. That's not my area of expertise. When the time comes I can recommend someone far more qualified if you need me to. But for now let's see what else I can do for you."

He clicked something else and the picture zoomed to the face. He said it was a little harder to tell with my makeup since it distorted the image somewhat. But he showed a radically redesigned face, with my Adam's apple sheared off, and my chin narrowed, and the corners of my lower jaw slimmed down, and my nose narrowed, shortened and turned up, implants put in to give me cheekbones, my browbone filed smooth, and my eyelids adjusted slightly. It was almost a perfect picture of Kelsey – this doctor could actually do it. He was talking with Justin about some costs and things, but I was mesmerized by the picture. He brought me around by showing me a piece of paper I had to sign. I'm not sure why, but I signed it. The nurse brought us a tote bag with some products in it for preparing my skin for surgery. One was a vitamin supplement I needed to take twice a day. One was a lotion I was supposed to apply to all my skin before bedtime – Justin was supposed to help me with those hard-to-reach places. And the other was a powder to put in my bath water. The doctor wanted me to take a long, hot soak every morning. Justin gave him a check and Dr. Webster shook our hands and said he'd see us on Monday, and that there was a sheet of instructions in the bag for me to follow starting Sunday. It was Thursday, and Justin had arranged for me to have major plastic surgery in a mere four days! My mind exploded and I just went zombie and let Justin usher me out to the car.

After a minute or so I snapped out of it and let him have it. "What the hell! You planned to have me surgically altered and didn't warn me about it?" I punched him in the shoulder.

He pulled the car over and turned to face me. "Okay. I'm not sure why you're so upset. I told you I'd found a guy who could make you look like Kelsey is supposed to – what did you think I meant? Dr. Webster is one of the best in the city, and don't let the fact that I could pay extra to get you on his schedule make you think he's shady."

I glared at him. "I guess I thought you'd got a special effects makeup artist or something. Maybe I didn't think about it enough. But don't you think it's kind of extreme? I mean, it's changing me into Kelsey permanently. I wouldn't be able to go back! You can't really be serious about this."

He shook his head. "I'm completely serious. First, it's not completely permanent – if you don't like what he does you can always have more work done later. And you heard him; we're not even talking about doing any surgery on your downstairs parts right away because of that weird rule where you have to be a girl for a year before they're allowed to actually make you a girl. But anyway, I think you deserve this opportunity."

"Opportunity? What are you talking about? This was all a favor to you, so don't go turning it around to somehow be for me." I rolled my eyes. Sometimes he could be so frustrating to deal with.

Justin reached over and put his hand on my arm. "You have to admit that I know you better than anyone, just like you know me better than anyone. Admittedly, you first became Kelsey to help me out, but over time I have seen how completely you've become her. You spend your day plugged in on one page or another connecting with all Kelsey's friends. Lately you have more of a life as her than you do as Andy. Like today even though you left the house dressed in guy clothes, you brought Kelsey's phone and left Andy's at home. What have you done in the past four months as Andy that you couldn't have done as Kelsey? I'm pretty sure she could eat Cheetohs and play Fortnite just as easily. I think the last time you left the house was before Halloween. But if we do this surgery, Kelsey would be able to leave the house. You could actually go meet up some of your internet friends, you could take a meeting with your editor in person, and you could take advantage of the opportunities to develop your career, like talking with a publisher about a book deal, or going to a job interview with Kelsey's portfolio of work. You wouldn't have to turn down invitations to conferences like that Women in New Media thing last fall. And as Kelsey you could do things Andy never could like joining a book club for readers of those stupid vampire books, or going shopping for a cute skirt. Kelsey is who you are, so you should allow yourself the freedom to become her more completely. "

I tried to interrupt. "But I'm not a girl!"

He chuckled. "Are you really sure? You let that hot tech fry all your body hair off this morning, and when you put on your new dress you twirled around in it. Put a dress on a guy and he'll either look stupid or try to rip it off right away. But every little girl needs to spin around when she gets a new dress. You looked just like one of my little sisters when you did that. And you were like super-excited to get a designer handbag – that's a total girl thing. Then at the beauty parlor you could not stop smiling every time you looked in the mirror – you like seeing yourself as a girl, even if you don't want to admit it." He reached up and flipped down my vanity mirror. "Tell me you aren't pleased with how you look right now. And while you're being honest with yourself, I think you should accept that there's a part of you who, when I laid out the Project Cinderella plan, wants more than anything to be able to feel like a pretty princess in her ball gown at the big dance. And can you really deny her that? But for that ball gown to look right, these have got to be real." He moved his hand down into my coat and gave my false breast a squeeze.

I blushed involuntarily and slapped his hand. "What you're saying makes sense, but I don't know. It wouldn't be the first time you've talked me into something foolish."

He smiled. "Well just let me say this. You're acting like you're mad at me, but what I'm hearing is fear. You're not saying you don't want to become Kelsey for real because you don't want to be Kelsey for real; you're worried about what could happen if you do. And yes, I have had to talk you into doing things before, but always for your own good. Remember that time at the municipal pool when we were ten and you wouldn't do the high dive? You were paralyzed with fear and got stuck on the ladder, and I had to follow you and talk you through it. And, yeah, you flubbed the jump and belly flopped, but it wasn't the end of the world. It's been a pattern in your life, being immobilized by fear. You're reluctant to try anything new out of fear that it will go badly, that you end up going nowhere and stagnating. Now you know I've been pretty successful at my job, and that's because I know how to manage risk, and my professional opinion here is that you should take this risk. I hate people who say their motto is 'Failure is not an option,' because the only real way to guarantee you never fail is if you never try. So what do you say? Are you willing to make that high dive? Don't worry; I'll be ready to catch you if you trip."

I still wasn't convinced. "What about my sex life? I'm not going to find many girls who want to date a guy with boobs. And I'm not interested in dating guys."

Justin shrugged. "I wouldn't be that certain if I were you. Kinsey said very few people are purely gay or purely straight; most people have some attraction to both sexes. And I read that article you wrote about how Ryan Gosling is overrated and Joseph Gordon-Levitt is much hotter – a straight guy could not have written that piece. There's a part of your Kelsey persona that can appreciate sexy men, so maybe you'll want to explore that. We'd just have to arrange a peaceful breakup at some point so your new dates won't google you and find out you have a boyfriend, so any experiments will have to wait until after Valentine's. Or maybe you'll meet some cute lesbian to go out with. That even could make a good breakup story where nobody's the bad guy; we just let Kelsey realize she's gay. But more likely, you could just continue to date no one for a while. You haven't gotten any as long as you've been in Boston, and I haven't noticed you trying very hard to change that."

He was making me face facts about myself that I didn't want to. I checked the vanity mirror to make sure my mascara wasn't running. Maybe he was right; maybe I was a girl on the inside. Scratch that. I'm a grownup -- maybe I was a woman on the inside. I realized that even while arguing that I didn’t want to become Kelsey for real, I'd kept speaking with her voice. The idea of turning into her full-time and not being able to easily switch back terrified me, but at the same time it seriously intrigued me. Justin was right about the possibilities it would give me to interact with the world as Kelsey without a computer, and I really didn't have anything else going on in my life. And I would get a designer wardrobe and a new car out of the deal. I took a deep breath. "Okay. I think it's a crazy idea, but I'll do it."

Justin patted me on the leg. "Good. I promise I'll do whatever I can to help you through this. Now if you're really not sure you want to do this our next stop is your easy way out. Luckily I assumed you'd need a pep talk and allowed time for this in our schedule. We've got an appointment in about twenty minutes with a psychiatrist who specializes in gender issues. If she doesn't sign off on an affidavit that you're female in your brain, then Dr. Webster won't do the surgery. So let her know you're not interested in being Kelsey and the project stops."

That changed everything. It's like the warden was giving me the keys to my cell and if I stayed in it, it would be my choice. I would no longer be able to say, "This is all Justin's fault; he made me do this." It would be up to me. I'd have to admit that he was right and there was a part of me that was very interested in experiencing life as Kelsey more completely. He didn't give me much time to think about my decision – we only had to drive a couple blocks to another medical building for our next appointment. Almost every fiber of my being wanted to run away and stop this thing, but Justin had been right about me always playing it safe. I suppressed my instinct to chicken out as hard as I could.

The psychiatrist's office was less formal than Dr. Webster's had been. The waiting room had sunny windows and comfortable furniture, and a rack where I could hang up my coat. We were there for about five minutes when the previous patient left and it was our turn. Dr. Galloway came out to get me herself. She was fiftyish, around my height but built a little more solidly, with a few gray hairs mixed into her long curly black ponytail. Her face looked kind and her smile was welcoming. She wore a blue sweater with an Icelandic pattern on it and a pair of black slacks. I stood up and she shook my hand and brought me into her office.

Dr. Galloway told me to take a seat, and I had my choice of a traditional therapist's chaise or a regular armchair. Justin had followed us into the office. He handed her a folder. "Here are the forms with the information we'd like you to provide, assuming you agree that she qualifies. If you can get those done by end of business Friday, it would be most helpful. One other thing I'd like to suggest, while we're here: Kelsey's really nervous about going public; maybe you could give her a short-term prescription for some anti-anxiety meds to help calm her down. But that's not really my call. So now I'll leave you ladies to talk." He gave me a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Relax, Babe. Everything's going to be okay." He shut the door behind him as he went out.

She said that even though Justin had hired her, I was her patient and she wouldn't share anything with him that I didn't want her to. He'd emailed her links to my blogs, so she'd already gotten an impression of my public persona but she was interested in the private me. I'd expected to have to tell her some kind of life story starting from childhood, but that wasn't what she wanted. She cared more about who I was than how I got to be there, so her questions were more about my present thoughts and feelings. She threw me by asking about my relationship with Justin. I wasn't sure which version of things he'd told her. Then I realized that he'd just called me "Babe." That must have been a signal to let me know she thought we were boyfriend/ girlfriend for real. But I didn't feel comfortable lying to a psychiatrist, so I opted to be truthful yet ambiguous. I said, "He's my best friend; I'd walk through fire for him, and I know he'd walk through fire for me. No one else has ever been there for me like he has. I love him." It felt weird saying it out loud, but it was all true, just not in the way she was probably thinking.

We'd been talking for a half hour or so and I was starting to get worried. She was supposed to be signing some form or other to say that I was trying to turn into a girl for the right reasons, but she hadn't asked anything about my male/female stuff. I didn't know what else to do so I came right out and say, "I appreciate your help in getting me to examine my state of mind, and I really hope I'm not messing up here, but wasn't the point of this session to verify my gender situation? You haven't asked me anything about that."

She smiled and almost laughed. (It's probably not good for mental health professionals to laugh at their patients, so she could use more work on that.) "It seemed obvious. Your medical records list you as male, but you chose to present as female for our meeting today (which you have done splendidly; you appear very natural.), so it is clear that you do not feel that the gender label you were assigned at birth is the correct one. Gender Identity Disorder is not really a condition that I diagnose; it’s one that you do. What I can do is assess your state of mind to see if it's some other psychosis or neurosis that's making you believe that your gender is wrong. And as far as I can tell, you're not suffering from any delusions, you're not manically obsessed or sexually fetishizing your gender, and you seem to be relatively stable emotionally. Your decision doesn't appear to be coming from a depressive self-destructive desire. Also, I asked for your opinion of your boyfriend to make sure you weren't being coerced into this. Does that answer your question?"

I was relieved, but still a little panicky. "When you say 'relatively stable emotionally,' are you sure you get me? Because I'm like a bundle of nerves and neuroses right now. Justin had a good idea when he mentioned anti-anxiety medication. If I asked you for that prescription would it make you change your mind and reject me on that form thing?"

Dr. Galloway touched my hand. "It's okay. You're getting ready for major surgery; it's perfectly natural for you to be feeling anxious. Frankly, I'd be worried if you weren't. I think a prescription for anxiety medicine is probably a good idea." She pulled out her pad and scribbled on it, and handed me the script. "This is for a daily dose to keep you on an even keel for the next three weeks. It's a fairly low dosage, so call me if you think it's not working before you try increasing it on your own. But you don't need to be nervous about my assessment. I'm sure your beau picked me for my general pro-transition stance. It would take a lot for me not to approve your change. I've read your articles, and not only is that proof that you've been living as a female semi-publicly for a considerable time, but it's also shown me that you have a very realistic view of what it means to be a woman and a strong feminine voice that comes out in your writing. In an ideal situation I'd want to see you for more sessions before making a formal statement, but I've been led to understand that your schedule requires us to accelerate things. As long as you're willing to sign a waiver that you won't sue me, I'll sign off on your form."

We talked some more, mostly about general stuff, and then before I realized it our time was up. I signed some papers and she said she'd be submitting Justin's forms soon. We exchanged emails and cell numbers and she said I could call her if I ever needed to talk, and that I'd be welcome if I ever needed another session. Justin paid the bill and we left.

I was feeling very conflicted inside. By saying that I wanted to be Kelsey all the time, either I'd lied to Dr. Galloway or I'd lied to myself and I was just hiding from truths. Justin's whirlwind schedule wasn't helping things either – I'd barely had a moment to think before we had to rush off to the next thing. I asked if we could stop at a pharmacist to get my new prescription before our next stop and he surprised me by saying that we had no more appointments that day. We drove to the pharmacy closest to our house. I realized that I had a problem. My prescription had been made out to Andrew Erickson, and I didn't exactly look like myself at the time. So Justin went in to get the medicine, and we ended up having to call Dr. Galloway so she could let the pharmacist know he was legit. I felt better waiting in the car where I could try to come to grips with everything. I pulled out the pictures that Dr. Webster had printed and tried to imagine how it would feel to be the girl in the photos. She had a cute face and a sexy figure; Kelsey was going to be attractive. As a guy I'd never been much to look at – a boring, uninteresting head on a scrawny, out of shape body. But as a woman, with the right clothes and makeup and attitude, I had the potential to be a knockout! And I had to admit to myself that I wanted that. I wanted to know how it felt to have heads turn when I walked into a room, to be envied, to be desired.

Justin came back with a bottle of pills and four pages of instructions on how to take them. He told me that the pharmacist had to cut my tablets so what was in the bottle were actually quarter-pills. I was supposed to start slowly until I was taking two quarter-pills three times a day, and then call my doctor to see if I should step up to three quarter-pills. I was still feeling really freaked out so I took one right there in the car. Fortunately I had that water bottle in my purse. The drug seemed to calm me down immediately, but maybe that was just wishful thinking.

I was feeling worn out by the time we got home, so after a Hawaiian pizza from our favorite delivery place I turned in early. If the whole plan had been up to me, I'd have given my male self some kind of sendoff before my makeover, a night at a strip club or maybe even a high-class call girl like the ones I suspect Justin of using when he goes on those business trips to the city. But instead all I got was a hand job from a girl with a pretty manicure, a bottle of baby oil, and an old sock. I really needed to relax all the tension of the day out of my body so I took the bath that Dr. Webster had prescribed before bed instead of in the morning. I put my hair up in the shower cap the salon had given me so I wouldn't have to deal with its special regimen, and I carefully took off all my makeup. It felt weird seeing myself in the mirror, naked and hairless and hovering between genders. Or is that sexes? I'm never sure which term to use in which context.

After my bath I applied the special lotion the doctor had given me and then went back to my room. Justin had apparently come in while I was in the bath, because on my bed he'd left me a new nightgown and robe set, with a note that said, "I wasn't sure if you had anything to sleep in, since you're being Kelsey 24/7 now." The gown was a knee-length, tank style chemise of a soft stretch jersey material in a dusty rose color. I put it on and then realized that I wasn't sure if Justin would have bought me more of my crossdresser underwear, so I rinsed out my gaff, my pocket bra, and my waist nipper in my bathroom sink and hung them on the shower rod to dry.

At breakfast the next morning, Justin told me that we had some more appointments. He gave me my outfit for the day, a black turtleneck sweater with a pleated plaid skirt and thick white tights that almost made me feel like I was roleplaying a schoolgirl. He had a pair of conservative black pumps for me if I didn't want to wear the previous day's boots again. It took me nearly two hours to get satisfied with my hair and makeup, and Justin was still playing his game of telling me things one at a time, so I didn't know how long I had to get ready. Justin surprised me by asking if I was okay driving in heels, or if I was one of those women who keep a pair of flats in the car. I took him up on the offer and of course instead of something cheap like a pair of canvas Keds he hands me a pair of soft leather Manolo ballerinas that even fit in my purse. Justin also finished off my ensemble by slipping a diamond solitaire pendant around my neck and fastening a tennis bracelet to my wrist. He said, "My girl deserves diamonds," and lightly kissed my lips. I was really confused for a moment, until I remembered that Step 5 of Project Cinderella involved practicing displays of affection.

I asked why I had to drive and he said we were going to drive to Geoff's and I was going to sign over the title to my car. Geoffrey Dodd was our lawyer. He's the one who handled my DBA, so he and his assistant were the only other people who knew Kelsey's secret identity. So while it was a relief that I wouldn't have to worry about my true sex being discovered since he already knew it, I was embarrassed that someone who knew me as Andy would be seeing me dressed as Kelsey, even though he already knew that I liked to pretend to be her. Wait, that didn't sound right.

Anyway, I was torn by the idea of finally giving up Matilda. She'd been with me through good times and mostly bad. My old Crown Vic had been in sad shape when I got her; my dad had bought her at a police auction as a high school graduation present for me and walked me through the process of replacing just about everything under the hood. I think he always regretted that I'd never shown any aptitude or interest in the family auto repair business, but lucky for him my younger brothers Tony and Xander were born with grease under their fingernails. I never felt more useless than when I had to watch a couple of twelve-year-olds change the brakes on my car because my dad didn't think I'd be safe if I tried to do it myself. But I'd done my best to keep Matilda running in the decade she was mine. During my homeless unemployed stretch I'd only missed one oil change, though I did break the law a couple times and pour the old oil down a storm drain. So she was a part of my history that I really didn't want to lose.

I asked Justin if it was really necessary; we had a three-car garage, so there was room for his car, my Cinderella coach, and Matilda. But he said that we needed to keep people from making any connections between Andy and Kelsey, and keeping Andy's car around could give people a major clue. Then he turned my own words around on me and said that anyone who knows me would know how attached I was to that car, so getting rid of it would be proof that I wasn't Andy. I didn't think anyone in Boston would know me that well, but he then dropped another bombshell and said that as a test to make sure that Sarah wouldn't recognize me at the ball his parents were coming to visit the last weekend in January. They'd been pestering him to meet Kelsey for a while, so he figured that since she'd moved in it was time to introduce them. He figured that if the worst case scenario occurred and they saw through me, we'd tell them the whole story and all have a big laugh. But they would definitely recognize Matilda if she was still here.

I had to admit that the plan made sense. It was funny that giving up my car was harder on my emotionally than agreeing to be surgically transformed had been. I took a larger dose of my anxiety medicine to help soothe the pain. Out in the garage I saw that Justin had cleaned out my car. He'd taken out anything that might have personal or sentimental value and put it in a box for me to sort later. All I needed to bring with me were my title, registration and insurance policy. I switched my pumps for flats and got in. Running the shoulder strap of my seat belt between my breasts was different, but it just seemed natural. I wondered if I'd be able to feel that strap when my boobs were inside my body instead of outside, or if with all the layers of clothing (a bra, a blouse, and a coat) between me and the strap it wouldn't matter. If I hadn't been medicated I think that idle curiosity would have been replaced by dread. Justin had been too thorough in cleaning out my car so I didn't have a remote for the garage door. I had to wait for him to open it for me, and then I followed him out the driveway and over to the law office. Justin gentlemanly opened my door for me and waited while I swapped shoes and said goodbye to Matilda.

Geoff worked out of a converted town house that he shared with a few other law offices. I'm not sure if they were some kind of partnership or firm or if they just worked out of the same building. Each lawyer had his or her own nameplate on the front door but they used a common reception area. Justin gave his name to the receptionist and she pushed a button on her phone. We barely had time to hang up our coats before Caroline came out to greet us. Geoffs's assistant was a petite, thirtyish black woman who loved dressing in bright colors and this day was no exception - she wore a chartreuse dress that probably glowed in the dark. She greeted me with a warm hug and whispered in my ear, "You look great! If this is the 'Before' I can't wait to see the 'After.'"

She brought us back to Geoff's office. He was like the complete opposite of Caroline, tall and reedy with a strong nose and a high forehead, dressed conservatively in his tailored suit. Geoff greeted Justin with a handshake and I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do – how does a woman in a professional setting greet a man she knows? I decided to hang back out of reach and just wave. He ran through the timeline for us and was way more forthcoming with details than Justin had been. He let us know that Dr. Galloway had come through and submitted her approval, so everything was good to go with Dr. Webster on Monday. Geoff had spoken with him and said that it would probably take two weeks before I'd want to be seen in public, so he'd made our appointment in court for Wednesday the 25th. Before I could ask what that was about, he read the expression on my face and explained that we'd be going before a judge to file the papers to change my name, and get a court order to have the DMV list me as female on my driver's license. I wished Justin had told me about it, but it does make sense. If I'm going to be living as Kelsey for a while I ought to have ID that matches.

Geoff said that the law in Massachusetts doesn't require genital surgery before you can change the sex on your license, but you need to prove that you're sincere about needing to live as the other gender. He said that there might be an issue with my case because the court usually wants an affidavit from a doctor to confirm that someone requesting a gender change has had hormone treatments, and I hadn't opted to do that. He had a plan to fix that, though. Geoff had talked with an endocrinologist, and if I was still reluctant to go on female hormones I could instead just get a less severe treatment that would merely shut off the effects of my male hormones, and that would be enough for the doctor to say that I was receiving hormone therapy. That was still a big step, but nowhere near as big as the surgical changes I'd already agreed to, so I agreed to do it. He said he'd arranged an appointment for me for just after our meeting and passed me a paper with the doctor's name and address.

I asked Geoff about my car, and the answer made a lot of sense. He said that he'd be handling it since it was registered to "Andrew Erickson" and it would be less embarrassing for him to handle the transfer of title than if I tried it myself. Caroline knew me so she'd notarize my signature without questioning my gender. Geoff asked what I wanted him to do with the car: sell it, donate it to a charity, or send it to the scrapyard. I looked at Justin to see if he needed my trade-in for the new car, but we both knew it probably only had a Blue Book value of a few hundred bucks. Justin said it was my choice, so I asked Geoff to try to find a worthy cause to give it to, something like a battered women's shelter or a group that works with sick kids. I signed the papers and gave him the keys and stuff, and Matilda was mine no longer. I had to take a moment before we could say our goodbyes and leave.

We went next to see the endocrinologist, Dr. Gutierrez. His office was in a high-rise medical building near the hospital. Justin held my hand in the elevator – more PDA practice, I suppose. There must be decent money in being a hormone doctor, because his waiting room was decorated with pricey-looking European furniture. The doctor himself was tall, tan, and very well-dressed. If I was into guys and didn't actually have a boyfriend I might even say he was handsome. We gave him the same story we'd been telling all the doctors; I was transgendered but afraid to take estrogen so I wanted to try just getting my male hormones turned off. His examining-room-benchside manner was very charming. I was almost flattered to have him grope me, or as he put it "inspect my secondary sexual characteristics." He took a blood sample and gave me a script for a standard dose; if my blood came back with unusual testosterone levels he'd change it. He answered all my questions about what this was going to do to my body, and it was another one of those things where I was more curious than scared because of my anxiety meds. Justin paid the bill, and made sure in advance this time that he'd be able to get the prescription filled.

Over lunch, I tried to get more information out of Justin about what was next in his plan. He said that as far as Step One of Project Cinderella was concerned, the important part was the surgery I was scheduled for in three days. The only other tasks on our agenda related to my makeover were a couple of follow-up appointments with the laser and a return to the salon on the day of the ball. He said that if I wanted, I could get my teeth whitened while I was at the recovery spa. This naturally led me to ask what the hell he was talking about, and he filled in the hole and explained that after my surgery I'd stay in the hospital for a day or two but then I'd get transferred to this luxury medical recovery spa where rich ladies go when they get boob jobs or facelifts or whatever and need to heal but don't want to be seen. Dr. Webster helped Justin find the place; it's sort of a combination of a fancy hotel, a day spa, and a medical center – I'd be able to pick from a wide variety of treatments while I was there. The staff there were told about my special circumstances and had promised discretion. Justin told me he had a suitcase for me all packed and ready to go, with comfortable clothes that weren't too tight and that I could put on without needing to raise my arms over my head, as per Dr. Webster's instructions.

Step Two just needed me to stay Kelsey all the time, so the only thing we'd need to schedule for that would be some shopping for clothes, since my wardrobe was still a little limited. But it made sense to wait for that until I'd achieved my new shape. Step Three, Kelsey's official moving in, actually required even more shopping. The problem was that Justin himself hadn't really moved into his house. All he'd done was move the stuff he'd had in his bachelor apartment to the house, so there were a lot of empty rooms that needed to be furnished, plus the décor definitely needed a feminine touch to show that it wasn't just his place. He'd originally planned for Sarah to help him pick out furniture, so as girlfriend substitute that task fell to me. He wanted to go to furniture stores that afternoon, and even though I wasn't really comfortable being out in public dressed as a woman before the surgeries that would make me more believable, I appreciated the time constraints if we wanted to have a fully furnished home before his parents came to visit. I also was aware that even though they knew it was Justin's house, his mother in particular would be ready to judge me based on the appearance of the home, since I was the lady of the house.

Step Four would be my new car, which would have to wait until after we saw the judge and got Kelsey a driver's license. Step Five was practicing displays of affection; he thought that genuine affection would be spontaneous so he hadn't scheduled anything definite. I told him that was a good idea, and leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. Step Six was me learning to dance ballroom style. Justin said that he'd considered starting on teaching me right away, but it was probably better that I didn’t start until after my recovery, so that I wouldn't have to adjust to dealing with any change in my center of gravity. He thought he'd be able to teach me himself, with some assistance by an instructional video, but if I was having trouble learning what to do he'd found an instructor that could give me a crash course. At that, Justin said he didn't have anything else planned for me, so I thanked him for filling in all the holes and gave him a little pat on the hand.

I got my first time experiencing what it is to be the woman in a relationship when we were getting ready to go to a furniture store and I asked Justin what sort of style he wanted the house decorated in, and he had no clue what the difference was, and said that I could make the decisions. Since the house was a colonial and its fixtures and trim were traditional, I thought it would work best if we went with classic traditional furniture. We could keep his old kitchen table in the breakfast nook, and he could keep his desk but we'd move it out of what's supposed to be the formal living room into one of the empty bedrooms. However, his leather reclining sectional would have to go out of the family room; it was too unwelcoming. We'd stick it in the finished half of the basement along with his giant plasma screen and build him a Man Cave. Picking out all the right furniture was going to be a major project. I was starting to understand why Sarah might have left when Justin showed her the house. His idea of filling his rooms with furniture was to just go to a store where they have whole rooms for sale in one price and plunk it down without any thought, and I tried to tell him that was the wrong way to do it – if too much of a room matches too perfectly, it comes off looking fake. But he just didn't get it.

He also didn't understand how I could claim to be furniture shopping when all I was doing was taking pictures of pieces with my phone. To console him I ordered a new bedroom set for the master suite and a new bed for the guest room (my room) in the third store we went to. I told him I'd do some web browsing once I'd narrowed down what I wanted, and then give him catalog numbers so he could order them on his credit card. He said that I could just order them myself; if I looked in my wallet I'd see that he'd already added me to his credit accounts. He wouldn't give me a budget – I could buy whatever I thought the house needed. It was a huge job, but I really wanted to show him that I could handle it.

Saturday morning, I told Justin that because his schedule for me was eating up most of my time for the next couple of weeks, I needed to work on an article if I was going to make my deadline. My agreement to be Kelsey full time meant I had to wear my feminizing foundation underwear, but on top of that I put on a comfortable outfit of a soft pink tunic sweater over gray leggings and my driving flats on my feet, and pulled my hair back into a ponytail and went with only a little makeup. I took my laptop down to the kitchen and grabbed a cup of coffee before setting up at the table to do work. I owed my editor an opinion piece, and I didn't have time to research anything so I wrote about how I was moving in with my boyfriend and how he had no furniture and left it up to me to decorate and then I used that to spiral off into a discussion about whether it was societal brainwashing that made me want to reject my guy's method of just throwing random pieces that he liked together in a room, or if there were objective aesthetic principles that I could point at to tell him he was plainly wrong.

I was almost at my 800 words when I felt a pair of hands on my shoulders. Justin's thumbs started kneading and I could feel the stress just floating away. I let out an involuntary happy moan and sighed, "Thanks, I needed that. I would have gotten a boyfriend a long time ago if I'd have realized all the side benefits. A girl could get used to this." I felt him lightly kiss the back of my neck, and then the realization hit me. I leaned forward to get out of his grip and then twisted in my chair to look at him. "Hey! You're using one of your moves on me! I remember you bragging about discovering how to make a girl turn to putty in your hands. If I recall correctly the next step would be for you to nibble my earlobe and then slide a hand around to cop a feel."

Justin shrugged. "I go with what works. Anyway, it'll be a couple days before you'll have anything for me to try to grab, and a couple weeks before you'll be recovered enough for me to play with them." I hadn't really thought about that. In two days I would have breasts real enough that a guy would want to touch them. Was I about to make a horrible mistake? I shook that thought out of my head and focused on all the benefits I'd be getting out of this. In retrospect, I think it was my anxiety medication that talked me out of it. I've since done some research on it and one common side effect of one of the drugs I was taking was that it can lower your inhibitions – so that little voice in my head that tells me when I'm making a bad decision had been silenced.

Anyway, I gave Justin a light punch on the arm. "Just because you're paying for my boobs doesn't automatically make them your toys. If and when you ever get to play with them it will be because I wanted you to, so don't you forget that. Never assume that since you're my boyfriend that means that I've already consented to anything you want to do with or to me." I shifted my scowl into a smile. "But just because I claim autonomy over my own body doesn't mean I'm a total bitch. I also realize that I'm falling behind on practicing displays of affection. So come here, Baby." I pulled his face to mine and kissed him full on the mouth, even slipping him a little tongue. Kelsey was much more sexually aggressive than Andy had ever been, which was weird since the hormone blockers I was on had seriously reduced my libido. I think that maybe I was having fun teasing and flirting with Justin because I knew it was safe; no matter how much I wound him up there was absolutely no way he was going to try to stick his cock in my pussy, since I didn't actually have one.

Justin broke me out of this chain of thought. As our kiss ended he grinned at me. "Not bad. With a little more practice you might become decent." Then he explained that his real reason for interrupting me was that we had an appointment in the afternoon to go to the place where I'd be recovering after my surgeries, to check out the place in person and to also fill out the forms for my admission. I asked how I ought to dress for the appointment, professional or casual or snobbily glamorous like I assume most of their clientele would be. Justin told me not to worry and that an outfit had been picked out for me and was waiting in my room.

I wrapped up my article and went to see what his shopper had picked out for me to wear this time. The look was somewhere in between professional and snobby – I think I'd call it "daytime glamour." A cream-colored silk blouse, sheer enough that there was a lace camisole for me to wear beneath it, was paired with a tight cobalt blue pencil skirt that came to just above my knees, revealing the gray pantyhose I wore beneath them. The shoes they'd chosen were a pair of leather pumps in an odd plum color with the highest heels I'd worn so far. They made sense when I noticed the lilac cardigan I was to put on to pull the outfit together. I couldn't switch out my earrings but at least the crystals didn't clash with the strand of pearls that called just enough attention to the v neck of my blouse. I thought about changing the color on my nails, but the only other color polish I had was a bold red and the mauve didn't exactly clash with the rest of it. I made up my face in a mostly natural palette, but I did go a little purplier on my eyelids than a daytime look would usually want, just to tie everything together. I brushed my hair out but let it go loose and wild as a nice contrast to my fairly conservative outfit. A couple dabs of perfume and I was ready to go.

I went to Justin's room so I could check myself in the floor-length mirror in the closet that I suppose was technically mine – the master bedroom had his-and-hers closets, and the mirror was in "hers." Since we were supposed to be living together, that master bedroom would also be mine and so would that closet. In fact, he kept the things he'd bought for me in that closet, but they were all covered with bags or boxes so I didn't do any snooping. It was kind of fun being surprised. But anyway, I interrupted Justin getting dressed, and felt embarrassed. He'd just gotten out of the shower and wasn't even wearing a towel. I looked away and excused myself, but he grabbed my hand. "You can't be afraid to look at me, Kelse; that's the whole point of Step Five – we've got to get comfortable enough with each other that we come across as a couple. A girl catches her guy undressed, she's got to check him out and remind herself what kind of man she's got." He pulled my hand onto his chest. "This body is your teddy bear to snuggle with at night, and the key that gets your motor running when you're in the mood for more than a cuddle. So try to look at me with a little mischief in your eyes. Think you can do that, Babe?"

He was right - I needed to get in character. I'm not gay, so I wasn't quite ready to try to look at him lustily, but I could psyche myself up enough to do a little flirting. My name is Kelsey. I'm a girl. I bit my lower lip and stroked his chest. I purred, "Okay, Boo." I'm a girl, and I have a boyfriend. "I'd kiss you but I don't want to mess my lipstick. I was just coming in to check the mirror in my closet to see if this outfit was working for me." I'm a sexy girl and I have a sexy boyfriend. "But if you don't hurry up and cover that sweet ass of yours," I reached around and gave him a playful spank with my other hand, "we're going to be late for our appointment." As Justin walked away I licked my lips and tried to appreciate his form. I'm a sexy girl and I have a sexy boyfriend, and my pussy loves his cock. Nope, too weird; I'm not there yet. Step Five of Operation Cinderella might actually have been the toughest for me, even compared to getting rid of my car and major surgical alteration.

Justin looked very sharp, not quite in his "business" mode, but close to it. He wore a button-down Oxford shirt but in a bolder coral color than he wears to work, with pale khakis and a gray tweed jacket, accessorized with a navy blue tie with white stripes. I gave him a nod of approval as we passed, but stopped to straighten his tie and collar anyway. It seemed like the girlfriendy thing to do. He got me back for earlier by giving me a pat on the ass. I couldn't feel much through my padding, but it started me wondering what the sensation would be like in just a couple days when my skin and nerves and stuff would be on the other side of the silicone. I would have girlish curves in just a couple days that I couldn't just take off if I wanted to go back. The idea scared me enough that I took another dose of my anxiety meds.

Leda's Retreat, the place where I'd be recovering, was down in the middle of Connecticut, so we had to drive a couple hours. Justin asked if it was ok if we grabbed lunch along the way at a drive-through. I agreed as long as it wasn't something too messy; I didn't want to show up for our appointment with drips on our nice clothes. He offered to let me use the emergency poncho in his glove compartment as a super-bib to save my pretty things, but I declined and when he went for a couple cheeseburgers he could eat without unwrapping, I opted for chicken nuggets without sauce, an undressed side salad, and a water bottle. He laughed at me and said he could never understand why girls always choose to eat things without flavor. I could have destroyed him and instantly won this and all arguments by simply saying, "Stuff like that's why Sarah left and you need a fake girlfriend," but I let him ridicule me and chose to let him think he had the upper hand.

We drove up to a closed gate where Justin had to press a buzzer and give an intercom his name before it would open to let us in. The place resembled a large country estate with a nicely manicured landscape around it. It appeared to be an excessive display of opulence from the perfectly groomed hedges to the large fountain in front of the entrance decorated with stone swans. I told Justin that it looked far too luxurious and must cost way too much but he just said, "Nothing's too good for my girl," and wouldn't tell me what we were paying. We parked in a side lot in an area labeled "Visitor Parking – please check in at the desk." A blonde receptionist in a crisp pink blouse and black skirt sat behind a wide counter in the lobby. Justin told her who we were and that we had an appointment with Ms. Benson, and we didn't have to sit in the waiting area for very long when Ms. Benson showed up and introduced herself. She was a well-dressed businesswoman who looked to be somewhere in her late thirties, but since this was a cosmetic medicine center and she seemed to be wearing just a little more makeup than appropriate for daytime, she was probably fortysomething.

She led us through a security door and down a hallway to her office. She assured us that Leda's Retreat prided itself on discretion, so none of my secrets would be shared with anyone on the outside. Then she reviewed the documentation she had on me, which was in a mixture of my names, verifying the procedures I was scheduled for with Dr. Webster, who would be coming by the recovery center personally to follow up on how I was doing. She also noted the prescriptions I was on from Dr. Gutierrez and Dr. Galloway, and asked if I was talking any other medications regularly. I told her I took a multivitamin daily and frequently needed an antacid for indigestion, and she noted that in my file. She assured me that my transgender status would not be mentioned by any of her staff, except when specifically necessary medically. Since I would most likely be under sedation when I checked in, Ms. Benson asked me some things about making my stay there as perfect as possible , and asked what name I wanted to people to call me. Frequently their guests preferred to check in under assumed names, to avoid details leaking. At first I was going to give them my real name, well Kelsey's real name, but then I thought about it and there was a possibility that someone on staff might be one of my readers, and I didn't really want anyone knowing that Kelsey Faulkner is really a dude, so I told her to use the name "Andrea Kelly," taking a female version of my male first name and a variation of my female name as my last name, so it wasn't like I'd have to get used to answering to a completely new name. Besides Justin and my doctors, the only other names I added to my list of approved visitors were our lawyer and his assistant, in case they needed me to sign any more papers.

Other choices I had to make were more fun. She passed me a piece of paper with possible meal options, and had me check off ones that I would want to be served. It was all gourmet cuisine, and the selections ran the gamut from very rich delicacies to lighter low-calorie fare. I chose mostly middle-of-the-road dishes, neither filet mignon or wheatgrass smoothies, but I did splurge on picking the most extravagant desserts. For primary beverage I went with nonsparkling bottled water, and I not only could choose tea over coffee, but what particular herbal blends I preferred. Ms. Benson asked if I was bringing my own cosmetics or if I had a preferred brand of products, and I had to demur to Justin since he'd be packing my bags. He shrugged that he hadn't been planning on bringing any; all I added was that I needed special shampoo to deal with my extensions, and I told her the brand of perfume I'd been wearing. Finally, she went through a list of other medical, aesthetic, and spa services they offered and asked if there were any I was interested in. Justin had mentioned before that I might want to get my teeth whitened, but I went a step further and signed up to get dental veneers. I'd never really liked my teeth and most of Kelsey's smiling pictures had needed a lot of Photoshop, so I jumped at the chance to get perfect pearly whites. Ms. Benson explained that that would mean three sessions with their dentist, Dr. Schneider, to first prepare my teeth, then to take a mold, and finally to apply the veneers once they came in from the manufacturer, and I said that was fine.

Most of the services they offered were either things like facial peels that wouldn't be compatible with my surgeries, or things like hair removal that I'd already had done, or things like laser vaginal rejuvenation that I couldn't get due to anatomy. Because sticking makeup wands in my eyes is annoying, I did say yes to both eyelash extensions and tattooed eyeliner. Justin was a little surprised that I'd go with something as permanent as a tattoo, but I just laughed. I was already getting major surgical work done to change the shape of my face and body, and a little ink seemed too permanent to him? He was still kind of grumpy so when Ms. Benson got to anal bleaching, he spoke up. "She's probably too embarrassed to say it, but she totally wants that; she's mentioned it in the past." For some reason, I couldn't tell her he was making that up. I think I didn't want to pull a thread that would start the whole web of lies unraveling, so I compromised and said that I wasn't sure if I'd want more work done in that area before my implants completely healed, so I had her put me down for that as a "maybe." The only other procedure I added was a session of work on my feet, including exfoliation and massage as well as a pedicure.

She then took us on a tour of the place, but only a brief one so that we wouldn't disturb the privacy of the current guests. She showed me a room like the one I'd be staying in – it was like a suite in a luxury hotel if you swapped the bed out for a hospital bed. The bedding and drapes were designer fabrics. The bedroom area had a walk-in closet with built-in shoe shelves and lingerie drawers and a professional grade makeup table with a lighted mirror. The bathroom had a walk-in spa tub and a separate rainfall shower, as well as a high-tech toilet with a seat warmer. The entertainment system was state-of-the-art, including settings for relaxation sounds and color-changing light therapy. Since staff could be readily summoned with a button press in any room to cater to any need, the room didn't need a minibar like most hotels have, but it did have a cute little chilling cabinet where I could keep a beverage cold that I'd ordered and didn't want to drink right away. There was a vase of fresh daisies on a table in the sitting area, and Ms. Benson said that if I had a favorite flower they could provide it, but Justin said to leave the flowers to him. That was the perfectly boyfriendish thing to say, so I gave him a kiss on the cheek.

