December 26, 2024:

 

I had been such a stupid fool, thinking that I needed to hide so much of myself from those around me. As Rach and I made out under our morning shower’s proper, warm water, I felt the year-plus worries and self-torment wash away, right down the drain. I had Rach, I had a body that I could finally feel any sort of emotion about, and I had a life—a personality that I felt like I was living, not just following along for the ride. 

 

I had asked Rachel to marry me again, even though we were legally married. I had asked her to marry me not just because we had the proverbial gun to our heads, like we did last year, but because when we left the house, had friends over, or even just went to work, I wanted the world to know that Rachel and I were married.

 

The universe be damned.

 

After our shower, Rach and I dried off. We had nothing planned for the rest of the day, but after the excitement of yesterday, I couldn’t hold back. I wanted to spend the entire day with my wife, doing what wives do when they are alone and horny.

 

A ring of the doorbell, unfortunately, cut those plans short. 

 

“Oh, hiya, Jenni!” Jerry smiled, greeting me. “Missus York asked me to hand-deliver this for you two!” 

 

Jerry handed me a very thick manila envelope, prompting me to take a peek inside. It was our official paperwork, proving that I was Jennifer Yoshihara and Rach was Rachel Baker, as well as a thick stack of cash. I mouthed “holy shit” and then looked up to Jerry, “Uh…”

 

“Missus York would have been here to deliver it herself, but she was needed for some sort of thing with Mister York today! Ooh, but she said that I’m all yours today, so if you need to go to a bank to do anything, just let me know! Or really, go anywhere!”

 

I was stunned, having answered the door in a hastily cobbled together array of clothes. “Uh…lemme just…go and…get put together for the day?”

 

“Sure! No problem! I’ll be down in the lobby, just call or text if you need anything!” The bear of a man turned and bid me farewell as he re-entered the elevator.

 

I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but I knew that when I started my new job, I was going to have to be extremely cautious not to blow it.  

 

With Jerry gone I sped walked to our bedroom to find Rach trying to pick out what she wanted to wear for the day. Noticing me in the mirror as she modeled a soft-Goth style similar to the one she had worn on that first day out at school, Rach turned to ask me what was wrong with me in a suitably detached character voice.

 

I took a second to consider how I was going to phrase it, “Jerry’s downstairs waiting for us. Our new documents are here,” I waved the manila envelope, “Looks like we’re officially real people…again.”

 

Rach shuffled over and took her new State ID from the manila envelope and inspected it, “Woah, these are, like, so real? It’s not just me?”

 

“No, no, you’re right. That’s the scary part. There’s even birth certificates and other documents in here,” I revealed, unsheathing my ‘new’ birth certificate.

 

“Freaky-freak-freak,” Rach mused, casually sticking her new ID into her mouth like a doggie chew toy so as to check out her other documents. Spitting her ID onto the bed, the blonde in all of her twin-tails glory asked, “Why’s Jerbear waiting for us?”

 

“So we can register new bank accounts, I guess.”

 

“Oh thank Jeebus’ bussy, I miss paying by debit or with, like, a phone app,” Rach laughed, her voice oddly sardonic.

 

“What’s with the voice?” I asked.

 

“What, you don’t remember how I was the first time I became me?” The woman asked, raised her eyebrow. She booped me on the nose with her right index finger.

 

Rubbing my post-boop nose gently, almost timidly, I replied, “I mean, yeah, but you were playing a character then, right? Like, the kind of girl you thought I wanted to date?”

 

“Well, more like the girl I wanted to date you as, I guess. That being said, missy,” Rach took a deep breath, then placed her right hand on one of my breasts.

 

I twinged from the remaining soreness, saw the concern in Rachel’s eyes, asking me if she should continue, and replied, “Go on…”   

 

“That being said, missy,” Rachel gently caressed my right breast, “Do you, like, wanna know what a girl like this does to a girl like you?”

 

Her devilish smile felt like an ax chopping at my knees. I buckled in my place, and nearly whimpered, “I—”

 

Rachel’s lips connected with mine before I could even form a cohesive thought. As my eyes closed, I felt her right hand cup my left cheek, and I could only lean in further, melting into her embrace.

 

Parting but momentarily, Rachel’s voice dripped as sweetly as the devil’s wine, “That’s a good girl,” she whispered, “Now, how about you be a good girl and take that shirt off?”

 

My crotch twitched at that, but luckily I didn’t have to feel my penis move. Whatever feeling I felt down there was entirely removed from my appendage. Breath ragged, I used what little strength I had left and lifted whatever stupid shirt I was wearing over my shoulders and tossed it aside. At that moment I realized that some discoloration was probably still visible on my breasts, but I didn’t care. Rachel didn’t look like she even noticed.

 

“Much, much better, don’t you agree, Jenni?”

 

“Y-yes, Rach,” I stammered, increasingly aware of just how much closer she was inching toward me. 

 

“Mmm,” Rach mused, cocking her head to the right. Her smirk frightened me in ways I never knew that I would experience fear, “That doesn’t quite sound right, does it?”

 

I couldn’t formulate a response. Hell, I wasn’t even sure that I had heard her correctly. All I could do was stare into those piercing, fiery green eyes looking down at me. 

 

Here and now, that single inch of difference in our heights might as well have been a mile. Were my knees really so weak that I was crouching before Rachel?

 

“Try again, Jenni,” said, as if she were giving me an order.

 

Oh.

 

Oh, fuck.

 

I thought that I was going to have a heart attack. It felt like my vagina was dripping down my right thigh. I had a vagina, right? Fuck, fuck, fuck—

 

“Try again, slut,” Rach said, a little harder, a little angrier.

 

“Oh fuck me,” I yelped, falling to my knees, “Mistress, yes, Mistress!”

 

I honestly didn’t know what the hell I was doing, but whatever I was doing, it sure as fuck felt good. It was so easy to forget that Mistress was a top—The Top. I was no stranger to femdom—wow, talk about missing signs, Jenni—but to finally experience it at the hands of the woman I had always loved was a feeling I had no idea how to put into words.

 

I don’t think I had been seeing Mistress entirely until now. I had been so wrapped up in my own bullshit, so resistant to exploring my sexuality, that I don’t think that I had seen what was right there, waiting for me to be okay with myself. 

 

And now, I was more ready than I had ever been in my life, and would only ever get more ready from here on out.

 

Mistress’ erect cock flung into my field of vision like a beast stalking me from the shadows and then finally mounting me. As Mistress steadily rested the thick stick of meat on my face—right of my nose—she stared at me with those terrible, violently fiery green eyes again. 

 

I knew what to do.

 

I knew what I wanted to do…

 

…and that was exactly what Mistress wanted me to do.  

 

So, I did it.

 

Sliding my head back—allowing her cock and precum to dribble down my face until it caught on my bottom lip. With the heavy, hot cock resting on my bottom lip I opened my mouth as far as I could and slid it forward, sheathing my wife’s sword. 

 

“That’s my good little sheath,” Mistress mocked. 

 

That only made my groin twitch more.

 

More and more and more and more, the place where my vagina should have been—where my womb should have been—twitched and ached and screamed at me for one thing and one thing only.

 

But if I let those words form in my mind now it would ruin the moment.

 

And so, with all of my strength, I began bobbing my head back and forth, stifling the ache in my heart. 

 

Harder

 

Faster. 

 

Harder!

 

Faster!

 

I wanted—needed her to pour it all down my throat.

 

And when she finally did—when I’d finally made my wife cum—I came exactly as she did.

 

The hot cream coating my throat, pouring with such pressure I feared that I would choke, was salty and sour. I could only describe it as both disgusting, and wonderfully hot.

 

“Don’t worry, slut,” Mistress mugged, “You’ll get used to it soon enough.” 

 

I intended to.

 

***

 

DECEMBER 26, 2024: 

 

“Are you, like, sure that you’re fine wearing that, Jenni?” Rach asked, miraculously keeping up with me in her pink high heels. She’d switched back to her usual pink self to leave the penthouse. Her concern for my well-being was obvious from the tone of her voice, but I was not able to process it entirely.

 

“What? Uh, yeah, no, like, I’m fine, hon,” adrenaline ran through my body as I held the collar of my jacket up as much as I could. I couldn’t believe what I was doing, but gawd, did it feel great.

