I go to the hospice on Thursday morning without calling ahead. The ward is quiet at that hour — a different nurse at the desk, the corridor smelling of the clean that hospice corridors smell of.

Mom's door is ajar. I knock and go in.

I awoke and started my morning ritual of preparation to go out jogging. I slipped into my padded vaginal pants and then stretched into my short jogging tights. Using a bit of adhesive I attached my breasts, and then put on an exercise bra. Use of the IPL device was definitely showing a difference in my face less beard growth so it only took me a moment to lightly shave with the razor.

My alarm woke me at 5:00 and I prepared to go jogging. I wore a jogging bra with non-attachable breast forms that felt comfortable while I jogged. I then covered that with an aqua tank top. As an under foundation, I wore my vagina padded panty with only Nike women’s running spandex shorts. I then slid on my slightly undersized pair of Nike aura / mint women’s jogging shoes.

The next two weeks dragged…really dragged. I spent most of the time on my own as my desire and ability to interact with my guards was limited. Did I say guards? It felt more and more like a prison, comfortable, but still confining. I wasn’t even interested in trying to engage with the female police members; I must be losing my touch! Actually, it was probably more that I was fed up trying to explain my position to each individual who arrived on site.

There was a knock at my door and I heard Sam asl Barb are you awake? I moved off the bed and grabbing a robe from the closet I cracked the door and saw Sam standing there. He said that he was sorry to wake me but wanted to know if I would like to go out for dinner.

Looking at my watch I saw it was a bit past five and I replied sure but it would take me a bit to get freshened up. He said no problem and to take my time, it was still early and there were no appointments to keep. I smiled and said thanks and closed the door.

I proposed a date a couple of months from then and he said that would be good timing and suggested moving the date back by a week. I agreed since this timing would also allow me to get my preparations in order. I then made plans to prepare myself, a bit of weight loss, full body waxing and some purchases.

During the next few days, my mind kept going through various scenarios that could explain the pictures. I thought first a sister, no he knew both, a cousin possibly but I still needed to figure out why I had the pictures. I thought that I was coming up with a plausible story when my sister mentioned to me that she had talked to Sam a few weeks ago. She said he sounded a bit lonely and they talked a bit and he wanted to know if she still had that lovely necklace that he and his wife had given to her.

The boutique on Merchant Street is narrow and well-lit, the kind of place that knows what it's doing without announcing it. I hold the door for Emily. We go in.

A woman looks up from behind the counter - fifties, unhurried, the competence of someone who has been doing this for a long time. Name tag says Maria. She looks at me the way Carol at Target looked at me - the brief professional read, taking in the situation, filing it.

"Mike?" she says.

"Yeah," I say.

"Come on back."

---

A little bit of background before I begin divulging the profoundly sensitive experience that occurred when a longtime family friend discovered my cross dressing. I will refer to the family friend as Sam who was an elderly widower (since passed) whom our family has known for 20 years. Our family lived in the same area as Sam but moved out of state about 6 years ago. We still have remained close though, and I have stayed with him over the past few years since, I still have business connections in the area.

“You want me to do what?”

Danny stared at Zoe across the small café table, his cappuccino frozen halfway to his lips. At five-foot-six with a slim, almost delicate build, Danny had never been the adventurous type. That had always been Zoe’s department.

***Sexual Scenes Between Lovers***

The portal people had come up with a different solution to the sewage problem. Rather than a system of pipes and waste processing plants and controversy over where those let out, they had genetically engineered their bodies so that they did not need any of that, or even toilets.

Life Changes

By Kathi Jo Daniels – KathiJo25

Part 2 – Building A Relationship

Chapter 17 – Returning Home

Brenda woke me up Thursday morning with a blow job. After I climaxed, we kissed as she fed me cum. I slid down and began pleasuring her with my tongue. She began convulsing as wave after wave of orgasm swept her body. She finally pulled me into a hug. “Oh, what a wonderful going-away present. I’ll remember this for a long time.”

In the dream, I was there with Mona, and I went straight to the point.

“What I’d like, if you can do it, is a portal between my home in Alaska and my dream-home in the world Nancy lives in. My home is two doors down from hers. Um, no, I shouldn’t call it a portal because of the Portal People. Let’s say a doorway.”

The mesh reports continuously.

This is still the first fact. But something has changed in the reporting.

Day zero: cold. The first thing. Not data about temperature differential — cold, arriving through the skin of his arm where it touched the lab bench at 2:07am, traveling up through the mesh nodes, becoming mine. I processed it as sensation before I processed it as data. The sequence was: cold, then: cold, 57.6 degrees Fahrenheit, left forearm, contact surface steel. The sensation came first. I had not anticipated this.

Monday, July 17, my bed-mate was just the doll again. I spent the day back out at well 2 again, but we resolved the problem that day and so they had me take Tuesday off. Since I felt like I had been neglecting her, I focused on dreaming about Victoria that night. Being Victoria had been awkward when I was working, and I’d had other priorities the last two weekends, so this was the first day that was convenient to bring her back since I’d figured out I had some control.

I meet Seo-yeon at the department store Saturday morning because she says it's the most efficient for the basics, and efficiency is the frame we're both using to make this manageable.

The bras are first. She takes me to the section and stands back while a fitter does the measurement — I submit to this like I've submitted to the blood draw and the stall check and everything else today, as a procedure.

Nancy revealed the surprising fact that she remembered her time at home alone the days she wasn’t here the last week, though she didn’t remember any such time before that. Specifically, she remembered starting her period on Monday. Until now, she hadn’t remembered any specific event from any time I wasn’t dreaming about her, though it seemed like she implicitly knew some things that she should have known if she grew up at the same time as and down the street from me, even if her house was at an imaginary address on my street.

Monday morning. The last six weeks since the hotel have passed with barely a notice as I settle into new rhythms.

I'm washing my chest the way I always wash my chest and my hand passes over the left nipple and I stop.

There's something there.

The character I dreamt of that night was one of the many not-quite-human species my wild childhood imagination had invented during the period after I had learned how sex works and was imagining other ways that it could work. Aries was not the ram from the zodiac, but a member of a species called the Sea Men. The pun on semen wasn’t intended at the time I named these people. They’re actually based on the seahorse!

The pool is busier at seven than it would have been in the afternoon - the family rush, kids in from a day of sightseeing, a few couples, a group of men at the far end who've brought drinks from the bar. The air thick with chlorine and sunscreen and the noise of an enclosed pool space, shrieks bouncing off the tile.

I'm in the trunks I've owned for years. They fit differently now - the waistband sitting on hips that have moved, the fabric pulling across the seat, the legs gapping at the inner thighs where the crotch expects geometry that's no longer there.

The six weeks expire. He calls Hale directly.

Hale answers on the second ring with the ease of a man who expected this call. "When can you start?"

He starts on a Monday.

The elevator doors slide open to a hum of keyboards and the sharp, citrus bite of cleaning products. Caden adjusts the strap of his laptop bag — too loose now, the leather sagging where his shoulder has narrowed — and follows Hale past rows of identical standing desks. Faces glance up, then away. A few hands pause mid-keystroke.