Ms. Benson showed us a couple of the treatment rooms that weren't in use at the time, one for hydrotherapy with one of those swimming treadmill-like infinite pools and a hot tub, and a room with a padded table where she said they do massage and acupuncture. We returned to her office where a cup of my preferred blend of tea and a coffee for Justin were waiting. That was a nice touch. We signed a bunch of papers and Justin gave her a deposit check and we were all set. On our drive home I told Justin that I thought the place was way too swanky, like it was only for superrich ladies, and I didn't think I belonged there. He reached over and gave me a pat on the knee. "You belong anywhere you want to be, Babe. Don't let anyone tell you different. Now while I wouldn't use a word like superrich, I do make a pretty comfortable living, and giving you a couple weeks stay in that place with all the pampering you can endure is no strain on our budget." I almost said that it didn't seem fair for him to be footing such a large bill for all this, but then I remembered that my contribution to the project was putting up with pain and physical trauma and becoming a completely different person which kind of makes the unfairness tilt the other way, so I stayed quiet.

When we got home I did some online shopping for housewares. If I needed to impress his parents with my skills as a hostess, we needed better dishes and more cookware than our mismatched bachelor kitchen contained. I even ordered a set of "good dishes" along with our everyday ones, because that's what my mother would have done. Although in her day she would have stocked her kitchen by registering as a bride and getting the things she wanted as wedding gifts. These days you need all that stuff before you're married because you're a grownup on your own already and a girl isn't expected to live at home until she's married anymore. I don't think I'd want to trade my independence for not having to buy my own fancy dishes; women of my generation definitely have it better than our mothers. Even though I wasn't a dedicated housewife I was competent as a cook, knowing my way around a cookbook and having spent some time in the past experimenting with my own recipes. Lately I didn't put much effort into it most of the time, because it didn't seem worth it when it was easier to just heat something that was already prepared, and Justin's depression had taken away most of his appetite. I hoped I'd have time to practice my culinary skills after I recovered from my procedures but before we entertained any guests.

Feeling inspired, I poked around in the kitchen to see what I could make for dinner, and my options were slim. We didn't have many ingredients on hand, just a lot of packaged processed things. I think because I'd been thinking about my mom I ended up making a meal of childhood comfort foods: instant macaroni and cheese, fried baloney pinwheels, and some microwavable frozen broccoli. Justin didn't complain; he just laughed at my attempt at being the queen of the kitchen. Also, even though I was still dressed up he'd changed into his casual workout clothes so I was feeling even more self-conscious. Cleaning up the dishes I realized that I would need to get an apron if I was going to be making meals ready in clothes that I cared about, which would be an even stronger connection with the traditional roles that women were forced into. It was funny; as just a pretend girlfriend Justin had me decorating his home and managing his kitchen. But then even before becoming the lady of the house I already had been doing chores to make the place livable as a way to make up for not paying for anything, so I'm not sure how sexist our division of labor was. It was confusing me to think about whether I needed to assert myself as a modern, independent woman so I let that idea go and moved on to other things.

After my doctor-prescribed bath I changed into into my PJs and did a little more web shopping for kitchen stuff. I ordered a few small appliances since all we had was a coffee maker, a margarita blender, a toaster, and a George Foreman grill. If I was going to be cooking more real food, I wanted a food processor and a mixer and a slow cooker. When I realized that those were more of the sort of thing newlyweds got as presents, I added a bread machine and a waffle iron, and strongly considered an ice cream maker. I've heard good things about sous vide machines, but I had enough new things on my plate that I didn't want to have to learn a whole new style of cooking. I did a little more surfing and bookmarked a bunch of recipes I wanted to try. By the time I was ready to fall asleep, I had visions of roast chickens dancing in my head.

Sunday was a nervous day for me. There was a bunch of stuff I wasn't allowed to do before my surgery, and taking my anxiety medicine was on the list. I couldn't have alcohol, I couldn’t eat after dark, I couldn't do any vigorous exercise, I couldn't have sex (I assumed that included with myself), I had to bathe before bed and couldn't use any strongly scented soaps and couldn't put on any perfume or deodorant afterward. I wanted to write a blog just in case something went wrong and it was my last one, but I wasn't making any sense so I gave up and just emailed my editor that I was having some elective surgery and wouldn't be available for a couple weeks. I ended up burning off the nervous energy by making detailed measurements of all the rooms in the house, including all the windows. Justin had blinds in some of them, but no decent drapes or curtains anywhere. I also took pictures with my phone of every room in the house so I'd have a reference for the wall colors. The original owners of the house had made some interesting choices, not quite what I'd have done, but there wasn't enough reason to try to repaint all the walls in our short time frame.

I ran my decorating concept past Justin. On the main floor, the formal living room and dining room would be furnished in a traditional style but the family room would be a little more comfortable and relaxed, with a couple of seating areas, a TV above the fireplace and a decent sound system. The family room was huge, so it needed something large to balance it out, I thought maybe a piano. Since his parents would be our primary guests, I decided they might find it easier if we made the first floor bedroom the guest room, and I'd do that in a very country style, with a queen-size four poster covered in a quilt, a sturdy wooden rocking chair, and mismatched vintage dressers. Upstairs the master bedroom's sleeping area would be done in more modern furniture that suited Justin's taste, while the attached sitting area would be cozier with a loveseat facing the fireplace, a chaise with a good reading lamp and a nice bookcase, and a café table set up in the bay window. The other bedrooms that scared Sarah off with fear that Justin wanted to rush to fill them (not a problem for me since I wasn't going to be getting pregnant any time soon) gave me a little more room to be creative. The two closest to the master suite shared a Jack-and-Jill bathroom, so I thought it would be cute to make one of them into Justin's office and the other one into mine, with desks and file cabinets and whatnot. I figured I'd put a daybed in mine and use that to sleep in when his parents were visiting since they'd be in my usual room. The last bedroom I thought we'd use as a home gym, with his weight bench and my yoga mat. Justin said it all sounded fine to him; all he seemed to get excited about was when I gave him free rein to design his own "Man Cave" in the basement. His eyes got a twinkle and I could almost see him mentally preparing a project binder for his perfect playroom.

The other main thing I did that day was get out my "Andy" phone and call my mom. I told her that I was doing better – I'd recently accepted an offer to get in on the ground floor of a new project that had the potential to open a lot of exciting new opportunities for me, but I was under a nondisclosure agreement and couldn't talk about the details. I'd tell her about it sometime in the future when I was allowed to. However, during the first couple months of the project I probably wouldn't have much time for other stuff, so she might not hear from me for a while. This wasn't all that different from tech startups I'd worked at in the past, so it didn't sound like I'd raised any red flags for her. Part of me wanted to tell her she was going to have a daughter soon, but I wasn't sure how she'd react and didn't want my secret to get out, so I stifled the urge and just told her to give my love to Dad and the twins, and I'd try to get back for a visit later in the year when the weather was nice, maybe in the summer.

After hanging up, I turned off my phone and Justin helped me go through all my stuff, boxing up the personal mementos and things I cared about, and putting most of Andy's clothes in bags so they could be donated to charity and other stuff in garbage bags to be thrown out. Justin didn't want any sign that someone other than he and Kelsey had been living in our house, in case visitors or guests went snooping. Most of the things I was keeping went into unlabeled boxes down in the basement storage, but things I wanted to be take out and look at and touch every so often, like Andy's phone, went in a box in the closet in my office labeled "Kelsey's Old Stuff" and I camouflaged it further by putting an old china doll I got at a thrift store and a scrap from an old blanket on top of my things, so anyone opening the box wouldn't suspect anything.

The day of my surgery I got up early and wore the comfortable dress I'd worn on Thursday. I wasn't allowed to wear makeup, so I felt weird seeing Andrew's face with Kelsey's hair and eyebrows in the mirror. But at the same time it was like the last time I'd be seeing that face, so my feelings were mixed. I wore my sunglasses and hoped I didn't look too much like a guy. Since I couldn't wear my contacts, everything was kind of blurry. I had my regular glasses in my purse if I needed to read anything, but they weren't particularly feminine and I felt that how I'm seen is more important than how I see. The drive to the hospital was uneventful, and Justin was superprepared as usual and knew exactly where we needed to go to check in. There was a special area where surgical patients could wait, and when it was my turn Justin came in with me. He turned his head while I undressed and put on the hospital gown, and he took my things with him when he had to leave. I met a couple nice nurses who prepped me, and an anesthesiologist who talked to me and hooked me up to a thing and then I don't remember much.

I was on a lot of drugs so I only know that I was in a recovery room for a couple hours because people told me later. And I've seen a photo of how I looked when I got out of surgery, what Justin calls my "sexy mummy" look, but it's all really hazy for me now. I had a dressing on my face, and a whole lot of drain tubes coming out of my body. The next time a doctor tells you that he can minimize swelling and bruising after your operation by putting a drain in the incision, think twice before you say yes. Surgical drains are these little tubes that collect blood and other leaking fluids into bags that will be attached to you and need to be emptied every so often. I think I had eight drains in that first day in the hospital. They took most of them out the next day, but they were still really icky.

The other thing I got on that first day in the hospital was new underwear. To keep my breast implants in place I had to wear a special post-surgical bra, and to both keep my tummy tuck tight and hold my hip and butt implants in place I had to wear a special compression garment that was essentially a high-waisted knee-length girdle. The awkward part about it was that it was crotchless, so my stuff was hanging out, tough to conceal under a hospital gown. I assume that I probably felt pretty embarrassed. I stayed overnight at the hospital and after those drains were removed and the dressing on my face was reduced I was allowed to leave. Justin showed up with a real nice nurse who helped me change out of my hospital gown into a pretty housecoat that zipped up in front and came with a matching pair of slippers, and she gave me a shot of local anesthetic so I'd be able to sit without pain and she rolled me out of there in a wheelchair and into a shuttle van that took me to the recovery center. The drive was so long that I needed another numbing shot before we got there, but I was still on enough general pain medicine that I don't remember a lot of the details.

My stay at Leda's Retreat lasted almost two weeks, but all I can recall from the first couple of days was that it took me forever to get comfortable in bed. There was no position I could lie in where I didn't have my weight on one implant or another. They ended up having to arrange specially shaped blocks of foam to support me without squashing any of the new parts, and they gave me a sedative to sleep. I also recall that I was so itchy everywhere that they raised my anti-anxiety meds to keep me calm. I think it was my body sending signals about all the foreign objects that had been inserted. Eventually it got used to them, but it was a big adjustment getting through those initial few days. I think Justin visited just about every day and did what he could to help, but my brain was so foggy at the beginning that I only know some things from what I was told without remembering them myself.

It took a while for how drastic all the changes were to finally hit me. When the dressing on my face had been reduced to where it was little more than a couple bandages and a splint across my nose, the nurses were able to put my contacts in for me. So that day when they were changing and bathing me, I got my first clear look at my chest without my bra on, and I could see my skin covering the two projections down there, with my nipples right there in the middle. It wasn't like it had been when I had falsies stuffed in my bra – I had actual breasts of my own! Instead of flabby little man-boobs I had real boob boobs that were a part of my body and not something attached to it. This was really happening. I wasn't Andy anymore; I was Kelsey. When the nurse got around to removing my girdle and cleaning my lower half, I got a look at my narrower waist and wider hips, a real hourglass figure. There was just one thing that didn't belong. I talked the nurse, a lovely girl named Molly, through the steps of tucking my stuff away so she could fasten the crotch snaps on my clean girdle. I also decided to get dressed in actual clothes instead of just spending all day in my robe or my silk pajamas like I had been doing. Justin had brought me a baby pink soft cotton shirtdress with buttons all the way down so it was easy to put on. I like to think of that as my first real day as a woman. Since I could see better I was also able to get back into using my laptop and my phone again. I browsed a few online auctions for antiques that I thought would work well as accent pieces in my role as decorator, and I ordered a treadmill after I had a physical therapy session that used one. I liked watching the way my hips moved in the big mirror in the therapy room. I wondered if I'd seem too vain if I put a mirrored wall in my home gym.

When Dr. Webster came by to check on how I was recovering, I made a horrible mistake. When he asked me how I was feeling I mentioned that my testicles were feeling sore from how the nurses were tucking them, and asked if there was something he could do to make that pain stop. I figured he could inject Botox to numb the nerve or something. He gave me a knowing nod and said that he'd take care of that pain. Maybe if I'd been paying better attention, or maybe if I wasn't on so many different drugs, I'd have understood what he meant and stopped him. But I didn't remember how at our first meeting he'd told me that the only reason he could do any genital surgery was if something was going wrong down there, and so I had accidentally used the magic code phrase that got him to do what he thought was what I wanted. While he had me under anesthesia to remove most of my drains and stitches, he also went in with his knife and plucked out my testes. When he was telling me about it afterwards, he seemed so happy for me. I had to smile and pretend that it was what I had indirectly asked for, since we'd based this whole thing on a false concept of who I was and who I wanted to be. I had to act relieved when I found out that my "troublesome tissue" had been sent to the incinerator.

I wanted to call Justin to get some sympathy, but I couldn't be sure who might overhear either of us, so that wasn't an option. I was pissed off but mostly with myself. I could hear my mother's voice in my head, "This is what happens to liars, Andrew!" She was right, but the consequences of this set of lies were kind of extreme.

What it meant was that I really had to stop thinking of this as temporary; there wasn't really a way I could go back to being Andy just the same as always. I decided to channel my energies into becoming Kelsey as thoroughly as I could. I needed to let go of any hang-ups I had about femininity and embrace my womanhood fully! One upside of the whole thing was that without my body manufacturing masculinizing hormones I didn't need to counter them and they could adjust my prescriptions to a lower dosage of feminizing ones. At least they would have, if I hadn't decided that my nipples looked much too small for my huge boobs and so I wanted more estrogen to make them grow. I'm unclear on whether this decision was made out of depression or drug-impaired judgement or actual sound reasoning, but either way they consulted with my endocrinologist and started me on estrogen. Also, I think because I wanted to punish myself a little more, I went ahead and had them do the anal bleaching, which didn't hurt since I was on so many painkillers already. I should have come up with something more torture-y.

Of my three sessions with Dr. Schneider, the cosmetic dentist at Leda's Retreat, the only one I really remember is the last one. That was when he cemented my new porcelain veneers onto my teeth, and I hadn't even noticed that he'd already removed a little material from each one to make room for the new surfaces. When he finished it was like I had a new set of teeth, bright and white and perfectly even. It made me want to smile more, which definitely worked out well on my new face. When Justin came to visit that day, he said I looked prettier and it took him a while to figure out what had changed. I grinned at him for a while before telling him about them. He asked if my teeth felt any different than before, and I think I surprised both of us when I said, "Feel them yourself and find out," and then pulled his face to mine and gave him a long, full kiss, invading his mouth with my tongue only long enough to tease his to join me back in mine, where he could run it across my new teeth. He tried to embrace me and let his hands wander across my new curves, but I wasn't ready for that, so I took his wrists and stepped back, telling him that I was still healing. I'm still not sure what inspired that – if it was my anxiety meds or hormones or just a whim.

So when Justin stopped by after I'd gotten my eyelashes and eyeliner, I didn't tease him and make him guess. I just fluttered my eyelids and asked him how they looked. He said, "Every time I come here they've managed to somehow make you even more beautiful." I couldn't tell whether or not he was being sincere or just staying in character as my "boyfriend," and I wasn't sure which option I wanted it to be. The compliment made me involuntarily blush, and I tried to dismiss it but thanked him anyway. I was wearing a forest green wrap dress that was made of a soft, clingy jersey material that wasn't very thick and my special bra didn't have any compression where my implants were, so when I gave him a hug in appreciation, I was sure he could feel my erect nipples pressing against his chest. I know they could feel him. It's probably my imagination but I swear as soon as I got my boosted estrogen injection, their sensitivity quadrupled! It was difficult trying to show appreciation and playful-but-not-too-real flirtation all while trying to ignore what felt like giant spikes poking out the front of my dress. I know as women we're supposed to get upset when people we're talking to can't stop sneaking glances at our boobs, but is it okay if we keep looking down to sneak glances ourselves? I couldn't find any useful advice online about that, so I just took extra anxiety meds to stop obsessing about it.

My favorite person at Leda's was Miranda, my physical/occupational therapist. She was a brunette with a café au lait complexion and an athletic build, a little taller than me. Besides helping me learn how to walk with my new center of gravity, occupational therapy also covered things I hadn't considered, like how sitting down with my enhanced butt meant finding the chair faster than I was used to, or how I needed to consider how closely I wanted to sit at the dining table if I didn't want my boobs obscuring my view of my plate, and even how the shape of my face had changed, so I couldn't pass the "close your eyes and touch your nose" drunk test. My brain's sense of my physical body needed to be retrained. After getting the basics down, around the end of the first week, she had me move on to more advanced stuff. She had Justin bring "my highest heels" so I could practice walking like a grown woman and not just a little girl (her words). And she wanted me to do more than just cross a room without twisting an ankle; I needed to cross a room like I owned it: head held high, chest forward, and with conscious control over how much sexy wiggle I wanted to put in my hips.

Miranda told me, "You can't be a shy little mouse and fade into the background like you're invisible anymore. Looking like that, you will draw attention. Wherever you go, the people are going to label you in their minds as 'the girl with the big tits,' and along with that they’re going to think three things about you: that you're stupid, that you're easy, that you're fake and shallow, and a good number of them are going to be looking for any excuse to call you a bitch. So you need to just take command of the stares of all those strangers judging you before they get to know you, with a walk that says you're a bitch who's got her shit together." That's how cool she is; even in a therapist/patient situation, she'll use casual swearing that makes you think of her more like a friend than someone you're paying. Also, she was right. I'd been focusing so much on being a woman that I wasn't paying attention to the kind of woman I'd become. It scared me a little to think of all the unwanted attention I'd be getting, and Miranda really did help me gain confidence by teaching me how to walk with attitude, whether I wanted to project "business bitch" or "sexy seductress" and a range of styles in between.

I made the mistake of telling Miranda that I would be learning ballroom dancing, and she said that dancing was a good idea for getting to know my body, but she thought that it was a far more useful skill to teach me how to dance in a club. She'd zip me into one of several tight dresses that she'd convinced Justin to bring me, slide some shiny hose on my legs, and slip my feet into FMP's or strappy sandals with impossibly high stiletto heels. Then she'd put on some music and tell me to move. I was horrible. I was never much of a dancer before, and the few moves that I'd had as a guy did not work with my new shape. She declared me as "too white and uptight," and had to start me out at a very basic level, telling me to let go and just let my body feel the music and move on its own. I still didn't quite understand, so she had me stand opposite her and mirror her actions, as we first started moving our hips in time with the beat, and then we moved it up into our shoulders kind of shrugging from side to side, and then she just let her head wobble on her neck a little crazily which took me a bit to copy correctly. Then we started moving our feet, just shuffling a little at first but moving on to actually kicking and stepping and we were moving around the room. And she added some hand motions but kept it low since I wasn't allowed to raise my elbow above my shoulder. But even though I wasn't throwing my hands in the air and waving them like I just don't care, I finally understood that expression. It's about not caring what anyone else thinks, if they see you doing something that looks silly. I was able to let go and feel the music without letting any inhibitions get in the way, which may have been assisted by my meds, but either way even though this girl was still white, she was no longer uptight.

Dancing is such an amazing way of releasing emotional energy – it's a shame that I'd never really gotten into it before! By the end of my stay at Leda's, thanks to Miranda I was ready to go clubbing. I could do hip rolls, body rolls, and booty rolls, and I had also been taught how to "pop it," "drop it," and I could even "twerk it," although I wasn't supposed to do any of those too vigorously until I was completely healed from my surgeries. In the past I had used the expression "doing my happy dance" in messages to Kelsey's online friends, but I hadn't meant it. Now that I actually was in touch with my inner dancefloor diva, the idea of a good mood making me want to blast some tunes and whirl around the room just made sense. I even made a playlist on my phone just for when I needed to move.

Just before I was about to check out of Leda's, something happened that was kind of good and kind of bad at the same time. As it happened, the annual Women’s March to protest the president's antifeminist stances on a few key policies was happening the Saturday before they let me out, with the main march in Washington, DC and companion marches going on in other US cities and all over the world. My editor had contacted me to see if I was planning to attend the one in Boston, and if I could live-blog it. So the bad part is that I had to turn her down because I was still recovering from elective surgery. But the good part is that it made me realize that I would now be able to cover a story like that, going somewhere as Kelsey and being unconditionally accepted as a woman among women. I hadn't been very politically active before; I hadn't even bothered to register to vote in Massachusetts and hadn't voted in the last couple of elections when I'd been in New York. Justin and I never really talked politics but I was pretty sure he was conservative, and although when we'd created Kelsey's original persona we gave her a fair amount of progressive opinions, I didn't tell him I was thinking about becoming more actively involved in the future.

Since Justin hadn't brought my clothes and shoes and things to me all at once, when the day came to check out I was amazed at how many suitcases he had to bring to pack up all my things. Apparently I now owned a five-piece set of designer luggage, in a pink floral print design. I suspect that instead of getting a salesperson to help him, Justin just went to the store and looked for the girliest bags he could find. I don't know why he couldn't have just got a more neutral style of baggage that he might have been able to use himself sometimes – how many trips was he thinking I'd be taking, that I'd need my own set of luggage? I was under doctor's orders not to do any heavy lifting or carrying until my boobs were more settled, so I just got to sit and watch like a spoiled rich girl while my servants packed up my belongings.

Justin went with me to my appointment with Dr. Webster to get cleared for discharge. It was a little weird, but he was supposed to be my boyfriend and assumed to be involved in my recovery. So when the doctor had his nurse lead me behind a screen to undress and come back out in just a robe and sit on the examination table, I had to try not to be embarrassed. I was just glad that I'd taken the time to tape up what was left of my boy parts into their closest approximation of girl parts, so when Dr. Webster opened my robe I just felt like a naked woman and not a freakish pervert. But I still wasn't quite ready for Justin's, "Wow – great work, Doctor!" and I could tell I was blushing. Dr. Webster took out a tube of lotion and squirted some onto his gloved hand to show me how much to use, then lightly massaged my right breast, and had me copy his action on the left one. I would need to do this twice a day to make sure I wasn't developing any tough scar tissue. Justin piped up. "I can help you do that if you want, Babe." Dr. Webster said that could work, but felt the need to remind us that I wasn't ready for any vigorous activity like sex yet, so it might not be a good idea. Next I had to get off the table and we repeated the procedure on my bottom half, gently massaging the area around each implant, making sure that nothing changed position and everything was soft and flexible. (Although going by the appreciative noises Justin was making, I suspect that not all of him was remaining soft.)

I got to go back behind the screen and get dressed again. The nurse handed me a new set of my special undergarments, where they'd modified them so there was only one set of eyes for the hooks and I couldn't possibly put them on too tight or too loose. After helping to zip up my dress, she also gave me a Leda’s Retreat branded tote bag that contained three more sets of underwear, as well as two bottles of the lotion the doctor had used on me. We went back around to where the men were, and Dr. Webster handed me a folder and ran through the couple pages in it that described my aftercare instructions, as well as what I was and was not allowed to do.

He started with the section about my breast implants. There were drawings that showed how to do the massage procedure he’d just done, and a list of symptoms to look out for – if any of those appeared I was to call him immediately. There was another illustration showing how my post-surgical bra was supposed to look, and a list of things I wasn’t allowed to wear until the doctor gave me the okay, not even during the brief time every day that I wasn’t in the support bra. Because I wasn’t allowed to raise my arms above my shoulders, he had a couple more things to put in my tote bag. One was a telescoping handle with a hook and an alligator clip on the end that was made for working a zipper on the back of a dress without having to reach my hand over my head. I gestured at Justin and joked that I already had a tool for helping zip me up, but I’d take it anyway. Dr. Webster laughed and said that Justin was probably also my device for reaching up on high shelves but he gave me a backup for when he wasn’t around; it was a stick a couple of feet long with a trigger at one end that operated a claw at the other for grabbing things. It folded in half for convenience.

When I didn’t have any questions, he moved on to the next section, which covered my hip and buttock implants. Once again we started with diagrams of the massage techniques and a list of warning signs to report to him as soon as they were noticed. And then there was picture of the properly worn support brief, and then a list of what I was allowed to wear. I was warned against sitting on hard surfaces for too long, so an inflatable pillow that I could carry in my purse was added to my bag of parting gifts. And lastly, they added an enema kit, to avoid straining myself or spending too much time on a toilet seat. Once more I was told that I wasn’t allowed to have sex or engage in other serious athletic activity until things had healed further. I think it was something about the way Justin was looking at me that made him repeat the prohibition on sexual activity. We made an appointment for me to see him back at his regular office in in a couple weeks, and I thanked them for all they’d done, and Justin shook Dr. Webster’s hand.

They led us out to the main office, where Ms. Benson had more forms for us. As I signed my discharge paperwork, she gave me a folder with information about all the procedures I'd had done while I’d been a guest. I would have to come back at the end of the week for Dr. Schneider to check that my dental veneers were working okay. But for follow-up maintenance on my eyelash extensions and anal bleaching, (Justin had to suppress a chuckle when that was mentioned) she gave me a list of facilities closer to where we lived where I could get those touched up. Justin wrote her a check and then I was finally free again.

In fact, I felt freer than ever; I was a girl who was ready to be seen by the world! This time when we stopped for lunch on our way home, I didn't want a drive-through; I wanted a restaurant where we could go inside and sit at a table and eat with real silverware. Justin picked a nice seafood place, and when we entered I could sense the eyes watching me so I used the best "Own the room" walk that Miranda had taught me. I think even my escort was impressed.

As we were driving home, I finally let Justin in on my secret and was able to tell him about how a miscommunication with Dr. Webster had resulted in the loss of my family jewels, which pretty much meant that my new femininity was probably permanent. He said, "Whoa, that's rough, dude. I'm sorry that had to happen to you, but you seem surprisingly okay with it."

I shrugged. "There's no point in complaining about something I can't change. It seems like Kelsey is my future so I'd better get used to it. When life takes away your lemons, make pink lemonade!" I giggled at my new catchphrase as though it were much funnier than it actually was, and Justin shot me a puzzled look and mumbled something about "girl humor."

When we arrived home, there was another surprise for me. The garage was full of large boxes and pieces wrapped in plastic; some of the furniture and household items I'd ordered had been delivered but Justin was clueless about where everything went even though I'd told him my design plan. He told me, "Don't worry about all this stuff. My folks won't be here until Friday, so Pete's sending a couple of guys here on Tuesday to assemble stuff and put it all wherever you tell them to." I looked at him with a confused expression. "Oh yeah, I never told you about Pete. I've got something to show you." He made me wait until he'd brought all my bags to my room before demonstrating what he meant. All I could do was follow him back and forth and pepper him with questions he ignored. Finally he said, "Here's what Pete did," and led me down the hall to the basement stairs. "Now you told me to put my stuff down here and I had complete control over my Man Cave. So I asked around and found a great contractor, that's Pete, and we came up with a plan and he knew what it would take to get all the right permits and inspections done quickly, and in two weeks, he did this." Justin opened the door, and I saw that now there were lighting strips illuminating each stair.

He intentionally blocked my view as we descended, so I couldn't see anything until we were all the way down, when he stepped back and struck a pose like a spokesmodel, gesturing at the room with both hands. "Welcome to my playroom!" This Pete guy had done incredible work in such a short time –new carpet had been laid through the whole space, a new ceiling was above us, and the walls had been finished with a nice knotty wooden wainscoting. Across one end of the room was a bar that could have come out of an English pub, a big polished chunk of hardwood with a classic brass rail. Justin showed me that it had a kegerator, a stocked wine chiller, a mini-fridge, a separate icemaker, and a working sink. For snacks he had a microwave and an old-fashioned popcorn machine. He pointed out a door that I hadn't noticed we'd passed, and explained that since they had to put in plumbing to do the sink, he had them add a half-bath. He walked over to a plain looking section of the wall and pushed against it. It swung out, revealing a hidden door into the part of the basement with the furnace and the water heater. He said there was another door like it on the other side, to get into the storeroom.

The woody theme of the décor continued. On the side of the room with the bar he had a new pool table set up, with a wood finish that matched the bar and old-fashioned leather pockets. He pointed out the rack on the wall where four cues were standing, and showed me that two of them were engraved "Justin" and "Kelsey." I told him that was ridiculous, and then he took me further down the wall, past a small bar-height table with a couple more barstools at it, where he opened a small cabinet, revealing a dartboard, and handed me a dart that had my name engraved on the shaft. He said he didn't want me to feel like I didn't belong in his "man cave."

The middle of the room had his leather sectional facing the large plasma screen on the wall, with a new coffee table in front of it. He picked up a remote and showed how he could control all the lights in the room, and turned on the TV so I could hear the surround speakers hidden all over the room, and then he pushed a button that made part of the mirror behind the bar turn into another TV screen, for in case he didn't want to miss something when getting up for a drink. He said that he'd wanted to add another screen at the other side of the room, by where his matching bar-height octagonal poker table was, but didn't want people to think he was using it to cheat. So he pushed another button on his remote and a retractable screen slid down from the ceiling. He showed that he could have all three tuned to the same channel or different ones, with the speakers in each zone playing the sound for that screen, or all playing the audio from the big screen. And another button made his PlayStation pop up out of the coffee table. He handed me a controller and we went to work killing zombies. It almost felt normal, until a good shot didn't earn me a high-five but a kiss on the cheek.

I was feeling a little worn out, so after playing through a few levels I asked if we could watch a movie or something a little less active. He adjusted the lights and sounds for movie viewing, made a fresh batch of popcorn and brought us a couple beers - his in a bottle, mine in a glass. I was in charge of picking a movie, and my estrogen-pickled brain wanted a romance but I needed to show her I was in charge. The old me probably would have chosen an explosion movie or a stupid comedy, but picked the least girly thing I could find, a gross horror movie. I thought it would resonate with the zombie game we'd just played, but instead my plan backfired and I found myself unconsciously grabbing onto Justin at the scariest parts, and I let him put a comforting arm around my shoulders until the movie ended.

I'd eaten enough popcorn that I didn't want anything at dinner time, but Justin did so he took half a meatball sub out of his bar fridge and microwaved it. I told him that with his kitchenette and bathroom, he could just about live full time in his new lair, and he confessed that he pretty much had been for the last few days; his big house had seemed empty without me around. I told him that was sweet, but even so I wasn't going to let him pick the next movie. Girl Brain won my mental coin toss, and I selected a sappy romance that made Justin cringe. I teased him throughout most of the movie by overreacting to every emotional scene, and at one point made him go to his bathroom to get me a box of tissues, but it really was a nice movie. Unfortunately I don't know if it had a happy ending. I think it might have been a bad idea to drink alcohol while on pain pills, because I fell asleep during the film and the next thing I knew I'm snuggled up next to Justin and he's gently tapping my arm to wake me up.

I made my way upstairs and got ready for bed. I got undressed but I was under doctor's orders to keep my special underwear on even when I slept. Justin had provided a warm red plaid flannel nightgown that had enough buttons on the front that I could step into it and put it on without needing to raise my arms, and it fit nicely. I brushed my teeth and hair, took off my makeup and put on my overnight face cream. It seemed silly to worry about preventing wrinkles, but I'd gotten used to it at Leda's. It took me a while to get comfortable enough to sleep; even though it was my own bed, to my new body it felt unfamiliar. I ended up on my back with a pillow under the small of my back to take some weight off my implants.

I didn't have too much scheduled for Monday, so I slept in and didn't get up until after Justin had already left for work. I had a cup of coffee and a piece of toast and then I wanted to get clean. I'd gotten spoiled by the spa tub at the recovery center so I didn't want to take a boring old shower. I put on my chenille bathrobe and slippers and took my bath products and a clean set of underwear from my luggage up to Justin's master bath, to use the jet tub there. I also brought a towel from my bathroom, since I wasn't sure if Justin had clean towels in his bathroom. There were new ones I'd ordered somewhere in the boxes in the garage, but they'd need to be washed before using anyway. I didn't have my contacts in yet, so I wore my glasses. They didn't really work with my new face, so I made a mental note to look into getting new ones that were more appropriate.

It felt kind of weird being alone for the first time in weeks. I kind of understood what Justin meant when he said the house seemed big and empty and lonely. But more importantly, this was the first time I was alone with myself since all my alterations had been done. I went into the master bath and turned on the water in the tub, then hung up my robe and then carefully undid my compression undergarments, which left me standing naked in front of the large bathroom mirror. This was my first time seeing my new body where there weren't people around that forced me to stay in character as a transgender woman who loved her new figure.

I looked carefully at my reflection, trying to see if I could recognize anything. The mirror stopped at my waist, so all I saw was a girl who'd borrowed my glasses. That fluffy red hair wasn't mine. That wasn't my face with the lined eyes and the full lashes and the shaped brows and the high cheekbones and the pierced earlobes and the button nose and the pouty mouth (had my lips been inflated with fillers?) and the even white teeth and the soft jawline and smooth throat, with no trace of stubble anywhere. That certainly wasn't my hairless chest with the set of overinflated boobs with the puffy pink nipples. That wasn't my narrowed waist and flat stomach, and I think my belly button even looked different. I stepped back so I could see more in the mirror. Those weren't my nicely rounded womanly hips or shapely smooth legs, but between them there it was – the last piece of Andy that was left!

It had been weeks since I'd pleasured myself, but It wasn’t so much that I was horny as that I was curious how my new body would feel. I watched the naked mostly-woman in the mirror squeeze her breasts one in each feminine hand, pinching her nipples until she let out an involuntary moan. She slowly slid her right hand down her body, until her delicately manicured fingers found that incongruous genital. Despite it all I could not get aroused. My left hand was having better luck generating good sensations by playing with my nipple than my right hand was, so I decided to try something extreme. I folded my soft penis back between my legs and wrapped my empty scrotum around it so it better resembled female parts, and held it in place with my hand. I closed my eyes and imagined that I was a complete woman, and kept my left hand teasing my nipples, but now my right hand had my index finger and ring finger stroking my labia, and my middle finger was stretching down to play with my clitoris. (My pussy was built backwards, but my mind's eye didn't care.) Strangely enough, it worked. I was getting really turned on, and found myself biting my lower lip and whispering, "Fuck me!" until eventually I felt something that climaxed and released, and there was some wetness on my fingers. It was like an orgasm, but I never got erect.

What I did get was a strong sense of embarrassment and shame, and when I slipped into the nice warm bathwater to relax, I started weeping involuntarily. It was probably mostly the stupid hormones giving me a mood swing, but I took advantage of the opportunity to just have a good cry and let all my dark emotions express themselves. I was never going to father any children, probably never going to be a husband, likely never going to be a man again. I cried to mourn the loss of the life Andy would never have. It felt good to let it all out. When it seemed like I was done, I slipped my head underwater to clean my face. I thought for a moment about staying under forever, but there was still plenty of life left for me to live. If I had to spend the rest of my life as a woman, that wouldn't be that horrible. Maybe I'd find someone to spend that life with, and become someone's wife. (My imagination was still a little foggy on whether that someone was male or female or somewhere in between.) And even though I couldn't have any babies myself, there were still ways that I might one day become a mother. Andy may be dead, but long live Kelsey! I lathered up a washcloth with body wash and used it on my sexy body.

I finished my bath and then jumped in the shower to wash and condition my hair. As I toweled off and applied my after-bath moisturizing lotion, my mood had swung all the way back and I was feeling much happier about my new body. There were plenty of girls out there who'd kill to look half as good as I did, so there was no reason for me to feel sorry for myself. I put on my fresh underwear to keep all my new parts in the right places, covered it with my fuzzy robe and stuck my feet into my slippers before getting out the hair dryer.

Another advantage of using the bathroom in the master suite was that it was right next to the "Hers" closet full of my clothes. There was some work around the house I wanted to get done, so I started by putting on a pair of jeans that looked amazing with my new ass in them. My options were limited for tops; due to the restriction on not raising my arms over my head I needed something that buttoned up all the way. There were a number of nice blouses that I could wear – Justin had been shopping again, probably after getting my new measurements – but I wanted something more casual. I finally settled on a short-sleeved watermelon pink cotton blouse with a Peter Pan collar, and layered a gray chunky oversized cardigan over it to keep out the cold. A pair of ankle socks and my ballet flats completed my ensemble. It was nice to be able to wear pants again. My curves made me undeniably feminine, without needing skirts and stockings and heels to announce to the world that I was a Woman. I went down to my room and put my contacts in, and with my permanent eye makeup I didn't need much else so I just put on some lipstick and perfume and opted for small gold hoops in my ears.

My work began in the garage. I stuck Post-It notes on all the pieces of furniture, indicating which room each one was going into. Then I opened all the boxes enough to determine what was in them, and they got Post-Its too. When I found the sheets and towels I brought them to the laundry room and started a load. When I found the dishes, I had to open the box in the garage and carry only a couple pieces at the time to the kitchen because I wasn't allowed to lift heavy things. The blankets and pillows weren't too heavy, so I could bring them myself to the rooms where they belonged. I loaded up the dishwasher with new tableware and ran it, but I couldn't reach up into the cabinets to put everything away, and I wasn’t confident that my reaching claw could hold a dish without dropping it. Luckily I remembered that I'd made Justin get a stepladder when I wanted to hang Christmas decorations in an effort to cheer him up, so I got it from the garage, hoping that dragging it wouldn't count as lifting. I felt a little silly having to go up and down a ladder to put dishes away, but it worked. I went on my computer and ordered a more kitchen-appropriate stepstool so it wouldn't look as out of place, since I wasn't sure how long it would be before I would be allowed to raise my arms again and wouldn't need one anymore.

A disappointing inventory of the pantry and fridge told me that Justin hadn't been grocery shopping. I installed a grocery delivery app on my phone and placed an order, and threw out all the expired stuff while I was waiting. I ended up having to eat a bowl of old cereal for lunch. When the delivery guy showed up, I think I accidentally flirted a little with him. I was a little too excited about getting fresh food, that I opened the door with a big smile and said, "Hi, I'm Kelsey! You are my hero!" He smiled back and said his name was Alex and I replied a little too enthusiastically, "Hey! That's my brother's name!" I kind of pouted when I asked if he could carry the things to the kitchen, and I touched his arm to emphasize that he was better at carrying heavy things than I was. Miranda had only taught me bitchy walks and sexy walks, and I didn't want to be bitchy to the guy who was bringing me yummy stuff (I may even have used the word "yummy" in a giggly way when talking to him) so I had to give him a swaying ass worth watching as I led him to the kitchen. And when he offered to put my groceries away, I had to show him where each thing went, which made me take him from shelf to shelf, sometimes brushing up against him unintentionally.

And I felt really foolish not being able to raise my elbows when pointing to the higher shelves, so I actually told him. "You've been a lifesaver. I can't lift my arms too high because I just got a boob job and they're still healing." And for some reason I wanted to ask him, as a neutral outsider, "You don't think they're too big, do you?" I could almost see his mind thinking that this was some kind of trap; this strange woman just gave him permission to take a good long look at her tits. I even opened my sweater and turned from side to side. He flushed a little and muttered something reassuring, trying to say he liked my breasts without sounding creepy. I left him alone in the kitchen for a couple minutes and dashed into my room to get him a tip from my wallet. I think he half expected me to return wearing some kind of negligee, like we were in some kind of grocery delivery boy porno, cause he was almost disappointed when I came back with a twenty. I think he snuck a peek at my rack again as I was showing him to the door. I waved and said, "Bye, Alex! Thanks again."

Afterwards, when I realized how much I might have been inappropriately cockteasing this guy I deleted that grocery app from my phone and installed a different one – I wasn't going to take any chances with getting Alex again. I vowed to be more professional with the next guy, even if it meant having to come across as bitchy. The social language for women is tough – there's no easy way to put yourself forward as friendly to a guy you just met without sending false signals of "I want to have sex with you," because guys are taught that if a girl is nice to you it means you've got a shot at her so go for it, dude! I also decided that if I ever was with a guy and wanted to have sex, I would tell him outright instead of making him try to interpret subtle signals. I'm not exactly sure why I thought having sex with a guy was in my possible future; I guess I was just open to the possibility. In a way I was more comfortable imagining myself on the other side of a male/female relationship than on a female/female one because I at least knew the rules – men chase women and women decide whether or not to let themselves be caught. I had absolutely no clue how it works with lesbians – do they both play the hints and signals game, or does one of them get to be blunt and obvious, or do they both? I filed that one as a mystery to be solved later.

