Chapter 53 – Assessment

Stepping out of the shower I clean off the mirror and look at myself. It’s been what, six weeks since the surgery? Most of the external healing is done and Dr. Montgomery promises that all of the internal healing will follow soon enough. Leaning forward I take a closer look at my face.

Clean, with no moisturizer, lotions, or makeup, and I can still barely see ‘me’ in this beautiful face. I slowly tilt and turn my head so that I can see my face at every angle, as if I’ll find Jamie hiding behind one of these new cheekbones or under these sculpted curvy jaw lines. As if I’ll pop out between these two ever plump and pouty lips. I can spot the old me in the eyes but even then, it’s difficult. The color is the same, my particular shading of blue is there, but the lids around those eyes are different. More open with longer, thicker lashes. And that nose? It’s probably still eighty percent PJ, but with the narrower bridge and the tip upturned just that adorable little bit makes it… makes it Paris’ nose. My hair line is lower, giving me less forehead, which I never thought of as feminine but somehow is. Even the bones under my eyebrows are smaller, less overt. Gentler and girlier. It’s not my face. It’s Paris’ face built on a foundation of my face. I can barely see me under there now and I’d wager that my own family couldn’t see me unless they knew it was me first. And even then, they’d likely call it a sick joke. Dad’s imagined voice echoes in the back of my mind, “No boy of mine would make himself into a girl!”

Stepping back from the mirror I look down. As I run my long fingernails down my throat I can still feel where they cut their way in to work but there’s no mark or scar left behind. Just smooth delicate flesh. Underneath of course is my new voice. They called it tracheal shaving and it took away my Adam’s apple completely, but it also permanently pitched up and hollowed out my voice. Those exercises from the speech therapist got a voice to come out and it’s cute and adorable and very close to what I sounded like in the office before. But I now can only make that sound. If I clear my throat hard and try to sound lower and more gravely I can… well, no. I can’t sound like Jamie any longer. I sound like a woman impersonating him at best. I sound like a bad comedy act at worst. At least now I don’t have to use those lozenges or feel like I’m pitching my voice up any longer. I just have to talk, and I talk like Paris.

My fingers dwell just below my throat. Most people would focus on the large additions to my chest a bit lower, but I still find amazement here. Here where I still had chest hair. It wasn’t much, just a few kinky springs of hair coming up and shouting about my masculinity, but they were here. I know because I had to shave them off every day. But now they’re gone. I don’t shave here anymore because they’ll never grow back. This innocent simple area of my skin is as smooth and sensitive as my skin is everywhere else. No hairs spring up under or on my arms. None on my chest or belly. None on my back or ass or legs. Grace jokes that I’m going to save so much time by not having to shave my long long legs, but I’d give almost anything if I could choose to NOT shave and get my hair back. Even though they said they removed all my hair, they did leave a little. That little strip just above the prosthetic. A cute little bit of reddish pubic hair. I could probably color it so that the carpet matched the drapes, but I’m hoping one day they’ll stop making me be this strawberry blonde and let me go back to my more natural red head.

I let my hands come back up to cup my breasts. I still can’t stop the gasping moan from escaping my lips as I feel the heavy weight in my palms. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the weight. I thought the breast forms were heavy when they were glued on but these? These monsters are ME. They don’t just glue on to the front of my chest, they pull all the fat and skin and muscles around my torso. They jiggle and move and shake seemingly at their own will. Dr. Montgomery says that the combination of stretching the skin here to accommodate the Double D implants, the previous attempts to reduce the hair on my chest, and their patented process of permanently removing the remaining hair all combined to make the skin more sensitive than normal. More sensitive than their process already made the rest of my skin. No one even has to get close to my nipples to make me squirm and whimper in pleasure, they just have to cup and play with my girls. Oh, and the nipples themselves? Those damned implanted **** are still working on them. They’re not obscenely huge or anything but they’re not Jamie’s nipples and areolas. They’re bigger, more responsive, and of course more sensitive to touch. How long exactly did Grace spend exploring just how sensitive my nipples were? Two nights? Three?