 

“Like, you’re not goin’ to, like, have another episode, right?” Rachel whispered, trying not to elicit attention from the grand total of zero people on the block we were walking down.

 

“No, no, I’m good—I’m fine. Happy, even!” Admittedly, I was lying to Rachel with that one. Sort of. As much anxiety as was riding up-and-down my spine and washing over my shoulders, I also felt a suspicious amount of relaxation. The conflicting emotions were exhausting to process as I opened the double doors of our bank of choice, and pulled on the leather collar around my neck and covered by my jacket.

 

It felt so fucking relieving.

 

And hot.

 

Gawd, I wanted to hurry this shit up and go home to get fucked as quickly as possible.

 

***

 

DECEMBER 26, 2024:

 

“So, like, are you going to tug on that all day?” Rachel asked, smirking at me as she stirred her hot chocolate.

 

It was hard not to. It just…felt so good. “Maybe? Is that a problem?”

 

“Well, it is if you don’t want people to notice it, Jenni-Jen-Jen,” Rachel giggled. Christ, her dress had a low cut.

 

“How are you not freezing in that dress? It’s, like 40°F right now!”

 

“Leggings,” Rach shot back.

 

“Well, yeah, sure, but, like, omigawd girl! You need to wear more than that!” I countered, flabbergasted.

 

“I mean, like, sure, maybe, but also, it’s not that cold in this café. Besides, this way I can show off my girls! Like, show and tell”

 

“I think you mean ‘look, don’t touch’, dear,” I corrected.

 

“Oh, like, yeah, I guess? I really like it when guys look, though!”

 

“...y’know Rach, I’m kinda sorry.”

 

“What for?”

 

“Well, you never actually got to, like, date a guy.”

 

“Oooh, so, like, I guess you’re right? Well, whatever.”

 

“Are you sure that you don’t, like, want to try—”

 

“Naw, I’m good. I knew that I was bisexual for sure when we started dating, ‘cause, like, I started thinking about how all of the hot anime boys I would cosplay as were just men I wanted to fuck, not be,” Rach burst into a string of giggles at her own bluntness.”And stuffs! Ooh, and Ichimonji from Shin Kamen Rider was so hot in, like, retroscope!”

 

“Retrospect,” I corrected.

 

“Chirp!”

 

“So, like, umm…uh…” Girls typically talked about this sort of thing, right? I wasn’t weird for being curious, right? “What kind of real guys do you like?”

 

Rachel bounced in her seat, sending her long twin-tail drills hopping, “Hot ones!”

 

“That…doesn’t really say anything!”

 

“Ooh, so, like, I like twinks like you do, but also, like, omigawd, I saw this jacked guy in our building’s gym the other day. Fuck me, I nearly went to the bathroom and—”

 

“—Point taken, Rachel,” I quickly interjected.

 

“Chirp! Like, so, uh…do you like guys besides twinks? I guess I was kinda, like, a girltwink when we started dating?”

 

“Uh, so, like, I dunno? Bears are pretty hawt, too. And guys with big muscles, too, but also, like, omigawd, when they’re, like, so polite and kind and cute and funny and omigawd, Rachel!”

 

“Damn girl, you’re boybrained!” Rach giggled, drumming her index fingers on the edge of the table aimlessly “Wanna see if we can get the jacked guy to go for a threesome?”

 

“Sweetie,” I paused to consider what my wife was asking, “I…am happy just being with you.”

 

“Yeah, I kinda figured,” a giggle accompanied my wife’s reply, “I’d rather nobody else fuck you, either.”

 

Sometimes, I just couldn’t believe how good this woman was at making me feel so darned light.  

 

While Rachel returned to stirring her hot chocolate I took a moment to look out of the café’s front window, watching the world pass us by. So many people, all with their own lives and families and stories to tell.

 

I wondered how my father was doing. It couldn’t be easy, living through a second holiday season without mom.

 

Without me.

 

Gawd, what would he even say if I showed up looking like this? A collar around my neck to mark me as my wife’s pet, jeans from the women's section, a tight-fitting THUNDERPUSSY graphic tee, and the strap of my purse placed firmly between the cleavage of my EE-cup breasts.

 

He’d probably die of a heart attack, assuming the stress of the past year hadn’t done it already.

 

Still…part of me wondered…

 

***

 

DECEMBER 27, 2024:

 

“So, like, are you sure that you wanna, like, do this?” Rachel asked, grabbing hold of my hand as we walked down a familiar old street. I loved being able to feel the ring I had bought her around her finger.

 

“Yeah, I am—wow, are you wearing tennis shoes?” I asked, suddenly distracted.

 

“Oh, like, yeah, y’know, in case we gotsta, like make a runny-run-run for it?” Rach replied, nodding studiously.

 

“Wow, that’s, like, a cute shade of pink, though?!” I mused, doing a terrible job of moving my eyes from my wife’s shoes. They really did pop well against her black leggings. 

 

“I know, right?” Rach replied, lifting her right foot to better model it, “It’s also totes comfy, unlike a lot of other cutie-cute-cute shoes!”

 

“Omigawd, that’s awesome!” I gushed, not so fond memories of the struggles of learning to walk in heels washing over my mind. “I think I’m gonna need to buy a pair at this point!” Plain white was so boring.

 

“Ooh, yeah! You should!” Rachel said, lighting up, “I think there’s a version in red?”

 

“Hey now, pink’s not too bad, y’know!” I preened, hoping to get a rise out of my wife.

 

“Omigawd Jenni,” Rach replied with a sharp twist of her body to face me, “Matchy-match-match?”

 

“Matchy-match-match,” I assured, realizing that my sarcasm had gone undetected.

 

Rach added an excited hop to her stride, which pulled me along for the ride. The heightened motion irritated my still-recovering breasts, so I used my hand to hold them down in place. Rach eventually noticed what I was doing and stopped bouncing and then leaned slightly against me to whisper, “My bad.”

 

“You fine, dear,” I whispered back, squeezing her hand a little to let her know I was fine.

 

“Sometimes I just—oh!”

 

“What?”

 

“We’re here!!”

 

And that we were. 

 

Before us stood the house I had grown up in. The house that Rach had spent many a sleepover in. The house where I had first daydreamed about kissing Rachel, even when I thought we were both cishet guys.

 

Life could be funny sometimes.

 

Much to my surprise, the front yard looked as if it had been maintained. From what little research I was able to do online, Dad had never sold the place, and unless he was renting the place out I wasn’t sure he would be taking such good care of the yard. He was usually too busy at the store to ever take care of the thing himself.

 

Nevertheless, hand-in-hand with my wife, I walked up the driveway and over to the front door, took a deep breath, and then knocked.

 

A woman—about early-thirties—answered the door. With her short hair dyed an impressively bright green I realized that I recognized the six-foot tall woman: she was an assistant manager at one of my father’s stores. “Uh…excuse me, can I help you?”

 

Now that I was actually there, in-person, I didn’t know what to say. My mind was blank and any leftover words in my throat were caught up there.

 

“Oh! Like, hiya!” Rachel said, stepping in for me, “So, like, uh, we’re looking for Mr. David Jeong! We’re, like, uh, people he knows?!”

 

The woman, Alice—if I remembered correctly—looked a little skeptical, but turned her head back into the house and shouted, “Hey David, you’ve got visitors!”  

 

My anxiety ballooned as I waited for my dad to appear at the front door. I didn’t know what to even say. Hell, even if I did, what if he turned me over to the authorities? What if he blamed me for—but, like, I didn’t—I just—wanted him to know that I was—”

 

I quickly turned to run, but tripped on the welcome mat and fell forward towards the cement. Two hands from two different people grabbed me with blinding speed before I fell and pull me back up onto my feet.

 

I nearly fell on my brand new, expensive, and still sore tits. Yikes.

 

Turning around, I saw who had helped Rach catch me: it was my dad, who looked thinner than I’d ever see him before, and aged considerably. 

 

“Are you okay, miss?” he asked, looking like he’d just narrowly avoided seeing a young woman slam face-first into his cement walkway.