I hand washed all my new cookware, because that's what my Mom always did with her "good pans," and that took a while, but it also meant my dish towels were out of the dryer by the time I needed them. It was getting late so I started cooking dinner. I decided not to go too fancy and made spaghetti and meatballs. Andy would have used sauce from a jar and pre-made frozen meatballs, but that was not acceptable for Kelsey. Justin's parents were coming at the end of the week to meet his girlfriend, and I knew they were old-fashioned enough in their mindset to think that the woman of the house needed to be able to cook. So I needed practice working with ingredients. I began by making my dessert first, since I had the least experience at that and Justin's mother always made incredible desserts and I can remember hearing her gossip about some Mrs. So-and-so who'd brought a store-bought cake to a church function. I didn't want to reach too far for my first try, so I used a boxed mix and canned frosting to do a chocolate layer cake. Making the batter was a breeze with my new mixer – it came out nice and smooth and poured easily into my new cake pans. Once the cake was in the oven, I started my spaghetti sauce by chopping up onions and garlic and a half a bell pepper and cooked them in a little olive oil in the bottom of a saucepan, then added canned crushed tomatoes and some tomato paste and a few different herbs (my exact recipe is a secret) and set it on a back burner to simmer.

After my cake came out of the oven to cool, I got my hands messy kneading together ground beef, Parmesan cheese, bread crumbs, seasoning, and an egg in my new large mixing bowl, and then rolling the stuff into balls. It was my first time getting stuff under my fashionable nails and I actually had to use a brush to clean them when I washed my hands.

I cooked the meatballs in a frying pan and then dropped them into the sauce to share flavors before I started the water for the spaghetti. I can never judge how long it's going to take a pot to boil, and with my new pot I had no experience to go by. I used my biggest pot so I could cook the whole box of spaghetti and make leftovers easier. While the water was heating I chopped vegetables for a garden salad: the other half of the bell pepper, some romaine, a small Bermuda onion, a carrot I cut into slivers, a cucumber, and a few cherry tomatoes I cut in half. I tossed them all together in a serving bowl, but I kept off dressing the salad until closer to time to eat.

Before I put the pasta on to boil, I called Justin to make sure he'd be home at his usual time. I didn't want things to be overcooked or cold when he got here. He threw me a little by greeting me with "Hey, Babe!" and I wasn't sure if someone else was there and he was keeping up the charade or if he was just practicing staying in character. It turned out he was just practicing. It also turned out that he was running late and would be home twenty minutes or so later than I'd been expecting. So I just had to put things on hold, no biggie. Then he said he wanted to start Step Six after dinner, and of course I needed to be reminded what that meant. That was the part of the plan where he wanted to teach me how to dance ballroom style. I said I thought that would be all right, but he asked what I was wearing and he told me I needed to change into a dress and heels, to be able to learn the movements correctly. I guess heels made sense, since moving in them takes different muscles than flats and I need to learn the right ones. I wasn't exactly sure why I needed to be in a dress, but didn't argue it. What I did do was tell him that if I had to be dressed up, so did he. He wasn't allowed to change out of his suit and tie like usual when he got home; he'd have to eat his dinner in his work clothes, so he'd better make sure not to splatter spaghetti sauce on his good things. As a fan of Italian food, Justin was happy to hear what I was cooking and signed off the call with, "Thanks, Kelse, you're the best – love ya!" which confused me a little more so all I could muster up in reply was a half-hearted, "You too, Sweetie."

So, I had twenty minutes to throw an outfit together. I turned the heat under my sauce to the lowest setting, turned off the heat under the pasta water, and put my salad bowl in the fridge. Then I ran upstairs to my closet in the master suite to pick out something to wear. I found a cute purple sleeveless dress in a fit-and-flare style made of a knit material that wasn't too sheer or stiff, and its modest v neckline wouldn't show my ugly surgical bra. I took off my sweater and blouse, and then traded my jeans for sheer beige pantyhose and stepped into the dress. Fortunately my occupational therapy training included learning to use a tool for zipping up the back of a dress without having to twist an arm around. For shoes I selected a pair of nude tone pumps, since I'd seen dancers on television go for that look. This outfit needed more jewelry to look right, so I looked through the jewelry chest in my closet to see what Justin had provided. Since I still had cooking to do, I avoided bracelets or rings but went with a classic single-strand pearl necklace, and a pair of pearl earrings that dangled from gold French hooks.

Being dressed up meant I needed to redo my face. I sat at my makeup table and clipped my hair out of the way and then used a wipe to cleanse my face and clean off my lipstick. I started with a light coat of foundation, which I probably could have skipped since my complexion didn't have any serious flaws, but I wasn't so vain that I thought it was perfect. Because Dr. Webster had given me a beautifully shaped face, I didn't need to use any of the contouring techniques I'd learned in my makeup tutorial, only a dusting of blush to highlight my new cheekbones. Since I already had eyeliner and false lashes, I could skip ahead to my eyeshadow. I did a smoky blend of earth tones, but not too dramatic; our evening plans were dinner and dancing at home, not tearing it up at a club. For my lips I chose a long-wearing plum rose color lipstick that I wouldn't have to keep reapplying as I ate. I refreshed my perfume and then brushed out my hair into a loose, sexy style. I checked myself in the full-length mirror, and I looked like a grownup, a businesswoman about to attend a meeting or maybe the hostess of an informal dinner party. Was that the kind of future I could expect?

I checked the time on my phone and I didn't have any to lose. I went down to the garage and found the box with my apron in it and tied it on. I probably looked even more hostess-y. I turned the heat back on under my pots and went down to Justin's bar to get a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses. I found a good-looking Italian red and opened it to let it breathe. Since my new dining table was still unassembled in the garage, I set the kitchen table with a couple of placemats and two of my new pasta plates, with salad bowls on the side. I opted to go with freshly laundered linen napkins over paper ones. I set out some of my new flatware, including salad forks, and decided to put out glasses for water as well as the ones I'd brought up from the bar. I considered putting candles on the table, but that seemed unnecessary. I think I was trying to make it special because in a way it felt like this would be Kelsey and Justin's first meal together in their new home, even though it wasn't. I'd been living here for months, and the official story was that Kelsey had moved in weeks ago, and it wasn't even our first meal together since Justin started his crazy "Cinderella" scheme. If I thought about it, it was really just our first meal together at home since I'd gotten boobs. I looked down and gave them a squeeze and said, "You girls are messing with my brain. Quit it!"

The water was boiling, so I dumped the spaghetti in, with a little olive oil so it wouldn't stick. I took the salad out of the refrigerator and tossed some bottled Italian dressing into it, then topped it with some croutons and freshly grated Parmesan. I hurried to prep some garlic butter, brush it on a few slices of Italian bread, and get them under the broiler so they would all be ready at the same time as the pasta. While those were finishing cooking, my cake was cool enough that I could frost it. It wasn't as perfectly straight as Justin's mother's cake would have been, but I think I did okay. Just as I was putting the cover on the cake stand, I heard the garage door opener. I quickly washed my hands in the kitchen sink so I wouldn't look messy when he came in.

Moments later, I heard a door opening and peeked out the kitchen doorway to see Justin coming in from the garage. He grinned at me, "Honey, I'm home!" He was carrying a large bouquet of roses in one hand. He brought the flowers to me and before I could tell him that I didn't think we had a vase I saw that they were already in one, a lovely cut glass vase that would work with any décor. I thanked him with a kiss on the cheek and took the vase to the sink to add water and then made him find room for it on the table. He said that he didn't want me to miss having flowers in my room at the recovery center. It made me realize that in my plans for the interior of the house I hadn't included any plants. I told myself to plan to try to get some during the week.

Because of my issues with lifting heavy things, I asked Justin to help pour the spaghetti pot into the colander I'd set in the sink and then dump that into a bowl. He looked over at me spooning the meatballs and sauce into serving dishes and smiled. "You look cute in that apron, my own little homemaker." I couldn't decide whether to blush or flip him off, so I split the difference and stuck my tongue out at him. He laughed. When he'd carried everything to the table and I brought the plate of garlic toast over, I could untie my apron and leave it with the dish towels. I straightened my dress with my hands and told him that I only needed the apron because he made me get dressed up. He adjusted his tie. "I'm glad I did. It's even worth having to wait to change out of this getup into my sweats to come home to someone as beautiful as you."

Damn, he could be charming when he wanted to. This time I did blush, but I couldn't let him win. "Maybe I'll dress for dinner all the time, if my reward is going to be such an attractive, well-dressed dining companion."

"Speaking of rewards, the other reason I was late was I had to stop to get you these." He pulled a small Tiffany blue box out of his pocket, and walked over to me. "I noticed a couple days ago that you've swapped out your starter earrings."

I reflexively reached up and touched my right lobe. "I think they did something at Leda's that helped the holes heal faster. At least, they were the ones who changed my earrings out the first time, and I haven't had any trouble doing it myself since." I looked at the box. "But you didn't need to get me expensive new earrings. You already stocked my jewelry box with more than a few pairs."

He opened it and I saw an exquisite pair of earrings, each of which had four small diamonds that were attached to a single chain that looked to be made of rose gold. They probably cost a small fortune. He carefully touched my left ear and figured out how to remove the earring that was there, then took one of the new ones and slid the post into the hole and secured it. "When we got your ears pierced, I promised that I'd get you diamonds, and I keep my promises. And I wanted to do something special for what feels like our first meal at home together." It was cool that we were on the same weird wavelength. Just as carefully as he'd done the left side, he switched the earring in my right ear for the new one.

Having my earlobes touched was very sensual, and I tried not to have a visible reaction. But I also needed to stay in character, to practice acting as a girlfriend so it would come naturally when we were in public. And I knew exactly what a real girlfriend would do in this situation. I threw my arms around him and gave a big smile. "Thank you, Baby - I love them!" I turned my face to his and kissed him fully on the mouth, opening my lips as this time he was the one to stick his tongue out. When he started to get a little handsy, I gently broke the kiss and took a step back. I used the excuse of needing to see how they looked to go check myself out in the hall bathroom mirror. The earrings were very pretty, almost but not quite touching my shoulders. And my lipstick wasn't kidding when it called itself long-wearing – it was totally kiss-proof! I took a moment to gather myself and then went back to the table and told him they looked great. Then as a reminder of why we were doing all this in the first place and to slightly change the topic I said, "If I wear these diamonds to the Ball, Sarah is going to be so jealous!" I put as evil a grin as I could on my face. "Actually if you really want to totally slay her, put a diamond here." I pointed at my left ring finger. "She'll kick herself for not sticking around just a little longer to get a commitment out of you. As far as I can tell from her internet presence, Dylan is nowhere near ready."

Justin frowned. "That's an intriguing idea, but I'm not sure if we want to take things that far. It might make things after the breakup messier, and could label me as 'damaged goods,' depending on the reason we give for the relationship falling apart. I'll table the concept until I've done some research on how girls feel about guys with ex-fiancées. But for now, let's eat. This food looks good!"

Justin very chivalrously held my chair for me and then poured the wine before taking his own seat. We kept the conversation light through dinner. He complimented me for every dish he tried, and it must have been sincere since he took seconds on everything but the salad, and made me cut him a big piece of cake for dessert. I was feeling heavy and bloated after that big meal, but he wanted to start dance lessons right away. I made him wait until I had at least dealt with the leftovers and the dishes. I put my phone on the kitchen counter and hit my dancing playlist so I could get in the mood to move my body while I cleaned up. Justin caught a glimpse of me shaking my booty as I scrubbed a saucepan and told me that wasn't the kind of dancing we'd be doing, and I said I knew that, but I needed to remind myself that dancing could be fun before I had to go do his snooty old-fashioned dancing lesson. He shook his head and rubbed his forehead, muttering something about "girl logic."

When I was ready, I went looking to see where he was planning to do our dance practice. I found him in our empty dining room, watching a video on his phone. He showed me what it was – a guide to beginning dance steps. For this first lesson, Justin thought I should learn a box step. He switched his phone to running a metronome app, giving us a beat to follow, and started out standing next to me so I could copy him exactly, and we both moved our feet in the girl's pattern, starting out going backwards on our right foot. It was a simple pattern of right-left-right-left-right-left, but it took me a scary amount of time to be able to do it without messing up and trying to use the same foot twice in a row. When he thought I had it down, Justin turned to face me and switched to dancing the guy's pattern, using the opposite feet and going forward when I went backward, and vice versa. He had us touching our hands palm to palm, like mimes on either side of a glass wall, so I could feel him guiding me in the right direction. Eventually, he made me stop looking down at my feet and look him in the eye. It was tougher to stay on the pattern without watching, but I got there.

I was almost ready for real dancing. Instead of palm to palm, he moved our arms into the right position, taking my right hand in his left and holding it out (being careful not to raise it above my shoulder) while placing his other hand on my back. I put my right hand on his shoulder. He said that Sarah had always had to put her hand on his arm since even in heels she was too short to comfortably reach his shoulder, but I was a much better match; I could look him in the eye while dancing without too much neck strain. He also demonstrated that it made it easier for him to pull me close and steal a kiss. He decided that it was time to try it for real, and switched his metronome for actual music. We started out with a relatively slow waltz, but then moved to a faster tune. On the third song I tried to go too fast, hearing the wrong beat in the song. He said that it was okay to doubletime it when we were alone, but in a room full of other couples, we needed to all be moving at the same rhythm. I didn't understand, since we were keeping to our own box, but then he showed me how we could mix some walking steps into the pattern and move around the room. That was tricky and I made him switch back to the metronome until I could get it before going back to music. By the time I was worn out, we were doing okay.

I gave him a good night kiss and we went our separate ways, he up to his room to unwind, and me down the hall to mine. I removed my makeup and cleansed my face, and then changed into my pajamas. Before calling it a day I pulled out my laptop and tried to do some work on an article, but there was a nagging thought in the back of my head – I was worried that I'd left a valuable pair of diamond earrings just sitting on my bathroom counter. I put on my robe and slippers and grabbed all the jewelry I'd worn and went up to Justin's room. I could hear him making grunting noises, and I really hoped I wasn't interrupting him having some "alone time." Although if I was, was it possible that he was fantasizing about the sexy girl he'd been dancing with? And would that be a good thing? I knocked gently on his door and his noises stopped for a moment and he called out to let me in. I walked in to see him sitting on his weight bench in his t-shirt and boxers, sweating from the effort.

I excused myself for interrupting and explained that I wanted to put my new earrings away in the jewelry chest in my closet, since they were so expensive that I didn't want anything to happen to them. I thanked him again for them and smiled in a way that showed that I didn't feel worthy of anything that cost that much. I went into the closet and put them in a special drawer, since they were the most valuable part of my collection. I took a minute to look around at all my pretty dresses. This whole thing was totally crazy, but I admitted to myself that I liked the way the new me looked in skirts and heels, and a part of me couldn't wait until I could ditch the full-coverage surgery underthings and see how I looked in shorter hemlines and deeper necklines.

I went back out to Justin, practicing one of my sexier walks which didn't quite have the same impact in slippers as it would in heels. He was still doing his workout, so I waited until he was done with a set of reps before interrupting. I stood quietly and watched him flexing his manly muscles so they'd stay firm and hard and not go soft on him. Inside their bra, my nipples were feeling very sore, but I didn't dare touch them in front of Justin. When he took a break, I spoke up. First I double-checked to make sure we had decided to get dressed up for dinner every night so we could practice dancing afterwards. He thought for a moment and said that since he'd be coming home in a suit and tie anyway, it seemed fair to make me match him, even on a day when I'd just stayed home lounging. I reminded him that I wouldn't have much time for lounging in the near future, with the schedule he'd stuck me with. And that let me lead into what he'd put on my schedule for the next day, furniture arranging.

I told him that his exercise equipment was going to be moving to the bedroom I'd designated as our new home gym, and I made him show me how it could be taken apart. And once it was in pieces I asked him if he could carry them to their new home. He laughed at me for tricking him and said that if I wasn't so adorable I wouldn't have been able to get away with stuff like that. I tried not to smile too widely at that and just gave him a quick kiss and a swat on his squeezable little butt. He'd already brushed his teeth. I picked up some of the small parts of his weight trainer and brought them to the new room. He'd started reassembling the bench, but it wasn't where my design plan had wanted it, so I made him move it over. We needed to make sure there was enough room for my stuff next to his. He made a big show of acting servile and asked if I had any more chores for him to do or if I was done using him for the night. I didn't dare let my imagination suggest anything, and let him go back to his room and returned to mine alone. I did a little bit of internet surfing before taking out my contacts and going to bed.

Tuesday morning I got up early and dressed for doing serious work, in a baby pink long-sleeved knit Henley top that had enough buttons that I could get into it through the neck hole, and a cute pair of faded denim overalls that Justin must have ventured outside his high-fashion zone to get for me. I wanted to wear sneakers and I had a couple of different options: either my workout shoes that I'd worn almost every day at rehab, or a boring pair of canvas Keds, or the ones I ended up choosing, a funky pair of high-tops made of an interesting tapestry print. I went minimal on my makeup, with just a little lip gloss and a light dusting of translucent powder on my face to keep from looking too sweaty. I only dabbed perfume behind my ears, and kept my jewelry to just some studs in my ears, so there was nothing that could catch on stuff. I surprised Justin with a batch of fresh-baked banana nut muffins for breakfast. I asked him if he'd gotten me any work gloves, since I didn't want all my decorator activity to mess up my manicure, and in a pinch I could just wear the ones in his toolbox even though they were a little big on me.

He was always superprepared, so I don't know why it shocked me when he went out to the garage and came back to hand me a small pink plastic tool box. Inside it not only had a pair of women's work gloves, but also a utility knife, a tape measure, a small torpedo level, a pair of needle-nose pliers, and a screwdriver with changeable tips, all of which were also pink. I was torn between wanting to scoff that it must have been some man who thought that if women wanted to use tools they'd have to make them in pink, versus wanting to squeal over how cute everything was! I also wanted something like a ball cap to keep my hair safe, and he told me which box to open to find one in my closet in the master suite.

It was a Boston Red Sox hat, again in pink. Why do they keep doing that? I mean it was pretty and did match my outfit nicely, but why do the sports leagues think their female fans would rather wear something pink than the actual team colors? Maybe I'd turn this into a blog topic. At least it was just the Red Sox and not a team I cared about. I'd grown up just like Justin rooting for the Tigers, and Kelsey's official history said she was from Philadelphia (I'd gone to college at Penn, so I was familiar enough with the city if anyone pressed me for details) and wasn't really into baseball but she'd claim to back the Phillies. But since I was planning on eventually leaving the house, and in some parts around the city, they'll do awful things to you if you're wearing something from a different baseball team, I understand why he got me one from the Sox. I kind of wish he'd gotten me a Phillies cap just so I could get in an argument with a local about baseball but then bond over how much we both hate the Yankees.

I was poking around in the garage getting organized when the doorbell rang and so instead of running around to the front door, I came out the side door of the garage, checked out the old blue Toyota pickup in the driveway, and came up behind the guys at the door. I decided that trying to surprise them was a bad idea, so I called out to get them to come over to me. They were tall, well-built guys about my age or maybe a little younger, dressed in jeans and workboots with sweatshirts over flannel. I made sure that they were Pete's crew that I was expecting, and shook their hands and introduced myself. The shorter of the two guys, the one with the beautiful gray eyes, was named Hector. His partner, the guy with the amazing dimples, was Eddie. I led them into the house through the garage, pointing out all the stuff that needed moving, and took them to the kitchen for a cup of coffee and a fresh muffin before we got started. That seemed to set us off on the right track.

Over small talk in the kitchen, I found out that they both were involved in building Justin's playroom, so I knew they were good construction guys, and I found out how long I had them for. I figured that a good way to start was to install the curtain rods in the rooms that needed them while access was easier before the furniture got put in the way. Eddie went out to their truck to get their tools and I showed Hector where our ladder was. I put all the rods and brackets and things in the rooms where they were going, and had to hurry to get all the curtains ready for them as quickly as they got the brackets up. We got thirty sets of drapes (another reason why I'm sure Sarah was overwhelmed when Justin showed her the place) up in just under two hours.

I figured the easiest furniture to start with was the dining room. The sideboard and hutch needed to be attached to each other, and the table needed some assembly, but I could help carry all eight chairs while they were working. With that room done, I told the guys that if they wanted spaghetti and meatballs for lunch, they could check out how the table worked. They took me up on the offer and I liked that it meant I got more of their time instead of having to wait while they went to lunch somewhere. And it worked out nicely because they carried the furniture for the formal living room in while I was getting lunch ready. I let them grab a couple beers from Justin's bar to have with lunch, and that got me completely on their side, even before I broke out the cake. I stuck to salad for myself for lunch, and only a sliver of cake.

After lunch I had them tackle the worst stuff, the heaviest things that needed to go upstairs. They brought the box with my treadmill up and then Eddie worked on assembling it while Hector brought up the pieces of the bed for the master bedroom and put that together, but it took both of them to get the box springs and mattress in place. Then they brought in the rest of the master bedroom furniture, and Eddie assembled the bookcase while Hector worked on the night stands. They moved the furniture for Justin's and my offices next – my desk and daybed and bookshelf needed assembly, as did Justin's chair and file cabinet, and they needed to hang a whiteboard on his wall and a corkboard on mine, and the mirror for the gym.

Then we went back downstairs to get the furniture for the guest room, where the bed needed to be assembled and the mirror needed to be attached to the dresser. Finally, they brought in the big comfy pieces for the family room. There was still a big empty space that bothered me, but the piano was scheduled to be delivered on Friday, so it should be fine before Justin's family arrived. I paid the boys $60 to load all the empty boxes and packaging material and the old bed frames that we'd been using, into their truck to take it all away. They said they’d take the deal if I'd give them another piece of cake before they left, so I did. I thanked them for their work and said I'd have Justin tell Pete they'd been excellent.

On my own, I brought the handful of lightweight accessories that were left in from the garage: a couple wastebaskets, an umbrella stand for the front hall, and a few accent lamps. I loaded the dishwasher with the good dishes, since I now had space in the dining room to put them away. I made the bed in the guest room with my new clean sheets and blankets and folksy quilt bedspread, and worked on moving my things out, either to my office or my closet in the master suite. I made up the daybed in my office with its new sheets and blankets, and the bedspread and matching pillows that made it look as couchlike as possible. Then I made the king-size bed in the master with new sheets and pillows and a new cover on the duvet. Everything for dinner was already cooking, so I didn't need to do anything. I had some curry chicken going in the crock pot, and the rice cooker had a timer going waiting to start so everything would be ready at the same time.

I had plenty of time to take a shower and make myself pretty before Justin was due home. I even had the time to change the color on my finger and toenails to a dark cherry red. I wore my green wrap dress with sheer black hose and pair of strappy sandals so I could find out which shoes were best for dancing. I wore all my diamonds, the solitaire pendant, the tennis bracelet, and my new earrings. I went with glossy red lips that matched my nails, and went with black mascara and extra eyeliner with green highlights in my eye shadow for an exotic look. I gave my hairstyle a little more definition by clipping it back on one side with a barrette.

When Justin got home, I greeted him at the door from the garage. I gave him a kiss on the cheek and took his coat, then led him on a little tour. I showed him the guest room, all set up and ready for his parents' visit, then took him down the hall to the comfortable family room, then over to the calmer formal living room, ending by crossing over to the dining room, where I'd set the table with a crisp white tablecloth and two place settings of our good dishes, with the roses he'd brought the day before as a centerpiece. I asked how he liked the look of the place so far, and he approved. He was seriously impressed with how much I'd done to turn his big empty house into a place that looked like someone's home. I told him I still wanted to shop for some plants and maybe a few things to hang on the walls, but his folks would probably think it looked like a grownup's house and not a college bachelor pad.

I brought the serving dishes out from the kitchen and had Justin pour the wine (a fruity white). He said, "Everything looks delicious," and met my eye with a hint of scandal, "present company included." I blushed and tried to smile coquettishly. We then had a whole bantering conversation full of double-entendre about whether things were too spicy. I then admitted that I hadn't made anything new for dessert since there was still cake, and he almost leered at me when he said, "There's something sweet here I would love to have for dessert!" I chose to interpret that as a joke and laughed, then went to the kitchen to bring back a couple slices of cake and small cups of coffee. When we had finished eating Justin stood up and held out his left hand to me, "May I have this dance, Miss?" Since all the rooms were full of furniture now, he led me out into the foyer for dance practice.

He didn't show me any new steps; the task was just to repeat the ones I'd learned the day before. And it was all real dancing, no dance-like exercises, with the real hand positions and real music. I stumbled a little at first, but soon was getting into the flow. The goal was to be able to dance around smoothly and gracefully, but every time I got close to finally understanding what I needed to do, he made it harder. First, he took the chairs out of the dining room and set them up as obstacles we had to weave through, to simulate other people on the dancefloor. And of course as the girl I had to do all that weaving through obstacles backwards, relying on my partner to steer us properly. Then he changed the music to stuff that would switch tempo in the middle of a song. And finally, he made me drink another glass of wine and try dancing immediately. It made sense, since there would be drinks at the Ball, but it didn't feel fair.

He also went further so I felt more worn out this time, especially after all the physical activity I'd done in the daytime with all the decorating. I collapsed on the couch in the family room and turned on some mindless TV. Justin sat beside me and took the remote to switch over to college basketball, but before I could complain he reached over and grabbed my ankles and swung my legs around until my feet were in his lap. He unfastened my shoes and began rubbing the bottoms of my nylon-covered feet. Ooh, that felt amazing! He went in little circles in both directions, and put just enough pressure in all the right spots – he really knew what he was doing. I made a variety of little pleasure noises, but I started getting a little too relaxed. I needed to pee or I would wet myself, so I excused myself to go to the powder room and took off my pantyhose when I was in there and came back barefoot.

I returned to my previous position and without the stockings in the way the sensation of Justin touching me felt very different, particularly when his hands slid from rubbing my feet to massaging my bare calves. My sore legs loved the attention, and when he touched the sensitive spot behind my knee my toes curled. With my eyes closed, I wasn't exactly sure what part of him my foot was rubbing against, and I was afraid to open them. I sat up and leaned towards him and said he was the perfect boyfriend and gave him a full kiss on the mouth. If that made his hand on my leg slide up under my dress so he was touching my thigh I didn't stop it.

I took my things and went upstairs. In the master suite I took off my jewelry, undressed, removed my makeup, and then put on my silk pajamas and my robe and slippers. Then I retreated to my office and converted my daybed for sleeping. It was a full size bed, smaller than the queen size I'd been using, and had a flat spring under the mattress instead of a box spring, so it wasn't quite as comfortable. But this arrangement would only be through the weekend; once Justin's parents weren't using the guest room it could be mine again. I was so tired I didn't pull out my laptop as usual and just went into the bathroom and took out my contacts and went to bed.

The next morning, Justin came into my room to make sure I woke up on time. I had a lot on my schedule for that day. I asked him if I had time for a bath and if I could borrow his bathtub, and he said I had an hour until we needed to leave. I figured I could do it if I didn't dawdle, so I hurried off to go fill the tub and turn on the jets. I got undressed and slipped into the warm, soothing water and took a moment to center myself before grabbing the body wash. I should have remembered Justin's opinion on how people in a couple should act regarding privacy, but I didn't so I wasn't prepared for when he just walked in and took a moment to check me out as I soaped up my left leg, sticking out of the water. He exhaled loudly and said, "Damn!" It looked like he'd been on his way to the toilet but instead he walked right over to me and bent down toward me. "You are so fucking hot, Kelse." He pulled up my chin so he could kiss me, reaching around with his other hand to grab my breast and play with the nipple. I wanted to furiously shove him away, but that wouldn't be the girlfriend thing to do. Instead I just pushed him gently and told him we were on a tight schedule and didn't have time to play. He backed off and went over to do his business. He pulled out his junk and it took him a while to get a stream going. I couldn't see very clearly without my contacts in, but I think his trouble was because I'd given him a semi. I probably shouldn't have taken pride in that.

I finished getting clean and quickly toweled off and lotioned up so I could get my robe on for while I dried my hair. I went into my closet and got dressed. We had legal business to do so I dressed fairly conservatively in a white chiffon blouse, a navy wool skirt suit, tan hose and black pumps. The blouse was sheer, so I needed Justin's help putting on a camisole to go beneath it. I felt like a T. Rex trying to put it on without raising my useless arms, but he was able to unhook the straps so it could be slid down past my elbows and then back up. But of course when you ask your boyfriend to hook up your camisole, he's going to make sure your boobs are lined up with the camisole's cups by reaching around to honk them and somehow find your nipples through two layers of fabric. And you might feel flattered when he whispers in your ear, "Better naked, but still hot!" I didn't complain, because it was a useful distraction from all the worry running through my brain.

I did a daytime makeup look that was one of those where ignorant men think you're not wearing any, with earth tone bronzer instead of blush, and a blend of browns on my eyelids, and a matte lipstick that wasn't too bold. I even tamed my wild hair with a sorority-girl style satin hairband. I had just enough time to change the color on my fingernails to a more subdued pale pink. I wore my pearl earrings and a pearl ring on the second finger of my right hand, and checked my mirror to make sure I was satisfied with my look as a properly respectful woman on her way to court.

We didn't have time for a complicated breakfast, and I was feeling so nervous I took an extra dose of anxiety meds, so I just had a coffee and took a granola bar in my purse. Justin, looking nice in his suit, ate the last of Tuesday's muffins with his coffee. It was cold out so I had to wear my coat over my suit, but Justin didn't think I needed my snow boots. He drove us into the city to the government center, and let me off at the courthouse and went to park the car. It was chilly waiting in the January air in a skirt; I should have gone with tights instead of hose. It was a few minutes before Justin came back. He had his phone out and called Geoff to let him know we were there.

After standing in line and going through security, we were able to meet up with Geoff and Caroline outside the office of the judge we had an appointment with. Caroline looked me over and gave me a big hug and said, "I knew you'd be a knockout, Girlfriend!" There was a man with them that I'd never met, an older, barrel chested white guy with a gray buzzcut and a pug nose. Geoff introduced him as Brian, his investigator. We didn't have to wait too long before a clerk opened the door and we were ushered in. The judge was a tall woman with red hair that probably came from a bottle like mine, and a face that let me know she wouldn't be prejudiced against someone who'd had plastic surgery. We all took chairs facing her desk.

I grabbed Justin's hand for strength, and let Geoff do the talking. He started by thanking her for doing this in chambers instead of open court. I think the judge was already familiar with my case, because she didn't seem surprised at all that I was there to change my legal identity from the male Andrew James Erickson to the female Kelsey Marie Faulkner. Geoff handed over affidavits from my doctors, showing that Dr. Galloway said that I wasn't doing this for the wrong psychological reasons, and that Dr. Gutierrez said that I was on estrogen and anti-androgens and my blood's hormone levels were currently around where a woman of my age would be (I hadn't realized that), and that Dr. Webster said that I had undergone surgery to present a female appearance in my face and body and had even elected to be surgically sterilized so that I was permanently incapable of performing reproductively as a male. The judge looked all the paperwork over, but didn't have any questions.

Then Geoff presented some documentation that showed that I'd been professionally using the name Kelsey Faulkner for over six months, having filed a DBA and with bank and credit accounts in that name. He had some records of my online presence, with the numbers of my followers and readers. Then he showed some information on cases of violence against transgender people who had been internet famous, and explained that he wanted the judge to waive the formal publication of my name change to keep me safe. The judge appeared to understand, but she said that publishing my name would keep me from trying to run away from my creditors. That's when Geoff introduced Brian Murphy, the investigator he'd hired. Brian gave the judge his credentials as a retired law-enforcement officer, handed her some papers, and explained that he'd been hired to do a full financial search on me, and uncovered that I only had one outstanding debt, my student loan, and it was currently being paid with an automatic monthly transfer from Kelsey Faulkner's bank account. My health insurance, auto insurance and phone bills had also all been paid from that account. If there was anyone else looking to get money out of me, he couldn't find them.

The judge looked over everything and then turned to me directly and asked, "Ms. Erickson, are you sure you wish to make these changes today? Have you completely thought over this decision?"

It was weird to be addressed as "Ms. Erickson," but I suppose that was the only thing she could call me before signing off on the changes, since I didn't look at all like a "Mister." I tried to smile and look serious at the same time. "I have, Your Honor, and I am certain that Kelsey Faulkner fits who I am today more than Andrew Erickson."

She signed something and handed it to Geoff. "Have my clerk stamp that on your way out." She looked back and me and held her hand out so I could shake it. "Congratulations, Ms. Faulkner, and may I formally welcome you to the sisterhood of women! Now I hope I don't see you back here to change your situation again, except perhaps if it's a surname change when you're getting married, perhaps to this fine young man next to you." I blushed and reassured her that I wasn't planning to go back to being Andrew ever.

We left her office. Geoff got the form stamped, and the clerk kept it to file and gave him a copy. Geoff congratulated me, and Caroline pulled me in for a congratulatory hug. When we got to the building's exit, Justin let go of my hand (I hadn't even noticed that I'd been holding it again) and thanked Geoff. He kissed me and said that he had to go to work, but Geoff would take care of me, and I could call him later if I was still in the city at lunchtime. I waved goodbye and let him go.

Next we had to walk a couple blocks, to get to the Registry of Motor Vehicles. On a spring day it would have been a nice walk, but it wasn't pleasant in January weather. We could have tried to drive but likely would have ended up parking in the same lot. My pumps did ok on the cold sidewalks, but I probably should have worn my snow boots just to be warmer. At Motor Vehicles instead of standing in the line with the regular people, Geoff had made an appointment with a supervisor since my case was special.

We had to wait a little but then we were shown through an "Employees Only" door by Ms. Armstrong, a nice lady in a sharp pantsuit. Geoff explained about my situation and handed her the document we'd just gotten from the judge, and my New York driver's license, and a paper from Dr. Webster with Before and After photos of me attached to it, showing that I was a valid driver, but I should be registered as Kelsey Faulkner now. Ms. Armstrong looked at me a little disgusted, like she wasn't a fan of transpersons, but she did her job. She typed stuff into her computer, then had me leave my coat and jacket with Caroline, and she led me down a hall to a cubicle with a camera where she took my picture. Next, we went to a machine where I needed to look at an eye chart and tell her what I saw, and I told her I was wearing contacts and she made a note. Then we returned to her office and she typed some more stuff on her computer. She asked if we had anything else and Geoff handed her a form, telling her that we needed to register my car. I hadn't realized we were doing that at the same time.

Ms. Armstrong asked if I wanted a special plate, and I told her a regular one would be fine. She asked if I had insurance, and Geoff said yes, and gave her the company and policy number. It was different from the insurance company I'd used for Matilda; Justin must have bought me a policy to go with the car. She typed more stuff into her computer, and then left us alone for a couple minutes. She came back with a pair of license plates and a printed registration, which Geoff took, and she handed me my warm, freshly laminated license. I looked at it, and there I was looking back at me, "Kelsey Faulkner, Sex: F." It somehow felt more real than it had since this had begun. I took my wallet out of my purse and put my new license in the pocket where it belonged. I thanked Ms. Armstrong for her help, and she showed us out.

Caroline and I waited inside the vestibule of the RMV while Geoff went to get the car. We had a little bit of girl talk, where she complimented me on my outfit and said she couldn't quite believe how much I'd changed since she first met me. I laughed and said that sometimes I didn't believe it myself, so I could get where she was coming from. I asked her if she knew anything about my car, but she wouldn't spill any details. Geoff called her and said that he was around the corner, so we went out just in time to meet him as he pulled up to the curb. Caroline insisted that I take the front seat, since I was the client. I didn't feel important, but didn't want to make waves so I let her get in back.

We drove out of the city, almost all the way home. That was smart of Justin, since it meant I'd be closer to the dealer if something went wrong with the car. We pulled off the highway and I felt relieved that we were pulling into a Ford franchise. I knew Justin loved his German cars, but my dad would have disowned me if I drove something that wasn't American. He'd probably be okay with the whole, "I'm your daughter now" thing, since I hadn't ever been a real man in eyes ever since I couldn't rebuild a carburetor and chose to take a white-collar career path. But I'd have surely been out of the family if he'd ever learned that I let Justin buy me a Toyota or Honda. This weird train of thought did make me wonder when I was going to tell my family about Kelsey.

Geoff parked and we walked into the sales office. A pack of salesmen hovered nearby, waiting to swoop down on us. I smiled broadly at everyone and followed Geoff to the counter in the back. He showed his papers to a guy who took the plates from him and went off somewhere. One of those salesmen, a thirtyish guy in decent shape in a tight polo shirt and khakis and a mouthful of white teeth that were probably as fake as mine, came over to us. "I take it you're the lucky lady that Justin bought a car for?" I shook his hand and introduced myself. His name was Mitch, and he was the agent who handled the sale of my car. I asked him what kind of car it was, but he wanted to keep it a surprise. He was kind of a douche. So I had to kill time with him making small talk about how awesome my boyfriend is to buy me a new car, and endured all the innuendos he was making about what I might have done to earn it. I wanted so much to tell him that the car wasn't in exchange for favors I did on my knees or my back or whatever position he was imagining, but he wasn't worth it.

The other guy came back and handed some papers and keys to Mitch and said it was all set. So Mitch held his hand in front of my eyes and guided me to the entrance and out the door. When he took his hand away, I saw a bright cobalt blue car with a giant red bow on the roof. I suppose you'd call it a small crossover, since it was too big to be a hatchback. It was very cute. I pulled out my phone and took a picture, sending it to Justin with a "Thank you, Baby!" message. Then I turned around to take a selfie with my car in the background and thought about Tweeting it but decided to wait until I could check with Justin what our official story on my car was.

I ran over to my new car and looked it over, and Mitch strolled up to hand me the keys and registration, and one of the lackeys came over to take the bow off. He told me to get in, and he took the passenger seat, and then gave me a quick lesson in all the cool features of my car. I wasn't a car person, so I'd never even heard of the Ford C-Max, and now I owned one. Justin had picked out the perfect car for me, a domestic model for Andy the traditionalist, but also a hybrid for Kelsey the liberal. Mitch explained that mine was the top-of-the-line package, with heated leather power seats and all the extras. He walked me through the process of pairing it with my phone, and we went for a drive around the block so I could make sure I was good to go. I called Geoff from the car and thanked him for everything. After I dropped off Mitch, I called Justin to thank him. I told him he had good taste and I loved loved loved my car!

He had suggested before that we could have lunch if I was still in the city but now I was out in suburbia. I asked him if there was somewhere I could meet him for lunch that wasn't so far into downtown. I wasn't sure I wanted to take my shiny new baby into insane Mass Ave traffic. I said it would be fine with me if it was a place where I'd get carded, since I had a new ID I would love to show off. He laughed and mentioned a steak place he liked in Brighton that was sort of halfway between us. I plugged the place into my robot car's built-in navigation system and set off on my way. I was cruising down the highway enjoying rocking out to my satellite radio when I realized that I'd been driving in my pumps and wasn't having any trouble. My flats were still in my purse. It was probably just that I was so used to heels that I didn't notice anymore, but I've chosen to chalk it down to my magical new car.

I found the steak place and pulled into the parking lot and parked right next to Justin's BMW. He was waiting for me. I got out and ran up to him, threw my arms around the back of his neck, and gave him a long, soulful kiss. A real girlfriend would probably reward an awesome gift like this with mind-blowing sexual favors, and since I wasn't about to do anything like that I figured the least I could do is give him some tongue action. Plus, as we were outside in overcoats I wasn't in any danger from roaming hands.

We walked into the place hand in hand; he held the door for me and took my coat. He ordered a T-bone and a loaded potato; conscious that I was wearing a girdle I didn't want to gorge myself so I chose a nice salad that came with grilled strips of steak on it. And even though I'd been talking about being carded I just wanted water when Justin ordered a beer. I did take my license out of my wallet and show it to him, though. I thought it was cool that I finally existed for real; I felt less counterfeit, if that makes any sense.