Closing my eyes I flatten my palms against my chest, just below my huge yet somehow still perky breasts, and let them glide down my abdomen. I shiver as the sensation on the skin feels good but I’m more amazed internally at the shape underneath. I was never fat as Jamie. I was practically skinny with a massively high running metabolism that kept me in skinny jeans all the time. But now my waist didn’t just smoothly transition from my ribs, it snicked in by inches. Even my small hands could practically wrap around my waist and I have no doubt that some people will be able to wrap their hands around me and have their fingers and thumbs touch. As dramatically as my body narrows down at the waist, it balloons out at my hips. My hips wouldn’t nearly fit Jamie’s jeans as they’re curvy and huge. What did that nurse call them? Child rearing hips? I imagine with everything else about me, the tits, the waist, the big ass, men aren’t thinking about children. They’re just thinking about the method to GET children.

And then there’s the damned prosthetic. How naïve was I to think that they’d remove it. I guess they did technically remove it, but I was hoping it would stay off. Put on the temporary one that I had to glue into place each morning. But Dr. Montgomery saw Dr. Gold’s notes that I was ‘experiencing discomfort and lack of sexual relief’ with the prosthetic and misinterpreted it. This new one is way way more devious than the last one. The last one looked real from a distance. When you looked up close, you could see that it wasn’t real. There was no cavity or opening, just the little slit where I’d pee or cum out of. When you moved the prosthetic itself it all moved as it was just a very realistic looking mold. This one? Dear god, it’s like it’s made for a movie close up. A porn close up. There are layers and folds with puffy aroused looking lips and a clit hood. There’s not only an opening, it’s deep enough that I can slide my fingers in up to the knuckle. Sure, a man couldn’t fuck me with this, at least not a normally sized man, but someone being able to put their fingers IN me down there is devastatingly feminizing. Grace’s fingers have dwelled there often. And that lubricating stuff that comes out of it when it’s manipulated on the inside is just evil. If someone fingers me, no matter how much I want it to happen or don’t want it to happen, I ‘get wet’. And that’s all fine but my equipment isn’t exactly buried deep under numbing padding that gives me no sensation this time. No, evidently it took them time and precision to align my penis with this fucking medical wonder. When someone rubs me, right where ‘my clit’ is, I feel it. And Lord, it feels SO good. Grace can get me off with her tongue alone now. And she adores getting me off, hearing me scream, hearing me cry and moan and feeling me quake and tremble.

My hair is of course cut and styled and colored in a feminine manner while my eyebrows are tweezed and trimmed in a feminine manner. Before, if I didn’t have my makeup on and I pulled my hair back into a ponytail I could pass as Jamie. At least at a distance. Now? Now even completely au naturel, I’m Paris. There’s no Jamie here. There’s no masculinity or manliness here. Acting like there is, standing with my feet wide and trying to cross my arms aggressively is just silly looking. These damned breasts are even fucking with my posture. Unless I arch my back, they feel like they want to pull me forward, pulling me off balance. I have to arch my back and push them out to have any semblance of grace. Which naturally pushes my ass out. My already big round curvy ass. Just standing upright so that I have balance and don’t feel like I’m going to fall over makes me a caricature of femininity. And that’s all when I’m not trying. Now that I’m well enough, Grace wants me to go out.

Suzy does too. She’s stopped by many times now, having our sessions here as she sat next to my bed, then sat next to me while I was laid out on the couch, then as we sat back in the living room, and for the last week sat up in the dining room. Grace has me cooking again, so I’m sure to have fresh coffee and some cookies for Suzy and she likes them, but she wants me to get out. To share the ‘new me’ with the world. I’ve begged off for a couple weeks now and she’s just not taking no for an answer any longer, so I have to go into her office this morning. Both Grace and Trixie offered to go with me, but if I’m going to do this, I need to do it on my own. Eventually I’ll need to be comfortable being tarted up and heading into the office on my own. I’ll need to be comfortable riding back on the L after a day of being teased and flirted with and having the fellas all stare and try to hit on me. All the ladies stare and be jealous.

