Check the bra size.

I think about how long I've been in this bathroom. I probably was here for two minutes so I continue to check the bra size, just so I know for future reference. So off with the shirt then. I ponder on how I should do just that. Without the fabric over my shoulders, I'm confused on how I should attempt this removal of my clothing. I surely don't want to rush it. If I do, I might rip something and I would have to get another shirt. I don't even know where my bags are anyways. They could still be in the car but I think that the guys in the living room would've taken them out along with their luggage.

Observing how the top is made and checking the elasticity of the fabric, I find that there are two obvious ways on removing my shirt. I can either slide my arms out of the sleeves and then pull the shirt down or I can simply remove it like a regular shirt. The lack of cloth shouldn't be a problem. Actually, it should be easier to remove it. Maybe I could try both ways so I know the right and the wrong way to remove it.

I try my first method. I take my left hand and cuff it over the right sleeve of the top, while I slide my right arm up and out of the sleeve. After doing this, I see a glimpse of the piece of fabric held up my my right bra strap and also the piece cupping my right breast. I move on, sliding my left arm up and out of the left sleeve. Due to gravity, the upper part of the shirt slides down revealing the bare part of my breasts, and the tight-cupping fabric holding them up. I slide the shirt all the way down so that it rest at my waist. Then, I connect the dots with things I've heard and seen on the media, and I figure out what kind of bra I have on. I probably won't have to take off my shirt after all.

The certain kind of bra I think I have on is called a push-up bra, probably used my women who are more flat-chest or women who don't have a much prominent pectorals than others. But in my case, the black bra I have on only cups my breasts. I could have been wrong about the push up bra. I feel with my hands, the fabric cupping my breasts. I can feel that there are cups in the fabric but that's it. I let one of my fine-looking breasts pop out and they are the most prominent I've seen.

If there was guy looking at me right now, I'm pretty sure he would call me a "babe," since I was a natural-looking sight. If I was a babe, I would be sure that I have good-sized breast, big enough for me to fit them a guy's hand, and a good waist, thigh, and hip area. At least that's what a babe is to my guy mind. Come to think of it, I do feel a sense of being sexy. I feel content with my body and I feel really happy about it. It sort of blows my mind about it though.

Popping out the second breast, I find that I don't really need a bra to push up my chest but I think I would need it just in case that my nipples don't show through my shirt. And in the case of my nipple, they are colored dark, but not too dark, almost four shades darker than the skin surrounding it. My nipples, in proportion to my breasts are similar, being not too small or not too big.

I tuck in my breasts back behind the fabric again, and I see that the bra actually emphasizes my features. It also make them protrude out more too. Now that I know what my chest looks like, I forget why I even put down my shirt anyways. I forgotten for a second that I was going to remove my shirt to check the bra size. Now I have the perfect opportunity to do just that.

I can tell that when I woke up, I was still in the present, not in the past or future. It's good to know because it would seem weird dealing with things that wasn't in mind time. It's good to know that I'm still in the present because in regards to my bra, I have seen many commercials during my time about the different kinds of undergarment for women have come out. I know that there are some that have fasteners at the front and some that are old-fashioned, having fastener at the back. Observing my bra, I can see detailed embroidery and different use of fabrics, but all in all, there are no fasteners in the front, in between my breasts. I do see though, that the underwire, or the bottom hem of the bra perfectly contours my body shape. There isn't any gaps at all. I turn my body around so that I can my backside in the mirror. I finally see the place where females fasten their bra and I move on to reach it.

Reaching back, I find that I have more dexterity than a man. I can reach farther back even to the place where the fasteners are located. This must be the reason why the majority of flexible person are mostly female. I move on to unfasten the bra. I move my hands in a way similar to the ways I've seen it in movies and other media. In one motion, I succeed in removing my bra.

Like a rubber band that has been stretched and unstretched to the point where it cannot stretch anymore, snapping and falling like a limp leaf, the black bra falls off my chest. My prominent breasts show in their own glory. I reach down to where my bra fell and check around it for a tag or a place where the size is written. I look around the fastener area and find a small tag with the size written in small letters, along with the instructions on how to launder it. The size written reads 34C.

I take the bra and properly place it back on my chest, cupping each of my two breasts, the straps straddling my shoulder, and tightly fastening it. I forgot that some of these bras have at least two fasteners for the slimmer and wider girls. I slide back up the shirt resting at my waist and take the top band, and place it over my prominent breasts. Being firm and lacking any sag, my breast act like place where you can hang stuff from. I have no doubt that my shirt is stay on my body. I then slip each of my arms through their respective sleeves and look in the mirror after.

Belted by a large buckle belt, the pants I wear are tight-fitting from the waist to the place where my ankles start. After, the pants start to loosen, almost like they're flaring. I can see that these pants show the true form of my legs and thighs. The color of the pants is a dark blue and the fabric is obviously denim. I can't say that I'm bow-legged, but to a guy I would still be a babe. I turn my lower body around, to see how well-formed my ass is. To my favor, I see and definitely feel that I have a big ass. I can't say that I have an ass like the video girls, when they shake them, and when they stop, the cheeks still shake. I can probably deduce, due to the firmness of the ass just like an apple and the way they blend into the waist and the legs, that my ass is a model's ass. I can probably live with have a model's ass than a video girl's ass any day.

The way my ass blends into my legs and the comparison between my ass and the slimness of my abs and love handles tells me that this body is athletic, having produced that muscle from somewhere, and worked it to a comfortable, sexy-looking feel. Every limb and every part of my body are like working in unison, display the perfect body for somebody of my stature. There isn't a lack of muscle or a muscle somewhere that has a significant effect on the rest of the muscles on my legs. In a sense, the way my body feels and looks is almost too good to be true.

As I stand, I see that I'm shorter than when I was a guy. As a guy, I stood six feet, give or take an inch or two. Now that I'm in this female body, I stand 5' 5", or around that height. If I had heels, I would still be shorter than the average male. Unfortunately, I am not wearing heels right now. But to my favor, the body has a sense of style, wearing name brand items. Such items include my jacket that I took off and the shoes that I'm wearing. The jacket was a Baby Phat jacket with faux fur on the inside of the hood. The fabric of the jacket was like a puff jacket, being made by two or more different fabrics. The second item, my shoes, were a pair of Nike's similar to the shoes of Rick, plain white as well as the laces.

I think I have spent a rather long time observing myself in this clean bathroom. I can't say for sure how long but it feel like ten minutes have passed. I have a gut feeling that I don't want the people outside in the living room worrying about me. So I gather myself together, making sure I checked my appearance, put my jacket on, pull my hair from out of the jacket as the garment lay on it, and head for the door. I unlock the door knob, and open the door.