I asked Justin how his day was going, and he mentioned some annoying meeting. He wanted to know my plans for the rest of the day, and I told him I thought the house needed some minor stuff like plants and art on the walls, and made sure that if I got some pictures he'd help me hang them. He told me that he'd help me program the garage door opener for my car when he got home – it required someone going up on a ladder and pushing a button on the opener while someone else was in the car. Since he was having a big lunch, I made sure that the previous day's leftovers would be okay for supper. I asked him if my "professional woman going to court" outfit was acceptable enough for dance practice, and he wrinkled his nose enough before telling me that he guessed it was fine that I could tell he'd rather see me in something prettier. We shared a slice of cheesecake for dessert (I made him order it with two forks and then ate about two thirds of it), and then it was time to go. He gave me a playful nibble on the ear while helping me with my coat, and then we walked out together to our cars. He let me pull out of the parking lot first.

Instead of going straight home, or going shopping for home decorations like I'd planned, I took advantage of the opportunity of being free to just be out in public as Kelsey, and the first thing Kelsey wanted to do was change out of her boring conservative outfit into something more fun. So I drove to the mall. On a whim, I went to a one-hour glasses place. I called up my prescription on my phone and ordered a new pair of cat's eye style glasses in a purplish tortoiseshell pattern. Then I went strolling through the mall browsing, just like any other career woman on her lunch break. I started seriously shopping when I walked into a shoe store and started trying things on. I fell in love with the cutest pair of ankle booties that had a warm fleece lining, and thinking about walking the cold city sidewalks that morning made me have to get them.

I got the idea that I should buy myself a whole new outfit, something that was completely mine instead of all the stuff I'd just let Justin's professional shopper pick out. I wanted to look my age instead of dressing like some middle-aged secretary, so I went into Forever 21. That was a mistake. There were a ton of cute things that I would have loved to see myself in, but because my stupid surgery bra had complete coverage and wide straps, none of the pretty spaghetti strap tops or dresses would work, and because of my stupid restriction on not raising my arms over my head, I couldn’t wear anything that was a pullover; it all had to open in the front or the back. I was able to find a nice red and blue floral print wrap dress that I liked that was almost as good as the stuff I couldn't wear, so I put it on my credit card. I was waiting for some cashier to ask to see my ID to validate my card, but no one did.

By the time I was ready to leave the mall, under my overcoat I was wearing my floral dress, accessorized with a charcoal grey shawl-style cardigan, periwinkle grey textured tights leading into my warm boots, new glasses instead of my contacts, a pair of funky gold filigree paisley earrings, and a chunky statement necklace. I had even switched the color on my lips and fingernails to a scarlet red that matched the flowers in my dress. I kept my purse though, because Prada. It was a look that said "Bohemian hipster girl" a little more than the "trendy suburban housewife" stuff that Justin had been getting me. I felt a little freer, like I could just go hang out at a coffee shop with my laptop and work on my blog and become fast friends with all the regular customers. It was an appealing fantasy, but I had to bring myself back to the real world, where I still had projects to complete at home.

And projects elsewhere also, apparently. I got a call from Fuzz Phaser confirming my follow-up appointment for Thursday afternoon. I asked if I could have Beth, the same technician I'd had before, since she'd been very discrete about my unusual situation. Lucky for me she was available. As I put a reminder on my phone I saw that I also had a dental followup on Thursday morning, so I had a busy day in my future. Being reminded of all my commitments was enough to take me out of my reverie. I went to a few different shops in the mall and picked up some pieces of art to accessorize my rooms, enough that I had to take a couple trips out to my car due to being overloaded with shopping bags.

On my way home, I hit up the home improvement stores to get some stuff for hanging pictures on the wall, and all the houseplants I wanted. I also needed to pick up some houseplant accessories: a watering can, a mist sprayer, and some plant food. When I got home I left my car in the driveway and had to get out and unlock the side door so I could go in and open the garage door to unload all my stuff. I had a lot of plants! I started with the ficus tree that was reclining in my passenger seat. It took a little work, but I was able to get it to its spot in the entryway by a combination of rolling it on the bottom edge of its pot and dragging it across the hardwood floor on an old towel. Then I carried a trio of ferns for the plant shelf in the family room that I was able to get in place using the stepladder and my reaching claw.

I also had a nice geranium for the guest room, a couple of potted herbs for the kitchen so I could always have fresh thyme and basil at hand, and a pair of impressive-looking orchids to accent the formal living room. Upstairs, I had a bonsai tree for Justin’s office, a lucky bamboo for mine, a lovely smelling lavender for the gym to keep sweaty smells down, a philodendron for the master sitting area, and a spider plant for the plant shelf above the master bath that I would need Justin’s help getting into place. I would also need his assistance in hanging the pictures, prints and photos I’d purchased for the walls. I brought them into the house and leaned them against the wall roughly below where I wanted to hang them.

I had a little bit of time before I expected Justin to get home, so I went up to my closet to check my outfit in the full-length mirror to decide if it was dressy enough for dance practice. I thought my new dress could work if I upscaled the rest of my ensemble. I ditched the sweater, figuring that getting dinner ready and then the exercise of dancing would keep me warm enough. I took off my boots and tights, in order to change to sheer hose and a pair of my taller black stiletto sandals, but I realized that my toes would be visible so I had to change the polish on them to match my fingers first.

I took off my new glasses and put them away in their case. Then after putting in my contacts I moved Andy’s glasses to the bottom of the box in my office closet where I could keep them as a backup in case mine broke. I think there’s a charity that collects old glasses; at some point in the future I may look into donating them. I put my jewelry away, pulled my hair back, and sat down at my vanity to cleanse my face. After a little moisturizer, I did a light even coat of liquid foundation, stippling with the sponge at my throat so it wouldn’t give a sharp edge. I was going for a glamorous evening look, so I blended three shades of blush. I spent a lot of time on my eyes, going for a smoky effect in a navy blue color that would complement my dress without being too matchy, and also make my eyes look even bluer than the colored lenses do alone. I reapplied my new lipstick; it was long-wearing so I wouldn’t need primer or setting powder, but it did come with an accompanying glossy topcoat that made my lips look shiny and luscious. I finished my face with a light dusting of translucent powder for just a little shimmer.

I dabbed some perfume on my pulse points, and then unclipped my hair so I could use a teasing brush to fluff it up into a loose, sexy mass of waves. I chose to return to the pearl earrings I’d started the day with, but opted for a longer string of smaller pearls at my neck that would hang lower than the one I’d worn earlier. I hoped they were cultured pearls, because Justin would have spent way too much on my accessories if that many identical little ones were natural. I got up from my vanity and gave my look the onceover in the full-length mirror. It was still a little unbelievable that the pretty girl in the mirror was me! And it was kind of weird that I was having a harder time getting used to being attractive than I was to being female. I guess it was because I’d already spent months getting into the Kelsey mindset, but that sexy woman in my reflection was still new to me. Also, my anxiety meds were keeping any serious inhibitions at bay, so I could just focus on feeling good that my transformation had been so successful without worrying about what it meant.

I went to the kitchen to check on dinner, tying on my apron. I’d reheated the curry from the day before, but this time I was serving it over steamed fingerling potatoes instead of rice. For dessert, I was experimenting with a pear pie recipe one of my Twitter followers had recommended. I was feeling a little silly, so I set the table with our place settings at opposite ends, like I’d seen in some movie about ridiculously rich people. I suspected that Justin might be one of those, but I don’t think he was taking too much advantage of the difference in our bank accounts; he wasn’t my sugar daddy and I wasn’t his kept woman – we were partners in this project.

While I was musing, I heard the back door open. I did my sexiest walk over to greet my partner. He surprised me by immediately noticing that my dress wasn’t one his shopper had picked out. I did a little twirl and told him about my day of shopping, and he did a good job pretending to care. He asked me if things in the kitchen would be ok for a few minutes if I left them unattended. When I nodded, he led me back into the garage so we could program the garage door button in my car. Andy had been a tech guy, but when Justin described what buttons and menus I needed to access to make it work, he had to tell me twice. I blame my combination of pain killers and brain drugs and maybe my hormones, but that seems sexist and I’m a totally web savvy internet chick so I don’t want to think that estrogen makes technobabble babblier, so maybe it’s just because I’d had a long day. I told Justin again that he’d picked the perfect car for me, and gave him a deep kiss and a big hug that squashed my boobs into his chest.

When we got back in the house, I made Justin carry the serving dishes to the dining room. He laughed at my arrangement, but picked up his plate and brought over next to my end of the table. My boyfriend is kind of sweet. The meal was ok, but my pie was a bit of a disaster. The crust was too chewy and the filling was too mushy. Even a scoop of ice cream on top didn’t help. Justin said that it wasn’t that bad, and reassured me that I just needed more practice – if I worked at it, he was sure that in no time people would be lining up from miles around to get a taste of my pie. I thought he was being real sweet again and blushed a little before I realized that he was making a dirty joke. I wasn’t sure how to feel about this – on the one hand he was making a joke at my expense, but on the other hand the joke only made sense if I had all the parts that a regular girl has. I guess it was part of Justin’s way of programming his brain to think of me just as Kelsey. I got a little sad that it seemed like he was forgetting that I was really Andy, but maybe that would be better for me too, if we were going to pull this off. I pouted a little and muttered something about with his attitude he might not get to taste any more of my pie.

After we cleared the table and took care of the dishes and leftovers, (I threw out the rest of my pie experiment) I showed Justin all the things I wanted to hang on the walls, and had him hold each one up so I could figure out exactly where they were going, and then I had him clean the wall and stick up Command hooks for holding everything. The hooks were mostly going on the wall higher than I was allowed to reach, so I just got to supervise this project. The adhesive had to set for an hour before we could hang things on the hooks, so that gave us just enough time for a dance lesson.

Justin started our session by having me show him all the steps I’d learned so far, demonstrating them to music first by myself which was weird, and then again following his lead. After that he turned on the music and we waltzed in and out of every room on the first floor. Getting my footing when we switched between the different types of flooring, from tile to wood to carpet and back was tricky. And the shoes I’d chosen were not my most comfortable, although they did make my legs look amazing, and they almost brought us eye to eye.

When the hour was up, I made sure he hung all the pictures level and then went to my vanity to prepare for bed. I’d had a long day and I was tired, but I still went through the tedious task of applying all my lotions. It was awkward, and probably would have been easier if I had Justin help me, but I wasn’t quite ready to have him touch my bare skin in all those places. I put on a clean set of my ugly postsurgical underthings, and then went with my flannel nightgown. I took out my contacts while I was at the vanity, and wore my new glasses to retire to my office.

Justin wasn’t in the master bedroom when I passed through it, so I guessed he was working out and went down to poke my head in the gym to say good night. He was on his weight bench doing curls facing away from the door, so I could just see his broad shoulders and deliciously muscled back. He had earbuds in, so I tried tiptoeing in to sneak up on him, but he saw me in the mirror. I froze as though I’d been up to some kind of mischief, and bashfully smiled and told him I just wanted to say good night. He gave me a quick good night kiss and told me my glasses were cute.

The next morning I had my follow-up appointment with Dr. Schneider, the dentist at Leda’s, so had to get an early start. I thought about dressing to blend in with the other rich housewives who go there, but that just wasn’t me. I looked through my wardrobe and settled on a pretty short-sleeved boatneck dress with a nice bright blue polka-dot pattern that I could pair with my new cardigan, warm tights and my snow boots just in case the weather turned. I had to use my zipping stick to get into my dress, but I was sick of buttons. I went for a light coat of foundation, bronze eyeshadow and just a hint of blush, but I spoiled the “natural” look with the bold lipstick I’d worn the day before, since I didn’t feel like changing my nail color. I opted for a pair of medium size gold hoop earrings as my only jewelry, and I was ready to go.

Despite my not wanting to look like a housewife, I didn’t want to neglect what I felt were my responsibilities. When Justin popped into the kitchen to grab a coffee on his way out, I grabbed him and pulled him over to the breakfast nook, where his coffee was ready for him, beside a plate with fresh toast and a three-quarters of a tasty omelet filled with freshly chopped onions, tomatoes and mushrooms and an abundance of Monterey Jack. “I can’t have it getting out that I let my man leave the house without a healthy breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.” He teased that I was mothering him, so I untied my apron and walked over to him, lifted his chin and gave him a soft, passionate kiss. While he was distracted by chasing my tongue with his, I slid my hand down his chest to give his crotch a playful squeeze. He pulled his mouth off mine in surprise so I added, “If your mother does that, I don’t want to know.” I walked away from the kitchen, turning my ass wiggle up over nine thousand. I went to the powder room to brush my teeth (Regrettably, I had to wash the taste of him out of my mouth but onion breath would not be good at the dentist.) and fix my lipstick before leaving.

I got the address for Leda’s Retreat from my paperwork and typed it into my car’s navigator. My car needed a name. Justin had called it “Cinderella’s Pumpkin Coach” in his project plan, so maybe I could call her Pumpkin. She was definitely a girl car, despite all her cool technology. She was way too cute to be a boy, kind of like her owner. But it would be weird explaining to people why my electric blue car was named after an orange vegetable, without telling too many of the details of Project Cinderella. I decided for now to call her Dinah. She’s a hybrid where the gas engine charges the battery, so there’s got to be a dynamo in there somewhere.

Taking the highway down to the middle of Connecticut wasn’t a fun drive, but the traffic wasn’t too bad. I did get stuck behind a couple big trucks for a while, which made me nervous. Back in Matilda, trucks would usually get out of my way – they see a Crown Vic coming up in their rear view, there’s a chance it’s an unmarked cop car so they’d give her a wide berth. But my new baby couldn’t intimidate anyone.

I drove up to the gates and hit the buzzer. I told them I had an appointment with Dr. Schneider, and almost gave my real name instead of the alias I’d used there, “Andrea Kelly.” Luckily I caught myself, but it did get me thinking about how “Kelsey Faulkner” was my real name now, all legal and everything. All the credit cards in my purse were Kelsey’s, my license was Kelsey’s. The car registration and insurance were in my new name. Kelsey had a bank account, a phone bill, and a blogging contract. Andy barely existed anymore. In this odd state of melancholy, I parked and put on a fake smile to walk into the beauty spa.

I checked in at the receptionist and hung up my coat, and only had to wait a minute or two before a friendly bronzed brunette named Chloe in a crisp pink uniform came to get me for my appointment. She remembered me from my stay, but I’d been on so many pain killers then that I didn’t have a clear memory of her. She led me down a bright corridor that felt slightly familiar, to a pink and teal room that could have been any dentist’s treatment room. I got in the chair and she fastened a paper bib around my neck and activated the motors to put me in a reclined position.

Dr. Schneider came in and I mostly remembered him. He gave me a little gas and had me open my mouth so he could check that each of my veneers was holding correctly, and that I wasn’t causing undue wear on them. His arm occasionally brushed one of my oversized boobs, and I tried not to notice, but their sensitivity had definitely been increasing as I’d been on estrogen. But I guess it couldn’t be helped; they were just in the way, and considering the clientele of a place like Leda’s, I’m sure he inadvertently touches surgically enhanced bosoms all the time. When he finished his inspection, I got to sit up and close my mouth, and he told me everything checked out okay. He gave me a detailed printout of the work he’d done, for me to share with my regular dentist. I realized that it meant that I’d need to be getting one of those, and while I was at it, I probably also needed to go looking for a trans-friendly primary care physician.

I signed all my paperwork and left Leda’s. It took a good couple of hours to get home so my schedule was kind of tight, but I didn’t want to eat in my new car so instead of just hitting a drive through on the way like Andy would have done, I asked my navigator computer to find me a nice café for lunch. I found this classic diner that served a delicious turkey club. A combination of feeling self-conscious about being a single woman in a restaurant not wanting to look like a pig, and the tight restrictiveness of my compression undergarment made me take a quarter of my sandwich and half of my fries home in a Styrofoam clamshell.

When I got home I had just about enough time to get ready for my next appointment. The machines they use at Fuzz Phaser want you to have clean skin, free from perfumes and makeup, so I needed to take a shower. I undressed and put on a shower cap since I didn’t have enough time to do my hair. I was out of spares, so I handwashed my ugly surgical underwear and threw them all in the dryer on the delicate setting while I showered. I hung up my robe in the bathroom and stepped into the shower. Every time I saw my new body naked it got a little less jarring, and soaping up my new curves made me feel sexy; there was only one part that seemed out of place. It was a little weird to think that the new me was replacing the original, but I tried not to dwell on the thought. It was easier for me to just focus on becoming Kelsey as thoroughly as I could, at least through the Valentine’s Ball. The less doubt I had of my identity, the less chance I’d slip up and someone would notice.

I was supposed to massage my implants after showering, but I had to skip that because I wasn’t supposed to use any lotion before lasering. It would have been fun if I could have worn the same outfit I had on the first time I went there, but I couldn’t get the sweaterdress over my head without breaking the rules. So I put together a new outfit using the same belt and boots, but a different blue dress, a casual button-up shirtdress that I wore over black leggings. I smiled when I put on the belt and had to adjust it to be tighter than it had been on my old body. I liked my hourglass figure. It felt a little weird going out without any makeup on, but I wasn’t worried that I’d get caught; I just felt a little face-naked. I pulled my hair back into a soft ponytail. To accessorize this minimal look, my only jewelry was a pair of stud earrings.

Dinah had no trouble finding Fuzz Phaser once I gave her the address. It had only been three weeks since I’d been there last, but it seemed like a lifetime! Nobody’s naturally hairless, so I felt no shame in walking in, and gave my name to the receptionist without any nervous tremor in my voice. I was a little early so I sat in the waiting room and pulled out my phone to check the comments on my latest post. When Beth came to get me, she did a double take. The last time she saw “Kelsey,” I was a crossdressed male with mousy brown hair, but here was a cute redhead girl built like a brick house!

I stood up and smiled at her. “Yes, I’m the same person you treated earlier this month. I’ve just had some work done since I last saw you.” I leaned in conspiratorially and softly added, “but there’s still some work I haven’t gotten. Which is why I asked for you again, since you know.” Beth assured me of her discretion and took me back to the facial treatment room, where I got to sit in a chair and close my eyes while she inspected my skin and then ran the device over my face to kill any follicles that were missed the first time. Once she’d finished, and cleansed and soothed my skin, she got chatty again, telling me how much prettier I was compared to before. I blushed and thanked her.

We went to the body hair treatment room and she prepared the bench for me, gave me a towel, and left to let me get undressed. The towel seemed much smaller. I felt very self-conscious and covered my breasts with my hands when Beth returned. She was one of the few people to have seen me naked in both my “before” and “after” states, so I was relieved when she seemed genuinely impressed with my new figure. Before she started, I made sure that there weren’t any incompatibility between my implants and her lasers – I didn’t want my new boobs to get boiled or ruptured or something. She said that her laser doesn’t penetrate deeply enough to mess with any of my augmentations. I relaxed and let go so she could make sure my lovely breasts didn’t grow unsightly hairs, and I even had to help her hold them out of the way when she needed to work between them. I had to suppress the urge to touch my nipples.

When my chest and neck area were done, she did my arms. It was awkward when she needed to get to my underarms and I couldn’t raise my arms any higher than my shoulders, but Beth was a pro. She managed to get my few stray bits of stubble despite the awkward position. She dealt with my tight little stomach in almost no time, and then moved on to my legs. Beth complimented my new hips, and asked me how much my boyfriend was enjoying the changes to my body. I’m not sure why, but I told her that the doctor hadn’t cleared me for “vigorous activity” yet, so for the time being Justin was only allowed to look, and I could tell he liked what he saw. Beth said she hoped I hadn’t been teasing him too much, and suggested that least if my implants didn’t allow for full sex, my doctor couldn’t have any objections to activities I do with my hands or mouth, so maybe my boyfriend wasn’t entirely frustrated? I frowned and told her that actually I also had cheekbone implants and had jaw surgery, so I was assuming that vigorous face activity was also forbidden for the time being, so it’s been up to my “magic fingers” to keep my man satisfied. Then I made a gesture with my hand that I don’t want to describe.

I rolled over and she did the backs of my legs and my nicely rounded booty. She joked that it must be killing Justin not to be able to “get with this,” and when she noticed that I’d had a bleaching she assumed that it was for him, and I didn’t correct her. Then it was time to rid of my towel and let her check for stray pubic hairs. She seemed a little surprised to see my empty sack but she didn’t say anything about it or my slightly smaller estrogen-pickled member. I was relieved that it had no reaction to her cleansing or moisturizing the area. At first I’d been mad at Justin for having them make me completely hairless everywhere, without even a sexy triangle or landing strip down there. But I’d grown to love being so smooth all over, and no one would ever confuse my new figure for prepubescent.

She left and I got dressed. The deodorant I’d brought in my purse stung a little, so it may have been a mistake. But I really preferred to smell pretty and feminine. I also gave myself a blast of body spray and a dab of perfume on my wrists and behind my ears. I’d have added some to my cleavage, but only my ugly surgery bra would have gotten to smell it. After dressing, I pulled out my compact mirror and gave my face a light dusting of translucent powder, and brushed a bit of color onto my cheeks, finishing with my scarlet lipstick. I took the elastic off my ponytail and shook my hair out, and then I felt more like myself. I did one of my “sexy and I know it” walks out to the receptionist to pay with my credit card and leave a generous tip for Beth.

I wasn’t sure what I wanted to make for dinner so I stopped at a grocery store on my way home. I texted Justin if there was anything special that he wanted for supper, and his reply message was just an eggplant emoji and a taco emoji. It’s possible that he was showing off in front of his friends, so I sent back a pouty face with its tongue sticking out and a thumbs down and told him I’d surprise him. I went to the service desk and applied for a store discount membership card, since I was a perfectly legal woman named Kelsey Faulkner with ID and credit cards and all that, and the guy behind the desk (who was totally checking me out) showed me how to load the store’s app on my phone. I realized that an environmentally aware modern woman who drives a hybrid car probably should own reusable grocery bags, so I started by picking out some of those to put in my cart.

I had a fun time shopping, shaking my hips a little to the piped-in music, pushing my cart down the aisle and trying not to squish my boobs between my elbows, smiling at strangers and getting dirty looks from wives. I may have flirted a little with the guy at the butcher counter, but how do you not giggle when asking a cute, muscly guy about his meat? I didn’t care if these guys were all imagining having sex with me; the attention was fun! It was safe flirtation, since I didn’t have what they were picturing, and Kelsey would never cheat on her boyfriend.

I found a nice sleeveless little black cocktail dress in my closet to wear for the evening. It had a knee-length flared skirt and a scoop neckline high enough that my ugly bra wasn’t visible. I wore sheer black hose and silver open-toed pumps with three-inch heels. I’d repainted my fingers and toes in a shiny fire-engine red and wore lipstick to match. My foundation was perfect and even, with a little bit of contouring for added drama. I’d given my eyes the full-on smoky look in gray and black, complete with artistically smudged mascara. I had long silver chain fringe earrings reaching almost to my shoulders, and between my breasts hung a circular silver pendant decorated with what I hoped were crystals.

Justin came home and I met him at the door with a quick kiss. “How is it you get more beautiful every day?” That earned him another kiss, less quick this time. I told him that I put a little extra into my look since it would be our last night dressing up for dinner for a few days, with his parents visiting and all. He just nodded; I think he hadn’t realized that having his folks over would mean no dance practice for those days.

I pulled him to the kitchen because I needed his help. His taco emoji text had got me thinking about Mexican food, so I’d made fajitas for dinner, and I needed his help carrying the sizzling cast iron skillet full of spicy chicken and vegetables to the dining room. I carried in the side dishes of beans and rice, and then went back for the plate of tortillas that had been warming in the oven.

Justin was impressed again with my cooking. I was glad that my contribution to the household was a positive one; I didn’t like feeling like a mooch. I did catch him watching me eating my fajita. Something about seeing a rolled-up tube of tortilla sliding between my shiny, red, full lips fascinated him. Once I noticed, I made exaggerated moans of yumminess and deliberately licked a dollop of sour cream from the end of my roll. He noticed me noticing and got a little embarrassed. Dessert was my second attempt at the pear pie recipe, and this time I succeeded – the crust was flaky and buttery, the filling was lightly sweet and not mush. Justin had two slices, and didn’t even want a scoop of ice cream. I think maybe the first time my pears were overripe.

Because of our spicy meal and something about the way I looked in my little black dress, Justin decided that for tonight’s dance lesson, instead of the waltz we’d been doing, I would learn the tango. It started out easy enough, just walking backward as he walked into me, but the key to the tango was in the rhythm of the steps – slow, slow, quick, quick, slow. And there was a slightly different beat for when we wanted to turn – slow, slow, quick, quick, slow, quick, quick, slow. And yet another different beat for adjusting positing on the dancefloor – slow, quick, quick, slow. It took me a while to get it, but before we quit for the night we did two tours of the living room to actual music. It was fun! I kind of liked it better than the waltz.

Friday morning, I still didn’t get to sleep late. Besides needing to do last minute preparations for our weekend houseguests, the window the piano delivery guys gave me started at nine, and I didn’t know how long it would take. I dressed casually, in jeans and a light violet plaid flannel shirt with my fun sneakers. I switched my nails to a more meeting-boyfriend’s-parents friendly, less slutty powder pink and went with just a slightly darker color on my lips. I put I a pair of medium-sized rose gold hoop earrings and pulled my hair back with a pink scrunchie, and judged my outfit girlish enough for me to feel comfortable, but serious enough for housecleaning.

I started by washing, peeling and chopping carrots, potatoes and onions, and then browning my meat so I could get my pot roast into the slow cooker so it would be ready at dinner time. It was a pretty easy recipe and hard to mess up, but I figured it would look impressive enough to Justin’s parents. My next task was to clean the bathrooms, and I had just started in on the first-floor powder room when the doorbell rang. The piano guys were here.

There were three of them. The guy who spoke first, who I think was in charge, was a fiftyish shorter balding guy with a bushy moustache that kind of reminded me of Mario, but he introduced himself as Don. The other two were like in their mid-twenties, a lanky black guy with a shaved head, and a heavyset bearded hipster guy. All three were in matching coveralls with the logo of their music store on the back. Don asked me to show them where the piano would be going, and I led them to the empty space in the family room. He gestured to the other guys and they started fetching wrapped bundles from their truck. They saved the biggest, heaviest piece for last.

When I suggested to Justin that a piano might fit in that space as a focal point, the model he picked out was of course over the top and extravagant. So, after these guys had assembled and polished our new grand piano, Don plugged it in and asked me how to connect to our wi-fi, since Justin just had to choose a digital player piano. He then installed the piano control app on my phone and showed me how It worked, and if I had any questions there were full manuals inside the bench. He said the piano had been tuned at their shop, but the change in temperature and humidity and air might cause it to be slightly off. He gave me a card and said to call them in three to six weeks for a free tuning. They took all their packaging and even dusted the floor where they’d left boot marks, and they were gone before ten.

And that’s how when I returned to cleaning the bathrooms, I had Bach playing in the background. We didn’t use the powder room much, so it mostly just needed dusting and new towels. The first-floor guest bathroom had been mine for a while, so it needed serious work. I emptied the wastebasket, cleaned all the surfaces, scrubbed the toilet and bathtub, and put out two sets of new towels. I mustered up my courage, and went down to clean the bathroom in Justin’s Man Cave. It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared, but I was glad I wore rubber gloves. I left the place sparkling, with fresh hand towels hanging.

Up on the second floor, the bathroom by the gym didn’t get much use, so it was easy to clean. The bathroom between our offices was the one I’d been using, so I had to get all of my toiletries out of there and moved to the master bath. I didn’t know if Justin’s parents were the kind of people who snoop through people’s bathroom cupboards, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I moved my supply of contacts and solution to my vanity table in my closet in the master suite. I took the case with my new glasses, and the paperback I was in the middle of reading and put them on the nightstand that Justin didn’t appear to be using. Then I scrubbed the office bath clean and refreshed its towels. I also wasn’t supposed to have been sleeping in my office, so I changed the sheets for clean ones, just in case. The master bath was the one they’d expect we’d been using all the time, so I didn’t put too much effort into making it pristine, but I did want It to be nice. I cleaned the toilet and the sinks, and arranged the stuff on the counter and in the medicine cabinet so that there was a clear separation of Justin’s things on the left and mine on the right. I emptied the wastebasket and left one tampon wrapper and applicator in the bottom of it, for authenticity.

Back on the first floor, I put all the used towels in the washing machine. The kitchen was starting to smell delicious, but I just had a glass of juice and a peanut butter sandwich for lunch. My planned dessert for the evening was an apple crisp, which is best served while it’s still warm from the oven, so I sliced my apples and mixed my toppings in order to get It all ready in its baking dish ahead of time and then put it in the refrigerator. At least that was my plan. But as soon as I had butter and oatmeal all over my fingers, I get a call from Justin. His boss decided to throw a meeting, so he’d be unable to get out of work early to go get his folks at the airport, and he asked if I could do it. I didn’t have much choice; I said I’d do it. I asked him to send me his parents’ phone numbers, and pictures of them, since Kelsey’s never seen them. He said, “You’re the best, Babe!” and hung up.

I didn’t have time to panic, so I just finished prepping my dessert and ran upstairs to shower. I only had like an hour and a half to get ready, and my hair needed washing, and I had to massage all my implants after showering, and I needed to come up with an outfit that said, “I’m feminine but not too old-fashioned and not to slutty, and appropriate to be living with your son, and most definitely a real girl and not secretly the kid who used to live next door to you.” I hoped my stripper-like extremely overstuffed body would distract them enough that they couldn’t find any clues left in my significantly reshaped face. When I got out of the shower, I was so overcome by the thought that they might recognize me that I needed to take a couple extra anxiety pills, and I added an estrogen for good measure, just to make sure my pheromones were broadcasting female scent.

As I rubbed the lotion into my breasts, my nipples wanted to play but I had no time for them. I folded up and glued my incongruous parts tucked back and out of the way before massaging my lower implants, but I didn’t indulge in any fantasies about touching my labia or teasing my clit. I was strictly clinical – do all my required maintenance, and then get everything secured in their places in their respective postsurgical undergarments. I wanted a practical outfit, so I started with a pair of fleece-lined leggings in a dark wine color. On top I wore a deep green long-sleeved knit dress with a scoop neckline that didn’t show anything, and a Henley-style bodice that I could step into and button up. I wore my heeled boots and chose a thin belt to help the dress conform to my waist.

I did my makeup in a natural palette, for that “not wearing makeup” makeup look, with just a little extra pink in my eyeshadow and lipstick. I wore my Fitbit on my left wrist, a gold cross pendant, and three-inch triangular gold hoops in my ears. My hair was freshly blow-dried, so it just did its sexy tousled thing, but I’d be wearing my knit hat so that would help tame it. I used the printer I Justin’s office to print out a cliché airport limo driver sign reading “Justin’s Parents” in big block letters. I got my purse, my coat, gloves, scarf and aforementioned hat and checked on the slow cooker one last time before leaving for the airport.
If you’ve ever tried to drive to Logan in the middle of the day, you’d know why the native Bostonians would all tell you not to. Besides the usual insane Mass drivers, the airport is just so crappily designed that you need to know far in advance which exit you need, and if you make one wrong turn, forget it – you’ll be going an extra hour or so to get back to where you want to be. I played it safe and parked In the central garage and then texted Justin to doublecheck that I had the right airline, the right time, the right terminal. I texted both his parents, “Hi, I’m Kelsey. Justin got stuck in a meeting, so he sent me to come pick you up instead. I’ll meet you at the entrance to the baggage claim. I’m wearing a long red coat.”

I took my sign, locked my car, and found the right walkway to get me to Terminal A. I found the area where the other drivers with signs were waiting, and took a spot that wasn’t too much in the way. I opened my phone to the picture Justin had sent me, and prepared to compare people coming down the escalators to the people in the photo. I’ve known the Monahans all my life, so this part was purely play-acting, but it would be wrong for Kelsey to know them on sight. My drugs were working, so I wasn’t in a panic, but I could still accurately play the role of a nervous girlfriend meeting the parents, but the real nerves inside me trying to get through the medicine were worries that they’d recognize me immediately and I’d be humiliated in the middle of the airport.

I struck up a conversation with a curly-haired middle-aged woman in a blue sweater holding a sign that said, “Welcome home, Brooke!” Her name was Carol, and she was there to get her daughter, who had been working for a Christian Mission in Africa for the last four months. She hadn’t been able to get home for Christmas, so they’d be having the celebration now. I told her I was nervous about meeting my boyfriend’s parents for the first time, and she put my mind at ease by saying that she’d be happy if her son came home with a girl like me. Inwardly, I wondered if that was true, that a nice church-going, Conservative family would welcome “a girl like me.” When Brooke’s flight was announced, Carol started shaking with excitement, and as the crowd of passengers started pouring down to us, one of them broke out and started running to her. She was taller and tanner than her mother, but the resemblance was obvious. The two met each other in a giant hug halfway from the foot of the stairs. As the walked off to get Brooke’s baggage, Carol gave me a thumbs up.

I was lost in thought and missed the announcement for Justin’s parents’ flight, so when a new crowd of passengers came down the stairs, I wasn’t ready. Before I could get the picture up on my phone, I saw them waving at me and heard, “Kelsey? It’s us!” in Mrs. Monahan’s unmistakable voice. Because I wasn’t allowed to raise my arms, I shook my sign back and forth and smiled at them. I broke from the line of sign-holders and went forward to meet them, then stepped out of the traffic stream and smiled at them, introduced myself and made sure they got my text about why Justin wasn’t there. Mrs. Monahan surprised me by giving me a big hug and telling me to call her Annie. In fifteen seconds, Kelsey was on a first name basis with people that Andy still called Mr. and Mrs. Monahan after a lifetime of knowing them. Annie said my outfit was cute, and Paul (that’s Mr. Monahan) joked that they were glad I was real; I’d never been around whenever Justin was FaceTiming with them, so they’d wondered if I was a figment of his imagination, or maybe just a fake internet catfish that had tricked him into thinking we were dating. Now I’m sure that my anxiety meds were lowering my inhibitions, because instead of doing a fake laugh to cover for them nearly guessing everything, instead I winked at him and with no filter asked, “How do you know I’m not just scamming him?” and I kept a straight face for nearly a half a minute before I exploded in a fit of giggles. That earned me an arm around my shoulders and an “I like you! Way more fun than that Sarah,” from Paul.

Because their vacation had them going on from visiting us for the weekend to spending a week in Florida with Justin’s sister and her family, they had a lot of luggage. Since I couldn’t lift heavy things, I rented a baggage cart. I warned them that we’d had a lot of rain the previous day, so they should look out for puddles. Paul scoffed and told me when they’d left Michigan it was snowing, so they knew what winter weather was. Annie just said that if my cute boots were okay in the puddles, her rubber ones would be.

I walked them to my car, and showed off how I could open the back remotely. It was tough getting all their bags into my little cargo space, but we got it done. Annie demurely opted to sit in the back seat, and let Paul sit up front next to me. I warned them that I didn’t have a whole lot of experience driving out of the airport, so there was a chance that I’d take a couple wrong turns. But I had faith that even if I did that, my little computer navigator would get us home. I buckled up and left the parking garage. I guess expecting to mess up helps, because I didn’t make any bad turns after all. I got us all safely home, had my car tell the house to turn off the alarm and open the garage door, and my mission was complete.

I told Paul to just leave the luggage in the garage and I’d have Justin move it when he got home. I showed them in and took their coats, pointing out that the guest room was right by the door. Paul asked when I expected Justin home, and I told him it would be about an hour, so he though that would be a perfect time to take a nap. He made himself at home and shortly the sound of snoring emanated from the guest room. I asked Annie what she wanted to do with her hour and she asked if I needed any help with dinner. I told her it was mostly ready, all I had to do was take the dessert out of the fridge and into the oven; everything else was chugging along in the slow cooker.

I could sense that she was out of her element, a homemaker stuck in someone else’s home, unsure what to do. I asked if she would like a tour of the house her son bought. She smiled and admitted to having read my article about decorating the place, and the curiosity was killing her. I hadn’t expected that Justin’s mother was one of my readers – that was weird and cool at the same time! I told her I hoped I’d never written anything that made me seem like a bad girlfriend for Justin, and she said he was lucky to have me. I blushed and began to lead her through the first floor, describing the attitude I was going for in each room. I told her that Justin would want to show off downstairs himself, but I could show her the second floor if she was interested. When I showed off the gym, I said she could use my treadmill while she was staying if she felt like needing exercise, but she just laughed.

I showed her into the master bedroom, trying to focus on showing off the sitting and reading area, and not the king-sized bed where she’d be imagining I had amazing sex with her son every night. I showed off the his-and-hers closets, and the huge master bath. Back out in the hall, there was Justin’s office; I let her know if they needed to print anything, I could get them the code for connecting to his printer. Then I showed her my office and she was a little more curious about how I worked, having read my stuff. I told her that I don’t always do my writing in there; I carry my laptop to wherever I really want to be at the moment. She noticed my daybed and I told her sometimes I nap while I’m working; It’s one of the perqs of working from home. She asked me how comfortable it was, and I told her to give it a try. She laid down and decided that it wasn’t too bad, and then said something that shook me to my core. “Would it be okay if I slept in here while we’re visiting? Paul’s got a cold he won’t admit to, and as you may have noticed, it’s got him snoring very loudly.”

I smiled and told her that would be fine; the sheets on the daybed were fresh. But inside a part of me was freaking out – I’d have to sleep with Justin! But like not “sleep with” sleep with, right? I wasn’t sure; he’d been all gung-ho about demonstrations of affection – what was he going to try to demonstrate with me in bed next to him? And was I more worried about what to do if he made a move on me, or that I was too undesirable for him to want to make a move on me? It scared me even more that I wasn’t sure. I just smiled and nodded at Annie, folded up and unplugged my laptop and brought it to the bedroom that Justin and I now shared for real instead of pretend. She went down to fetch her carry-on so she could get settled in.

The timer on my phone let me know it was time to turn off the oven. I went down to the kitchen and tied on my apron, and got to work getting supper ready for serving. I lifted the roast onto a platter, then arranged the potatoes and carrots on a dish of their own, then covered those with foil so they’d stay warm. I set the onions aside and then performed the magic that turned roast drippings into sumptuous gravy. I was in the middle of stirring my saucepan to keep the gravy from burning as it thickened when I felt an arm grab me around the waist from behind and a light kiss on the back of my left ear. “Hi, Sexy, I’m home!” His father’s snoring must have masked the sound of the garage door. Justin had brought home a fresh bouquet of mixed flowers to thank me for going to the airport, and these weren’t cheap grocery store flowers. I told him to wake his father in the guestroom, and find his mother, who might be in my office since she’d be sleeping there, and then go get something from his bar for us all to drink while I finished getting it all ready. I took his flowers, trimmed them, and put them in my vase with some water and brought it to the dining table.

I had just about finished setting the last serving dish, the gravy boat, on the table when Justin and his parents came into the dining room. They were all carrying glasses, so I figured he’d just showed them his bar. Justin and his Dad had pints of beer, but Justin also had a glass of red wine for me, saying it was a Cabernet that should pair well with my roast. Annie held a similar glass and assured me it was a good wine. I liked that my man was cultured enough to know what wine to serve, even if he was low-brow enough to prefer to just have a beer with his old man.

My pot roast was a hit with the folks, but I didn’t want too much credit since it was mostly the slow cooker’s work. However, I did feel great pride when Annie asked for both a small second helping of my apple crisp and the recipe. I had achieved success as a hostess! I even kind of felt like how I’d imagine a real girlfriend getting her boyfriend’s mother’s approval of her skills as a homemaker would feel. I appreciated my skills getting their due respect, even if that was not the only realm where I judged my self-worth, unlike the ladies who came before me.

After dinner we all went down to Justin’s playroom and watched a movie, an old western I’d never heard of but was apparently Paul’s favorite movie. I was pretty tired so I can’t tell you what happened in the movie. I snuggled up to Justin and let him put his arm around me and focused on trying to stay awake and missed much of the plot. I really should stop mixing wine with my medication. When the movie ended, Justin nudged me to consciousness and the climb up to the second floor seemed like forever.

Justin held the door for me as we walked into our bedroom. I thanked him and kissed the tip of his nose. I went into my closet and cleaned off my makeup, took off my jewelry, got undressed and put on a silky robe. Then I took off my contacts and put on my glasses and took my lotion bottle into the bathroom so I could massage my implants before changing for bed. I’m not sure what I was thinking, but I didn’t expect Justin to be in there brushing his teeth, using the sink on the side where I’d arranged his things. He wore only his boxer briefs.

I mumbled something about waiting until he was done and turned to leave. He spat out his toothpaste foam and came over to me. “Do you want help with that? Your doctor did show me what to do, and you’re pretty tired. Besides, you know I can reach some places easier than you can, and my hands are bigger.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but he was right. “Okay, but don’t try any funny stuff. Try to keep it clinical.” I faced him and handed him the lotion. Then I untied the sash on my robe and pulled it open so far that it fell to the floor.