 

“Oh?” I replied, still trying to reboot, “Oh, yeah, no, like, I’m fine. Sorry! Just clumsy!” I fixed my hair, then stood up straight to look my dad in the eyes. He was crying.

 

“M-Mariko?” he asked, as if he were seeing a ghost. “B-but how? You’re alive? And s-so young?”

 

I froze in place: did I really look that much like my mother? Struggling to form words, I managed just barely to shoot a glance at Rachel, who snapped into action.

 

“Oh, uh, so, like, Mr. Jeong, we should have this conversation inside!” Rachel took my hand and inched us forward, which led my father and Alice to automatically move backward and invite us into the house. 

 

The living room hadn’t changed much at all since I’d last been back home. A few new pictures of my dad with Alice adorned the wall, though. What looked like freshly opened Command Strips sat atop the coffee table.

 

Well, that suddenly made a lot more sense.  

 

“Mariko, how are you—” my father’s words caught in his mouth as tears welled up in his eyes. This was getting awkward, fast.

 

“I—” this was about to be the most insane thing I’d ever said, “I’m not Mom, Dad,” I corrected, automatically dropping onto the couch next to Rachel.

 

My father and Alice just stared at me, puzzled beyond all hope.

 

“D-Dad, it’s me. It’s—” the name caught in my throat. I really didn’t want to say it. I really, really did not want to say it. “Listen, like, okay, look—I transitioned. I’m a woman, Dad!”

 

My father stumbled back into Alice before regaining his footing. Exasperated, he finally asked: “The cops said you—but, why would you come back here if—and as a woman?!”

 

I had to do this. I had to do this to move the fuck on with my life. Summoning what strength I could, I answered: “The cops are wrong, Dad. Rachel and I didn’t kill our moms! We barely escaped the Penns’ house that night!”

 

“Rachel?” Alice asked, her eyes shooting to the woman beside me. 

 

Rach waved a hand furiously, appearing as chipper as can be, “Like, hi! That’s me! I’m Jenni’s wife, Rachel!”

 

“Jenni? Wife? Wait—” my father rubbed his eyes, his mind soaring, “You’re the Penn boy that Jae used to always—oh my lord…”

 

I nearly screamed at hearing my deadname again, “Dad, please don’t misgender us or use our deadnames. She’s Rachel, and I’m Jenni—or Jen or Jennifer, if you want! I know it’s a lot to process right now, but I just—I just wanted to see you again! I wanted you to know that I—that we didn’t do any of the horrible shit we’re accused of!”

 

“Jesus Christ, J-Jen, you look so—you look just like your mother!” Dad’s breath grew short, but Alice led him to a sofa chair to sit.

 

I had nearly gotten out of my seat on the couch to help, but ultimately stayed, legs weak.

 

“D-do I really look that much like Mom?” I asked, unsure. 

 

“I mean, sometimes it’s a little weird for me when we’re fu—”

 

“Rachel Yoshihara!” I scolded.

 

“Sorry, sorry! Don’t worry Mr. Jeong, I’m totes not fucking your daughter! Oh, fuck!!”

 

I wanted to die then and there, but I settled for burying my face in my hands.

 

“You two look so…different,” Alice interjected, hoping to break the ice, “HRT really is a miracle drug, isn’t it?”

 

That comment made me raise my eyebrow, “How do you know that?”

 

Alice took a deep breath, “Well, I’ve been on it for over fifteen years, Jen, so I ought to know a thing or two about it.”

 

Rachel and I snapped to attention, “Wait, what?!”

 

“Hey, why are you at hanging around Mr. Jeong so much, anyway?”

 

“They’re dating, Rach.”

 

“What?!” Rachel spat, looking back and forth between everyone in the room.

 

“Holy shit, what?!”

 

“Alice has…been an incredible help over the past year, girls,” my father finally spoke, “A-after what happened…and then the stores were falling apart…Alice stuck by me as the best friend a guy could have. I don’t know what I would have done if—”

 

“Well, considering how big of a pigsty this place became before I started coming around to bother you, I’d say I saved your ass,” she laughed.

 

And then something I could not recall seeing before happened: my father smiled genuinely. At the sound of his girlfriend’s laugh he could only brighten up.

 

“Holy shit, you can smile!” Rachel interjected, completely misreading the room.

 

Well, that’s why I loved her, to be honest.

 

My father recomposed himself and then turned to face me, “Jen, I’m—oh god, this makes so much sense in hindsight. Why you hated when you got a haircut—”

 

I guess you can teach an old dog new tricks, “It’s a long story, Dad,” I said with a weak smile, “I’m just glad that you haven’t called the cops on us.”

 

“PIGS SUCK!” Rachel chimed in.

 

“O-of course!” the retired pitcher said, leaning forward, “I—I know that I was a terrible father and husband, Jennifer, but I’d—I’ve learned so much in the past year! And just seeing the two of you now, before me I just—how do you two even look so good? So healthy? So—Jesus Christ, Jennifer! Are those implants?!”

 

This was going to be a fun conversation.

 

***

December 27, 2024:

 

My childhood bedroom looked—well, not as I had left it. It was in a neater order, and the more steps I took into it the more I realized that my father must have had to put it back together after a police search.

 

Omigawd, did they find my sex toys?

 

Did Dad find my sex toys?

 

Trailing just a few steps behind me, my dad eventually broke off and sat down on my bed. From the corner of my eye I could see him reaching for a weathered baseball that I did not remember leaving there, but rather in the depths of my closet. The baseball in question was one we had had for years, yet had not used for nearly half as long. The old man had quit trying to get me to play after I had awkwardly declined to try out for my school team in high school. I hadn’t wanted to be stuck around a bunch of boys I didn’t fit in with, anyway.

 

As I stood near my desk, silently watching the old man fumble the ball around in his hands it had occurred to me that I harbored a terrible amount of guilt about my refusal to be the ace baseball pitcher son he wanted. At the end of the day, I’m not sure if it was also the baseball part or just the ‘son’ part I could not fulfill. 

 

Even now, out on my own and married, I was still as directionless as I was all those years ago.

 

“I guess there’s a lot more that is starting to make sense now, huh?” my father said, his eyes never leaving the ball in his hands. At some point he had stopped shuffling the ball around in them, and now grasped it tightly. “I’m so sorry, Jennifer.”

 

With a familiar muscle memory I withdrew the computer chair from beneath my desk and sat in it, legs together and hands folded on my lap. It was hard to keep my voice steady, and I feared that if I didn’t then the dream would all end in that moment: my father would go back to misgendering and deadnaming me, and this brief chance at a little more happiness would slip through my fingers. Still, I couldn’t stop myself from replying:

 

“Women play baseball, too, Dad,” I said, in just a half step above a whisper.

 

The old man chuckled lightly to himself, eyes still not betraying the off-white colored ball in his hands. I could see his thumbs tracing over the loosening stitches, as if they were remembering some long-ingrained memory. It was at that moment that a stray memory of when I was a toddler returned to me: my father stoically standing atop the mound, completely unaware that he was about to throw the last pitch of his minor league career. 

 

I remembered the sweltering of the Washington summer air, even under the shade of the stadium overhang above us. I recalled the sound of the deep, thick Boston accent calling out “hotdogs here, beer here!” Fuck, I could even recall the tight grasp of my mother’s soft hands as she held me on her lap so I could see my father on the field below.

 

And I did see: I saw the moment the pain traveled up my father’s arm, into his shoulder, and then slapped him in the face with it’s cruel unjust. I saw the moment the confident man I first met the day I was born was broken irreparably. 

 

A lifelong dream shattered before my eyes, with no fanfare, just the low hum of an uneven crowd turning into a sudden, hopeless gasp. 

 

I hadn’t thought of that day in years, and yet…I could remember it so clearly now as the mournful face the old man wore remembered fonder times.

 

Suddenly, the resentment I felt for his half-hearted, awkward attempts at sharing baseball with me seemed small and petty.

 

Or perhaps I only felt that way now that I had started transitioning? By understanding what I needed for my body and my womanhood allow me to understand this pitiful man’s manhood better? Did having some better semblance of who I was now make me a more forgiving daughter than I had even been a forgiving son?