After slipping into my black lace briefs, I sit at my vanity and start to work on my hair. I can finally brush and comb and style it like normal without it feeling like I’m going to rip the hair right out of my forehead. I didn’t think that would ever end. With it straight and pretty, I focus on my makeup. Trixie is really helping me out here. Surprisingly the first few times I tried making myself up after the swelling went down and the bruising and discoloring started to fade away, I looked like a clown. I couldn’t figure it out as I didn’t do anything different. And that’s, exactly is what the problem was. Trixie showed me that before, I was using makeup to give me curves and textures that just weren’t there. I was changing my Jamie face into my Paris face. Now? Now, I just needed to enhance the Paris face that I had on all the time. After my foundation I only needed a little blush now. I didn’t need nearly as many shaders to go from my jawline to my nose to my cheeks to under my eyes. Just a touch along my jaw and a subtle line under my eyes. My eyelids were shaped differently so I didn’t need as dramatic of an eyeshadow and mascara. My eyelashes were thicker, so I didn’t need as much attention there. My lips… dear Lord, I had to practically draw and fake big lips before. Now, I have to do the opposite. Unless I want to look like a duck lipped bimbo, I need to DEemphasize my curvy, puffy, pouty lips. A simple bit of color, a little bit of liner. Maybe some gloss if I want my lips to shine. But that’s it. Anything more and I’m just begging for those around me to fantasize about what my lips will feel like. And I don’t mean in a kiss.

With my face prettied up, I go to my closet and search through what I have. I try to find the best mix of showing off my body so that Suzy will know I’m making an effort, and NOT showing off my body as I really don’t want the attention on my first day out. I’m not sure if Dr. Montgomery took secret measurements or not, but my hips and chest are just about the same as they were in the faja and breast forms. My ‘natural’ breasts are a bit bigger and certainly more perky, so I don’t need as aggressive as a pushup bra as I had before. Just a bit to push the girls together and make that cleavage pop.

My waist is disturbingly much thinner than it was before. I mean, there’s only so much you can do by wearing a corset, no matter how tight it is and no matter how long you have it on. There’s only so much you can squeeze down the toothpaste tube. But now, they just went in and sucked out much of the toothpaste. My belly is taut with almost no fat whatsoever. They even removed musculature. Maybe if they hadn’t added so much weight up top, it wouldn’t be bad, but I’ve found that my abdomen gets tired and achy after just walking around. Dr. Montgomery says that’s not uncommon with a waist as thinned as mine. The fix, purely for comfort, is like the cruelest of mean girl jokes.

A corset.

Sure, it’s not the huge complicated padded faja anymore, but I still put on a corset most days purely for the support it offers. They even have some designed with windows up front to show off my belly, letting me wear more revealing clothes without losing its crimping support.

Naturally eating would get me that fat layer back and honestly, it wouldn’t look bad on this body. But that damned lap band makes sure I can’t ever eat ‘too much’. I now struggle to simply maintain my weight. I eat until I’m full at breakfast, my pre lunch snack, lunch, after lunch snack, dinner, and before bed snack. I mean, I eat until I can’t put more in my mouth at every opportunity. Sometimes, however, that means eating most of a candy bar. A half a cup of yogurt. Half of an apple. I’ll be hungry, starving, and after a couple bites I’ve satisfied that hunger. A couple more bites and I feel like I’m going to burst. I still have to augment that diet with protein shakes and vitamins. Even more than the vitamins that Grace gives me each day.

I finally settle on a matching black lace strapless bra, my little black corset, and a white off the shoulder blouse that Trixie bought me that will show more skin than I’m used to, including quite a bit of natural cleavage with its lowcut front. I match it with a pretty twill grey high waisted skirt that comes down to just above my knees but has a nice slit up halfway my thigh. Its belt is black and is obviously there for style as it hangs loose around my tiny waist.

Just before I head out, I grab my purse and put on my glasses. They certainly didn’t intend it, but it was like one last insult after all the injury. The eyelifts they gave me made it so that the contacts don’t fit. Oh, they can go in just fine, but they get irritated almost immediately. I have to take them out within half an hour or deal with tears so bad that I can’t see. I have no idea how Mal is going to deal with that as he just hates seeing me in glasses, but I need them to see.

Giving Grace a wave and giving her one last assurance that I don’t need her to accompany me, I head out for the first time truly as Paris. No disguise, no feminizing fakery, no falsehoods… just Paris Beaufort, the sexy secretary.