Justin nearly made a wolf whistle at the sight of me, but must’ve decided that counted as “funny stuff” since he caught his breath. He squirted a little of the lotion into each hand and then gently cupped my right breast in his left hand while his right hand made gentle circles around the upper edges of my breast, to ensure that I wasn’t developing scar tissue at the edge of the implant. Then he gently squeezed my breast with his left hand, first vertically then horizontally, to make sure that the implant stayed supple. Then he softly grabbed the whole thing and shifted in each direction, up down, left right, to make sure it was settled properly in the pocket. He switched hands and did the other breast. He had been very clinical like I’d asked, but his hands had come in contact with my nipples when he was squeezing and shifting, and they liked it.

He crouched down and worked on my left hip, using essentially the same procedure. He started by lifting the implant slightly and massaging the edge. These implants were firmer than the ones on top, so the squeezing step was more of a pressing them, running his hand from top to bottom and left to right. The hip implants weren’t supposed to move, so instead of trying to shift them around, he just made sure they resisted shifting. Then he did the same on my right hip.

Since he was already down there, he asked me to turn around and I complied. I’m not exactly sure what he did back there, but it felt like the same kind of stuff. Those implants were softer than my hips but firmer than my breasts, so I don’t know how much they’re supposed to squish or shift around. When he finished, he kissed the small of my back, stood up, and helped me back into my robe. Then he said, “Can I have the room for a few minutes? I just groped this gorgeous naked girl and now I’ve got lotion-covered hands, so I’d better rub one out.” Eww. I only snuck a little peek at his erection as I left the room and shut the door.

I went into my closet and put on a new compression bra and girdle combo and then mulled over what pajama to wear. I needed something that I’d feel okay wearing if I wore it to breakfast and Justin’s parents saw me. I settled on my flannel nightgown, guessing that Annie might be wearing something similar right now. I got in the side of the bed I had claimed as mine, and left only the nightstand light on Justin’s side lit. I took off my glasses and put them on my nightstand, and closed my eyes.

Justin came in and quickly figured out which side of the bed I’d assigned to him, and got in. He leaned over and gave me a good night kiss, and then sort of hovered over me. I opened my eyes to see what he was up to. Was he about to try something? How should I react if he was? He leaned close and said, “Kelse, you didn’t brush your teeth. You need to take care of those fancy new veneers.” I was worried for nothing, and he was right. I flicked on my bedside lamp, put on my glasses and went to the bathroom to brush my teeth. Since I was in there, I also brushed my hair, put on my facial moisturizer, and had a pee, washing my hands afterwards. When I got back in bed, Justin said he was glad that we were the kind of couple where I didn’t feel the need to close the bathroom door. I hadn’t even realized I did that.

He turned onto his side and faced me, and put his hand on my stomach and gently stroked me. “When you were sleeping during the movie, both my parents told me they thought you were great – they clearly don’t suspect a thing! I don’t think I’ve said it lately, but you’re doing an amazing job, and I have no idea how I’ll ever be able to thank you.”

I turned my face to his. “Yeah, this whole experience is not one I would have guessed I’d be having, but it’s not like there hasn’t been any upside. I get free room and board in a huge house, a new fashionable wardrobe, and an amazing new car! Yeah, I’ve had to make a few sacrifices, but I’ve also gotten the opportunity to explore a side of myself that I never knew was there before. So, I’d like to thank you for helping me discover Kelsey.” I put my hand on top of his. “And a part of me can imagine ideas on how I’ll be able to express that gratitude, but I’m not quite ready for that.”

He somewhat effortlessly pulled me to him, so that we were semi-spooning. I was still mostly on my back. “Don’t worry. Nothing past PDA’s is part of Step Five the plan. I’m not going to push for something you don’t want. But it is kind of nice just having another person in bed next to you, you know?” He gave me a little squeeze. “After so long with Sarah, sleeping alone was just kind of lonely. I’m glad you’re here.”

He held me tighter and made a weird noise, so I rolled onto my side to look at him. He was crying. I hadn’t really been considering about how this whole business was because he’d been so heartbroken; he’d been masking it too well by getting into his persona as Kelsey’s boyfriend that I’d kind of forgotten that it was just pretend. I put my arm around him and hugged him close. “It’s ok, Baby. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. Just let it out.” He collapsed in my arms as I stroked his back. He kind of grabbed my left breast, but I don’t think it was anything sexual, maybe just an instinctive infant reflex seeking nurturing. Most of me hoped that instinct wasn’t going to make him try to nurse. We eventually fell asleep locked in an embrace.
I woke up and found myself entangled. My nightgown had hiked up to my waist, and Justin’s right leg was between mine, his morning erection poking at my hip. My right arm was trapped beneath him. His head was on my shoulder, and his right hand was on my left breast. There was no way I’d be able to move him by myself, so I had to shake him awake enough that he helped roll himself off of me. I squeezed my arm out and got out of bed. I straightened my nightgown, buttoning the couple of buttons that had come undone.

I went to the bathroom, washed my face, took my morning meds, brushed my hair and then went to my closet. I sat at my vanity and put in my contacts, then put on my fuzzy robe and slippers. I made my way downstairs. Someone had awoken before me, and had found the index card I’d left by the coffee maker with instructions for how to use it. I poured myself a cup, and wandered until I found Annie in the family room sitting with a cup of her own watching CNN. I thanked her for making the coffee, especially since she’d used the vanilla hazelnut, my favorite flavor. I was also pleased to see that I’d guessed correctly – she was in a blue plain flannel nightgown. I opened my robe to show her that we were “twinsies” and we laughed.

We sat watching the news for a while, and then I asked her if she thought we should make some breakfast for “the boys.” She said no, but we should make some breakfast for ourselves, but make enough so if the sleepyheads cared to come and join us they could. I showed her what kind of ingredients I had handy, and we settled on French toast and bacon. I started the bacon, putting most of it in the oven on a rack in a baking sheet, but saving two slices to fry up in a pan to leave behind the fat for frying the French Toast. Annie showed me her secret recipe for French toast batter. I’d share it here but I was sworn to secrecy. I got assigned the goopy task of dipping the bread and putting it in the pan; she did the cleaner job of flipping them with a spatula. While the batches were cooking, I cut up a cantaloupe, so that something that looked healthy would be on the table.

The smell of bacon roused Paul from his slumber down the hall. I had him take a seat at the table in the kitchen nook and asked hm if he wanted coffee, milk or orange juice with his breakfast. I pulled out my phone and texted Justin that his dad would eat all the bacon if he didn’t show up for breakfast. In about five minutes he showed up, in t-shirt and sweatpants. I think I might have been wrong and he’d been working out, not sleeping. A quick good morning kiss let me know that once again he’d brushed his teeth and I hadn’t. I needed to work harder at that.

Breakfast was good. I was much more casual and relaxed then I’d been at dinner, and I felt very welcomed by Justin’s family. Annie told me I’d be welcome helping in her kitchen any time, and said that Sarah had never been comfortable sharing hers, probably because she wasn’t as competent as chef. I was winning brownie points without even trying! I asked Justin how he’d been planning to entertain his guests for the weekend, since I’d assumed he’d made a plan, as usual. He said the main point of their visit was to see his new house, and to meet his new girl, punctuating the latter by putting a possessive arm around my waist. So he declared “Project Visiting Parents” a success. I knew that couldn’t have been all he had planned, so I just stared at him until he admitted it. He did have something planned, of course. Phase One of his plan involved Justin and Paul hanging out down in Justinland watching hockey games his system had saved for him. Annie and I were welcome to join them, but since neither of us was a hockey fan, we were allowed to go do “girl stuff” on our own during that time.

Phase Two was designed to balance things out: he’d gotten us tickets to a traveling Broadway company’s production of Cats. He knew his mother liked musicals, and figured I would at least find it interesting since I’d become so into dancing lately, so he hoped we’d like the show. That flowed nicely into Phase Three, where he’d made a reservation at the finest seafood restaurant in the city for a late supper. He figured we’d get home pretty late and his folks might be ready for bed so he hadn’t planned anything else for the day.

Phase Four involved taking his parents to mass on Sunday morning. Annie asked if I would be coming along and I told her I wasn’t Catholic; I been raised Methodist but hadn’t really been much of a churchgoer recently. She seemed disappointed in me for the first time. I tried to change the subject by saying that it would give me plenty of time to make a good lunch and have it ready for them when they got back, but that didn’t change her mind. Phase Five just meant getting them to the airport in time for their five o’clock flight to Tampa. Everyone thought the plan sounded reasonable, so after breakfast they all went off to get showered and/or dressed, and I lingered in the kitchen to clean up first.

I thought I’d taken long enough, but I ended up returning to the master bedroom right as Justin was coming out of the bathroom from his shower, walking into his closet totally naked. Couldn’t he at least wear a towel? I suppose from a practical point of view it made sense to leave the damp towel on the bar in the bathroom to dry, but does everything always have to be practical?

I chose to get dressed in something casual for the morning, and then get more dressed up when it was time to go to the theater. I picked out this cool sweater that had a multicolored heather pattern in its yarn and a zipper in the back, and paired it with purple leggings under a black circle skirt and slipped on my flats. I wore my big gold hoop earrings and just a little lip gloss.

I went downstairs and thought about what “girl stuff” I wanted to do while the manly men were watching hockey, and decided to settle into the couch in the family room and turn on the Hallmark Channel for a cheesy romance movie. Eventually Annie came downstairs and joined me. It looked like she’d taken a shower, and she was dressed a little nicer than me, in a pretty floral dress and blue pumps, and dark lipstick. She was carrying her knitting bag. I invited her to join me. I summarized the movie so far, and offered to change the channel if she wanted. She didn’t care what was on, but did want to talk.

She was still a little upset from before, and asked me why I didn’t go to church. Now they say the two things you should never talk about when meeting your significant other’s parents are religion and politics, so I wasn’t sure how to handle it. I took a breath and old her that I felt like I was more spiritual than religious; I had a strong sense of morality and tried to live a life of compassion and concern for the welfare of others, but I’d gotten turned off by organized religion from running across some preachers that just seemed to be in it for the money, and hearing about others getting caught in various scandals. I didn’t tell her that Justin wasn’t normally a churchgoer either, but he was planning to go for them.

She asked me if I’d ever consider converting to Catholicism, if Justin were to ask me to. I said I didn’t know; he’d never brought it up. She then shifted into talking about how all girls imagine their wedding every now and then, and when I thought about mine, did I see myself in a church? I’d only been a girl for about three weeks, and I didn’t remember having any bridal fantasies, but I couldn’t tell her that. I said I’d always pictured my wedding being outdoors, like in a manicured English Garden, but I also let her know that Justin and I were not even talking about that far into the future; we had what we had for now, and who’s to say where it’s going? I told her he was still pretty shell-shocked from when Sarah left him, and I didn’t think he was ready for any real commitments. I opened up and said I loved Justin and I would continue to be with him as long as he wanted me to. Which was pretty much the truth.

Annie wouldn’t let the whole religion thing go. She then asked me if at some point in the future, hopefully after some kind of wedding, if Justin and I were to have kids, would they be raised Catholic, and had we discussed it? I sighed heavily and hoped that maybe sympathy would get her to drop the topic. I said that we hadn’t talked about how we’d raise any children that we made together, because that would be impossible. I told her that I had an incurable medical condition, a problem with my uterus, that meant that I could never get pregnant. And I started genuinely crying a little as I thought about how I had lost the ability to make any babies ever. At least it got her to stop nagging. Annie just came over and gave me a hug. “I’m so sorry, Honey. That is just not fair.” We tuned to a different stupid movie and dropped the subject. I texted Justin to see what time he wanted lunch.

Since we were going out for dinner, (it would have been nice of Justin to tell me that before I did my menu planning and grocery shopping) I went light with the lunch offering, a tossed salad, a freshly made minestrone soup, and cold cuts sandwiches. I wasn’t going to do a dessert, but there was leftover apple crisp. Annie wanted to help, so I had her chop the vegetables for the salad.

The boys came upstairs and had to give us highlights of the hockey game we had no interest in. They were very enthusiastic, so Annie and I just smiled and nodded. We went to the dining room and had lunch. I just opted for soup and a salad, watching my figure. I thought my minestrone was okay but not the best soup I’d ever had. However, Paul really liked it and wanted me to share my recipe with Annie. I really liked that I could take pride in my domestic skills. I was especially glad to see Justin enjoying my dessert; sometimes I felt like our relationship was so unbalanced because he was paying for everything, so it felt like I was earning my keep when my contributions were appreciated.

After he was a perfect gentleman and cleared the lunch table, Justin said we’d need to leave for the theater around 2:30. His father decided that was enough time to take a nap. His mother returned to her knitting. I didn’t think I’d need quite all that time to get ready, but it couldn’t hurt. I went up to our room to take a shower. I was running out of my clean underthings, so I hand-washed a couple sets in the bathroom sink and hung them on a towel bar to dry.

I went into my closet, took my makeup off, undressed and put on my silk robe. I padded into the bathroom, and Justin was already in the shower. I put my hands on my hips and glared at him. I had called dibs on the shower! He said he was willing to share; our shower was built for two. At first I was just going to sulk and wait and maybe flip him off, but he had been perfectly clinical about massaging my implants, and hadn’t tried any funny stuff in bed. So maybe sharing a shower could work. I took off my robe and hung it on a hook, and then naked, I opened the shower door and got in, calling his bluff.

I stood under the unoccupied shower head and turned away from him. I began by using my special shampoo on my hair. Since I had to close my eyes, it made it easier to pretend I was alone. However, after washing, I had to put conditioner on my hair and get out from under the water so it could do its work. When I first stepped back, my naked butt bumped into Justin’s and I bounced forward and stumbled. Luckily, he turned it time to keep me from falling, but it meant I was now facing him and he had his arms around me. He was also noticeably aroused. He caught me looking at it and he shrugged it off and said that it just does that whenever he’s in the shower with a gorgeous naked girl. I thanked him for saving me and realized that I had to do my conditioner all over again. This time I hid in the corner of the shower for the two minutes it needed.

I rinsed the conditioner and got out my body wash and started rubbing the lather on my skin. Justin offered to wash my back, and it did make things a lot easier so I accepted his help. I did not expect that his definition of “back” was the entire back surface of my body, from neck to heels. It started out great, as he was kneading the tension out of my neck and shoulders, and his fingers along my spine did feel incredible, particularly that spot in the small of my back I can’t reach by myself. But then he soaped up his hands and started rubbing my ass and that seemed like he was going to far. Although, he was sort of using the same rubbing pattern as when applying lotion, so he was massaging my implants while washing them. I needed that anyway, so I didn’t stop him.

I turned around and thanked him, and took my body wash back. I thought about asking him to massage my front implants, too. But I didn’t have a good reason why I couldn’t do them myself. So I carefully washed my breasts and massaged them at the same time. When I finished and looked up, I noticed he’d been watching. I did a final rinse and went to the door. I was just trying to be playful and said, “I’ll let you have the shower so you can take care of that.” And I meant to just point at his raging erection, but I must’ve misjudged the distance or he moved as I was talking because instead of pointing at it, I poked it. And it jumped. I blushed and left the shower, but I had to stand there on the other side of the glass toweling myself dry before I could leave the room altogether.

Once most of me was dry I put my robe back on, but I still needed to dry my hair, and my extensions didn’t like blow drying, so I had to do it all by hand with special extra-absorbent hair towels. That meant I was still there when Justin got out of the shower, and I could see that he had taken care of things. Had he been picturing me when he was doing it? If he hadn’t been, would that mean he was being respectful, or just that I wasn’t female enough to fantasize about? If he had, would that be an insult or a compliment to me? I really didn’t want to think about it.

On his way out, I asked Justin how dressed up I ought to be for our outing. He said “dressy, but not too dressy.” He’d be in a jacket and tie, but not a suit. I went into my closet and put on my last clean set of stupid ugly underwear, then looked through my wardrobe and find something that fit that description. I decided to take it literally and chose a blouse and skirt rather than a dress. It was pretty cold out there, so I started with black fleece-lined tights. My blouse was a little on the thin side, so I layered a white lace camisole underneath so that if anything was visible it would be prettier than my bra. The dusty pink blouse was silky, possibly actual silk, with ruffles along the buttons. It had a modest V neck and long sleeves. My skirt was a pale gray soft knit material with a high-low hemline, knee length in front, calf length in back. It was full and hung off my enhanced hips in loose pleats. Due to the weather, I chose my tan boots as my footwear and added my ostrich belt so the outfit made sense. I wanted to help Justin impress his parents, so I wore my expensive diamond earrings, and to appease his mother’s religious leanings, just below my collarbones I wore a rose gold cross necklace that had a little crystal in the middle that knowing Justin was probably yet another little diamond.

Since I wanted to look sophisticated, I went for full makeup, with a base coat of foundation, a little bit of contouring, a dusting of powder so nothing would shine except my eyes, and just enough blush to make my cheeks look alive without seeming too obvious. My built-in eyeliner looked fine, but I emphasized my false lashes with a coat of dark mascara. I used a taupey mauve as the main color of my eyeshadow, blending with a sparkly pink for high tone and a slaty gray for low tone. I selected a deep plum color longwearing matte lipstick. I put a little bit of product in my hair to tame into something a little more elegant, and dabbed on some of my favorite perfume. As much as I loved my Prada bag it would be a little too cumbersome at the theater, so I downsized some essentials into a stylish pink leather clutch.

I walked out into the bedroom to see Justin standing there looking sharp in a navy jacket, black pants, a crisp white shirt and a maroon tie with silver stripes. I felt like being girlfriendy, so I straightened his tie and adjusted his collar and jacket. I trusted my lipstick, so I gave him a quick kiss. I asked him if he thought it would be chilly enough in the theater or the restaurant that I’d need to add a sweater to my ensemble. He said he didn’t think so, and then caught me off guard by reaching out to cup my breast and run his thumb across my nipple. I could still feel it, even through three layers of fabric. “I don’t think you need to worry about these popping up too noticeably.” That was not my reason for asking. Men! Since I was now worried about turning on my high beams, I decided to play it safe and added a cream-colored cashmere cardigan.

We talked a little about what we’d done before lunch, and I asked him, “Has your mother always been so gung-ho about your girlfriends needing to be Catholic? Was she like that with Sarah? When I stay home tomorrow morning will she hold a major grudge?” I’m not sure why it bothered me; our fake relationship wasn’t supposed to last that long.

He sighed heavily. “That was a lot of questions. Let’s see… I took Sarah home one year for Christmas and she came along to mass; I think my mother just assumed she was Catholic. I think it’s because I bought a house and I’m acting like a grownup, my Mom just naturally sees me taking the next steps and just assumes that any girl I’m living with is a potential future daughter-in-law. Claire and her family started going to some Evangelical Protestant church last year, and it hit Mom kind of hard.” Claire is Justin’s older sister. She lives in South Carolina with her husband and two kids. “That’s part of the reason why I’m sending them on vacation together. Claire wants to mend bridges. I think Jackie’s dating an Italian guy these days, but one of her college boyfriends was Jewish; Mom chalked it up as a phase.” Jackie is two years younger than us; I asked her to prom and she turned me down. “I think Molly and Ramesh are getting serious, but Mom can’t nag her about his religion without looking racist.” Molly is Justin’s next younger sister. She was in grad school in Wisconsin and living with a guy from India. “And I don’t think Mom’s deluded enough to think Sabrina’s got a boyfriend.” Sabrina is Justin’s youngest sister. She was in the sixth year of working on her BA in California, and everyone except her knows she’s into girls. “So, she kind of has all her hope for Catholic grandchildren tied up in me, so by extension that fell to you. Sorry about that. And she is notorious for holding grudges. Sorry again.”

I made a guilty face. “Well, she knows I’m not going to be making any grandbabies for her. I let her know about the problem with my uterus that means I can’t get pregnant. So maybe that puts me in the same category as Ramesh; she can’t get mad at me about my barren womb without seeming horrible. It’s mostly true, but feels like I lied to her. I’m going to have to go with you guys tomorrow, aren’t I? Will we be done in time for me to spend like an hour and a half in the kitchen before lunch? I’d been planning a roast chicken.”

“Yeah, that should be ok. Mass starts at nine and only goes like an hour, and the church isn’t that far.” He smiled at me. “Ain’t no guilt like Catholic guilt!”

“I just hope I don’t burst into flames immediately on entering. I’m not sure what the Pope’s current opinion of people whose genitals don’t match their appearance is. And I know that as a non-Catholic, I don’t get to eat the magic cookie.”

“No, you don’t. But please don’t call it that in front of anyone.” He kissed me, I think to shut me up, and we left to go downstairs.

Justin’s parents were sitting in the living room. Annie was in the same dress she’d been wearing, but had upgraded her jewelry to pearls. Paul was still in the same khakis, but had traded his red polo shirt for a white Oxford with a red tie, and had added a charcoal sportcoat. Paul told me I looked very pretty, and I thanked him. Annie said that both Justin and I made a very attractive couple, and when she saw my sweater, she thought that was a good idea and went up to my office to get one of her own. I offered to send Justin to fetch it, but she didn’t want him pawing through her suitcase. She came back with a baby pink cardigan over her dress, that she’d probably knitted herself. Just went and got our coats from the hall closet and was the perfect gentleman helping his mother and I put ours on. And he continued being chivalrous when he led us to his car and held the door for me, while Paul helped Annie in behind me. He pointed out to Justin that it isn’t just Germans who make luxury cars, but Justin didn’t want to hear it; he loved his BMW.

At the theater, Justin pulled up to the curb and the valet helped me out. It was cold, so we hurried into the building as soon as everyone was out of the car. We had pretty good seats, in the middle but not too close to miss what’s happening on the sides of the stage. The show was beautiful. Andy probably would have found it silly, a bunch of grown people in leotards who’d been to the face painting booth at the fair pretending to be animals, but either drugs releasing my hang-ups or hormones getting me in touch with my emotions opened my mind and let me enjoy the music, the graceful movements, and the story. I found it so touching I wept a little and held Justin’s hand for the parts that moved me the most.

During intermission while we were waiting in line to use the ladies’ room, Annie complimented my necklace, and remarked that it meant I wasn’t too opposed to religion. I told her that Justin (I might as well give him more points with his mother) had talked me into agreeing to come along to mass on Sunday. She seemed pleased and gave me a little hug.

After the show, Justin only drove us a few blocks to the restaurant and let Annie and me out before he went to park the car. Paul stubbornly stayed with him, claiming that if Justin could walk from the parking lot, so could he. I think he was really just afraid of opening his door into crazy Boston traffic. We lucky ladies went in to get out of the weather and I told the hostess we had a reservation for four under Monahan, but the rest of our party was parking the car. We checked our coats while we were waiting, but it didn’t feel necessary to go wait in the bar.

After four minutes or so, our menfolk showed up. Paul was breathing a little heavy, but he said this was nothing compared to Michigan winters, and I had to pretend never to have experienced one. They checked their coats, and then Justin spoke to the hostess and we were led to a table almost immediately. The place was very elegant and I almost felt underdressed; I should have skipped the cardigan. The food was exquisite! We started with a nice appetizer dish of scallops, and you could tell they were real and not those fake scallops cheaper restaurants use. Annie didn’t care for them. After going through the trouble of getting us a reservation at the most exclusive seafood restaurant in the city, Justin was only learning now that his mother wasn’t in a mood for seafood. I felt for him. Justin and his father both went with the lobster as their entrée. I opted for a delicate grilled salmon that was heavenly! Annie had the roast chicken that was probably only on the menu for disagreeable moms. The meal was so absolutely satisfying that I couldn’t even think about the dessert menu.

Over dinner we had mentioned that Justin was working on teaching me ballroom dancing to prepare for the Valentine’s Ball, so when we got home, we gave them a demonstration. Justin had the piano play a Strauss waltz, and he took my hand and led me around our impromptu dancefloor. It felt a little weird to have people watching me dance, but there would be people there for the real thing, so it was something I needed to get over. I just smiled and yielded to Justin’s control and let him steer me around. When we finished, they applauded. Annie told me she thought I was ready for the Ball, but I said I felt like I needed more practice. Paul was more impressed by our ghost pianist than our dancing.

I was worn out from my long day, so I went upstairs. Justin and his dad wanted to catch some late-night sports, so he stayed up. On the one hand, it was refreshing to be able to do all my undressing and preparing for bed without having to worry about being interrupted or peeked at, but on the other hand, climbing into that big bed alone gave me a strong feeling that something was missing. Some time later, Justin tried not to disturb me when he slipped under the covers, but he roused me enough that I snuggled up to let him spoon me. Cuddling is good.

I woke up at 6:00 the next morning, and quickly washed my face, brushed my teeth and hair, used the potty, and put my contacts in. Slipping into my robe and slippers, I got down to the kitchen before anyone. I started the coffee pot and mixed up a batch of apple cinnamon muffins and popped them into the oven. I then did most of the work to get a frittata ready as my breakfast main course, with broccoli, ham, diced tomatoes, and a blend of three cheeses. Around 7:00 I started to hear sounds of people waking so I turned on the heat under my skillet, and when people showed up, I was able to serve them a delicious, nutritious breakfast. I earned many Hostess Experience Points.

I took a shower and asked Justin to apply my lotion and massage my implants, and to take my mind off of being fondled, I asked him some questions about religion, since it was on my mind. I was curious how much of a Catholic he was, since I didn’t think he was much of a regular church goer. He admitted that he didn’t go much but still considered himself Catholic. I asked if he’d been to confession about me, and what did he tell the priest? He said that never tell me what he’d said in a confessional; that was sacred, although he didn’t go as often as he was supposed to. I also wondered that when our fake relationship was over and he was ready to date a real girl, would she necessarily have to be Catholic so he wouldn’t displease his mother? He tried to get out of answering by saying that he wasn’t ready to think of dating someone that wasn’t me, but when I pushed him to answer he said that if he ever found himself falling in love with a girl and she wasn’t Catholic, his mother would just have to deal with it.

I made Justin pick my outfit for attending church with them, since he knew what was appropriate, as well as knowing whether he’d ever had his shopper get me the right kind of clothes. As I stood there with my silk robe over my support garments, Justin came into my closet and looked through my things. He said that it should be a dress with sleeves, and a hemline that didn’t show my knees when I sat down. He wanted something that was pretty but not too sexy, but since (in his words) I looked sexy in everything that would be tough. He settled on a calf-length dress with a jewel neckline. It was a pink print covered in little blue flowers. He said church women usually wore pantyhose, and I asked if the “not too sexy” guideline meant my heels shouldn’t bee too high, and he just went to my shoe rack and pulled out a pair of blue suede Manolo kitten heels that were just about the same color as the flowers in the dress. He said he thought those were the shoes Monique picked to go with that dress.

I thanked him with a kiss on the cheek and he went to his own closet to get dressed. I did my makeup in a palette of pinks, going only a little darker on my lips. I chose pearls for my jewelry, drop earrings and a necklace. I tamed my hair with a pink ribbon headband. I went out into the bedroom to ask Justin to zip me up, and he was just finishing dressing. He was sitting on the end of the bed in his gray suit putting his shoes on. A thought ran through my head that he’d taken so long to get ready because he’d gotten turned on helping me and had to “help” himself, and I smiled inside.

We went downstairs and met his parents. We got in Justin’s car and drove to the church. It was only a fifteen-minute drive or so. Justin didn’t need directions from his GPS or anything, so I wondered If he actually had been going there before I moved in, or if he’d just been practicing the route so it would like to his parents like he went so often he knew the way by heart. The church was a pretty stone building, looking like you’d expect a Catholic church to look.

We entered into a foyer, where we hung up our coats, which seemed a little weird to trust that no one would take them. I think the last time I went to church we just kept our coats with us and laid them on the bench next to us. My family weren’t very religious. Officially we were Lutherans, but we only went a couple times a year. My Dad could make money if he opened his shop on Sundays, and that meant Tony and Xander would go with him, and Mom and I didn’t go by ourselves. Kelsey’s backstory said that I’d been raised Methodist but stopped going when I was on my own. Personally, I never felt a connection to religion, so I felt I could easily stay in character.

We went through an open set of double doors, where a polite young guy who was serving as usher gave us our programs and Justin led us down the aisle to a pew. Paul got in first, then Annie, and then I let Justin go next so his mother could sit next to him, then I sat on his other side. He gave my hand a squeeze and told me to follow his lead, like when we danced.

The service was okay, I guess, if you like that kind of thing. The Bible stuff seemed familiar enough, and the priest’s sermon was a reasonable message of peace and harmony. It was a little jarring when the priest would say something that meant we were all supposed to respond with some catch phrase, and the entire room except me knew what to say. And when it came time for everyone to go up and get their wafers and wine, because I was the aisle seat I had to get up to let them out and stand in the aisle while they all got out, and it felt like I had a giant neon sign on my head directing people to look at The Heathen Strumpet, so I got back in the pew as quickly as possible, except this was a kneeling part of the service to I had to get in and get down, but then they all came back and I had to go back out to the aisle with my Strumpet sign. But what scared me the most were the hymns. I had been practicing my female voice for weeks now and was totally comfortable talking, but I hadn’t done much singing. When it came time for the hymns, I looked over at the book Justin was holding for us and basically spoke the words quietly in the right rhythm, and since he was singing in his full beautiful baritone it covered whatever feeble sounds I was making. I was very relieved when it was finally over and we could go home.

I went immediately to the kitchen as soon as we arrived, and tied on my apron and washed my hands so I could start on lunch. I shooed Annie away and wouldn’t let her help me. I told her to go enjoy the time she had to visit with her son, and it made me feel a little guilty that I’d been monopolizing her time. Really I just wanted to be able to take full credit for this meal. The main dish was roast chicken, so I preheated my oven and took it out of its package, setting it up in the roasting pan, seasoning it inside and out. As I started peeling potatoes, I regretted a little rejecting help. But I needed to do this myself. I was sure that if Kelsey were legitimately Justin’s girlfriend, she would want his parents to leave with an impression of her that she could take care of him. And she really should stop thinking about herself in third person. The oven was ready, so I put the chicken in just before putting the potatoes on to boil.

While all that was cooking, I worked on my other vegetables, slicing Brussels sprouts and tossing them with oil and herbs before putting them in the oven next to the chicken. From then after, every other time I went in to baste the chicken I also stirred the sprouts. I had my carrots peeled and sliced, and ready to be simmered and glazed. I’d started the base sauce for my gravy. And I mixed up the yolk side of my most ambitious dessert yet, a chocolate souffle. When the chicken came out of the oven to rest, I deglazed the pan with a bit of white wine and lemon and stirred It into the gravy. Then I mashed the potatoes with butter, shredded cheddar, and a little light cream.

I put a fresh tablecloth on the dining table, and got out the good dishes. I put out glasses of ice water, but also texted Justin to go fetch a bottle of wine that would go with a savory roast chicken, and a couple beers if he and his dad wanted them, and track down his parents. Because I wasn’t allowed to lift heavy things, I had to bring my serving dishes one at a time to the dining room. When it was all on the table, I whipped up my egg whites and folded them into the souffle, then carefully put it in the oven and set a timer on my phone.

I returned to the dining room to see that everyone had arrived and Justin was pouring the wine. My spread looked pretty good, if I do say so myself. I kind of felt like I was hosting Thanksgiving or Christmas instead of just some Sunday in January. I did feel a touch overdressed, since I was still in my church dress and Paul had changed into his traveling outfit of khakis and a green polo shirt, Annie was now ready for Florida in a t-shirt and Mom jeans, and Justin had taken his jacket and tie off.

Justin was still feeling churchy, because he felt the need to say grace. But his prayer thanked not only God but also me, so I can’t fault him for that. Everything came out exactly the way I wanted it, and they all said it was delicious! I blushed and enjoyed the compliments. Right on schedule, my phone chimed and I tiptoed to the oven to gently remove my souffle. It hadn’t fallen! I let it cool just a little while I set out the dessert plates. I gave it a light dusting of powdered sugar and brought it to the table. They all wanted a second piece. Success! Paull even tactlessly told Justin, “Hang onto this one. She’s a keeper.”

After lunch we only had about an hour before we needed to leave for the airport. Paul said he had some packing to finish, but not long after he went to his room, the snoring started. I asked Justin if the place they’d be staying in Florida had separate rooms, and he said it was a four-bedroom condo, so there was a chance the kids could get put together and a room would be free. Annie didn’t want anyone to go through that much trouble for her. She was all packed, but Justin needed to fetch her suitcase.

We just chatted for a while, but it was a little uncomfortable since Annie was trying to get to know me better, which meant asking a lot of questions about my fictional family in Philadelphia. I hoped I got all the details right. I was an only child, my parents divorced when I was twelve and my dad moved to Pittsburgh and remarried. I had a younger half-sister named Madison that I didn’t get along with. My mother recently retired from her job as a bank teller. I didn’t like having to lie to her so much, but I was stuck with it. Justin tried to help by changing the subject, but it didn’t work.

When it was time for Justin to drive them to the airport, I came along to see them off. I gave them both a big hug and said that it was very nice to have met them, and they said they hoped to see me again the next time they visited Justin. He said his goodbyes and helped them with their luggage. On our way home, he called his sister to let her know they were on their way. Since she was on speaker, I introduced myself and said hi, and told her their parents were cool. Although I did warn her about Paul’s snoring. She laughed and thanked me. Justin sent his love to her husband and kids and we said bye.

When we got home, I wanted to start taking sheets and towels to the laundry, but Justin stopped me. “You’ve been on your feet all day. I can get that. You knocked it out of the park this weekend. My parents love you, and they clearly don’t suspect you’re anything but the amazingly beautiful girl you appear to be. Go upstairs and put on something comfortable. Wait, I have a better idea. Go upstairs and run a bath, turn on the bubbles pour in some flowery smelling bath oil, take off all your uncomfortable clothes, and go have a relaxing soak. I’ll be up in a couple minutes with a chilled glass of a sweet dessert wine and a nice slice of that fluffy chocolate thing for you.” That sounded heavenly, so I took his advice.

When he brought my treats, I was a little self-conscious of my nudity, so I turned the jets up to make more bubbles, and I made him lean down for a kiss on the cheek in thanks. He told me to put on my PJs when I was finished, and that I didn’t need to worry about cooking; he’d just call the pizza guy when we were ready for dinner. That was so sweet of him I made him come back and get a real kiss.

It was very relaxing. All my stress just melted away. I very nearly fell asleep in there, but I was aware that I wasn’t supposed to spend too much time out of my special underwear, so when my plate and glass were both empty, I opened the drain and got out. I toweled off and then massaged my implants before getting dressed in my compression wear and my pink silk pajamas and my fuzzy robe and slippers. I found Justin in the laundry room, moving the towels to the dryer. He actually did what he said he would. I leaned onto his back and gave him a hug. Visiting his parents had left me feeling a little homesick for mine. I wished I could call my mom and tell her all about my new life, but I knew we had to wait.

That night, I slept again in the master bedroom, snuggled up to Justin. I suppose I could’ve used the excuse that the sheets for the other beds were in the wash, but I had spares if I had really wanted to make one of those beds. But really Justin had just been right that first night - It’s much less lonely when there’s someone else sleeping beside you. Even later, when the sheets were clean and the other beds got made, I still didn’t move out of the master. We never talked about it or anything; it was just our room now.

The following Monday was my first day without any projects or appointments or Project Cinderella homework, but the weather was kind of crummy so I didn’t feel like going anywhere. I spent most of the day dressed casually in jeans and a thermal shirt. My experience at the church was still bugging me, so I spent some time online watching videos about biologically male persons singing with female voices, which made me want to try, so I turned on my playlist of female singers who rock and did my best to sing along. When I felt like my throat needed a rest, I did some work researching a new article. I thought I might try writing about my learning ballroom dance and relating that to the popularity of ballroom dance in the media and in culture in general.

When I had to change to dress up for dinner, I undressed all the way and lotioned up and massaged my implants. I closed my eyes and let my mind wander and teased my nipples with my lotion-lubricated fingers. My left hand stayed on the nipples, but my right hand drifted down to touch what should have been my vulva, stroking what pretended to be my labia, rubbing my equivalent to a clitoris. I pushed my middle finger up, trying to imagine how it would feel to enter my vagina. For a brief moment I had a thought, “I may not have a real vagina, but there is somewhere I can insert this,” and I sneakily reached my had around behind me. But when that naughty middle finger’s fashionable gel fingernail touched my sensitive spot, it hurt and snapped me out of it. I tried going back to messing with my incongruous genitals, but I wasn’t into it anymore. I washed up and got dressed.

My dress for the evening was made of a thin synthetic material that had a metallic pattern of gold and black printed on it. It was slightly sheer, but the pattern kept my foundation garments from being recognizable. It was sleeveless, so I wouldn’t have wanted to wear it if I we were going out on a winter night, but it was perfect for staying in. It had a scoop neck just shallow enough not to show my bra, and a skirt that flared out over my hips. It wasn’t quite tight enough in the waist, so I had to accessorize with a wide black belt. I wore shimmery nude pantyhose and my black stiletto pumps. I chose an evening look for my makeup, with sparkly white eyeshadow contrasting with bold, black lashes that balanced against a deep ruby lipstick. I had the time, so I redid my nail polish in a pearly pink. I tried experimenting with hair accessories, but nothing was working so I just kept my usual untamed look.

My dinner menu was a smorgasbord of leftovers, odds and ends from meals we didn’t quite finish, checking with the experts online to figure out which things would still be ok after reheating in the microwave, and which were better if I used the stovetop or the oven. But I didn’t want to come across as too lazy, so I added a baked macaroni and cheese that I made from scratch, the kind my mother would only make on special occasions.

Justin returned from work and went looking for me after hanging his coat in the hall. He found me in the dining room, setting out some of the little serving dishes. He stopped in his tracks. “After a hard day’s work followed by a lousy winter commute, it totally makes it all worth it to come home to an absolutely beautiful woman. I hope you know how much I appreciate all that you do. I will never take you for granted.” I thanked him and turned my eyes away. I enjoyed the compliment, but I was super embarrassed. He walked over to me and lifted my chin. “You are amazing, Kelsey.” He kissed me, and I very nearly felt compelled to pop my foot up. Sometimes I think he was getting a little carried away with these pretend displays of affection. I pulled away and told him I needed to fetch a couple things from the kitchen, so I could compose myself.

Over dinner, Justin told me that since the visit with his parents had gone so well, he’d invited some friends from work over to watch the Super Bowl and to see his new place. I asked how many friends, and he said four other couples, so not a huge party. I asked what kind of menu he wanted, if they worked with him, they’d be fairly well off, so did he want upscale hors d’oeuvres with gourmet ingredients and pretentious presentation, like lobster-stuffed puff pastries with grated truffle garnish? Or was he more in the mood for traditional blue-collar Super Bowl foods, like a seven-layer-dip and sweet and sour cocktail weenies? He said he’d want some kind of blend, somewhere in between that provided something for a more sophisticated palate, but other things that didn’t forget where we came from. That would be a tough challenge, but at least I had a project now.

In our dance practice that night, we did enough tours of the first floor to the accompaniment of our invisible pianist that Justin declared that we had thoroughly conquered the waltz, although I didn’t share his enthusiasm. I felt like I needed a little more experience before I’d feel confident dancing in public. He agreed to continue my lessons, although he made me start learning the foxtrot alongside the waltz.

I changed into my silk pajamas and worked a little on my article before going to bed, but I was still in there first and fell asleep before Justin came to join me. I didn’t wake up until his alarm went off the next morning and I discovered that he was cuddled up behind me with his hand up inside my pajama top, nestled between my boobs. I assumed that he’d just reflexively done that in his sleep; it was not in his character to grope an unconscious girl. I’d been at enough parties with him in high school where girls had gotten drunk and he never took advantage of the situation – he even talked me out of it when I almost went too far with a passed-out Lisa Schaefer. I wonder if this was Karma getting back at me for that? I elbowed him and he kind of ground his crotch against my butt before he fully woke up and detangled himself. He gave me a kiss on the forehead and went off to start his day. I took advantage of my open schedule to sleep in.