 

It made me nauseous to think of myself as ever having been that word. In so little time the word had become foreign to me. A ‘son’ was not something I was—if anything, it was something I would—

 

“—yes, I suppose you’re right, Jennifer,” my father replied, “Alice is part of an amateur softball team, after all...I guess it’s just an individual thing?”

 

It was surreal to hear the name of a woman other than my mother spoken so softly and warmly by my father. He had long since stopped giving such warmth to my mother, and it only underscored to me how much I wish they had simply gotten a divorce years ago. If this was how happy my dad was now, I could only imagine how happy my mother would now be—

 

—if she were still alive.

 

A period of silence filled the room, because I finally got the nerve to stand up and sit next to my father on my old bed.  

 

My father’s eyes finally left the baseball in his hands and shot mine a quick look. The broken man looked less weak and more weathered than I had remembered him, but I felt it was a far more agreeable character for my father to play than the quiet man afraid of his own shadow that I had seen him play nearly my entire life. 

 

Betraying my own sense of comfort, I laid my head on my father’s right shoulder to rest it, “I’m sorry that I hated playing with you so much…it just reminded me too much of…my body.”

 

A single chuckle escaped my father’s mouth as he wrapped his right arm around me and drew me in, “Honestly, it reminded me of my broken down arm, anyway.”

 

I had to giggle at the shared trauma.

 

The weathered ball slipped out of my dad’s left hand and dropped onto the floor. Picking the baseball up myself, and remembering the feel of a baseball in my hands, I realized that the feel of a ball in my now softened hands was very much still instantly recognizable. While the touch of the leather and stitching around my palm had been easy to recognize, the feeling of nostalgia and desire was fresh and new. Turning to my father, I asked a question that I’m sure he would have never expected me to ask, “You still got that old mitt lying around here somewhere?”

 

***

 

December 27, 2024: 

 

Like the front yard, the backyard now looked suspiciously well-kept. Long abandoned shed projects had been finished, potholes filled, and grass made kept properly trimmed, save for the allowance of leeway on account of it being the middle of winter. The yards had always been the domain of one David Jeong, while my mother had taken to claiming the interior of the house for herself, but in the past few years before my untimely run on the lamb, the yards had fallen into disrepair. Now, they returned to a shining new glory, now kept dry only by the weak rays of the sun through the traditional gray skies of Washington.

 

A small garden now sat in the northwestern corner of the yard, filled with campanulas: mom’s favorite.  

 

Slipping back into an old pair of sneakers had been surreal, but at the same time it transported me back to a period in my life where I had worn nothing but so-called mens’ clothing. The texture and feel of the sneakers felt almost foreign to me, and served only to highlight just how much HRT had helped shrink my feet. Even an inch’s breadth was enough to feel like a mile. 

 

Using the ball in my right hand, I pounded the inside of my mitt so as to remind my body of all the little things it had been taught when pitching. At the other end of the yard my father seemed to be trying to find his footing, as if he hadn’t taken a catcher’s form in eons. 

 

I could tell by the slowly-building aches in all the muscles of my body that I wasn’t used to using anymore that I was going to be sore tomorrow morning—and I hadn’t even thrown a single pitch yet. Finally, my body settled and I slid my right leg back, the feel of the grip of the ball in my right hand beckoning me to throw with reckless abandon.

 

The motion of throwing a baseball felt like a distant echo to my body. As my form came undone mid-throw I realized that the weight and size of my breasts were something I had not had to contend with five years ago. My father caught my pitch as it took a nosedive short of reaching him, and then rebounded back to his spot.

 

“Rusty, I see,” the retired pro chuckled, a hint of an unfamiliar edge to his voice, “Well, I’m nobody to talk,” my father laughed as he lightly tossed the ball back to me.

 

Luckily, my catching skills weren’t as rusty. The smack of the ball hitting just right in my mitt left me with a pleasant satisfaction. I could even smell the leather of my mitt, only briefly used after being purchased five years ago. It was practically still brand new.

 

I kind of wanted to break it in some more.

 

Withdrawing the ball from my mitt, I put my body through the motions yet again, hoping to knock the cobwebs off more. There was a strange satisfaction to just letting a pitch rip, even if my body was screaming at me not to.

 

The distant echoes of Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake flickered in my mind as my body woke up from its slumber. Years of throwing a ball at a net while listening to the piece had been burned into my body. It was the only way I could get my mind off of the irritating gnawing of my gender dysphoria.

 

After three more pitches my throws were beginning to stabilize, and required my father to make no extra steps forward to catch them. On my fifth pitch, I felt an itch that seemed both familiar and foreign. Gripping the ball tightly—and with all the joints in my hand and fingers sufficiently stretched and loosened up—I took a deep breath, focused on my dad’s open mitt, and threw the fastest, nastiest fast ball that I could.      

 

My pitch flew at my father faster than either of us expected, and nearly caught him off guard. Dad quickly side stepped to make up for lost time being stunned by the speed of my pitch, and just barely saved the wood fence from a nasty beating.

 

“H-holy shit, Jen? Still got that fast ball, I see!” Dad chuckled, doffing his glove to rub his palm and wrist.

 

“Wow, son, with a fast ball like that you could go pro! You should join your high school’s team!”

 

The memory was a rude one, bubbling up at the worst possible time. I didn’t want to play baseball, and I didn’t want to be a man. Being a ‘man’ had always meant following in Dad’s footsteps, I did not—could not—do that. 

 

“S-sorry,” I replied in a small voice while doffing my glove, “Is your wrist okay, Dad?”

 

Dad just laughed before adding, “Definitely! Actually, can I throw one more? I just gotta see if I can beat that last one!”

 

I hadn’t seen Dad that happy in…how long had it been since he’d retired? Fifteen years? Was he planning on trying to throw a fastball like he used to? But he’d spent years just trying to get back everyday use of his throwing arm again, it was dangerous to—

 

“—Jen?”

 

“O-oh,” I replied, snapping back to reality, “Y-yeah, I guess? Are you sure? Your arm is…I mean, the doctors all said—”

 

“—I think I got one left in me, Jen,” Dad laughed, bobbing slightly in his place. It was just like he was back on the pitcher’s mound again. He had the eyes of a king of lions waiting to pounce on its prey. 

 

I couldn’t say no to him. Not now. Even if it destroyed his arm.

 

I wasn’t facing down my father anymore, I was facing down David Jeong, the minor league pitcher.

 

The sound of Tchaikovsky was suddenly and without warning beaten out of my ears by the stomping of Queen’s We Will Rock You. Memories of the piece used as a transitional cue at games flooded back to me. Even after Dad had retired he would drag me along to games. It was like a ghost haunted him, and the only way to quiet it was to go to games. I could remember the pounding of the piece upsetting Rachel, anytime I had managed to get her to come along with us so I wouldn’t be bored out of my mind. 

 

If the game was my father’s ghost, then the stomping of hundreds of pairs of feet was mine. Whether it was at a game, or overhearing my father’s earphones loudly blaring the song, or now in the recesses of my mind, I heard the song, and was drowned out by it.

 

Crouching down, I re-donned my mitt and held it up, bracing for impact. My father—returning to the other side of the backyard—breathed out calmly. It was impressive watching his figure relax and the expression on his face grow even bolder. Before I knew it, my father’s right arm snapped forward—I hadn’t even seen him pull back—and when I finally caught what felt like a fucking cannonball I fell backward on my ass from the speed and power behind the pitch.

 

“You okay?” My dad asked, lightly jogging over to me and helping me up with a hand, “Sorry, those can take some getting used to, Jen.”

 

“H-how’s your arm?” I asked as I regained my footing.

 

“I’m definitely not going to be able to do that again for a month,” Dad laughed, doffing his old cap and then donning it again to air-out his sweat-soaked hair. 

 

It was surreal seeing him so happy again. It was a good thing that I didn’t necessarily need to use my left wrist for anything, though, because I could tell that it was going to be sore for a day or two after taking a 100MPH fastball. 

 

“Hey, Jenni-Jen-Jen?!” Called out Rachel, the perfect image of a disembodied head sticking out of the back screen door, “Dinner-din-din is ready!”

 

“So, that’s what Rachel’s been doing with Alice,” I giggled softly, “I hope she didn’t burn or cut her fingers again.”

