"Yes, it's kind of lost by being above eye level. A design flaw on my part." Michael was as suave in his dress as in his manner: a pencil mustache, carnation in his lapel, hair tenderly coifed, and a silk handkerchief in his coat pocket to match the silk of his shirt. His hair was flecked with gray and he had an accent that suggested French.After seating them with the assurance he would return with the perfect slippers to complete their ensembles, Jan whispered, "He's probably as queer as a six. Several years ago, I started noticing I was ... out of step with mypeers, especially the boys. But what was going on became a littleclearer a few months ago when my class did a bit on sex ed, mostlyfocused on puberty.I realized that any day I could get hit by testosterone, and startbecoming a man. And I also realized I didnt want that to happen.That given my choice, I'd rather become a girl, and then a woman.But I was too scared to do anything about it. Not that my mom would besome kind of. ”“Rosé it is,” Joe chuckled.He grabbed a cab on Ninth Avenue and went crosstown to Consuela’s Upper Eastside apartment. A nice if small two bedroom in a large, plain apartment building built in the late fifties. The ladies were both dressed comfortably. T shirts, with Consuela wearing warm up pants and a cute frilly pale pink apron with cursive stitching—”stomach” on the abdomen with a two sided arrow, pointing up at the word, “heart” appropriately placed, and down at the word “brain,” perhaps. She was wearing slacks and a blouse that buttoned down the front. Her tits looked big and loose. They were loose; she wasn't wearing a bra. She felt giddy with her tits naked like this. It was something she'd never done before, but she seemed to have these strange impulses ever since she had seduced her son."Call me Helen, Tom," she said.Tom was impressed. He hadn't expected such a young-looking woman, or one as attractive. He especially liked her big jugs. He had a weakness for robust women..
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