When I finally strolled downstairs for a coffee at 10:30, I looked out the kitchen window and saw that the backyard was glistening white. It had snowed while I was sleeping, and there were still a few flurries blowing around. I texted Justin to see if he wanted me to shovel the driveway before he came home, and he told me not to bother; the same company that he pays to mow the lawn in the summer comes by in the winter to clear the snow. I was still getting used to living like a rich person. It was a little weird that of all my changes in going from being an unemployed dude living out of his car to the live-in girlfriend of a fairly wealthy guy, the financial stuff was harder to acclimate to than the gender stuff. But that was good, since Kelsey would also be dealing with the change in economic class if she were real, so it helped me stay in character.

My self-exploration of the day before was still nagging at the back of my head. I really wanted to know how it would feel to be penetrated. It wasn’t a sexual hunger; it was more of an itch of curiosity that was begging to be scratched. It was snowing outside so I wanted to stay home, and I would have felt embarrassed going to a sex shop anyway, but there are numerous websites where a girl can purchase toys. I picked out a set of anal beads first. They were a series of ten silicone spheres, increasing in size as they went along the flexible shaft that connected them. It felt like something safe that I could play with, going only as little or as far as I wanted. Next, I wanted a vibrator, but I didn’t want one that was specially designed for stimulating the prostate; I was a woman and that would have been a vibrator for a man. I picked out a shiny purple one in the classic shape: sleek cylinder with a rounded, tapered end. I wasn’t some kind of slutty pervert, so I didn’t add the extra-large bottle of lube to my shopping cart; I went with five medium-sized bottles. Before I checked out, I had to admit to myself what I was most curious about being penetrated by. I bought a very realistic eight-inch dildo that claimed to have been molded off a live casting of some porn star I’d never heard of. I checked out and paid for express shipping.

I moisturized and massaged my implants, and teased my nipples into a partial climax. I visualized my pussy again as usual, but now my mind also conjured up the image of my eight-inch porn star entering me. I was completely without any frame of reference for what that would feel like, so the fantasy was vague and less that satisfying. I cleaned myself off and got dressed. I didn’t feel like getting dressed twice, so I changed straight into my magenta silk wrap dress for the evening. I wore nude pantyhose and my black pumps. I let my hair do its own thing; I wondered what it would be like if I had a different style hairdo that required more work. I planned to let my natural hair grow out to where I wouldn’t need extensions anymore, and when that happened, I wanted to be able to do more things with it, like wear it up or down or pull it back or braid it. But for now, I had my sexy ombre shag. I wore a gold pendant that looked like a pair of doves, and put twisted hoops in my ears. I decided not to jump to my evening makeup, and just went with a bold fuchsia lipstick.

I took my laptop down to the kitchen to research gourmet appetizers for Justin’s Super Bowl party. I was inspired by a recipe for homemade potato chips; they seemed to be the perfect blend of upscale and lowbrow, and ordered a deep fryer and a mandoline slicer. I bookmarked a number of other things to try, and started making a grocery list. Did I want to go out and buy my groceries like a regular person, or did I assemble my list on my phone and have someone else do the hard work and just bring them to me? What do you think?

Around three o’ clock, I heard a loud rumbling outside and went to look out the garage window. Justin’s snowplow guy was here. It was a big blue Chevy truck with a plow on the front and a cap on the back. They very neatly cleared the driveway and then the truck stopped and a couple guys in big coats and ski hats got out on the passenger side and went around to the back. One of them got a shovel and cleaned up the edges in front of our garage doors, and the other one got out a snowblower and cleared the front walk. I opened the human-sized garage door and called out that they were doing a great job, giving them a thumbs up. The shovel guy was close enough to me that I could talk to him, so I asked if I could offer any of them a cup of coffee or a bathroom or anything, and he just shook his head and kept shoveling. I think the driver of the truck was the supervisor, since he just stayed inside watching the other two, and shovel guy kind of looked at him when I made my offer.

After they left, I checked out some more of those transgender singing videos online. Then I went to the kitchen and turned up my “girl songs” playlist so I could sing along while I worked on assembling a lasagna for dinner. I found a variation online that used Béchamel sauce instead of ricotta cheese and thought it sounded interesting. When it went into the oven, I put together a tossed salad. Since the meal was heavy, I went lighter on the dessert and whipped up a raspberry mousse.

With the meal good to go, I went upstairs and did my makeup for the evening. I liked the fuchsia lips, so after cleaning my face and smoothing on foundation, I did them again and continued the theme in my eyeshadow, with bold pink shading up to the browbone, and a little bit of white in the corners.

For once, Justin came home before everything was ready. There was going to be more snow overnight, so his boss had let everyone go home early. I told him to make himself useful and pick out a bottle of wine from his collection that would go with a lasagna. He disappeared and came back with a full-bodied Italian red.

Dinner was delicious, if I do say so myself. But I don’t have to because my fake boyfriend agreed with me. Justin liked my lasagna so much that he asked if we had a microwave-safe storage container that he could use to take some to work and have for lunch. I showed him where I kept the little glass dishes with the snap-on plastic lids that can go from freezer to microwave, or even oven if you take the covers off.

Dance lessons that night were mostly foxtrot, which was okay until he started mixing the playlist up so some were waltz and some were foxtrot, and I kept doing one when I was supposed to do the other. He told me not to feel so down on myself, and I got a foot rub afterwards for my trouble.

It snowed so bad the next day, my grocery delivery told me it would be delayed until the next day. Justin’s office called and told him not to come in, so he was underfoot all day, which kept a damper on my “me time.” He didn’t put on a suit, so I told him that meant we’d be having a casual day with no dancing at the end of it. I got to spend the day in jeans and a comfortable button-up shirt.

Since it felt like a day off for me, I also decided not to do any serious cooking. For lunch we had some leftovers from the day before, and for dinner I just heated up some spaghetti with frozen meatballs and sauce from a jar. Justin told me that what I consider “not cooking” is what Sarah had done most of the time. I stuck up for her a little bit by pointing out that unlike me she had a full-time job outside the home, and it was sexist of him to think she’d want to go through the effort of assembling a recipe after a hard day, when all he wanted to do when he got home was sit on the couch and drink a beer.

We very nearly got in an argument about societal gender roles, just because he was appreciating my cooking. I think it was mostly my own hang-ups over falling into the trap of wanting a nice home, so slowly turning into a homemaker. I may have become a woman, but I was not going to become my mother. I definitely wanted to leave behind something more than just a home to show that I’d been here, but I was still trying to find that. With my web column, I was getting there, but it still wasn’t quite what I needed. I apologized to Justin that I wasn’t really mad at him, but at society for suppressing women. I kissed him on the forehead and went to take a bath before bed.

The next day was super cold, but the snow had been cleared so Justin could go to work. And I got notifications that both my groceries and my package of new toys were expected to be delivered that day. So I dressed in my green Henley dress and brown leggings and giggled that I looked like a tree. I wore my driving flats and put my small hoop earrings in. I only needed lipstick to look made-up enough for daytime.

I sat around downstairs and waited, sometimes playing on my phone, sometimes getting nothing done on my laptop. I didn’t want to have to spend too much time later making dinner, so I put a three-packet roast in the slow cooker. I tried watching some TV in the family room, but I couldn’t stay focused. I watched some dumb cartoons that didn’t need much attention until I needed to break for lunch. I took out some leftover tossed salad, and got rid of the lettuce that had turned brown, and smothered what was left in vinaigrette.

It was one o’ clock in the afternoon when the grocery guy showed up. I tried not to be too flirty when I sked for help putting things on the high shelves, but when you’re a girl with big boobs, everything you do seems flirty. I thanked him and gave him a tip.

I went back to waiting. At two thirty, the mailman knocked on the door. It was a package for me, and was much bigger and heavier than my toys should have needed. I thanked the mailman and brought it in. I put it on the table in the family room and cut open the package tape and opened the box. It wasn’t my adult toys; it was the slicer and deep fryer that I’d ordered on amazon.

At three fifteen, the mad in the big brown truck finally drove up to my house with a personal and discreet package for me. This time I was sure what it was, so I brought it up to my office. I cut open the tape, flipped back the flaps and looked into the box. There inside was my cluster of bottles of intimate lubricant. I took them out and set them on my desk, and then I could see beneath them were three of those annoying plastic clamshells that electronics always come in. I had to take my scissors and carefully cut along all the seams to open each package and finally there they were: my set of beads, my eight-inch replica of some porn star’s cock, complete with balls, and my long slender vibrator – that did not include batteries! Why hadn’t I realized I’d need batteries. I looked around my office for something I could borrow the batteries from, and found an electric pencil sharpener I hardly ever used. I transplanted its batteries into my new little friend, and when I turned its knob it started shivering. Cool.

I thought about how best to do this. I went into the master bath and used my enema kit to clean myself out; I didn’t want my first time to be a shitty one. I returned to my office in just my silk robe; I wasn’t supposed to have my special underwear off for very long, but I didn’t have that long before I needed to start getting ready for Justin to come home. I wasn’t sure how messy this would be, so I got a towel from the office bathroom and spread it out on my daybed. I broke the seal on one bottle of lube and put a little on my fingers to see how it felt.

My slippery fingers wanted to play with my nipples, and they were right! It was better even than when I licked my thumbs. I brought my things over and lay down on the bed on my stomach, with my crotch area over the towel. I put some more lube on my right index finger and reached around behind me. I found my hole and spread some of the fluid around. I decided that the beads would be easiest, so I started with them. I squirted some lube into my palm and rubbed it along the connected chain of beads, kind of like I was jerking it off.

When I thought they were slick enough, I stuck my middle finger through the circular handle at the wide end and reached back to gently probe with the small end. After a couple tries, I got the angle right and I could feel them starting to go in. I went slow at first, feeling each little bead as my sphincter opened to let it through then closed afterwards. I got up to six out of ten inside me when I wanted a little more excitement, so I pulled the whole string almost completely out of me, then pushed it in, trying to go further each time. I got to where I was pushing the whole thing in and pulling it out as fast as I could. It felt exciting, and a little sexual, but only really got me going if I was also using my other hand to pinch a nipple at the same time.

It was time to try one of the others, both of which scared me but for different reasons. My vibrator was thinner than my porn star, thinner even than my largest bead, so I figured it would hurt less. I started experimenting with it on the outside. My nipples kind of liked being vibrated, the faster the better. The part of me that was pretending to be my backwards-installed clitoris really liked the vibrations, but preferred the slower setting. That was useful data. I lubed it up in my hand like I’d done with the beads, and reached back to push it in. It was so smooth my body kept trying to push it out again, and unlike the beads there was nothing for my little pink rosebud to hang onto. It felt great, especially when I turned on the vibes and pushed it in as deep as I could.

But I was short on time and there was another experiment to do. The goal was to discover how It would feel to have something penis-shaped thrusting inside you. I gave Mr. Porn Star a hand job with a generous amount of lube, and introduced him to his date. Like with the others, I started pushing slowly, but it took a stronger push to get me to open wide enough to let him in. I worked his first three inches back and forth inside me like a piston before I got up the guts to push him further. I could feel myself being stretched, which made for a weird combination of pleasure and pain, and I made it to the point where I had five or six of his inches going back and forth inside me, fucking me. This experiment would definitely be worth repeating.

I took my things to the bathroom and washed them in the sink with soap and water and dried them off with a new towel. Then I hid them in my box of treasures in the closet, along with my collection of lube. I took the messy towel with me to my closet and put it in my laundry hamper. I was sticky all over, so I took a shower.

After my stupid underwear, I put on my blue floral wrap dress, beige pantyhose, and my silver strappy sandals. I took my time to get my makeup right, experimenting a little with bronzer contouring. I did my eyeshadow in a gradient of blues, running from the darker blue of my dress to just a shade lighter than the brighter blue of my contacts. I picked an orange-red lip color that I hoped matched the flowers in my dress. To go with my shoes, I went silver in my jewelry, with some pretty chandelier earrings, a cuff bracelet on my right wrist, and a pendant in the shape of a cursive capital K. I dabbed on some perfume and I was dressed.

The only real time-consuming part of my meal preparation was boiling and mashing some potatoes. I wonder if there’s a life hack for making them faster by microwaving. The vegetable for the meal was a steamer bag of frozen broccoli. I waited until Justin was just about to get home to start the broccoli, and plate the roast so I could mix a roux in with the juices to thicken the gravy. For dessert, I just put out a few leftover bits of past desserts.

Justin came home and told me I looked nice, gave me a quick peck on the lips, and told me he was really tired. They’d pushed everyone to make up for the lost day. I wanted to do something to help relieve his tension. I left dinner warming in the kitchen and took him upstairs to the bedroom and had him lie on the bed naked from the waist up so I could give him a massage. I used my least floral lotion and worked it into his neck and shoulders with the heels of my hands. I had to figure out how to knead his muscles without my fashionable fingernails scratching him. There was one knot I used my elbow on. I think I helped him – the noises he was making seemed to indicate that.

When I figured I’d done about as much as I could, I let go and stood back. He turned his head and said, “Thanks, Babe.” Then he winked and added, “Does this backrub come with a ‘happy ending’ frontrub?”

“Nope.” I smacked him on his cute little butt. “Maybe next time.” I gave him fifteen minutes to relax before dinner would be served.

I went down to Justinland and got us a couple beers to have with our dinner, and on a whim also grabbed a bottle of Scotch and two shot glasses. When Justin came to the dining room and saw the drinks, he smiled at me and said I made a good call. He’d put his shirt, jacket and tie back on, and probably his undershirt too. I told him we didn’t need to dress up and dance if he was too tired, and he said that dancing with such a beautiful partner was not work, and his day would be even worse if we skipped. I blushed.

He loved my roast, but I told him I didn’t do most of the work, it was all three magic envelopes, but I accepted any compliments for the potatoes. He only ate the flowers off his broccoli and left the stems and I felt like his mother when I scolded him for that. The shot of whisky really went well with the little piece of chocolate souffle I had left.

Justin was really light on his feet for our dance lesson. I don’t know if it was my magic fingers or the alcohol. And something in me was in synch with him; I followed his lead perfectly, even when he tried to trip me up by playing a song that started out a waltz and turned into a foxtrot.

After our dance, he went upstairs to use his weight machine. I went into my office to get some writing done, but I was having trouble resisting the call of my new toys from their box in the closet, so I closed my laptop and went to our bedroom early. I cleaned my face, changed into my cotton pajamas, brushed my teeth, and read my paperback in bed for a while, but I kept picturing my eight-inch porn star whenever the main male character was mentioned. I gave up after a while and went to sleep.

I’m not sure what I’d been dreaming about, but I woke up on my side with my leg on top of Justin’s, and my hand on his stomach so my fingertips were just past the waistband of his boxer briefs. I tried to roll off of him sneakily, but he woke up while I was awkwardly pushing against his hip for leverage. He sat up, tousled my hair, and mumbled, “Morning, Kelse. Love ya!” before scratching and sleepily stumbling to the bathroom.

I decided that sleeping in would be a bad habit to get into, so I got up and whipped up a batch of blueberry muffins and put on a pot of coffee. If Justin was going to have another rough day at the office, at least I could try and help get off to a good start. And alone in the kitchen, I could do some more work on my singing. I was almost getting passable. Feeling inspired, I also whipped up some loaded scrambled eggs, with cheese and bacon and a little of the previous night’s potatoes. Justin came down looking all handsome in his tailored suit, and appreciated my breakfast offering. I got a full kiss in thanks, but he told me I hadn’t brushed my teeth. I waited until he was gone to roll my eyes.

I went up to my office and poked around on the web for a while, but I knew the real reason I’d cone there was to do some poking around of a different kind. I fetched my stuff from the closet, and put a fresh towel down. Then I went into the master bath to make myself ready, and came back wearing just my pajama top.

I warmed up with the beads first again, but this time I didn’t hesitate as I pushed the whole chain into me, pulled it out almost all the way, and shoved it back in, a few times in rapid succession. I really liked the sensation as I felt myself grab each ball in its turn.

My nipples complained that I’d skipped any foreplay, so I made it up to them with some tweaking by lubed-up fingers followed by a visit from my battery-operated buddy. I made a mental note to look into getting some special toys made just for stimulating nipples.

I played with my beads some more, imagining that they made a noise like playing scales on a xylophone as they came out. But then I was ready for the main course. I lubed up Porn Star and began to push him in as far as he could go. I wanted all eight inches! Somewhere between five and six inches, I found a spot that felt really good, so I went back and forth over that area for a while, before going to full depth. I pulled him out halfway and pushed him in again, trying a few different things until I got a rhythm that worked to amplify things. I was pretty much there when I touched Mr. Buzzy to the tip of Little Andy and I experienced something that felt a lot like an orgasm, but nothing came out.

I washed my toys and put them away, then I went and took a shower. I put on a pair of jeans and a silky hot pink short-sleeved blouse, ankle socks and my funky sneakers. I popped in some pearl earrings, and brushed my lips with pink gloss.

I went into my office. I don’t know if it was because I’d been in my box of secret stuff, or because I’d played with Little Andy, but I felt like I needed to get out Andy’s phone and check his messages. It had been a while, and I wanted to make sure there weren’t any family emergencies or anything. I got out the phone, turned it on, and plugged in the charger for good measure.

My voicemails were all from salesmen, and 99% of the text messages were also from people trying to sell me things, and a couple were notifications of transactions, like Andy’s phone bill getting automatically paid (from Kelsey’s bank account, actually). One of the others was a Merry Christmas message from my brother Tony that I got on January 9. I’m pretty sure I’d sent all my family messages on actual Christmas. I had a text from my Dad asking if I needed any money. And the funniest text was from my mom, from the last weekend: “Mrs. Monahan next door just sent me a picture of Justin’s pretty new girlfriend. Is there a special girl in your life?” I cracked up. I really wished I could text her back that that was the special girl in my life, me! But I couldn’t, not yet. I guess the good news is that my own mother didn’t recognize me. But is that good news, really?

I turned the phone off and put it away, and got out my real phone to check for messages from my website coworkers. I fired off a quick message to Justin saying that I hoped his day was going better than the one before. Twenty minutes later, he replied that it was actually going worse. The boss was making them work late, so I’d be on my own for dinner.

So the good news was I didn’t have to dress up or cook anything special, but the bad news was I’d be alone for the longest time in weeks. I went down to Justin’s pub and figured out how to work the popcorn machine, then I had popcorn and beer for lunch and watched guilt-free chick flicks on the big TV. When I got hungry, I made a sandwich from leftover roast beef on toast. It was good.

Justin got home at ten and didn’t want another backrub. He also didn’t want to drink a beer and watch sports. He just had a workout and then a hot shower and then went to bed. He didn’t even seem to want to cuddle much. I wished there was something I could do to help him out.

The weekend came and that meant Justin would be home all the time, which was good for him because he really needed a break, but I was bummed because I couldn’t do any of my experiments with my new lab equipment. It had me feeling a little frustrated, and I think he could sense it because he offered to take me out Saturday night. I’d spent most of the day practicing recipes and finalizing my menu for his upscale/blue collar Super Bowl party, so I appreciated not having to do any work for dinner, even if it meant having to dress up.

I was tired of dresses, so I chose to wear a nice white blouse and a midi-length skirt the color of artificial grape flavoring. Because it was cool, I chose tights over hose, a warm navy pair with ribbed vertical stripes. I didn’t think I needed my snow boots, so I wore my black pumps. In case it was cold wherever we were going, I layered on my pink cardigan.

We went to this nice place less than a half hour away that wasn’t in the city. It was in an old rustic-looking building, but it turned out to be a first-class restaurant. The food was wonderful! We started with some tasty crab cakes as an appetizer, and then Justin had the chateaubriand, and I had some luscious lamb chops that were absolutely heavenly. For dessert, I made Justin split a crème bruleé.

But the best part about that place was that they had live music and a dance floor. So, we got to try out some of our moves in public. It was a little scary, but really thrilling when it was all done.

I got started early Sunday morning and after a quick breakfast I put on sweats and got to work cleaning. Part of the point of Justin having his work friends over was for them to see the house, so in case that included a full tour of the place I wanted it to be tidy. My first job was cleaning the bathrooms. I did the first-floor powder room, and then the bathroom in Justin’s pub, the ones most likely to be used, then I moved on to the guest bath and the ones upstairs. I made Justin dust the high plant shelves and water the plants, and when he finished that job too quickly, I had him vacuum his playroom and the family room.

I baked a cake for the party. Since Boston’s home team was playing in the big game, I made a sheet-cake sized Boston cream pie, with two layers of yellow cake, a triple batch of chilled homemade vanilla custard in the middle, and chocolate glaze on top. Then I piped white icing on the top in the shape of the lines on a football field, and some of the numbers. I drew football helmets in the end zones, but I didn’t put any logos on them, since I figured the guests wouldn’t want to eat the other team.

That took most of my afternoon. I had a few more snacks to prepare, and then I went up to take a shower. I wanted my look for the party to be pretty, and slightly more dressy than casual, and nothing “sports fan” themed. I was not going to wear a stupid pink Patriots jersey. I settled on a stretchy green jersey dress that I needed Justin’s help to put on. With my arms forced to stay below my shoulders, he said I looked like a T-Rex trying to put on a dress, But he amended that to “a sexy T-Rex” when I scowled at him. I accessorized it with a white scarf worn as a belt to tighten the waist. It didn’t matter than the game was between New England and Los Angeles, Kelsey was going to wear the colors of her hometown Philadelphia Eagles. But I wasn’t going to mention it unless someone asked.

I put on big hoop earrings and wore just a watch on my left wrist. I Thought it might’ve been cool to wear a whistle as a necklace, like a gym coach, but that made me realize that I probably should buy a rape whistle, just in case. I chose instead to wear a simple knotted chain necklace. I did my makeup with an even coat of foundation, and then some blush blended onto my cheeks. I did a simple eye look with just one shade of eyeshadow, a dark metallic purple. I completed my look with a purplish pink lipstick, almost an orchid color. I went a little lighter than usual on my perfume, putting it only behind my ears.

The first element in my snacking menu was for Justin to fire up his popcorn machine, and I had a variety of gourmet topping sauces available on a warming tray: salted caramel, sriracha bacon, garlic parmesan, and peanut butter fudge. He had his keg stocked with an IPA, and plenty of bottles in his fridge, along with a cooler of soda cans.

I had my waves of hors d’oeuvres planned out and ready to go, with the first set in the oven when Justin’s first guests showed up. Joann worked with Justin, but she didn’t hang out with the boys much and liked the opportunity he’d given her for some off-site teambuilding. She was a blue-eyed brunette a little older than us, in decent shape but not so much I needed to be jealous, and wore a new-looking blue Patriots t-shirt, fashionable jeans, and the whitest sneakers I’d ever seen. Her husband Rudy was dark, one of those guys who might be a Latino, might be a light-skinned African American, or could be mixed. His tight black t-shirt showed that he was well-built, and his tight blue jeans showed that he was well-something else. Joann was a lucky woman. Over the course of the evening, I learned that he owned a business that restored antique furniture, and they’d met when she had him make a house call to figure out how to open her late grandmother’s china cabinet without damaging it or its contents. I took their coats and threw them on the guest bed, and Justin led them down to the pub.

He wasn’t back up when the next guests arrived. Nick and Julio both used to work in the same department as Justin, but Nick got moved when it became public that they were dating. Nick was tall, maybe six foot three, and as wide as a house, but he carried himself with the precision of a dancer. He wore a faded pair of jeans and a blue cardigan over a pastel orange polo shirt, with penny loafers on his feet. Julio was a little on the chubby side, with a fuzzy little goatee but a shaved head. He wore a loose gray t-shirt with a picture of a football on it and the caption, “Don’t deflate me bro!” over black sweatpants and untied Converse high-tops. He looked at my dress, pointed, and said “Philadelphia strong! Go Eagles!”

I high-fived him and said, “Exactly.” I liked this guy. I never would have pegged him for gay, but what do I know about gay guys? I took their coats to the coat bed, then brought them around to the stairs down. Julio noticed the piano in the family room and said it looked cool. I pulled out my phone and told the piano to start playing. He looked at Nick and said they had to get one of those. So, I guess they lived together.

My first batch of miniature beef Wellingtons was done, so I took them out of the oven and arranged them on a tray and brought it downstairs. The pregame show was kind of boring, although Nick and Joann were sitting on the couch watching it. Julio and Rudy were playing pool. I brought my tray through the room, offering a meat-filled pastry to each of them before leaving the tray on the bar. I told Julio he could use my lucky cue if he wanted to, since he was cool.

Back upstairs, Justin was letting the next guest in. His friend Curtis was flying solo. At the last minute, their babysitter had cancelled, and his wife Lynette told him to come alone. He was a skinny black guy in a Patriots ballcap and sweatshirt over black khakis and loafers. I asked him how old his kids were, and he said he had two girls who had just turned three. “Three-year-old twins and she lets you out of the house for hours on the weekend? That woman is a saint.” I told him I’d fix up a care package with samples of the various snacks I’d be serving, with reheating instructions, that he could take home to her, along with a piece of cake or three. He thought that was a good idea. When the second batch of beef Wellingtons was done, I pulled a couple out for the plastic storage box I’d designated my “Lynette dish.”

The last guests were late. They were lucky that I’d had to run upstairs to check on my next dish, even though the national anthem had ended. Scott was a well-groomed thirtyish guy with slicked back hair and a black moustache. He wore a blue bowling shirt and a pair of tan slacks. His wife? Jessica was probably the reason they were late. She clearly did not want to be there, and complained loudly. She hated sports and didn’t want to hang out with a bunch of his coworkers to hear dumb bank stories. She was a blonde in her mid- to late-twenties, with a blonde ponytail and a smart red tunic over black leggings. I tried to defuse the situation by introducing myself and dividing them. I sent Scott to take their coats to the coat bed, and asked Jessica if she could help me in the kitchen. I made her stir up my chip dips to make sure they were completely blended, while I showed Scott how to get downstairs.

The potato chips were ready in the fryer, so I dumped them into a paper-towel lined basket and lightly salted them. I asked Jessica to carry down the basket while I handled the dips. I had her place the basket on the side table, and I arranged my dips around it. I pointed them out to Jessica, and put her in charge of telling people. I had bacon horseradish, buttermilk ranch, jalapeno cheddar, and one I’d made with actual French onion soup. Besides the fresh potato chips, I also had a plate of raw vegetables for dipping, but only a few of the guests tried those.

My lobster-stuffed mushrooms were the decadent treat I’d expected them to be. They went over super well. My chili dog pigs In blankets may have been a little low-brow for this crowd, but I liked them, and maybe Curtis’ kids would, too. They weren’t too snooty for my bruschetta pizzas with smoked sausage and provolone, though. My baked brie was really popular, but when is it not? The bacon-wrapped scallops went over well; I think that tray got empty the fastest. My most experimental offering, the eggplant parmigiana taquitos proved to be much more popular than I’d feared. When I brought the cake down after half-time, it was a huge hit, but I’d made way too much.

The game itself was a bit lackluster. It was more about defense than offense, with no touchdowns in the first three quarters, and only one in the fourth. When I had to leave the room to fetch the next batch of snacks, I didn’t really feel like I missed anything. But at the end of the day, our local team won, so the crowd was generally happy. And my refreshments were a hit, so I was happy. None of the drivers seemed too drunk to get home safely, although I offered the guest room to any takers. Justin may have had a few too many, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Even after his evening ritual tooth brushing, his breath was not good. I didn’t kiss him good night, and didn’t face him to cuddle. He could spoon my back if he wanted to.

That following Monday, Feb 4, I had another follow-up appointment with Dr. Webster and I got awesome news! I was finally freed from my compression pants and could wear normal underwear. He also said I was clear to start wearing underwire bras, although he recommended that I continue to wear my surgical underwear for sleeping for at least a month, and I should still do the massaging around my implants at least once a day. I was so happy I gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. (It was very inappropriate, especially since I was topless at the time.) He also said that if I felt up to it I could start engaging in sexual activity, but I needed to pay attention to all of my surgery sites, especially on my face, to make sure nothing started bleeding due to the elevated heart rate that comes with sex, and if I noticed anything odd at all to stop and try to calm down and then call him the next day. I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to start having any kind of sex, so his warning didn’t seem too scary to me. I asked him if I was allowed to raise my arms above my shoulders now, and he scolded me for not reading his follow-up instructions thoroughly. I should have been back to lifting my arms over my head at a week after I was discharged. Silly me! I’d been restricting my wardrobe unnecessarily. But I was just too happy about being released from my underwear. I was so eager to get out of the restrictive girdle I bought a pack of cotton panties at the drugstore on my way home, and borrowed their restroom to change, just to avoid another half hour of confinement.

When I got home I stripped and took a good look at myself in the full-length mirror. I was hot! I'd look like a really sexy woman but for one problem. However that was easily fixed by using a combination of surgical tape, medical adhesive, and super glue along with a little trial and error to get my boy parts tucked away and folded up into what could pass for girl parts if you didn't get too close. It made me feel more secure, knowing that it would take a lot for someone to figure out my secret. I spent most of that afternoon lingerie shopping, perhaps going a little overboard. I was briefly surprised when I got professionally measured and fitted for a bra and learned that my size wasn't 38D but 36DD. My overall bust size was right, but I needed to be in a smaller band with bigger cups. The bigger bras did feel more comfortable, but I felt like that meant my boobs were even more ridiculously oversized. I bought more bras than I probably needed, in a variety of styles with matching panties, and also a few other lacy things. After the lingerie store I browsed my favorite boutique for a few of the things I hadn’t been able to wear before.

By the time I was done I was feeling so sexy that I had to break out my toys as soon as I got home. Since I no longer had any restrictions on how long I was allowed to be undressed, I took my time. I exhausted myself so much that I actually fell asleep with my eight-inch porn star inside me. I momentarily panicked when I woke up, not sure how long I'd been unconscious, but it turned out I had a little over an hour before Justin was due home. That was tight, but I could make it work. I pulled up my panties and threw on a kimono and went down to the kitchen. I mixed up a meatloaf and got it into the oven along with a couple foil-wrapped potatoes, and then dashed back upstairs for a quick shower (keeping my hair dry to save time).

After toweling off and moisturizing my skin everywhere I got dressed. The glue was still holding my pseudovulva in place, so I pulled a pair of tiny French-cut lace panties that wouldn't show any lines up around my amazing hips, slid my legs into the sheerest pair of nude hose I owned, and then wrangled my magnificent breasts into a lightly lined demi bra that was more about display than support. I wiggled into a tight spandex tank dress in an intense blue that brought out the pretend color in my eyes. It had a low scoop neckline that showed a nice bit of cleavage, it clung to my hourglass waist and tasty curves, and its hemline ended about a half a foot above my knees, just enough to preserve my modesty. My nails were done in bubblegum pink and I didn't feel like changing them, so I made pink my accent color and chose my pink Jimmy Choo pumps with the three-and-a-half-inch heels to complete the ensemble.

I stuck with the pink theme with my makeup: deep pink lipstick, shimmering pink eyeshadow, and rosy pink cheeks. My cleavage really wanted to be noticed, so I dabbed it with perfume and wore my diamond pendant like a twinkling spotlight calling attention. Since I was going diamond, I wore my diamond earrings as well. My ensemble didn’t say “ballroom dancing” as much as it said “clubbing,” but I hoped Justin wouldn’t give me too much grief. This girl was free from her confinement, I wanted to let my sexy flag fly.

I went down to the kitchen and threw on my apron to finish dinner. I made my phone blast my club dance playlist and had fun shaking my hips without my ugly underwear keeping things from jiggling, while I snapped the ends of fresh string beans before throwing them in the steamer basket. I checked the clock to see how much time I had and fired up the stove under the beans, and then added a tomato glaze to my meatloaf. That gave me enough time to set the dining room table.

Justin came home and muttered some complaints about how no one knows how to drive in bad weather, and then he took a couple more steps and saw me in the kitchen. I turned to greet him and I swear the eyes popped out of his head like a cartoon character. I took a deep breath, so as to let him watch my chest rise and fall, and happily told him Dr. Webster had taken me off of unsexy underwear and freed up my clothing options. He eventually blinked and was able to follow me to the dining room to share a meal.

I very nearly had to pull the old “My eyes are up here” line a few times during our dinner conversation, but I was just enjoying that I could show off my cleavage and have such a mesmerizing reaction. If I had to have giant boobies, at least I could have fun with them. I was conscious that I needed to watch my figure, so I skipped dessert for myself but let Justin have some leftover Super Bowl cake.

With my dress announcing sex with every curve, our dance practice that evening could only be a tango. We did some advanced steps, including dips and twirls, and I learned some new moves that involved letting him grab my leg, and one where I even wrapped my leg around him. I had to watch it on video a few times before trying it, and it took several attempts, but when I finally got it, we were sexy as hell! He warned me that we probably wouldn’t be doing any of those moves at the ball, since my dress was so long. I hadn’t even been thinking about what I’d be wearing to the ball, and he already knew what my dress looked like! I tried to get more information from him about it, and he simply told me that I could see it on Friday when I went to the dress shop for a fitting.

As I prepared for bed that night, I contemplated my sleepwear options. I took my doctor’s advice and put on my special bra so my implants wouldn’t go wandering, but I really didn’t like the girdle. I talked myself into trying just plain cotton briefs, and if I woke up with my butt in the wrong place, I would probably have to endure some painful corrective surgery, but I decided the risk was worth it. Over my underwear, I pulled a nightgown that was basically a long t-shirt. It was light blue and had a picture of a sleepy cartoon owl on the front. I think Justin was a little disappointed that I didn’t go with sexier sleepwear.
I woke up to a light spank on my left cheek, but that was fair. Justin needed to get up, and somehow, I had ended up on top of him. He was on his back, and I was on my stomach lying on his chest. It seemed like this time I had been the one to do some sleep groping – my arms were wrapped around him and my legs were straddling his hips. I could feel his morning wood poking me in the crotch. My nightshirt had ridden up, so before he tapped me awake, his right hand had been on the bare skin at the small of my back. I felt pretty embarrassed, and pulled my arms loose and then rolled off of him, but he winced a little when my thigh bumped his boner. He went into the bathroom and I pretended to sleep as I totally heard him pleasuring himself. I felt proud that I could turn him on, but also a little sorry for him, but what could I do about it?

Since my doctor had given me permission to wear more flexible underwear and allowed me more freedom to move, I was allowed more exercise than just walking on my treadmill. When I got up, I dressed in a sport bra and yoga pants and went into our home gym. I pulled up my favorite yoga video to see if I could still do all the forms, and I got through it, although some of the positions felt a little weird. I also did 20 minutes of cardio/core aerobics. It reminded me of my PT sessions at Leda’s.

As I was putting together an outfit for the evening, I did a lot of thinking back to the events of the morning, and had a deliciously naughty idea. I did a little bit of web research, and watched a few videos to make sure I would do it right. I ended up serving dinner wearing a pretty green boatneck fit-and flare dress, with extra smoky eyelids and shiny red lips that matched my fingernails, and dangly crystal earrings. I’m not sure if Justin noticed my four-inch stilettos.

After we’d finished our pork chops and I’d cleared the table, I led Justin into the family room. I motioned for him to sit in the easy chair and said, “I’ve got a different sort of dance than our usual planned for tonight. I noticed lately that there’s something unfair in your situation. Step Five has got us practicing acts of affection, but whereas my libido has been turned down by hormones, yours is still going, so all these little acts are winding you up, and it’s like you’re being constantly teased with no release. Now, the only reason why you can’t just go to a strip club or a massage parlor or get an escort is because it might look to others like you were cheating on your girlfriend. But you and me know that your girlfriend is fake. So, I thought, why not bring the strip club to you?” I turned around, let my unzipped dress drop to the floor, and hit the remote for the stereo.

I held my pose for a moment, letting him see that I was in a black bra, thong panty, and garter belt, with seamed stockings running into my ridiculously high shoes. And when Selena Gomez started singing, I started rolling my hips in the way Miranda had taught me. When my nerves had calmed, I stepped out of my dress and faced him. I briefly made eye contact and licked my lips, but then he noticed my push-up bra and his eyes left mine. Selena couldn’t keep her hands to herself, so neither could I – as I danced there, my fingers wandered all over my body, and just as her song was leading into the next one ("Naughty Girl" by Beyoncé), those naughty fingers had unhooked my bra! I worked a lot more shoulder moves into my routine, so the girls would wiggle. By the end of that song, my garter belt and stockings were off, and as Miley started feelin’ herself, I twerked my way toward giving him a full-on lap dance.

I could tell I was having the reaction I was looking for, so when my last track came up, Rihanna’s “Only Girl in the World,” I got off of him and retrieved my hidden supplies and knelt before him. I placed my finger on his lips and stage whispered to him, “If you promise not to tell, our VIP Room offers a Happy Ending.” Before I lost my nerve, I unfastened his belt buckle and unbuttoned and unzipped his fly. His boxer briefs were definitely tented. With my right hand, I grabbed the waistband of his shorts and pulled down, and with my left hand I pulled his cock and balls up above the elastic.

This was the point of no return – My hand was on his junk! Kelsey was touching a penis, and it wasn’t her own - what a ridiculous thought; Kelsey is a girl, so she couldn’t have one of her own! I placed my hand towel on his lap and squirted some lube into my right hand. Then I touched it for real, stroking my delicate fingers along his shaft. He let out an involuntary pleasure sound. I pet it gently at first, gradually increasing until eventually my hand was grasping it and fluttering my fingers as my hand moved up and down its length. Meanwhile, I shared some lube with my left hand and let it play with his balls.

I could tell by his breathing that it would only be a few more pumps before he was going to shoot, so I got my towel ready and did my best to catch everything that came out. I got quite a bit on my hands and wiped them on the towel before I pulled out my stashed baby wipes. I cleaned him off, pulled his underwear back up, wiped my fingers and stood up to collect my stuff. There was a stray droplet on the back of my left index finger, and I unthinkingly just licked it off like it was a crumb. I tried not to think about it as I collected my stray garments and left the room before Justin recovered. I felt proudly satisfied with myself that I had been able to give pleasure to my best friend, and it helped me prove to myself that since I’d likely be a woman permanently, I knew that I’d be okay doing sexual things with a man, if that was what I ended up wanting. But the back of my mind was freaking out a little.

I made my way up to my closet and cleaned off my makeup, took out my contacts, and put on my surgery underwear, my flannel nightgown, my glasses, robe and slippers, and went off to my office to work on my article. When I finally decided to go to bed, Justin was there reading. I wanted to control the conversation before he did, so I said, “I don’t think it’s going to become an everyday thing, but you’ll probably get invited back to that strip club again some time.” I wanted to make it a little less real, a little less me.

He smiled at me and said, “That’s good. I liked that club very much.” He closed his book and turned out his light. He turned and kissed the back of my head. “Good night, Kelse. And thanks a lot for being so handy around the house.” When I got his dumb joke, I wanted to punch him. But I played innocent instead and told him he was welcome.

The next day I had a couple of appointments to follow up on the treatments I had gotten at Leda’s, at a combination medical / beauty spa that was closer. It bugged me that I had to reveal my gender status, but there was no getting around it; the tech redoing my bleaching would be close enough to my genitals to see that they were wrong. So that I wouldn’t have to get completely undressed, I went with a top and skirt rather than a dress, a deep navy V-neck cashmere sweater over a heather gray wool skirt and white knee socks with my gray boots. Beneath it I had a matching pink T-shirt bra and string bikini brief. Because I was getting a touch-up on my eyelashes, I kept my makeup minimal, just lipstick. I was in the mood for pearls, so I chose them for my earrings and necklace, and a ring on my right middle finger.

The drive to the place was forty-five minutes, but it was away from the city, so the traffic wasn’t too crazy. I parked and took a deep breath before going in. I was much more comfortable in situations where I could just be a regular woman and not an inbetweener. The waiting area resembled a doctor’s office more than a beauty salon, with comfortable chairs and a fan of current magazines on a table, and a door between us and where the work was done. Tasteful framed photos of beautiful models hung on the walls. I gave my name to a pretty Asian receptionist sitting at a desk in the middle of the room, hung up my coat, and took a seat. The other ladies waiting seemed to be at least upper middle class, judging by their wardrobes. I couldn’t quite figure out their ages; a few definitely had had work done, but who am I to judge? I think I might have been the youngest customer waiting, and the others were in their thirties at best.

I was waiting for maybe ten minutes when a petite, tanned tech in a light blue lab coat came out to us and called for “Ms. Faulkner.” I stood up and caught her eye. She gave her name as Lara and she led me through the doors to a treatment room. It reminded me a lot of Fuzz Phaser. Once we were alone, she verified that I was there for an anal whitening, and I told her that I was, and that I’d had it done three weeks previously in Connecticut and had been recommended to them for a follow-up.