 

“I’m sure Alice kept a good eye on her—she almost never lets anyone join her in the kitchen because she has a very specific way of doing things,” Dad chuckled, stretching his arm as we made our way back to the back porch door. 

 

“Really? Like what?”

 

“Oh, dearest daughter!” the middle-aged man laughed, “Half the reason I started eating again was because Alice’s family owned a restaurant in New Orleans. Cooking is in her blood!”

 

It was weird to think of my dad actually being excited about anything other than baseball or the stores, but I supposed that our family had changed a lot in the last fifteen months. 

 

***

 

December 27, 2024: 

 

It was hard not to ruminate on the surrealness of the Jeong family dining room being used for the first time since I was a young girl. As my parents learned to hide from their failing marriage in their careers, I had learned to hide from them—and myself—in my time with Rachel. Countless hours spent in my room, forgetting about my own problems, because it was easier to get lost in hers, or to get lost in her laugh. The way she took charge of her life allowed me to tag along, like that one cousin of the Pevensie, if they had been a girl.

 

Rachel, situated to my right, turned her food around on her plate aimlessly, trying not to draw too much attention to the fact that she was not jiving with the foot before her. Rachel was deeply embarrassed about how she did not—could not—eat certain foods, and I’d learned long ago how to take the heat off of her. 

 

It really hadn’t helped that since transitioning I had stopped eating nearly as much as I used to to keep a smaller, feminine look. In the back of my mind I wondered if I had developed an eating disorder, but anytime I looked in the mirror and saw less of how I once looked, it only encouraged me to eat less.  

 

“So! Jennifer,” Dad spoke up between swallows, “What are you two doing for work?”

 

The subtext of the question was obvious, but I wasn’t sure how quite to answer without bringing up the concept of survival sex work to my father, and then having to explain to him that no, I had not sucked any dicks for money—but my wife apparently had. Clearing my throat, I was cut-off by Rachel before I could speak:

 

“Oh! We, like, do under-the-table waiting at a nice little diner that’s trans-friendly! It’s, like, probably best we don’t say where, right Jenni?”

 

Startled by the precision in my wife’s voice and eyes I nodded in agreement, “Yeah, we’re getting by, Dad, you don’t have to worry.”

 

To nobody’s surprise—and all of our disappointment—my father looked unconvinced, “Jennifer, you two have clearly had…work…done.” 

 

Staring my father in the eyes I could tell just how hard he was trying not to talk about my implants. Taking a deep breath and putting on the best smile I could, I retorted, “I can assure you, Dad, that we’re not—we’re in a good place now, Dad. Better than we have been all year, really. It’s why we felt safe coming back down here to try and…let you know we were okay.”

 

While the sternness remained on my father’s face I could tell his desire to ask for specifics waned at my answer, choosing instead to respect my answer. Relaxing his posture with a deep breath, my father switched gears, “I’m happy to see you’re so much more…happy now. It was so hard to get you to talk before.”

 

Probably because I loathed the sound of my own voice, and talking to you, “I guess so? I don’t really have to be anyone but myself now that it’s just me and Rachel.”

 

With a giggle Rach added, “Oh, Jenni get’s super-duper-mega happy now, especially after I—ouchies!”

 

A quick kick to Rachel’s shin to remind her not to talk about our sex life to my fucking father, “—especially after you brush my hair!” Honestly, that sounded nearly as embarrassing, but it was the only thing I could think of in the heat of the moment.

 

Dad grimaced, likely knowing exactly what Rachel was originally going to say. “So…” Dad’s voice trailed off for a moment, “...you two are legally married, I’ve heard.”

 

I nodded a little, letting my father’s words settle for a moment, “Yeah, under our deadnames. Sorry we didn’t invite you to the reception, you were out of town, and there wasn’t a reception to invite you to.”

 

My father didn’t take the joke nearly as well as I was hoping, “To avoid having to testify against one another. I hope you don’t, uh, mind?” I wasn’t really sure what business of his it was, but it seemed like the thing to say. 

 

A grave expression etched its way across my father’s face before he finally spoke, “I’m…I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you, Jennifer.”

 

I wasn’t quite expecting that, nor did I have a shortage of shock when I found myself putting my left hand on my father’s right arm, “It’s okay Dad, I wasn’t—it’s in the past now, okay?”

 

Dad cried a little at my touch, and we all sat there in silence for his sake.

***

December 27, 2024: 

 

With darkness having settled in, Rachel and I decided to take our leave, so as to keep my father and Alice as safe from prosecution as possible. A swift bus ride to the station, and then another bus back to Seattle would follow.

 

The old man gave me a hug for the first time in over ten years, which left a bittersweet taste in my mouth. Would we have gone so long without such a thing if I had been a cis woman? Would I have felt more comfortable with baseball being part of our bond—or even a career for myself—if I didn’t have to face the constant battle of defending my own womanhood as a trans woman?

 

Life was full of bitter, ugly questions.

 

“Try and visit again soon?” Dad asked, a hopeful look on his face.

 

“If we do…I can’t say when…”

 

“Of course, no planning dates,” the old man smiled weakly.

 

It was just so, so hard not to take pity on my father. He’d lost his wife, his business, his arm, and now his daughter. Hell, with the way I had had to hastily choose a new name, he’d even lost me in one extra way. As ‘Jennifer Yoshihara’ it was like I wasn’t even his daughter anymore. 

 

As much as I had wanted to escape my past, I kind of hated having his name stripped of me by circumstance. 

 

“Bye-bye Alice, bye-bye Mr. Jeong! Oh, wait, you’re my father-in-law now, does that mean I call you Dad? Bye, Daddy!”

 

I couldn’t be bothered to even flinch at that one.

 

We hugged my father and Alice goodbye, and then braved the dark world waiting outside for us.

 

***

 

DECEMBER 27, 2024: 

 

The bus ride back to Seattle was a quiet one. After several emotionally taxing hours with my father we bid him farewell, for the sake of protecting him from being incriminated or branded an accomplice. 

 

Rachel and I explained a non-incriminating version of the past fifteen months of our lives to Alice and my father. Without letting them know exactly where we were staying or what we did for money—that would have been very awkward—Rach and I managed to get my father caught up.

 

From there, we learned that the investigation had laid inactive for nearly a year at this point. While Dad was now working for a shipping company, he’d been mostly left alone by the police since the second quarter of the year. He and Alice had officially started dating in June, when she invited him to join her at a Pride event. 

 

Mom was dead, but in a lot of ways, so was the workaholic man she had married. 

 

We promised to come back to visit someday, but we couldn’t make any concrete plans. It simply was not safe.

 

Rachel and I arrived back at the Penthouse around 7PM and immediately crashed in our bed. I hadn’t realized just how tense every muscle in my body had been throughout the entire visit, but now that I was back in such a high-quality, premium bed—laying next to the woman I loved—I felt like I wouldn’t be able to move for a year.

With some struggle, I managed to turn to my wife as she laid on her side, watching me, and said: “I’m sorry we couldn’t do that for your moms.”

 

Rach smiled softly and countered, “I’m sorry we couldn’t do that for, like, your mom.”

 

She always knew just how to make me feel amazing.

 

Rach and I cried in each other's embrace for the next hour.

 

***

 

DECEMBER 28, 2024: 

 

“Eating cereal is, like, a race, y’know?”

 

“No, I don’t know. Please, explain,” I told my wife, propping myself off of the dining table as I watched her swing her milk-covered spoon. Droplets flew everywhere, including my glasses.

 

My wife getting her white stuff on my glasses was quickly becoming a running theme with us. 

 

“BASICALLY,” Rachel explained, “If you don’t eat the Cinnamon Toast Crunch fast enough it, like, gets really soggy! And the milk becomes cinnamony!”

 

“Shouldn’t cinnamony milk taste great?” I retorted, seeing how far I could push her.

 

“I mean—okay, yes, it does kinda taste great and all, BUT! LIKE! Ugh! Yes, the cereal is in milk, but if it’s in the milk too long it loses the crunchiness! So, like, it’s a race because you gotta finish it before it gets TOO soggy, y’know?!”

 

“Makes perfect sense to me, dear,” I hummed, giving her my goofiest smile possible.

 

“See! I knew that you’d, like, get it!”

