You hear noise from elsewhere in the house.

At the noise you hastily cover over your bare breast, although modesty hardly suits you now you think. Your body isn’t quite is sleak and slim as it had been originally. Your belly shows some slight hints of stretch marks and you are a little chubby, not fat just more fat, presumably a remnant of your pregnancy.

“What’s this?” A voice calls. It’s male and you intuit that it’s your owner. It sounds vaguely familiar. Like...

A man enters and you blink. It’s you. Well John Smith. You look him over and realise he still sports an impressive manhood. Odd that you’d notice that. He holds the typewriter.

You shrug. “It came in the mail. Um... I was using it...”

He reads what you’ve written. “But... this is legible? Girls can’t read...” he frowns. “That’s what you’ve written!? Explain...”