Lara said she’d give me some privacy, but that I was to undress from the waist down and lie on the table. There was a towel I could cover myself with if I wanted to. There was a button next to the table that I was to press when I was ready. Before she left, I made sure that they’d warned her that I was trans. She said I didn’t need to be concerned; she’d worked on all kinds of clients and she’d seen everything.

She left and I undressed. The glue was still holding my parts in place, but I still felt very self-conscious. I kept my socks on, since I didn’t think that would cause any problems. I lay down, decided to skip the towel, and pressed the button. A few minutes later, Lara came back. She put on a surgical mask and latex gloves and wheeled a cart and a stool over to the table. She told me to roll onto my right side, and she made me position my left leg so my cheeks were as far apart as possible, and then I needed to use my left hand to physically hold my left buttock out of the way. I guess it’s hard to feel too embarrassed in that awkward position, while a total stranger is spreading magic creams on an intimate part of your anatomy. I was just glad she wasn’t chatty.

I had to hold that pose for a few minutes, while the first chemicals did their thing, and then she used some kind of neutralizer to make it stop, and then cleanser to clean the chemicals off, and finally a soothing moisturizer. I was really surprised when she handed me a little screen and pointed a camera back there to show me how it now looked. I guess it was about as cute as a butthole can be, all pink and fresh—looking. Lara left the room and told me I could get dressed.

I pulled on my panties and skirt and put my boots back on. I grabbed my purse and gingerly opened the door. Lara was right there, waiting to escort me back to the front. She handed a piece of paper to the receptionist, and told her, “Amy, Ms. Faulkner is all set,” and before I could correct her, the receptionist, who I assume is called Amy, said, ”Actually, she’s also seeing Isobel today.” I smiled at them and found a comfy chair. I was relieved to learn that it didn’t hurt to sit on a freshly bleached bottom.

I waited another fifteen minutes before a tall, absolutely gorgeous, brunette in a Pink lab coat called my name. Her curves were comparable to mine, and hers might have even been natural. She looked at me with amazingly beautiful chocolate brown eyes and introduced herself as Isobel. She took me through the door, and we immediately turned to the left and went down a long hallway. I was brought to a room with a chair like you’d see at the dentist, and she verified that I was there for a follow-up on my eyelash extensions, and I said that I’d gotten them done at Leda’s Retreat three weeks previously, and I showed her the paperwork they’d given me, so she could use compatible ones to fill the gaps. She looked it over and then selected a kit from her rack of options.

She had me sit in the chair and adjusted it so I was reclined at a comfortable angle and low enough that she could easily work on my eyes. She had me look up and then she took a little comb to my upper lashes to see if any were loose, and it seemed like only a couple hairs fell out. Then she did the same on my lowers, and a few more were loose there. Isobel commented that Leda’s had done a good job with my lower lashes; most cosmeticians don’t get properly trained in bottom lash application and so a lot of women don’t even know that’s an option. But fortunately for me I had come to one of the few lash artists in Massachusetts certified for doing bottom lashes. I told her I’d be happy if my eyes came out half as good as hers, and she told me she goes to New York to get hers done since she can’t work on herself.

She noticed the seams on my eyeballs that meant I was wearing contacts, and she warned me that when the glue was setting, I would have to keep my eyes dry; sometimes people with contacts got really itchy eyes. She raised the chair and I took my lens case and solution out of my purse and took out my contacts. Then I just laid back and closed my eyes to let her do her work. It was a strange sensation having a little tool touching my eyelids over and over, and I was glad that when I got the full set, I’d been on so many drugs I didn’t remember it. When she was done I could open my eyes, but she wanted me to stay still while the glue set, and to try not to blink too much. She told me that it would take 24 to 48 hours for the glue to fully harden, and I was to avoid using moisturizers or water around my eyes until they were cured.

I sat there for what seemed like forever but was probably only a half hour or so talking about nothing while trying to keep my eyes still before she let me put on my glasses and I could look in a mirror to see how she’d done. I liked what I saw – my lashes looked full and sexy and I would only need mascara in extreme situations. I thanked her and told her I would definitely be asking for her when I made my return appointment in another couple of weeks.

Isobel walked me back to the lobby, and handed my paperwork to Amy, who typed something on her computer and handed me an itemized bill that listed everything I had done. I was grateful that the bill had a space where I could add a tip for each of Lara and Isobel, since I’d been wondering about that. It felt more like a medical facility than a salon, and I don’t tip my dentist but I do tip my manicurist. I filled in some generous numbers and passed it back to Amy along with my credit card. It was great that I could rationalize these expenses as part of Project Cinderella, so I didn’t feel guilty at all about making Justin pay. I wasn’t sure what I’d do when it came time to redo them and the Ball had passed.

I took the long way home and stopped at the mall to do some shopping, since the last time I’d been there I couldn’t get all the clothes I liked because of my stupid surgery underwear. So maybe I went a little overboard.

On Thursday morning, my phone rang. It was a woman named Suzanne who ran the dress shop where Justin had ordered my ballgown. She was confirming my appointment for Friday, and told me that even though the dress technically the dress had a built-in bra, my measurements indicated that I was busty enough that I might want to wear one anyway to feel secure, and I should wear what I intended to have on beneath my ballgown when I came in for my fitting. I told her that Justin hadn’t told me anything about the dress, so I didn’t know what kind of undergarment I’d need. Was it strapless? Backless? Plunging? She said it was strapless and a little low in the back, but not totally backless. It wasn’t plunging, but had a sweetheart neckline that might show a little cleavage. She recommended a longline bra or bustier. I thanked her and tried to get more information about my dress, but she wanted me to wait so it would be a surprise. She did say that I didn’t need to worry about shoes, since they’d been ordered as well. I really hoped Justin hadn’t taken his Cinderella thing all the way and ordered glass slippers.

I got dressed in a cotton thong and a T-shirt bra, over which I wore my tightest jeans and a peach three-quarter sleeve, scoop-neck spandex top. I slipped my feet into my snowboots. I did a daytime makeup with no foundation, just lipstick and bronze eyeshadow. I expected to be wearing my hat, so I left my hair wild and chose simple round stud earrings. It was cold and rainy, but I went out lingerie shopping anyway. I wanted to have a couple options with me when I went for the fitting. I bundled up I my coat and warmed up Dinah and hit the road. The best stores were in the city which meant facing the worst traffic, but the ball was a special occasion that deserved quality underwear. I promised myself a reward if I made it out alive.

The weather was doing that gross Northeastern stuff where within the span of one storm, sometimes it’s raining, sometimes it’s sleeting, and occasionally it’s snow. It wasn’t heavy, but it was annoying. Nonetheless, Dinah and I made it through to my destination. I was a couple miles from the place when I thought that maybe I should have called ahead to make sure they didn’t close on account of weather. Lucky for me, the beginning of February is peak lingerie shopping season, so they were like required to be open by the International Naughty Underthings Federation. I went in and explained my situation (not the whole thing, just the Valentine’s Ball part) to a friendly salesgirl named Maegan who helped me look through my options.

I was drawn toward a sleek black satin bustier with detachable straps that could almost work as a top. There was a pair of cheeky boyshorts available in the same brand that I thought would go well together, but Maegan told me that was too run of the mill for something as special as the Valentine’s Ball. She talked me into also getting a red (the official color of Valentine’s Day, apparently) torsolette. It was lightly boned, not that my waist needed it, but it was decorated in gorgeous white lace and embroidered accents. It was beautiful, and when she made me try it on and I saw myself in the mirror, I had to have it, and that was even before I saw how it looked with the optional push-up pads in place. Maegan tried to talk me into getting the matching G-string to go with it, but I got her to let me pivot to a French cut panty with more of those same lace accents in the back. She did show me that my torsolette came with attachable garters, and talked me into getting a pair of red stockings. I also bought a white strapless longline bra in my size that dipped very low in the back as my insurance policy in case the other things didn’t work. Since I was there I also picked up a few other pieces just for fun. Maegan rang me up and it was back out into the weather.

I thought about what kind of reward I deserved, and since I was already in the city I headed over to the North End for an authentic Italian lunch. It was delicious – a meatball sandwich on fresh bread, followed by a tiramisu and a strong espresso. I also went to this cute old bakery and bought some freshly baked bread, a couple cannoli, and a package of pizza dough, so I could try my hand at making one for dinner, which then required I stopped in at an authentic Italian deli for genuine mozzarella and pepperoni and a jar of someone’s grandmother’s pizza sauce. It also meant I had to stop on the way home at the kitchen store and pick up a pizza stone and a peel.

Dinah and I made it home in one piece. I took a bath to warm up, since my lashes still wanted to avoid the shower. But as I was bathing I spent some extra time playing with my nipples and that got me thinking about my new toys, so I got out of the tub, toweled off and hooked up my enema bag to clean out my sex hole. Wrapped in only a towel, I walked over to my office to my secret stash. I laid my towel on the daybed and looked over my collection, deciding who would get to play with me first. I lubed up my vibrator and slipped it in. I turned it on at its lowest setting and went back to playing with my nipples. I flexed my leg so I could push the vibrator in deeper with my heel, and as my natural muscles kept trying to push it out, I could get it to fuck me. I had to take a hand temporarily off my breast to reach down and turn up the vibrations. While I was down there, I used my hand to push it in further. I think it found the spot. I pinched my nipples and felt the ecstasy take me. I relaxed and let my vibrator fall out of me and just lay there breathing for a while.

Porn Star lay on the towel feeling left out, so I picked him up by his proportionally sized balls and gave him a little kiss on the frenulum. “Sorry, Fella. Maybe next time.” I squeezed him between my boobs, and wondered if that was a real thing girls did for guys or if it was just a porn thing. Of course he wouldn’t know, since he himself was a porn thing. I leaned down and wrapped my lips around his head, and played my tongue over his surface before letting him go. I tried to imagine whether I’d ever want to do that with a real one, and it didn’t quite seem right. Maybe it would depend on the guy.

I cleaned up my toys and went back to the big bathroom, since I now needed another bath. I tried to focus on getting clean and not exploring myself, and mostly did. After I dried off and put on some after bath lotion and massaged my implants, I got dressed. I started with my new bustier and boyshorts, and added black sheer hose. I stepped into my red pumps and posed in front of my mirror – how could Maegan have thought this look wasn’t sexy enough for Valentine’s Day?

I pulled a red dress over my head that had teeny spaghetti straps that ran from a deep V in front to go over my shoulders and criss-cross over my back. I used a red-to-black eyeshadow blend, bright red lipstick, red-brown blusher and shiny red nails. I wore the cross necklace Justin’s mother liked pointing toward my cleavage, and gold square hoop earrings. I let my hair do whatever it wanted, and dabbed some perfume at my neck, wrists, and between the girls.

I went down to the kitchen and tied on my apron and proceeded to assemble my pizza. I put the stone in the oven and preheated it. I had left the dough out at room temperature and it was ready to be shaped. I tried the “tossing it in the air” method of turning a ball of dough into a flat circle, but my technique needed a lot of work, so I switched to the “let it hang in front of me and keep turning it” method. When I was satisfied, I formed a crust and put it in my pizza pan. While my dough was resting, I sliced green peppers and black olives and grated my cheese. Once it was in the oven, I went down to Justin’s collection to see if he had a bottle of an appropriate Italian red.

When Justin came home, I greeted him with a hearty ”Buongiorno, Bambino! Welcome to Mama Falconi’s Pizzeria Italiano!” and a kiss on each cheek. He laughed and started trying to correct me for using a daytime greeting, but he got distracted by boobs. I led him to the dining room and then brought in the pizza that had been left warming in the oven. I set the peel on the table and pulled the pizza cutter from my pocket and neatly sliced it into eight pieces. Still in my “It’sa me, Mario” accent, I wished him a “Buono Appetito” and compelled him to “Mangia!” Then I went to the kitchen to hang up my apron, and then went back to the dining room as myself. I’m not sure why I’d suddenly gotten into play acting. Maybe it was to prove to myself that Kelsey was the version of me who wasn’t pretending.

I sat down and Justin served me a slice and poured my wine. I suggested we toast the success of Project Cinderella, but he thought it was pretty much in the bag, since no one could possibly think I was anything but the beautiful woman he saw before him, so he suggested instead that we toast “to us.” I went along, but I wasn’t really sure what that meant. Were we toasting our health, our success in the future, or our fake relationship? It didn’t help that after the toast he leaned over and gave me a kiss that let us taste one another’s wine.

After the pizza I went to fetch the cannoli, and asked if he wanted a coffee with his dessert. It was a shame we didn’t have an espresso maker; it would be fun to have a cappuccino any time I wanted one. The cannoli were very tasty, but Justin was noticeably distracted by the way I sucked the creamy filling out of mine. I may have teased him a little extra by asking if his tasted as yummy while shooting a glance at his lap.

Because this dress was mostly backless, I could really feel Justin’s touch when we danced, and it threw me off a little at first the way skin-to-skin contact tingled. We did some nice waltzes, with fancy spin turns and ended with a soft dip. It was fun, and it felt really good to be held in his strong arms. And then we did a couple tangos, since he thought my red dress deserved it. Those were also fun and sexy. I decided that I’d give him another trip to the strip club on Friday night.

I messed around on my laptop for a while, doing some writing, catching up on some social networking, and browsing some interesting sites. When it was time for bed, I changed into my new lacy pink babydoll with matching bikini briefs. I was a little disappointed that Justin was already asleep, so I couldn’t show off. I slipped into bed and snuggled up to him. I don’t think he even noticed what I was wearing when we woke up with my nipple between his fingers.

Friday morning I had my fitting for my ball gown, so I dressed in my red torsolette lingerie set under my comfy black sweaterdress. I wasn’t sure if the previous day’s weather was still on the ground, so I went with my snow boots. I didn’t know what color my gown was, so I chose a palette of earth tones for my makeup, and simple gold jewelry to avoid any potential clashing. I put a headband over my hair to try to tame it.

Suzanne’s Bridal and Formal was in Back Bay, so I had to drive a half hour into the city with the crazy drivers, and then deal with the hassle of finding parking. I guess Justin’s options were limited by his timeline, but did he really have to pick a place in the heart of Boston? Andy liked living in cities, but I think Kelsey felt more at home in the outskirts and suburbs. I was a real homebody. All the street spots were permit only, so I had to park in a garage a four-block walk away. I was glad the weather wasn’t as bad as the day before.

The place had a pair of gorgeous wedding dresses in the display window, with yards of white lace and satin, and I wistfully wondered if I’d ever get to wear one. Would anyone ever want to marry an incomplete girl like me? I walked in and a college-aged blonde assistant looked over at me. “Hello, how can I help you today?” I told her my name and that I had an appointment with Suzanne for a fitting.

She went in the back and came back carrying a large zippered up garment bag and a shoe box. With her was a woman that seemed like a fiftyish version of her, the same blonde hair, the same green eyes, the same puckish nose, the same slim figure. She had an old-fashioned tomato-shaped pincushion on her wrist and a tape measure around her neck. She introduced herself as Suzanne, shook my hand and asked, “Are you ready to see your dress?

When I nodded, she hung the garment bag on a rack and unzipped it, then took out the dress on its own hanger and hung it separately. She brushed the skirts out with her hands and stepped back so I could get a good look. Justin had met the brief perfectly – this was definitely a Valentine ball gown fit for a princess.

The bodice was strapless, as I’d been told, with a sweetheart neckline. It was made of ruby red satin, and decorated with patterns of hearts and paisley filigree in white embroidery accented by crystal beadwork. Below the waist it puffed out into a full ballgown silhouette, with a floor-length full skirt that must have had a crinoline beneath it. (I would later learn that it actually had a double layer of attached crinoline.) The skirt was segmented, as though its pleats were petals of a giant flower, and the joints between the segments had a thin strip of baby pink that widened out at the hem, decorated with more of that embroidery. It seemed like a little too much.

Suzanne opened the shoebox and showed me the accompanying shoes. Fortunately, they were not glass slippers, but pumps in the same deep red satin that were decorated with similar embroidery. They had modest 2 ½ inch heels.
Suzanne led me to a side area behind a screen, where I could change. She positioned the dress on the floor like a collapsed parachute and told me the easiest way to put it on would be to step into the middle and then pull it up. She showed me where it fastened on the side, and said that if I needed any help with the zipper, I could call out and Brittany, her assistant / daughter could give me a hand. Then she left me alone. I changed my boots for the pretty shoes first, and then took off my dress. I thought about it for a moment and then decided to take the push-up pads out of my purse and unfasten my torsolette enough to put them in. I felt like this gown needed a more dramatic décolletage.

I stepped into the dress and crouched down to pull it up into place. I was reminded of a video I watched once where they raised a circus tent. I arranged the dress’s cups over my breasts and found the little hook just along my ribcage to fasten it, then pulled the zipper up into place. It fit very well, and I did feel kind of like a princess. I really wished the changing area had a mirror, because I was super curious how I looked.

I stepped out into the main room and Suzanne and Brittany both said I looked beautiful. Suzanne came over and led me to a small platform where she had me stand. She measured the hemline to make sure it wasn’t dragging on the floor, and checked that none of the underlayers were showing. She noticed that the waist could be taken in a little and pinned it in the back, and asked me how the fit felt in the front. I told her I liked it. She backed up and looked it over again from a few angles and made some notes on her pad.

When she seemed done, I asked if she had a mirror anywhere. She told me to turn around and I looked at what I’d thought was just a multi-panel screen, but I saw now that it had a cloth draped over it. Brittany told me to close my eyes, and then she pulled the cloth off and said I could open them. I stood before a three-sided mirror looking at a beautiful dress being worn by a cute redhead. I told Suzanne that it was amazing, and she said a gorgeous dress is only made better when on a gorgeous model, and I just stared there for a moment.

I had an epiphany. Standing there in my stunningly beautiful ballgown, beneath which I was in sexy lingerie, I realized how much I loved it! Kelsey was who I deserved to be. I was a woman, and there was nothing to be ashamed of. It further opened my mind to the obvious – I felt proud that I had the ability to give my best friend in the whole wide world pleasure, and I had also recently discovered the amazing sensation of having something penis-shaped inserted into me. Putting two and two together led to one inevitable conclusion. I wasn’t quite ready to address the emotional aspect yet, but I knew what I wanted.

I went back into the changing room, and this time Suzanne helped me take the dress off so that the pins would stay in place and not stick me. She noticed my lingerie and said that she understood why Justin would get me such a gorgeous ballgown, and it wouldn’t surprise her if I were back in a few months looking to see what she had in white. I smiled and laughed. If only. She let me take my shoes home so I could break them in a little and they wouldn’t be too slippery for the ball. She said that I could pick up my dress with its alterations on the 13th.

When I got home, I spent a lot of time online researching what I wanted to do, to make sure that I wasn’t going to change my mind the more real it became. Instead, just about the opposite happened. The more things I read about, the more curious and eager I became to try them out for myself. I did what I could with my toys, but there were limits to what they could do.

I was super nervous getting dressed for dinner that night, the most I’d been in this entire project. What if he didn’t want the same things? I thought about taking an extra anxiety pill, but I wasn’t sure how much of my newfound desires were from the drugs removing my old inhibitions from a lifetime of male thinking, and I wanted to make sure I was as much myself as possible. Although the self I was now was not the self I was before. Kelsey was here to stay, and Andy was never going to be coming back. That part didn’t scare me at all anymore.

I wanted to look like a woman that no man could resist, so I started with sexy lingerie. I chose a set that was black with pink lace accents, consisting of a low demi-cup bra that just barely covered my areolas, a high-cut bikini panty that was mostly sheer lace in the back, and a garter belt with a cute little bow in the back. I had a pair of silk stockings in an off-white color that worked well with the set. I slid my feet into my strappy black sandals and then pulled on a sexy purple spandex-blend sleeveless maxi dress. It clung to all my impressive curves, from the deep V at the neckline down to the slit on the side that nearly revealed my stocking tops when I sat down.

I put extra care into my makeup. I put an even layer of foundation down and did a little bit of contour blending, although my surgically beautified face didn’t need much help, and put some color back into my cheeks. I used a purple color on my eyelids that matched my dress well, but I went with a metallic bronze for the shadows and a light pink along my browbone. My permanent eyeliner and lash extensions were enough on their own Lips were important. I went with a deep burgundy long-wearing lipstick that came with an accompanying glossy topcoat. I opted for my diamond earrings and pendant, so that sparkles of light would draw the eye. I sprayed perfume on my hair, and put a drop between my breasts and behind my knees.

My menu for the evening was planned around foods that settled well and wouldn’t make me gassy. I started with grilling some boneless chicken breasts that had been marinated in teriyaki sauce. I paired that with some almond rice pilaf, and then for a vegetable I chose glazed baby carrots. For dessert I baked brownies from a mix, but also mixed up a caramel sauce from scratch. I had a plan for the presentation of the dessert that I hoped would help my cause.

When Justin came home, I met him with a big kiss. “I tried on my ballgown today. It is amazing! Thank you so much for that!”

He just shrugged it off with, “an amazing girl deserves an amazing dress for the big gala. Project Cinderella required the perfect princess ballgown, so I found one. I’m glad you like it; that makes Step Seven less likely to happen.”

“Step Seven is so not going to happen! This girl needs to be seen in that dress. At this point the only thing that would keep me from that Ball would be if Yves-Alain ruins my hair when I go there for my glamorous look, and I trust him enough that I doubt that’s possible.”

I told Justin to take a seat in the dining room and I’d bring the food out, but he insisted on helping me with the serving dishes. I gave him a kiss on the cheek in appreciation. He brought the chicken and rice to the table, and all I needed to carry was the plate of carrots. He even held my chair for me before a sat down, ever the gentleman.

I think I spotted him sneaking a peek at my cleavage a couple times, so as I was eating I remarked, “Mm! That marinade worked - these breast tenders came out so juicy!” as I made a semi-orgasmic face and slowly inhaled so he’d notice my tender, juicy breasts. He nearly choked on his water glass, so I think that worked. I also just happened to eat my carrots one at a time, sucking them whole into my mouth the long way before chewing and swallowing. And I used a spoon, since having them impaled on my fork would spoil the analogy.

When it was time for dessert, I made him wait there while I brought it from the kitchen. For each dessert, I arranged a circular brownie on a dessert plate and topped it with a single, large, perfectly shaped scoop of French vanilla ice cream. At the top of this smooth dome of ice cream, I’d sprayed a little circle of whipped cream, a nest in the middle of which was a maraschino cherry. Basically, I’d made boob-shaped sundaes. I put the two of them on a tray with a little pitcher of warm caramel sauce and brought them to the table.

I’m pretty sure Justin’s subconscious at least noticed the resemblance. I carried the tray right at chest level, and when I placed his dessert in front of him, I made sure to lean over very low as I poured the warm, sticky sauce all over the simulated titty in front of him. When I returned to my own seat and poured the caramel onto my own sundae, I wiped the drop that was threatening to drip off the mouth of the pitcher with my finger and then slowly licked it off.

The sundae was very tasty, and I wasn’t exaggerating when I made little yummy noises as I ate it. When Justin was finishing up eating his, I looked across the table at him and steeled my nerves. It was now or never. “Um, I was wondering, what would you say if I told you I didn’t want to be your fake girlfriend anymore?”

He wasn’t expecting that. He paused to take a sip of water before answering. “That’s always been the plan; you just need to last another week and make it through the ball, and then we can start figuring out what the reason for our breakup will be.”

I shook my head. “No, that’s not what I meant. We can keep things the way they are, if that’s what you want. But lately, being with you hasn’t felt like pretending. What would you say if I told you I wanted to make our relationship real?” I tried to keep my bottom lip from quivering.

Justin got out of his chair and came over to me, grabbed my face in his hands and gave me the deepest, longest, toe-curlingest kiss I’d ever had. When we came up for air he said, “Babe, I haven’t been pretending since the day you came home from the hospital. I just didn’t think that was what you wanted.”

I stood up and put my arms around my for reals, no faking, actual boyfriend. “So, are we going to work off the calories in that dessert with some more ballroom practice, or would you rather take me up to our bed and fuck my brains out?” As an answer, he swept his arm around the back of my knees and picked me up, carrying me like a pillaging Viking claiming his plunder. And believe me, this girl was ready to be pillaged. As we crossed the threshold of our room, I felt like a new bride.

I had him put me down, and asked him to unzip me. I let my dress fall to the floor and slowly stepped out of it, letting him get a good look at my lingerie. I pushed his jacket off his shoulders and started loosening his tie. I made him help me with the buttons on his shirt before I let him reach back and unhook my bra. The slightest touch from his thumbs caused my nipples to stiffen, and I let out an involuntary moan. I had my hands inside his undershirt feeling my way around his muscled torso, but before I could get his t-shirt off, his face moved to my left breast. I had known fingers felt amazing on my nipples, since I’d experienced that myself, but I was not prepared for how much better the sensation of a tongue was! And when he started sucking – Oh My God! When he released me so he could switch to the other side, he whispered, “I have been dying to do this since Day One,” and I think maybe I had, too.

But he was still too dressed. After he gave me my second of what I can only call nipple orgasms, I pushed him off me so I could push his shirt off his arms and pull his undershirt over his head. I gave him a playful kiss on his own nipple, but I can tell you from experience that boy nipples are nowhere near as sensitive as girls’. I reached down and pulled my heels off, and pulled his shoes off (with a little help) while I was down there. I reached up and unbuckled his belt and unzipped, then unbuttoned his pants. While he was trying to extricate himself from the pile of pants at his feet, I sat on the edge of the bed and unclipped my garters, then slowly pulled off each stocking like a pro, and then shed my garter belt. Down to just my panties, I pushed him onto the bed, told him I needed a couple minutes, and made him take off his socks.

I went into the bathroom and closed the door. I got my supplies from the drawer on my side of the vanity and flushed myself out and lubed myself up. I pulled my panties back on and went back into the bedroom with a bottle of lube and a towel = I wasn’t sure how messy this was going to be. Justin had turned on some soft music, and he was reclining on his side of the bed on top of the duvet, still in his boxer briefs. I crawled up onto the bed next to him and kissed him, running my hands over his chest. I let a hand wander down into his waistband and found that my friend was warm and hard and ready for me. I stopped kissing and told him, “Lose these,” pulling my hand back.

While he was getting his underwear off, I rolled out my towel and positioned myself on it, then wiggled out of my panties. Then I took the bottle of lube and squirted a generous amount into each hand, then turned to where my now completely naked boyfriend lay. I ran my hands up and down his big sexy cock, liberally coating it. I wanted him to slide into me like a well-oiled piston.

I’d done my research, and chose for our first time to have him enter me in the spoon position we were so familiar with. I rolled onto my side away from him and he took the hint and rolled onto his side, too. I reached back and guided him as best I could to my pretty bleached pink hole. He found it, and pushed into me slowly but firmly. I did my best to relax and let him in. I had a real live man inside me, and it felt so right! I think at that moment the last vestiges of Andy’s male ego withered away. Justin pushed into me as far as he could go, kissed the back of my neck and told me to let him know if he was hurting me. I told him he was good, and I was ready. I rocked my hips against him to prove it.

I could feel him sliding inside of me, pulling back out and then pushing in again, somehow feeling like he went deeper. I tried to sense what he was doing and help out, pushing when he pushed and pulling when he pulled. Somewhere behind me, he managed to change the music to something with a stronger beat, to help us synchronize. He also seemed to realize that the spoon position gave him a free hand that could reach around and play with my nipples. We started going faster so it wasn’t in on one beat out on the next but in at the beginning of every beat and then out in time for the next one. I bit my lower lip and moaned, “Fuck me, Baby”

He pumped harder and faster and kept hitting the right spot so perfectly, I couldn’t help but make little noises, and with what he was doing to my other erogenous zone – oh my! It did not take long for me to get to what I now realize is my climax point. I cried out and he gave a couple more thrusts before his arm just grabbed me tight and his hips shook against me, and I could tell he was reaching his own climax. I swear I could feel his little swimmers racing inside me, looking for an egg they’d never find.

I wanted to keep him inside me forever, but the forces of gravity and biology and probably physics made him pop out. I tried to maneuver the towel to clean him off, but fortunately he had a package of baby wipes in his nightstand. (I didn’t want to think about why.) He cleaned both himself and me. I found my panties and pulled them on, so my wrong parts wouldn’t show. He didn’t want me to feel left out, and put on his own underwear. Then I moved the towel aside so we could cuddle. After a few more kisses and I was lying on top of my boyfriend, held tightly in his arms, I asked him, “This isn’t too weird, is it?”

He gave my butt a playful spank. “Stop worrying, Kelse! Yeah, it’s true that we didn’t exactly take the usual routes taken by other people to get here. But we are here now, and it feels like it was Meant To Be. You are an amazing girl, and even if my phone were to ring right now and it was Sarah begging me to take her back, I’d tell her she missed her chance; I’m with someone else now, and my new girl is better than Sarah ever was.” I had to reward this little speech with a kiss.

It wasn’t that long before he was ready to go again. I thought I was, but I wasn’t sure so I made a pit stop in the bathroom. While I was in there, I turned all the lights on and took a good look in the mirror to make sure I wasn’t coming apart at the seams. I saw no new bruising or bleeding, and all my parts were in the right place. I took advantage of the opportunity to redo the glue and tape on my undercarriage; I definitely did not want anything flopping out in the middle of lovemaking!

I exited the bathroom with a fresh towel, and tracked down where my bottle of lube had gotten to. This time around I got on all fours and presented myself to him doggy style. It really made me feel the weight of my breasts as they hung there beneath me and swung like pendulums with every one of his thrusts. We did a little better synchronizing our climaxes this time, but I think I prefer the spoons.

We snuggled again in post-coital tenderness, both of us pretty spent. If I could I would have fallen asleep right there, but my sensible boyfriend reminded me that before sleeping I needed to clean off my makeup and take out my contacts and brush my teeth. He’s very big on dental hygiene. So I went into my closet to my vanity table and cleaned my face. I changed into a clean pair of panties and a sexy black chemise with a lacy bodice. I probably should have changed into my supportive postsurgical underwear, but I was about to sleep with the guy I’d just started sleeping with, and there was no way I wanted to look dowdy. I picked up the scattered clothes on our bedroom floor and brought them to their various hampers and closets. I needed to show that I could be just as practical. I climbed in bed next to my sweetie and let him spoon me some more.

A word of advice: if you ever decide to tell your boyfriend you’re ready to make your relationship sexual, and you do it on a Friday night, expect to spend most of the weekend in bed. We only took breaks to hydrate and refuel. All Saturday, when I was dressed at all it was in lingerie, and it was the longest I’d gone without a bra since I got my boobs. Sunday after lunch I needed to give my lower GI tract a rest so I could digest things, so I made the choice to try to pleasure Justin orally.

I had done online research to learn the right technique, and had even practiced a little in advance with my porn star, but nothing can quite prepare you for that moment when you first put your mouth on a penis. Kissing it was like kissing any other part of him, but actually opening my mouth and letting the head of his engorged cock in was wild! I knew my tongue had the power to give him amazing sensations, and it showed how much he trusted me, since if I were to bite down he’d be ruined. I used my hands on the parts of him that weren’t yet inside me, recalling my handjob practice as I tickled his balls and stroked his shaft. I pulled my head back almost far enough to let him out, but then slid back down, deeper this time. I kept repeating that, backing off nearly all the way, then going back and taking him deeper. Eventually I had every inch of him down my throat; I think my laryngeal surgery killed my gag reflex, and my hands were left with only testicles to play with. I flexed my tongue along his underside, and it didn’t take long for him to reflexively try to grab onto my head and let me know he was about to come. I managed to keep breathing through my delicate little nose and not choke when he started spurting, doing my best to swallow as fast as it was coming out. I felt pleased that I was able to keep my man satisfied, and that I wasn’t one of those girls who let herself get grossed out by it. I had to get up and fix my lipstick and use some mouthwash before I’d get my gratitude kiss, though.

On Monday morning when his alarm went off, I kissed Justin awake. When he seemed conscious enough to talk, I said,” I’d like you to start another one of your project binders.” He didn’t say anything, just nodded and looked at me to continue. “I want you to find the right doctor and hospital to do my vaginoplasty. Now I’ll have to get approved by Dr. Galloway, which shouldn’t be an issue, but she might make me wait until I’ve lived as a woman for a year which is the usual rule, and I’m not sure where she starts counting.”

He reached out and held me. “Babe, don’t think you need to do this for me. The kind of sex we’ve been having is all I need.”

I shook my head, “I’m not doing it for you. I mean, yeah, I’d like to think we’d still be together, and yours would be the first inside me, and it would make things much easier to be able to have spontaneous sex without having to think about whether I have any poo in my colon, but mostly I want this for me. I want to feel safe to go places where I’d have to be naked, like when I get lasered or bleached, or if I want to go to a sauna or a changing room at the beach. I could join a gym. And these are really scary times to be a woman with a penis; there are places where I could get beaten to a pulp just for using the ladies’ room, and the law would back them up. I don’t want to make some mistake driving, miss a stop sign hidden behind a bush in some hick town and have a cop decide I was cute enough to strip search, find my secret and throw me in men’s jail to get repeatedly raped. Also, I think it might be fun if we traveled, and to have a US passport that says Female, you have to have a vagina.”

He hugged me and let go. “You’ve clearly done a lot of thinking about this. I’ll get started on Project Lucifer the first break I get today.”

“Lucifer? Because we’re exorcising the evil from my crotch?”

“Well, this is essentially an extension to Project Cinderella, just continuing your makeover, in a sense.” My expression showed that I still didn’t understand. “When you grow up with four sisters, you end up watching Disney Princess movies so many times, you have them memorized. One of these days, you should just fill in the gaps of your missing formative girl years and binge a few. Anyway, in Cinderella, she lived with a cat named Lucifer; I suppose technically he belonged to her stepmother, but Cinderella fed him. So, Project Lucifer is just another way of saying Project: Cinderella’s Pussy.” I hit him with a pillow.

I spent most of the rest of the day thinking about Lucifer. It was annoying that my boyfriend had already given my vagina a nickname, but as I thought about it, it made more sense. Lucifer was the name of the brightest angel in Heaven, before he fell. And if I was just returning my unholy genitals to their heavenly state, it almost made sense. It also meant I could stop calling my old thing Little Andy and instead call it Satan. It would have been unhealthy for me to want to get rid of Andy; that was an important part of why I’m who I am. But it’s totally fine to hate Satan. I suppose “hate” might be a little too strong a word, but I did find Satan annoying and dreading having to deal with him, and I wished he’d go away. If I could snap my fingers and change my downstairs business instantly, I would have. So I guess it would be fair to say I hated Satan.

I did a couple hours of web surfing, looking at pictures of transwomen’s vulvas, both satisfied patients and unsatisfied ones. I looked at a few photos of ciswomen, too, so I could remember what a natural one looked like. And it was strange that none of this seemed remotely sexual; these images were not turning me on. I did decide that Lucifer was too masculine a name for my most feminine of parts, so I started thinking of her as Lucy.

I called Dr. Galloway, and told her voicemail that I wanted to find out what date she’d consider that I’d have lived as a woman long enough to qualify for vaginoplasty. It didn’t seem fair that I had to wait; I’d already lost my reproductive ability, so the only the only thing I’d be sacrificing by trading my faucet in for a sink would be losing the ability to easily pee standing up, and I kind of liked being able to nag Justin about leaving the seat up. Dr. Galloway called me back after lunch. She said that she doesn’t set the guidelines for the Real Life Experience test; it’s in place so the surgeons who perform gender confirmation surgeries can avoid being sued by patients who might have chosen to do it frivolously. She told me that ideally, she’d want to see me for at least a couple more sessions before signing anything that would tell the surgeon my reasoning for wanting the operation was sound, and she’d be willing to say I’d been living somewhat of a female life since September, to cut about four months off my sentence. She did warn me that when I found a surgeon, they might want affidavits from at least two different mental health providers, and she could give me some referrals if necessary. I really felt like she was on my side, and made an appointment to see her in two weeks. I felt less guilty about talking to her since my relationship with Justin wasn’t fake anymore, and I was also sure that Kelsey was who I wanted to be. Maybe after Lucy’s birthday I’d tell her everything.

I debated back and forth with myself how I wanted my first weekday evening with Justin since we’d become sexual to go. I flirted with the idea of greeting him for dinner in nothing but an apron, but I worried that Satan might get loose and spoil the effect, and if I got my timing wrong, there was a possibility that I wouldn’t stay ready to receive him, which could also be a major buzzkill. Then I briefly considered pouncing on him at the door, Calvin and Hobbes style, and servicing him orally before he even got his coat off, but I thought that maybe after spending the day at work and then dealing with crazy Boston traffic, he might want to relax a little before getting horny. And I hoped our relationship was more than just sex, so I decided the right plan would be to get dressed for dancing as normal, looking attractive but not over-the-top slutty, serve a good meal that showed I put effort into taking care of my man’s other needs, and then we could do our dance lesson before going to bed.

I texted my plan to Justin, as a series of emojis: knife and fork, then dancing woman and dancing man, then eggplant plus peach. I don’t think I was interrupting anything important, since he replied almost immediately with a broadly smiling face and a thumbs up, approving my outline for the evening’s events.

I looked through my closet for a dress that looked like it would be fun to dance in. I found this pearl-gray dress that had a lace outer layer that had fluttery cap sleeves and a knee-length hem that should move around nicely on the dancefloor. It had a V-neck that showed only the slightest hint of cleavage. The underlayer that kept the dress from being scandalously sheer had spaghetti straps in front but was virtually backless, so I started with my white longline backless bra. For sexy times later I wanted things to match, so I chose white lace bikini panties. Since my aim was not to look like I was selling sex, I didn’t go with a thong or G-string or tanga. I didn’t want to frump it down with pantyhose, but a garter belt seemed too sluttish, so I split the difference and went with beige stay-up thigh-highs with pretty lace tops. I wanted to wear my silver open-toed heels, so I started by repainting my toes and fingers in a bold cobalt blue.

My jewelry was usually gold, so it was a nice change to go with silver that worked better with the dress. I chose silver chandelier earrings with little blue crystals dangling off them, a circular silver pendant, and some silver bangles on my left wrist. I tamed my hair slightly with a silver barrette at each temple. I did an even coat of matte foundation, and to continue my theme of dialing back the sluttiness, I did nothing to augment my permanent eyeliner and lash implants, although I did add a little silver and blue to the earth tones on my eyelids. I blended just a hint of blush at my cheeks and opted for a shade of lipstick that was just a tinge deeper than my lips’ natural color. I didn’t feel myself without my usual scent, but I limited it to my wrists and behind my ears.

I went to the kitchen and tied on my apron, moving my bracelets to its pocket so I could work unimpeded. Then I set about preparing chicken in gravy accompanied by homemade biscuits, with peas and carrots on the side. I realized that with the amount of time I was spending on cooking and making myself look pretty, I was turning into a stereotypical upper-class housewife. I think I was trying to deserve my relationship, even though I still wasn’t sure what we were. I’d told him I wanted to be a real girlfriend, but so far that just meant adding sex to the mix of displays of affection we’d already been having. I hoped there was an emotional connection, too. I knew I felt one. Frankly, as enjoyable as our sex was, my libido was so faint that I didn’t need it as much as I needed to feel loved, and he hadn’t tossed any of those offhand “Love ya, Babe” comments at me since we’d been fucking. But then, neither had I. I guess it was easier when we were pretending.

Femme La Plus Belle had called to let me know that Yves-Alain had decided my special Valentine’s Ball hair would take two days, so I had to go in the day before for some kind of preliminary treatment. I planned out my day so I would go to Suzanne’s first and pick up my dress, and then I could bring it with me and show Yves-Alain my colors, and not have to make two separate trips into the city. Suzanne wanted me to try my gown on before letting me have it, so I had to wear my special Valentine lingerie, but I put jeans and a pink fuzzy sweater over them, and I carried my shoes in my bag and wore my boots.

I told Dinah’s navigator to go to the same parking garage we’d used the last time, which helped a lot with the stress of driving into Boston, but I was still pretty frazzled by the time we got there. And it was raining. I liked my cute powder blue raincoat, but it wasn’t as warm as my wool coat, and the hood didn’t stay up if it got too windy. And it kept verging on being too windy. So I was feeling kind of grumpy when I walked into Suzanne’s.