 

“Great bimbos think alike, I guess!”

 

I always felt the need to have my wife in me when she went on rants like these. 

 

“OH NOOOO!!! I WAITED TOO LONG!!!”

 

Deeply inside of me.

 

***

 

DECEMBER 31, 2024:

 

Our second New Year’s Eve together. It was significantly more pleasant than our first. I remembered just how powerless I felt—how much of a failure of a man and husband I had told myself to feel—but as I laid in bed with my wife, embracing her as she dealt with the panic attacks that were brought on by the sound of fireworks, I felt—

 

“Fuck, I hate this!” Rachel sobbed into my chest. 

 

Ear-plugs triggered her touch issues. 

 

I don’t know why fireworks were legal to sell and set off, but whoever decided doing either of those things was a wise decision should be murdered.

 

“Jenni?”

 

“Yes, sweetie?”

 

“I love y—”

 

Another blast echoed through the skyscrapers that surrounded our city. Rachel flinched, whimpering from the panic caused by each blast. 

 

“I love you, Rachel,” I whispered between blasts.

 

My wife held me tighter as she hid herself beneath the covers.

 

There were no covers to hide beneath last New Year’s Eve. 

 

Another explosion.

 

Another jolt against my body.

 

“We’ll get through this, Rachel,” I whispered. 

 

It had been just as bad as July 4th.  

 

“I know, Jenni,” my wife replied through sobs and our comforter.

 

Another explosion.

 

“Thank you for everything you’ve done for me, Jenni,” Rachel unearthed herself from the covers to look me in the eyes. Her eyes beamed of confidence I hadn’t expected, “I know that I’ll—that we’ll make it through—”

 

Another explosion.

 

Rachel kept looking me in the eyes.  

 

—that I was a success as a woman and a wife, for however long it would last.

 

***

 

January 01, 2025: 

 

"Rach, why do you act like…uh…a bimbo?” I asked my wife while stirring eggs on the stove. Rachel, propping herself against the kitchen island at an angle, did push ups. Turning around to glance at my wife while she pushed away from the island, I caught the jiggle of her chest, felt envy, then remembered that I now had an even larger bust than her. It was wild having completely forgotten about my new chest, especially given that I was still experiencing soreness. 

 

I was just that used to the emptiness.

 

Continuing her push ups, Rachel replied between breaths, “I, like, uh…it’s funner to not, like, think much. Also, like, I dunno, too much sissy hypno?”

 

“I don’t think it works that way, dear,” I giggled, eyes back on the eggs before me. In light of recent personal revelations the choice of breakfast item was quite on point. 

 

“Er…uh…so, like, umm…head empty, no thoughts! Ooh, but I’m, like, a thot!” Rachel finished her push ups and began stretching her arms casually.

 

“You’re my thot!” I double-checked to make sure I hadn’t accidentally gotten any shell in the eggs as I continued to stir and scramble. “Still, that doesn’t really answer my question. Why act like a bimbo? I know that you’re smart, Rach.” 

 

“Hey! We bimbos can, like, be smart, too!” Rach countered, hugging me from behind. I was not unaware of her strategically placed crotch against my cheeks.

 

Biting my lip to hide my fluster, I tried to angle my face so that Rach couldn’t see my cheeks growing redder from her head’s perch on my right shoulder. “D-doesn’t that, like, defeat the purpose?” I asked, voice unsteady.

 

“Nopey-nope-nope! Like, you wanna, like, uh…basic-alley, being a bimbo is freedom! From, like, stress and stuff! And, like, the patriarchy-arch-arch!”

 

That seemed a little far-fetched, but I couldn’t help but probe further—as my wife’s erection probed me, “Whatcha mean, exactly?”

 

“So! Like! Umm…basic-alley, I mean, like, I got, like, super-duper tired of thinkin’ all the time and stuff, so I stopped thinkin’ and gettin’ stressed. Okay, no, like, uh…so, like, I got tired of caring about what people would say or think! Like, Jenni—” Rach examined my handiwork as I passed her a plate of eggs, “Ooh, goodie, it’s not runny!”

 

“Yeah, I remember what you said back in the old apartment,” I giggled, leaning against the counter while eating from the pan directly. The eggs were hot.

 

“So! Like, Jenni! I don’t, like, let things bother me no more. LIVE IN THE MOMENT!” Rach shouted, flicking a piece of scrambled egg at me with her fork. Her egg landed on my chest, which I had hidden behind a once-baggy tee shirt. I was going to need to buy a bigger size.. “Besides! It’s, like funner-fun-fun!”

 

Chewing over the explanation from my girlfriend, I idly picked the piece of yellow egg off of my shirt and prepared to toss it, “I’m not sure I really get that.”

 

A bright look filled my wife’s eyes, “Okay! Wait a sec! Don’t toss that!”

 

I looked at the piece of egg in my hands more than a little confused. “What do you mean?”

 

Rach closed the distance between us and then said with a smile: “Eat it.”

 

Without thinking, I raised an eyebrow, “What? It’s been on my shirt, I’d rather not.”

 

“Don’t think, just do,” Rach commanded, poking my still sore chest with hers, “Eat it, girlie.”

 

With a frown and a sigh I tossed the piece of egg into my mouth, trying not to think about the fuzz that was likely on it. After a quick chew and swallow it was gone.

 

“Good girl!” Rach giggled, her grin self-satisfied. 

 

It was always its own unique brand of silly to hear Rachel—with her high-pitched, girly tone—saying something usually so reserved for a more…dominating-looking woman. It was hard not to smile at how much Rachel seemed to be falling increasingly in love with life since we went on the run. In a way, I was jealous.

 

“What’s so, like, funny-fun-fun?” Rach asked, expression blank.

 

“Oh, like, nothin’,” I giggled, caught red-handed of sorts, “I just think it’s, like, great how you just seem so…happy? Content?”    

 

Rach giggled and put her right index finger up to her head to point at her skull, “That’s ‘cause I’m, like, not listenin’ to this thingy! Most of the time now I don’t even, like, hear it!”

 

“Pfft,” I cracked, taking my wife into a hug, “Sheesh I’m, like, quite jealous, Mrs. Yoshihara.”

 

Squeezing me back—fuck, my tits hurt, Rach replied, “Then, like, don’t listen to it!”

 

With a giggle planted into her ear, “That’s easier said than done, Rachy-Rach-Rach!”

 

With a devious grin, Rach leaned forward, “...should I train you like a good little slut, then?” my wife whispered into my ear.

 

I couldn’t help but feel a pulse down there. “Rachel!” I pushed back from my wife with a giggle, “C’mon! You can’t, like—it’s the firsty-first-first thing in the morning!” 

 

Not even waiting for me to finish my sentence, Rach was already shucking her pajama pants, “When has that ever, like, stopped us from fuckin’? Sorry—stopped you from passing out like a little subby-sub-sub slut the second you see my cock?”

 

I couldn’t stifle my snort as my wife’s wurst sprung into plain view in our kitchen area, “Jesus—fuck, girl! How is that thing still so—omigawd, Rachy!” My hands shot up to my mouth to cover it—I knew that if she saw my unabashed smile it would only encourage her. 

 

“Wut?” Her voice was almost flat, as if she was trying to tease me with some sort of performative aloofness. It had the jarring effect of sounding nothing like her usually bubbly voice.

 

“I—Rachy! C’mon!”

 

Shrugging her shoulders, “Sorry, like, you gotsta use your words, Jenni. I’m too dumb-dumb to under-saturate.”

 

I nearly burst into a shout-laugh at that, “Bullshit, Rachy-Rach-Rach! You, like, fuckin’ know exactly what the fuck I mean!” The tension was leaving my body weak, and I couldn’t help but hunch forward as I tried to keep the laughter in. In the back of my mind I still thought that I sounded like a complete dork with the kinds of stifled noises I was making.

 

“Uh…like, am I leaking onto my pants?” Rach shot a look of genuine confusion down to the violet pajama pants around her ankles, but had to bend forward to see past her breasts, which only made me shout and laugh again.

 

“Rachel! Omigawd, that’s not—”

 

“Not what, then?” Rach asked, semi-frowning and crossing her arms beneath her chest.