Brittany hung up my coat for me, and told me that I’d have to wait a couple minutes; another customer was being fitted. It took all my willpower not to try to peek, to see what pretty dress some other lucky girl got to wear. Maybe she was even a bride trying on a wedding gown, like those beautiful ones in the window. I stood there for a couple minutes, and then Brittany was called to the back to help “Ms. Walters” with her dress. It’s a common enough name, so my brain didn’t even consider the possibility, so when Brittany and Suzanne came back out and were followed by a petite brunette dressed in a sharp business skirt suit, I didn’t expect the customer ahead of me would be Sarah Walters.

My mouth dropped open. What were the odds. I needed to say something to explain my reaction. “Um, excuse me, but you wouldn’t happen to be Sarah Walters?”

She did a double take, and I was relieved that her face showed no sign of recognizing me. “Yes, I am. But I’m sorry, have we met?”

I tried not to come across as catty. “No, but I’ve seen pictures of you.” I held out my hand for her to shake. “Hi, I’m Kelsey Faulkner, Justin Monahan’s current girlfriend.” She looked me over, possibly comparing our figures. “I just didn’t want you to see us tomorrow night and think, ‘Hey, that’s that girl who was at Suzanne’s yesterday. Why didn’t she say hi?’ “ I pointed at the garment bag in Brittany’s hand. “Is that your gown for the Ball? I guess if you used this place before for your formals, that’s probably how Justin knew about Suzanne, so I shouldn’t be surprised to see you.”

Sarah tried to cover the awkwardness with a laugh. “Nice meeting you, I guess. I’m on an early lunch, so I’ve got to run.” She took her garment bag and rushed out the door.

I turned to Brittany. “That was my boyfriend’s ex. You are required to tell me that I look better in my dress than she does in hers.” Brittany laughed, but Suzanne said something about client confidentiality and frowned.

I was led back to the changing room. I stripped off my street clothes and put on my shoes. The floor was wet from my rainy boots, so Brittany ran a dry mop over it. Instead of spreading my gown out and having me step into it, Suzanne gathered up all the layers and pulled it down over my head. When she zipped it up, it fit me perfectly, clinging tightly to my narrow waist and comfortably cradling my impressive bust. I got step up to the panoramic mirror and feel like a princess again. I twirled. Brittany winked at me, gave a thumbs up, and whispered, “So much better!” They helped me get the dress back in the bag, and I changed my torsolette and stockings for a T-shirt bra and knee-highs, then got dressed again in my jeans and sweater and boots.

I walked five blocks to the salon. I told the receptionist that I had an appointment with Yves-Alain, and hung up my coat. I think she remembered me from before, because she looked at me funny when I gave my name. I’d gotten so used to the new me that I forgot that some people saw the old one.

Yves-Alain came out and greeted me with a kiss on each cheek and a “Mademoiselle, you get more beautiful every time I see you!” This was total bullshit since I’d seen him a whole total of twice, yet also true since I’d had extensive cosmetic surgery since the last time I was there. But he was so charming, I just accepted his flattery. I unzipped my garment bag and showed him my ball gown, so he could see what color I’d be wearing. He clicked his tongue in approval, and said he’d been thinking of shifting my hair less red already, and this dress would definitely work with his concept. It struck me as funny that in his mind I needed a dress to match my hair and not the other way around like any sane person putting together a look would think, but I didn’t laugh.

He brought me back to the room where the magic happens. A couple of his assistants were there. Once I was in the chair, one of them wrapped a cape around me and secured it, while the other adjusted the height and angle of my chair. Yves-Alain explained that since the concept we were going for was “fairytale princes” (Justin must have told him), he thought I’d need more volume and length, so we’d be taking out my current individual bonded extensions in order to replace them on the day of the Ball with larger pieces that would be woven into my hair. I’d also be getting a new color, since the ombre look I sported would not do for the glamorous effect he wanted.

He left the room and I just had to lean back and feel all the little tugs as his minions took out my extensions. I was a little sad to lose them, since they’d been one of the first elements of my Cinderella makeover, but I was confident that I didn’t need them to look feminine. My new face and body did that on their own. Even if he shaved my head, I’d still be a woman, but I really hoped he wasn’t going to. I was almost used to the sensations when the taller of the two assistants told me they were done, and the other one went off to get the boss.

Yves-Alain came out and looked over what they’d done, and told me that the next step would be to lighten up the darker parts of my hair, so that the new color would go on evenly. I was pleased that he did this part himself, since the chemistry of hair color was so tricky to get right. He put some kind of paste in my hair, mostly at the roots, then let it set for a while, then he leaned my chair back so my head was over a sink and he rinsed it out and added some other stuff to it and rinsed it again. Then I got to sit up for a bit, and the assistants towel-dried my hair.

He looked me over, took another peek in my garment bag, and he began to mix some pigments in a little tray. Then he went around behind me and I couldn’t tell what he was doing. It didn’t smell good, but I knew I’d appreciate the results. After another trip to the sink and a few more treatments with various other substances, he was done but this time the girls dried me with blowdryers. Yves-Alain looked at me and nodded a few times, then used a hairbrush and a tiny bit of hairspray to give my hair some style, and stepped back.

Finally, the curtains over the mirror were opened and I could see how I looked. My hair was short, almost back in the style I’d had when I was a guy, but it had the bangs from my last ‘do. But the most dramatic was the color. He’d decided “fairytale princess” meant blonde, but he knew I liked the idea of red hair, so he’d compromised by giving me an amber blonde that had a few orange notes to it. I’d gotten so used to my auburn ombre that it took me a while to accept the new person in the mirror.

Yves-Alain told me that he knew my current style needed more shape, but he didn’t want to trim too much so that he’d have as much as possible to work with when attaching my long extensions. I was not to wash my hair before I returned on the next day, and when I came back on Friday to have those taken out, we could decide what my more permanent look would be.

I told him that I’d have to walk four blocks in the rain to get back to my car, and asked if it would be bad if my hair got wet. He told me not to leave, then dashed out and returned with an umbrella. It was light blue with an elaborate carved wooden handle. He said I could return it when I came back. I thanked him, grabbed my bags, and left. I made it back to my car and dealt with the chore of getting out of the city in the middle of a rainy winter day. Trying to get to the highway from Commonwealth is bad enough on a day without weather! I don’t think I will ever get used to driving in Boston. I should’ve Ubered.

I got home in the afternoon. I went upstairs and hung my garment bag in the closet. I’d missed lunch, but I was so worn out I wanted a nap. I stripped to my panties and pulled on a T-shirt and went to bed. I woke up a couple hours later and sat at my vanity to think about getting dressed for dinner, and my hair just looked so blah that I lost my motivation. I texted Justin thy my hair was between styles and I didn’t feel pretty, and asked if we could just go casual that night, since we’d be doing plenty of dancing the next day. He replied that he was sure I was still beautiful, but if I wanted to order Chinese and spend the evening cuddled on the couch to watch a movie that was fine with him. I sent him back a smiley face. “I have the best boyfriend.”

Since I now had free time, I switched to my exercise clothes and did a workout to try to get the serotonin flowing and cheer up. I was all sweaty when I was done, so I put on a shower cap and took a nice, hot shower. I tended to my implants afterwards, and decided not to just go back to jeans and a t-shirt. If we were going to snuggle on the couch, then maybe that could lead to some fooling around, so I wanted to wear something a little sexier. After taping Satan down, I put on a tight blue spandex thong. Since I’d asked for casual dress, I started with a heather grey cami tank with a built-in shelf bra. Then I put over it a pleated mini skirt in a yellow and black plaid. Apparently, my brain interpreted “dressing casual” as “dressing like it’s not winter.” I didn’t care; we kept the thermostat at a nice comfortable setting. Plus, if I got cold, I’d have a big, warm dude to snuggle up to (and maybe do other things to generate body heat.)

I slipped my ballet flats onto my feet and went to my vanity again. I brushed my hair to try to get it looking girlish. I didn’t like it. I finally settled on putting a black velvet headband over it. I put a little of my perfume on, so I’d at least smell pretty. I kept a daytime makeup, with just some pink lipstick on top of my permanent eye stuff.

I wasn’t sure how far we were going to take our snuggles, so I snuck some of my supplies into the bathroom attached to Justin’s playroom. Not having to do any cooking or dressing up meant I had a bunch of free time before I even had to order dinner. I figured that since I was in the playroom, I’d play. I punched a bunch of remote buttons until I got the big TV on and the PlayStation out from its hideout, and I just let myself be Spider-Man for a while. It was a little strange playing a game where my character was a dude, but I didn’t feel like playing Tomb Raider. I was really getting into the game when the alarm on my phone told me I should order our food. I saved the game and went upstairs. I placed a slightly different order than usual with our favorite Chinese restaurant – I thought beef with broccoli would make me too gassy, so I traded it for sweet and sour pork, but I kept Justin’s kung pao chicken and our stanadard large chicken lo mein. I didn’t want to lose track of time in another game, so I stayed upstairs so I’d be around when the delivery guy or Justin showed up. I killed time checking my social media.

Justin got home a little later than I’d expected, but he had a good excuse. He presented me with a bouquet of a dozen red roses, which couldn’t have been easy to get the day before Valentine’s. He handed them to me and told me my hair looked nice, and then kissed me deeply and completely. I didn’t even stop when I felt his hand go under my skirt and touch my bare ass cheek. When I came up for air, I thanked him and looked for my vase.

He had another present. Since I wasn’t cooking, he thought I might still want dessert. So when he’d stopped at the florist, he also popped in at a bakery and brought home a couple of chocolate eclairs. Yummy! My guy is the best! I gave him another kiss, and this time I was the one who squeezed his butt. I also kind of brushed my hand across his crotch as I said if the delivery guy wasn’t already on his way with dinner I’d be tempted to skip to dessert.

I tried to surprise him by making him guess who I’d run into at Suzanne’s, but he got it on the first try. I was a little mad at him, but then he told me he’d gotten a text from Sarah saying that she’d met his “cute girlfriend” and that I seemed nice. She thought I was cute? Clearly, she didn’t see any Andy in me, or she would have rubbed it in Justin’s face. I hadn’t been a girlfriend long enough to know how to feel about my boyfriend still getting texts from his ex, but since her contacting him was what set this whole thing in motion, I wouldn’t be a girlfriend if not for her.

I figured we’d be eating downstairs, so I didn’t want to put my flowers in the dining room. I ultimately decided to take them up to the bedroom, which seemed an appropriate place for romantic Valentine roses. Justin was coming up to change out of his business suit, so I was really tempted to just jump his bones right there, but as I contemplated being naughty, the doorbell rang and I had to run to the front door.

And this was where my “ignoring winter” wardrobe choice came back to get me. I opened the door to get our bag of food from the guy and give him a tip, and a blast of cold air came right at me. I closed the door and shivered. I took the bag of food to the kitchen and grabbed some plates and silverware (Justin liked showing off by eating with chopsticks, but I found a fork and spoon more convenient.) I met him in the foyer as he was coming down the stairs. “Are you okay, Babe? You look cold.” At first I thought he was just super perceptive to my discomfort, but then I noticed his eyeline was aimed at my sharply pointed nipples. But since I actually was cold, I placed the frozen fingers of my left hand on the back of his neck and told him I should have put my coat on to answer the door. His little yelp was cute.

We went down to the playroom, and I set up the food and plates on the coffee table in front of the couch. Justin went around behind the bar and poured us a couple of beers, a pint of the dark, bitter microbrew he had in his keg for himself and an Amstel Light from a bottle for me. When he came and sat down, I scooched over as close as possible, to steal some of his body heat. I remarked that his snuggling couch could really use a blanket, and he leaned down and opened a drawer in the coffee table and pulled out a large plush throw with the Redwings logo on it. He may have switched most of his sports loyalties to the Boston teams, but he was still rooting for the ‘Wings. I gave him a little kiss to reward his preparedness, and a big one for home town pride.

I asked if we were going to have a problem picking a movie that we both wanted to watch, and he said “No. There is only one possible option.” I made a grumpy face at him, expecting some actiony explosion fest. He pushed some special sequence of buttons on the remote and the room lighting changed for movie watching, the TV came on, and Tinkerbell waved her magic wand at the Disney logo. He was making me watch Cinderella. I laughed.

We finished our Chinese about halfway through the movie. We were under the blanket and he had his arm around me. His fortune cookie said “Your efforts will soon reap rewards [in bed],” and mine said “Selflessness is the key to happiness [in bed],” which sounded about right. I said that the cookies weren’t very much and I wanted more dessert than that, and he asked if he should pause the movie while I went to get the eclairs from the kitchen.

Looking up at the screen, where twinkly sparkles were turning a pumpkin into a carriage, I said to him, “If I’m Cinderella, then as the driving force behind all my changes you must be my Fairy Godmother.” I snaked my hand under the blanket over onto his lap and stroked him through his sweatpants. “Which I suppose makes this your magic wand.” I deftly pulled down his waistband and was delighted to discover he’d gone commando.

Faster than you could say “Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo,” I ducked under the blanket and popped him into my mouth. I bet he was glad that I’d refused to try his spicy dish, since hot pepper on my lips would not be pleasant for him. I teased him a little with my tongue, but then shifted into full-on suction, letting him go deeper as I bobbed up and down on his bippy. I was working in time to the music, but at some point, he did pause the scene, and shortly thereafter he began to twitch. His wand was about to work its magic, and it didn’t come out in twinkly sparkles.

Only a little bit dribbled out onto my bottom lip, but he didn’t see it so it didn’t count. I was able to slurp it in as I was licking him clean before putting him back inside his sweats. I came up out from under the blanket and took a big sip of beer so he wouldn’t taste himself, and then climbed over on top of him, straddling his hips with my knees. I gave him the best kiss I could muster.

His hands grabbed my skirt, then slid up under my top to hold me at the waist. I didn’t want him to have to figure out how to navigate the elastic band of a shelf bra, so I just reached down and found it myself, then pulled it up and around my big boobies and took my cami completely off. My nipples were still a little aroused, and they perked up the rest of the way as soon as his hands moved to them. And then his mouth took over on the right one and teased me a bit by kissing around my areola and lightly blowing on the nipple itself. What delightful torture! When he switched to suckling, I don’t think I lasted any longer than he had before I climaxed. But lucky girl that I am, he brought me there four times.

I collapsed on top of him, with his hands on my back and mine tracing little circles on his chest for a few minutes. After a couple more kisses, I repositioned myself so I was still on his lap but facing forward. I pulled my top back on and adjusted my boobs onto the shelf. I told him I was ready to finish the movie, and I pulled his arms around me and put my hands on top of his, interlacing our fingers but leaving his thumbs free to tickle my nipples every so often.

When the movie ended, he asked me what I wanted to watch next, and since my lusciously padded derriere could feel something starting to poke me again, I told him to turn on something he didn’t feel like paying attention to, and excused myself to freshen up. He was a little confused, but he did as he was told and just decided to continue my Disney Princess education with Snow White. When I returned from the bathroom and placed my panties on the table, he understood what I meant.

It did not take me long to get him back out of his pants and ready for action. I straddled him again and slowly lowered my well-lubricated channel onto his erection. I pulled my top off again to give him something to play with, but it turned out that I needed his hands under me to help my knees bounce me up and down. So I had to fondle my nipples with my own hands, which turned Justin on immensely. He kept stretching his neck to try to get his mouth on one, and I eventually brought left nipple to his mouth and he was on it like a starving newborn.

We were getting very good at sensing each other’s orgasm, since he let himself come about a half a second after he brought me there. I did my best to hold him inside of me for as long as I could while he was shrinking, but he popped out eventually. I sat there in my boyfriend’s sticky lap, kissing him for some time before how uncomfortable the situation was hit us.

I hadn’t prepared well enough. I should have brought wipes and a towel, but I was too hung up on wanting to be spontaneous. Let’s just say it’s a good thing Justin had gotten his leather couch Scotchgarded. When we left to go upstairs, I was in just a skirt and soggy panties, and he was in just a t-shirt. He brought the blanket, his sweatpants, and my top (the easiest clean-up rag I had at hand) immediately to the laundry room. I took the dishes and leftovers to the kitchen.

We met back up in the bedroom. I came out of my closet in a black satin and lace babydoll to see him in the bathroom in a fresh pair of boxers, brushing his teeth. He looked up at me and said, “You look sexy as fuck right now, Kelse, but I’m feeling kind of spent. Would it be okay if we just slept tonight?”

I walked over and gave him a big hug from behind. “That’s more than okay. I don’t need any more from you than to hold me. I just wanted you to know how much I appreciate you, and it seemed wrong not to wear pretty lingerie on Valentine’s Eve. I can tell you right now that I have zero regrets about any of this. I am so glad we ended up here.”

He rinsed and spat out his toothpaste. “First, I don’t think Valentine’s Eve is a thing. Second, if it’s possible to have the opposite of regrets, that’s what I have. You are exactly what I needed in my life.“ He spun me around and kissed me. “I… appreciate you, too. But you need to brush your teeth.” Again with the oral hygiene!

We slept together nice and warm and happy, and I woke up the next morning in the arms of my man. Justin kissed me and wished me a happy Valentine’s Day. He told me that he’d hired a car to take us to the Ball, and the driver would be coming by at two to take me to my appointment at the beauty parlor, (No matter how many times I corrected him, it didn’t stick.) so I wouldn’t have to drive into the city. He asked that I wear my diamonds with my ballgown, as we’d already discussed, to make the best impression possible. I thanked him for the driver, and said the diamonds sounded perfect for a princess; it’s just too bad the occasion was inappropriate for a tiara.

I spent that morning too nervous to do any serious writing, and played on my phone for a while, then did some working out to burn off my nervous energy. I had a bowl of vegetable soup and a half a chicken salad sandwich for lunch, and then took a shower, remembering to wear a cap to save my hair.

I decided that I’d change my underwear when I got dressed later, so I put my special lingerie into the pockets of the garment bag, along with my diamond jewelry, my shoes, and my clutch bag. I opted for comfort and wore a pink soft cotton wireless bra and bikini panty set. Because I’d be getting a pedicure later, I went with knee socks rather than hose inside my boots. I wanted to be able to get undressed when the time came without messing my hair and makeup, so I wore my pink shirtdress. Since I’d be getting my makeup done professionally, I only wore a little lip gloss. I couldn’t do anything with my hair, so I decided to wear my knit hat.

At 1:50, a white limousine pulled into the driveway and a smartly uniformed driver came to our door and rang the bell. The driver, a fortyish fireplug of a man with a pug nose and just a hint of a Southie accent, said his name was Matthew and he was here for me. I told him to wait, and I put on my coat and took my garment bag and purse and Yves-Alain’s umbrella. Matthew helped carry my things and walked me to the car, where he held the door for me.

Being driven was the best! I didn’t have to deal with traffic, I didn’t have to find parking, I didn’t have to walk further than from the sidewalk in front of Femme La Plus Belle. Matthew handed me my bag and said he’d be back for me later. I walked in and gave my name to the receptionist and asked if there was somewhere I could hang up my bag. Yves=Alain himself came out to meet me, and one of his assistants took my bag from me and hid it away some place, and another took his umbrella.

I was brought to a familiar workstation, where I got to sit down and get covered with a cape. Yves-Alain showed me the pieces that he’d be using on me, a series of four-inch wide of strips of hair that were maybe eight to ten inches long. It was hard to tell, because they were full of large, soft curls. And the master stylist had worked perfection again, as they seemed to be an exact match for my new color.

I’d expected him to leave and let his minions do all the work, but he stayed, so that he could position each piece exactly where he needed it to be. The minions did help with braiding them into my hair, though, so it went fairly quickly, considering.

When all those pieces were in place, he brushed and combed and trimmed some of my natural hair, and took a curling iron to several places. Then he did some more work in the back that required tugging on some of my hairs, then he put some hairspray on it, and finally I was brought to a mirror to see. The brief that Justin had given him was “fairytale princess,” and he knocked it out of the park. He’d given me a partial updo, with a few stray fringe hairs at my forehead to provide the look of sexy messiness that was in. I had a single spiral tendril in front of each ear, and a braid running all the way around my head just above the temples, and for that perfect princess touch, a few shiny crystals were worked into that braid. In back, masses of curls cascaded down to just below my shoulder blades. It was perfect, and almost more bridal than prom. I thanked him a ton and gave him a hug and a massive tip.

Yves-Alain handed me off to a Sylvie, a middle-aged short woman with a Mediterranean look about her. She brought me to the manicure station. She explained that she’d be taking off my old gel tips first and then giving me new ones which were longer and more glamorous. I told her I didn’t want some “Real Housewife” looking claws, but a little more length might be nice. I figured if longer nails proved to be too much for me to do everyday things, I could just return to shorter ones when I came back for Yves-Alain to undo my hair, since I already had that appointment.

The solvent for removing my nails smelled gross, but Sylvie put them under a fan hood thing that sucked the fumes away. I was gad that existed, for the sake of her health if not my comfort. When those chemicals were done and my nails were cleaned back to their natural state, she put some lotion on my hands, and called over an assistant to start my pedicure. When she’d removed my boots and socks, Sylvie told her to put them in Dressing Room 5, with the rest of my stuff. I asked her about that, since I had dressed in the bathroom the last time I was there, and she said I must not have asked; a lot of girls come there before prom or a wedding or other special occasion and need to get dressed afterwards, so they have some little changing rooms available. Sylvie knew where my things were because she’d gone in for a color match. She held up a bottle of red polish to show me it was the same color as my dress.

Sylvie worked on my fingers and the assistant, who’s name I never got, worked on my toes for some time. I mostly zoned out and listened to the piped-in music, thinking about how far I’d come in a relatively short time. If you’d have told Andy at Christmas time that he was about to agree to a ridiculous deal, and in less than two months he’d be sitting in a chair getting his nails lengthened, wistfully daydreaming about the guy he’d had sex with the night before, while frustratedly wishing he didn’t have to wait to get a vagina, he’d have laughed in your face. But I’m glad I agreed to that ridiculous deal, and I wouldn’t go back if you paid me a billion dollars. Well, I probably would go back for a billion dollars, but only to spend some of it to become myself again, because a billion dollars is not chump change.

I was snapped out of my reverie when Sylvie clicked off the curing lights and told me she was done. I held up my hand and spread the fingers out. My nails were now shiny red perfect ovals that stuck out three quarters of an inch past my fingertips. My toes were equally shiny and red, and I had flip-flop sandals on my feet. I gave them both a hearty tip and thanked them.

I had to go back to the waiting room for a couple minutes until Katrina was ready to come get me. She brought me to her makeup station, and I told her I was going to a fancy ball and wanted to look glamorous, and my boyfriend had wanted a “fairytale princess” look. She said she’d been told that, and had taken a look at my dress, and it gave her some ideas. I put myself in her capable hands and sat in her chair.

She started by taping my deliberately loose hairs back from my face, and then she thoroughly cleaned my skin with a foaming cleanser, and then used a tiny bit of lotion to return enough moisture to my skin that it wouldn’t dry out, but not so much that the makeup wouldn’t stick. She then gave me an even coat of foundation, but then she put down strategic dots in three lighter shades and three darker shade and a bit of pink on my cheeks, and then used a blending brush to magically make the edges disappear, leaving only perfect contouring. I’d thought that my post-surgery face was pretty enough that I didn’t need to contour, but when I got to look in the mirror, I was stunned by how much better I looked, like a model from a magazine cover. My nose was more of a cute button, my cheekbones were more pronounced, and my jawline looked even smaller.

Even though I had lash extensions, the high glamour look I wanted deserved mascara. She went in there with the blackest black, somehow thickening and lengthening what were already unnaturally thick and long. Similarly, my permanent eyeliner was widened on my upper lids and extended out past the corner for a slight “cat eye” effect. She darkened and defined my eyebrows with a pencil, but in a brown and not as black as with my lashes, since I was now a blonde.

For my eyeshadow, she blended grays and pinks and some kind of glitter stuff – I had my eyes closed when she was doing it, so I didn’t get all the details, but the result was smoky and sexy and made my eyes look bigger and beautiful and just a little innocent.

Lastly, she brushed a primer onto my lips and followed it with a bright red lipstick that matched my nails. She gave it three minutes to set, and then had me blot on a tissue. On top of that she brushed a shiny coat of gloss, which also had to set and blot. The things she’d used were long-wearing, but she gave me the tubes to take with me, in case something I ate acted as a solvent.

Before giving me a final look in the mirror, Katrina surprised me by opening the box I’d brought my jewelry in. She had me hold up my new hair so she could clip the necklace in place, and she swapped out my earrings for my dangling diamonds. Then she spun my chair so I faced a mirror and I beheld the face of a fairytale princess. I held it in and did not weep as I thanked her very much and slipped her a tip. She led me around the back to Dressing Room 5. It was a cubicle about 8-foot square, with a chair on one side next to a small table on top of which were my boots and socks, and a full-length mirror on the back of the door. There was a closet rod opposite the chair, on which my garment bag was hanging. They’d taken my gown out of the bag and hung it separately, and it looked like they’d fluffed it up. They’d also brought my coat from the lobby and hung it up.

I took my special Valentine lingerie from the bag and set the bits on the table. I unbuttoned my dress and hung it over the back of the chair. I unhooked and removed my bra, and wrapped my torsolette around myself and fastened it. I sat in the chair and used the mirror to adjust my boobs in the cups, making sure the push-up pads were doing their job. While it was convenient, I dabbed some perfume on all my critical spots: knees, boobs, earlobes, wrists. I considered putting my stockings on next, since it would make it easier to get my underwear off for a potty break, but garters just look so much sexier when they’re on top, so I took my panties off. I checked how Satan was looking in the mirror, and he seemed to be doing a good job of pretending to be normal girl bits, so I left him alone. I still made sure I had some tape in my little clutch bag for emergencies. I pulled on my Valentine’s panties and checked my butt in the mirror as best I could to see that the lace panels were positioned symmetrically. I put my shoes on the floor, and then sat down to carefully roll each stocking up my leg. When I was sure there were no wrinkles or snags, I clipped them to my garters. Then I slipped my feet into my shoes and stood up.

To keep my hair and makeup nice, I had to put my dress on my stepping into it, but I’d only done that at Suzanne’s, when she got it ready on the floor for me. I needed to figure out how to lay it out by myself. I really should have practiced this at home. I took my gown off its hanger and lowered it to the ground. As far as I could tell, there were only two things I needed to make sure of: not to step on the crinoline, and not to get any stuck in the zipper. The first part seemed easy enough – I just leaned down and stuck my arms into the bodice, and pushed out all the way around, to make the skirt as donut-shaped as I could. Then I carefully stepped into the opening and pulled the dress up. To make sure the zipper was clear, I held the bodice to my boobs with my left hand, and reached down under the hem to tug at the underlayers with my right hand. When everything was out of the way, I straightened up and hooked then zipped up my gown. I took a moment to look in the mirror at the beautiful princess I truly felt like, and smoothed my skirts out as best I could.

I moved all my essentials from my purse to my clutch, making sure my phone was on silent. I started cleaning up and packing all my stuff when there was a knock on the door. I heard Yves-Alain ask, “Mademoiselle, are you decent?”

I laughed and said, “No, but I’m dressed,” and opened the door. I saw the artiste standing there, so I asked, “Do I look okay?” I checked to make sure that my skirt was the right shape.

Yves-Alain smiled. “My dear, you look magnifique! You are a masterpiece, and don’t let anyone convince you otherwise. But if you don’t believe me, ask your beau.” He stepped back into the hallway and Justin was there, wearing his perfectly tailored tuxedo and carrying some kind of Valentine stuffed animal.

I gave Justin a worried smile. He just stared and said, “Wow. I can hardly believe you’re with me.” He came in and gathered the rest of my stuff, and put my coat in the garment bag. “You won’t be needing that.” Then he unfulrled the fuzzy think that I’d thought was a teddy bear. It was a white faux fur wrap, with a satiny lining. It definitely was more suitable for a princess than my wool coat. The only thing that would have made it more regal would have been black spots like an ermine.

Justin took my bags, I thanked everyone for their excellent work, and we returned to the lobby. Justin called Matthew to let him know we were ready. He must have been circling the block or something, because we saw him pulling up only four minutes later. Justin held my door for me, and once I figured out how to manage my skirts and get it, I scooted over so Justin could get in next to me without having to go out in traffic. I held his hand and smiled. “Forget Step Seven.” There was more I wanted to say, but my nerves wouldn’t let me.

We drove over to the swanky hotel where the Ball was being held. Matthew dropped us off at the valet stand, and Justin told him he’d signal him in two to four hours when we were ready to go home. Justin got out of the limo first, and then offered me his hand for help getting out. I tried to carry myself with aplomb and dignity as I got out of a car wearing too many skirts.

We crossed a lobby and went to a check-in table, where Justin gave our names to a woman in a lovely gold evening gown. She crossed us off on her clipboard and said we’d be at Table 38, and she offered to lead us there. Justin said that was his usual table, so if they hadn’t rearranged the layout he could find it. We stopped at a coat check and found a kennel for my new fuzzy friend, and then entered the ballroom. The center of the room was all parquet dancefloor, and the orchestra at the far end was playing a Strauss waltz, but only a few couples were dancing. Most of the people were walking around mingling, and a few were sitting at their tables.

Around the periphery of the dance floor were a number of large round tables, each surrounded by eight chairs. They were adorned with white linen tablecloths and in the center of each was a pretty red crystal heart-shaped centerpiece. Justin surely did know his way around, and led us over to Table 38. We were the first to arrive. Reading the placecards, sitting to our right our dining companions would be Dr. and Mrs. Dwight and Beverly Carpenter, to our left would be Tyler and Erica Carpenter, maybe they’re related, and across from us were, oh crap, Sarah Walters and Dr. Dylan Underwood. I asked him if he knew they’d be sitting at our table, and he said he didn’t know for sure but he expected it, since Sarah wasn’t about to give up their traditional table either.

I tried to tell myself I didn’t need to be jealous. He was mine now not hers, and she didn’t even want him. She threw him away; I recycled him. When we went home it would be my boobs not hers he’d be motorboating. But a little insecure part of me knew that hers was the last vagina he’d been inside, and that gave her power I didn’t have. And even when I finally got mine, hers would still be the last natural, home-grown one he’d been in. He’d given me no reason to, but I worried.

This party was officially some kind of hospital fundraiser, but in practice it was also a way for Boston money people to network. Bigwigs in finance and insurance and the like were there to get face-to-face. Knowing this, I told Justin to go say hello to the people he needed to say hello to, and to get me a Chardonnay if he happened to find himself near the bar. He told me I was an amazing girlfriend and left to go talk to some guy he called “Jerry.”

I was sitting there alone for a few minutes people-watching, listening to the distant orchestra, when Sarah showed up. Like Justin, she hadn’t needed anyone to show her where the table was, and came over by herself. Her dress wasn’t quite as princessy as mine, but it was definitely a ball gown. It was sleeveless, with a scoop neckline that hinted at a bit of cleavage (I was only showing about a third of my boobs and it was still more than she could possibly reveal.) It poofed out over her hips like mine, but not quite as much. She probably only had one layer of crinoline. Rather the Valentine red that I and quite a few other women in the room were wearing, her dress was black, like most of the men in the room were wearing. There was a tiny bit of red trim on it that might have made it sort of a goth valentine look, but to me she looked like a bridesmaid at a classy black-and-white wedding. Her hair was also in a bit of an updo, and she also had smoky eyes and bright red lips, but I think she probably did it all herself.

She put on a fake smile and looked at me. She laughed and remarked that we’d met again She said she liked what I’d done with my hair. I told her I took no credit for it and that Yves-Alain from Femme La Plus Belle is a hair genius. She said that Dylan got stuck covering a shift for a guy who called in sick but he’d try to come later, and asked if Justin also got stuck at work. I told her that he was just working the crowd, and that I’d told him to come back with a Chardonnay for me, and if she wanted something, I could text him. Or, since she was in insurance, did she need to be out there networking, too? I’d be fine if she had to leave.

She said that might be a good idea, (I’m not sure which) and she got up and walked into the crown of minglers. It was easy to follow the black dress, even across the room, so I kept my eyes on her to make sure she wasn’t making a beeline for my man. She did seem to be looking for someone, because she cast about for a while and then zoomed in on a guy, who might have been the right size for Justin. I think it might have been, because she punched him in the arm and took off, straight for the bar.

She came back carrying two wine glasses, a Chardonnay for me and a Merlot for herself. She told me that Justin was still coming up short as a boyfriend; that she’d told him the right thing to do is get your girl a drink, and then go schmooze. I thanked her and said, “He could be better at relationships, but he’s got a cute butt. Makes up for a lot.” She laughed, and we toasted “absent partners.” I was kind of starting to like her.

Sarah and I talked for a while. She was in insurance, but she didn’t like making what’s supposed to be a romantic evening into a business meeting, so she didn’t want to go chat up the money guys. She said she’d read my article about decorating Justin’s house and asked if I had any pictures. I got up and went to sit in Dylan’s seat and pulled out my phone. She made me get up and come back slowly so she’d get a better look at my dress, and pronounced it gorgeous. She wished she had a body for a dress like that. I opened my photos and showed her the ones I’d taken of the various rooms. She commended my taste, and thought I’d done a good job at a task that had seemed so overwhelming to her when he’d surprised her with the house.

She asked if he’d tried to get me to leave one of the extra bedrooms empty, just in case we’d be needing a nursery sooner than later, and I could tell by her tone of voice that he’d done that to her. I’m not sure why I opened up, but I did. I told her that he wouldn’t be that mean, that even though he’s talked about having a family somewhere in the future, I have a problem with my uterus and can’t get pregnant, so it would be impossible for him to pressure me to have a kid. She put a sympathetic hand on my shoulder and told me that it sucked. She was almost becoming a friend.

I hadn’t gone back to my chair when the Carpenters arrived. Dwight and Beverly were in their sixties. He was tall and thin, with a high forehead and wire-rimmed glasses. She was very fit for an old lady, with great posture and nothing sagging. Her hair was a mix of silver and gold, and she wore a pretty pink short-sleeved, boatneck dress covered in sequins. He looked at my nametag and said that I couldn’t possibly be Dr. Dylan Underwood, since he was a young, bearded resident he’d left at the hospital and there was no way I could be him in disguise. I laughed and introduced myself, and said that I was just keeping Dylan’s seat warm while my companion was off wandering the room.

Tyler Carpenter was Dwight and Beverly’s son. He was somewhere in his mid-thirties, with thinning blond hair and a thickening waist. He wore an obviously rented tux. He was in the window business and asked if Sarah or I had been looking for new ones. Sarah said her condo association handles stuff like that, and I told him I didn’t own the house I lived in but I didn’t think it was that old; he could ask my boyfriend when he got back. His wife Erica was a little younger than him, a small waif of a woman with a brunette pixie cut. Her dress looked amazing, a tight little number covered in sequins like her mother-in-law’s, but red like mine and with a plunging V and no sleeves. I told her I loved her dress, and she said she’d finally lost the baby weight from baby number four, and wanted to show it off. I could not believe that four little people had come out of that little-ish person.

I got up and returned to my seat, and that meant letting more people compliment my dress. Being the prettiest girl in the room is so much better than being some boring dude no one notices. I guess I’m probably as easy to see from across the room as Sarah, because as I stood there Justin came gliding out of the crowd to stand beside me and pull my chair out. He apologized for taking too long to get back and said that he was mine for the rest of the evening.

Sarah piped up. “Well, too bad, because now you’ve got to wait. She needs to visit the ladies’ room. Right, Kelsey?” I wasn’t exactly sure why she said that, but I actually did kind of have to go, so I nodded agreement and followed her to the restroom. As we walked, she explained that sometimes he needed a dose of his own medicine. He shouldn’t always be the one to decide when I was available. I think part of her thinking was some unfinished business of her own with Justin, or maybe frustration with her no-show boyfriend. I was mostly just enjoying doing some girl bonding.

At the ladies’ room we got in line for a stall. When it was our turn, I offered to let Sarah go first, but she insisted that I go. I checked that the floor wasn’t wet or dirty and asked Sarah to hold my dress. She looked at me funny, but she understood when I unzipped it, dropped it to the floor, and stepped out of it. I heard her say, “Damn, Justin is one lucky bastard!” I did a “sexy bitch” walk to the stall.

I had to undo my garters because I wanted to look hot, so it took me a little longer in there. Fortunately, Satan behaved himself, since I’d left my clutch with the tape in it with Sarah. But I was able to do my business with no issues. I left the stall and washed my hands, drawing a few shocked looks from fuddy-duddy ladies and a few impressed winks and thumbs up from peers. I had Sarah hold my dress low so I could step into it, zipped it up and checked in the mirror that it looked okay.

I could tell that Sarah was trying to decide whether her dress had enough crinoline to be a problem. Should she take it off like I did and possibly embarrass herself, or try to make the ballgown behave in a bathroom stall. I made the decision for her by unzipping the back of her dress. She lowered it and stepped out of it and handed it to me. In her Spanx and Wonderbra, you could tell that if she had consulted a professional for choosing her undergarments, hers had not been like my Maegan, who’d insisted that Valentine’s Day meant sexy lingerie. Sorry, Dylan.

She finished and I helped her back into her dress, and we both checked our makeup in the mirror. Everything looked good, so we went back to our table. Justin got up and held my chair for me. I gave him a quick peck on the cheek in thanks.

Meal service started shortly thereafter. It began with an appetizer course of a puff pastry stuffed with feta cheese and eggplant. I liked it, but Justin didn’t, so he gave me half of his. Tyler asked if he could have Dylan’s portion, but the waiter said they weren’t allowed to serve people who hadn’t checked in.

The entrée Justin had selected for me was Veal scaloppini, which tasted heavenly and I tried not to think about baby cows. I think they treat them better now that they used to, don’t they? It was served with risotto and fresh green beans. Justin had a steak and potato and broccoli that looked okay, but didn’t seem as yummy as mine.

The dessert was this fancy Valentine’s thing that was served to each couple. It had a dome of white chocolate, over which we poured a hot fudge sauce, which melted the dome and revealed the ginger-honey ice cream inside on top of a heart-shaped cinnamon cookie. Sarah sulked a little and didn’t want to have to eat double dessert, but also didn’t want to share with Tyler. I had a nice cup of coffee with my dessert and I was ready to hit the dancefloor.

Justin got out of his chair and came toward me. I figured he was about to ask me to dance, but just before he got to me, he dropped to one knee. My heart started racing, since this could only mean one thing. (It’s possible it meant another thing, but I was pretty sure he wasn’t making a gesture of solidarity with protesting NFL players.) He looked into my eyes. “I know we kind of joked about this, but I’m not kidding around here. This is real. The other day when you wanted me to start a new project, I really hoped it was this one. You’re my best friend. I know you would walk through fire for me, and I’d like a lifetime to prove that I’d do the same for you. You complete me in the best way, providing all the things I’m not, and strengthening the things I am. You are beautiful, and smart, and funny, and you care about people. I want to build a life with you, and if when the time comes we want to build a family, we’ll find a way.” He put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a velvet ring box. He opened it and held it out to me and I saw a beautiful princess cut diamond with way too many carats, in a lovely rose gold setting. “You’ll notice that this matches your earrings – I bought them at the same time. And I know you wouldn’t want to be wearing the blood of some oppressed African miners, so I can assure you I’ve got the paperwork at home and this is certified Canadian. Now I probably don’t deserve you, but I will do my best to try. I know we’ve kind of been afraid to say it, but I love you. Kelsey Marie Faulkner, will you marry me?”

I really hoped Katrina had used waterproof eye makeup on me. “You deserve better than me, but I’m not stupid enough to try to talk you out of it. You’re right; we have been afraid to say it, and I don’t know why. I love you so much I never really understood what that meant before. I never would have guessed that I’d be here doing this, but nothing feels more right. I’ve been a lot of different people: a student, a barista, an unemployed slacker, an internet columnist; but there is no identity I would rather have than Mrs. Justin Patrick Monahan. I would be absolutely delighted to marry you!” I held out my hand so he could put the ring on it, and we both stood up and I planted a kiss on him. I realized that we were in an extremely public place when I heard the applause from the crowd and the popping of champagne corks, and the orchestra played a couple bars of Mendelssohn. The waiter Justin had slipped his phone to brought it over to him, and he immediately sent me a copy of the video. I pulled out my phone and changed my FaceBook relationship status, shared the video, and changed my profile picture to a selfie of my left hand, with the caption, “He likes it, so he put a ring on it.”

Sarah congratulated us, and I thanked her and told her she’d definitely be invited to the wedding; none of this would have happened if I hadn’t met him that day, broken and dejected. The Carpenters toasted our happiness. After a few sips of congratulatory champagne, Justin led me to the dancefloor, and I had my first waltz with my fiancé.