 

I couldn’t tell if she was fucking with me or not anymore. At this point, it didn’t matter. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, I give up! Let’s go to the bedroom!”

 

“Nope.”

 

“I—what? Why? I thought you wanted to—huh?!”

 

“Not me, Jenni. You. What do you want?” Rachel’s expression was so hard to read now. There was a seriousness that betrayed her usual demeanor so much that I couldn’t tell exactly what was going on through her mind.

 

I mean, more than usual, that is.

 

“I…I mean, we might as well—”

 

“Nopey-nope-nope, Jenni!” Rach said sternly, lifting her legs out of her pants and stepping toward me, pointing her index finger just before my nose, “What does Jenni want?”

 

My legs began to grow leadened at the proximity of my wife’s right index finger to my nose, so I leaned back on the kitchen counter behind me. “Uh…I mean…like, c’mon, you know what you’ve done to—”

 

“No I don’t. Tell me.”

 

I couldn’t read her—or maybe I was just trying not to say exactly what she knew I wanted to say. But did I even know what I wanted to say? 

 

Rachel casually bumped her chest into mine, teasingly—not that anyone could have read that based on her serious facial expression. As her face grew closer to mine, I felt an almost cold sweat on my lower back. Her face was so serious, and even without makeup to smooth out the rough edges that came straight out of bed, I was entranced by her beauty.  

 

“I…want you to fuck me,” I finally relented, the pulsing feeling down there growing stronger. “C’mon, let’s go to the bedroom and—”

 

“Nope,” Rach retorted, “If you want to get fucked then you’re going to turn around and stick out your ass.”

 

“I—Rachel, c’mon!”

 

“Get the collar, Jenni,” my wife deadpanned, slowly jacking herself just inches from me.

 

I couldn’t take it anymore. What the fuck was I even trying to defend? Why was I showing shame? I was with my wife, for fuck’s sake! I quickly retrieved the collar that Rachel had bought me and returned to the kitchen, readying to put it back on.

 

After my panic attack the night that Rachel had given me the collar I had shown my determination to not put the gift to waste and had been putting it on myself any time I wanted to feel its embrace around my neck. It reminded me…less of that terrible night. 

 

Still, there was just something so wrong about what I was doing…

 

…because I was the one doing it.

 

Looking down at the leather strap in my hand I took a deep breath and handed it to Rachel, “Please?”

 

Looking up pensively into my wife’s eyes I could see the concern in her eyes. I had sensed her guilt and unease in the days after my panic attack, and it worried me that I was only inviting that to happen again. 

 

And yet…

 

…I still…

 

…wanted…

 

“Tell me what you want me to do,” Rachel commanded, her voice a soft whisper soaked in concern for me. 

 

I didn’t want to think about that night with Chase Avery Mann. I didn’t want to think about hurting Rachel. I didn’t want to think. I just wanted…

 

“...collar me, Mistress?”

 

My voice was a trembling mess of a whisper. My shakes shook and my eyes threatened to boil over with tears. I didn’t want to think about anything, I wanted only to become one with the woman before me.

 

Delicately, Rachel reached forward and took the collar from my grasp, and then motioned for me to turn around and face the sink before me, still full of warm and soapy water. Looking down at the icebergs of dish soap down in the sink a flash series of images of Rach tugging on my collar flew before my eyes. My breath quickened as I felt my wifey-wife-wife reach around and tenderly apply the collar around my neck. 

 

Don’t think about that night.

 

Don’t think about the feeling of immobility as Chase Avery Mann threatened your life and Rachel’s life.

 

Don’t think about panicking and hurting Rachel.

 

Don’t think.

 

It’s what Rachel would do, after all.

 

As I felt the cold leather fully wrap around my neck I gasped, but kept my grip firmly on the edge of the kitchen counter preceding the sink. As Rach buckled the collar in I focused only on the pulsating waves of pleasure down before.

 

I focused only on how the muscles of my crotch clenched to-and-fro, as if my vagina was excited to receive its beloved cock.

 

Too bad I didn’t have a vagina.

 

I needed bottom surgery. I needed a vagina. I didn’t want a penis. My lifelong feelings of apathy had only grown into feelings of dread, resentment, and now just plain wrong. It felt wrong having a penis. It felt wrong not being able to take my wife into my vag—

 

Rachel’s erect pillar poked at my ass cheeks through my panties, snapping me from my thoughts. I couldn’t help but yelp at the idle, soft prodding, like the slowest woodpecker in the world.

 

Pfft, pecker.

 

“You like?” Rach asked in a whisper, resting her chin onto my right shoulder. Her fingertips were already rubbing my hips and thighs in that way that always made me lose my breath.

 

My voice came out as a sharp squeak as I felt my panties dampening up front, “Y-yes! Omigawd, Rach, please jus—”

 

Rach stopped gliding her fingertips with her right hand and swiftly reached for our kitchen scissors. Before I knew it I felt the cold steel sliding across the surface of my ass cheeks and beneath the cover of my panties. Angling the steel upward, the covered blade breached the band of my panties and touched the small of my back. The cold of the steel sent a shiver up my spine.

 

“Oh fuck! Rachel, like, please, I like this pair—” 

 

“—More than you like my cock?” My wife whispered into my ear, taking advantage of my tied up hair to lick the inside of my right ear. I couldn’t help but yelp—it was like taking a well-timed counter to the brain from a boxing champion. 

 

“I—Rach, c’monnnnnnnnnnn?!!! Theeeeeeeeeyyyy’reeee so cute and frilly and—”

 

Rachel began to retract her cock from beneath my cheeks.

 

“Ffffffffuck!” I couldn’t help but scream, “Fuck the fucking panties and fuck me!”

 

SNIP!

 

With a single squeeze of the scissor handles my panties slipped off of me and landed on my left foot. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Rach swiftly toss the scissors in her hand across the kitchen, grab onto my hips firmly with both hands and shove her monster cock in. Before I knew it her cock was firmly thrust up past my defenses and straight into my asshole. 

 

It was pure bliss.  

 

I couldn’t make any noises with my mouth.

 

All I could do—

 

“Do you like that, good girl?”

 

—was hold my breath and wait for the inevitable. 

 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” my wife said with a giggle, unsheathing and then re-sheathing with a plap that threatened to shatter windows. 

 

Instinct took over as my wife’s peckering grew faster and faster yet. The sensation of her pounding weakened my legs more and more. My mind idly thought that it was not a great idea that my shirt-covered breasts were now beginning to dip into the sink water, but as I took each thunderous bombshell into my ass I found myself caring less-and-less for silly things such as shirts.

 

I bet Rach would love it if I just stopped wearing clothes in the house.

 

Fuck, that would be hot. 

 

Ooh, ooh, right, yeah—gotta keep the collar on. 

 

As Rach tried to retract from my ass I found myself clenching down on her cock mid-retraction, not wanting to give it up. Rachel tugged out of my grasp, anyway.

 

“Horny slut,” the blonde giggled, fully retracting from my asshole.

 

The details of the morning were blurring together, but I knew that neither of us had cum yet, “W-what? Rachy, keep g-going!”

 

“Get me my scissors, Jenni,” Rach commanded. I looked back just enough to see my wife’s red hot cock twitching madly. 

 

“What the fuck?”

 

“Walk over there and get my scissors!” Rach explained, thrusting her right index finger to the right. The scissors she had discarded were on the ground now beneath the overhang of a cabinet built into the kitchen counter. “Gawd, you are such a bimbo!”

 

I didn’t know what the fuck was going on anymore, but at this point I wasn’t willing to argue against the woman withholding her cock as a form of mid-sex dominance. Gingerly, I took my hands off of the counter and began walking towards the scissors, only to falter after a few steps, catch myself on the counter, and slowly lower myself onto my knees.

 

My legs were completely shot now. 

 

Looking back up at Rach—an unforgiving face holding firm—I turned back to the scissors and began to crawl over to them. The cold wood paneling hurt my knees, and the chest area of my shirt that was now soaked with soapy water pulled my weakened body forward as I trudged to my goal—but I didn’t care.

 

Scissors finally in hand I crawled back to Rach and barely managed to pull myself back up on the counter.

 

Accepting the scissors, Rachel motioned me to turn back to face the sink again, “W-what are you—?”

 

Once again, I felt the cold steel of the scissors riding up my back beneath my shirt.

 

Rachel’s voice held the barest hint of smug amusement to it, “What do you want, Jenni?”  

 

Imagines of what I suspected Rachel wanted to do flashed through my mind. As my breathing quickened again my lower half began sticking itself out for attention again, “R-Rachy, in! In!”

 

Caressing the surface of my left ass cheek with her left hand Rach replied with a sing-songy voice, “You know what that means, right?”

 

It didn’t matter to me anymore. Nothing mattered at that moment. Only my feelings. And my feelings told me to say it. My feelings told me to say whatever I needed to get that cock back in my ass: “DO IT DO IT DO IT DO IT FUCK THE SHIRT, RACHY OMIGAWD!”

 

And just like that the cold steel of our kitchen scissors softly skated up my spine as Rachel cut the back of my shirt open, slid underneath my bra and then cut that, too. With just a few more snips my shirt and bra fell into our kitchen sink, leaving my breasts completely exposed.

 

Gawd, it would’ve been so hawt if my bare breasts dipped into the warm sink water. All I needed to do was wait for Rachel to start thrusting again and I could just sink them down in and—

 

Rach softly removed my hair tie, letting my hair unravel across my now bare back, startling me. Bringing her arms around so that I could see her hands, Rach cut the hair tie and then dropped it down into the sink before me. 

 

Now I was completely naked, except for the collar.

 

It was like I wasn’t even human anymore.

 

Droplets of precum rode down my left thigh at the thought.

 

Rachel tossed the scissors on the island behind her and reinserted her cock in me and wasted no time in plowing away again.

 

The best part of being the only person on the floor was that I could just moan as loudly as I wanted whenever my girlfriend fucked my ass.

 

So I moaned. Loudly. 

 

Especially as my already hot nipples entered the warm sink water.

 

The harder Rachel thrust, the deeper I sank.

 

“This thing’s the only thing you need to wear, isn’t it?” Rachel asked, tugging the collar around my neck.

 

I half-choked as the collar dug into my throat and I could do nothing but squeeze down on her cock harder in bliss.

 

“What was that, slut?” Rach demanded, tugging my collar so hard that I made a gagging noise, “Much better!”

 

“B-b-b-bed?” I struggled out between the plapping sounds my wife’s thrust’s filled the room with.

 

“Not yet, slut,” Rach half-giggled, unable to keep up the tough girl act, “You know what you need to do first!”

 

Rachel was right: I did know what I needed to do first.

 

“P-please cum in my ass, Mistress!” I shouted, banging my right fist on the kitchen counter.

 

Rachel acquiesced, and came an assault of warm cream so steadily into my ass that my face  and hair dropped into the sink water.

 

“Oh fuck, Jenni?!” I could hear Rach shout from beneath the water. 

 

Gawd, I hope this didn’t, like, give me a drowning kink or whatevs.

 

Rach pulled my soaked head out of the sink and followed me to the floor to let my exhausted body rest against her as she sat cross-legged. “Omigawsh, my shirt’s going to be soaked!” 

 

“You’re joking, right?” I asked sarcastically between gasps, my hand flailing around until I could find one of Rachel’s and move it to wrap around my waist. “Omigawd, that was, like, amazing!”

 

“...I hope you have a cleaning-the-floor kink,” Rachel giggled, her breathing slowly calming down, too.

 

“Oh hush, you!” I giggled, poorly feigning annoyance. As exhausted as I felt…I was still riding the post-orgasm high “...wanna makeout in the shower?” It wasn’t like we had anywhere else to be for the next five days, anyway.

 

So that is why they call it ‘fuck you money’.

 

“Gawd, you are such a bimbo!”

 

***

 

JANUARY 06, 2025: 

 

“You want me to…be your husband’s personal assistant?” I asked, taken aback.

 

Victoria had picked me up for my first day of my ‘new job’ bright and early—8AM compared to working 5:30PM to 2AM. Not that there was much difference besides the amount of traffic on the street. This time of the year the sun didn’t rise until what felt like 11AM, before setting back down anywhere between 3-4PM. It was hell, to be honest.

 

“That’s right, Jennifer. You’re the only one that I can trust for this important task, I’m afraid,” there was an off-putting combination of seriousness and listlessness to her voice this morning. Judging by how her makeup was applied I had half a mind to suspect that she had not slept the prior night.

 

I supposed that whatever was inspiring the graveness to her voice was why she had elected to accompany Jerry in picking me up for my first day. My first day on a job that I didn’t even know I would be doing until an hour before I was scheduled to start. 

 

“Those new licenses I gave you and Rachel are airtight, by the way,” the pseudo-starlet added with a hit of her vape pen. “You two could even get married, if you so pleased.”

 

Oh, if only she knew.

 

“Thank you, Victoria,” I replied, keeping my energy low so as to not upset the balance of the mood. “If I might ask, why are you doing this, really?” I took a pause to underscore my seriousness. “Please, just tell me the truth.”

 

Victoria took a moment, lost in thought—somewhere else, perhaps. Against my better judgment, I slipped a hand atop hers as it rested lifelessly on the seat cushion and asked again: “Please Victoria, I know that there’s something going on here that’s more than meets the eyes.”

 

Life came back to her eyes, Victoria turned and looked me directly in the eyes: “Jennifer…would you please destroy my husband?”

 

Why is it never easy?

 

***

 

SEPTEMBER 15, 2023:

 

“Uh…honey, you know what Estradiol does, right?” Rach asked, giving me a concerned look.

 

“Yeah, I do. It feminizes bodies like mine, right?” I replied, one half of my brain screaming at the other not to go there.

 

“Like, Jae, if…if you do this…you’ll look like a girl eventually. You’re still young, you haven’t had as much time for first puberty to masculinize your body.”

 

“Yeah, I’m aware—fuck, I am definitely aware that my first puberty is far from finished,” not that the goddamned thing hadn’t given me so much facial hair already, of course.

 

“Jesus Christ, Jae, you…you’ll have to socially transition if we’re stuck on the streets for a long time, you know that right? You can’t—honey, people will get violent if you come across as—fucking hell, how do I say this?” It was so strange seeing Rach look and sound so collected. She must have been in a trauma response thing or something.

 

That or I was just going insane right now. Considering all the sweating and aching, I kind of assumed that it was probably that, but who the fuck knows?

 

Then I said something that I probably should not have said: “Fine, look, I’d rather be a girl than dead.”

 

“I mean, same, but sheesh, sweetie, it’s going to, like, be hell on you. You’ll get gender dysphoria, and once the physical changes start…well, you’ll probably be harassed. At best.”

 

I couldn’t help but crack a witty one-liner, “Dying knowing that I left you on the streets—their own kind of Hell—would be like Hell for me, anyway. I love you, Rachel, I can put up with this weird case of forced feminization if it means protecting you.”

 

“...I can protect you, too, y’know,” Rachel whispered as she slipped her sheet of Estradiol into her hoodie pocket and embraced me. 

 

The pace of my heart quickened as things grew increasingly more real. Returning Rachel’s embrace, I held her as tightly as I could, “I’m going to be relying on you a lot, Rach. I have a bit of an idea of what I’m going to need to do to look like a woman, but…well, I’ll still need an actual woman, like you, to help me out.”

 

Rachel giggled, “I’m a pretty strict teacher, y’know?”

 

Feeling her soft chests touch my hard and flat chest through our hoodies, it occurred to me that in a few months, my chest would be soft.

 

Soft and touching her soft chest any time we hugged. 

 

Reaching down to her hoodie pocket, I pulled out the sheet of Estradiol. Rachel broke her hold on me to give me more room to maneuver. Popping one of the spare tablets out, I looked at the small blue pill in my right palm.

 

This was it.

 

This was what was going to make me look like a girl, if I kept taking it daily.

 

For however the fuck long we would be on the run.

 

Looking up at my wife, her increasingly soft and feminine face now wearing a smile that was conflicted, but supportive, I couldn’t help but feel like I was making the right choice.

 

I popped the tablet into my mouth, then moved it until my tongue, waiting for it to dissolve…

 

…and for a sign that it was working.  

 

TO BE CONTINUED…