Bra-vo.
By Angharad.

The moment she got in the door to her house, she slipped off her court shoes with the three-inch heels, dropped her handbag, put down the shopping she'd got, threw off her coat and undid the bra clip at her back. Then she pulled the straps down through the cap sleeves of her top and then with a flourish, pulled the bra out of the front of her top and draped it over the newel post of her stairs. Then while no one could see her she massaged her breasts and had a good scratch. She sighed with pleasure, the bra had been rubbing her under the bust and the edge of her underarm, not helped by the warm temperatures as the weather had decided it would allow some summer for a few days.

After filling the kettle and switching it on, she lifted her shopping onto the worktop in the kitchen and trotted upstairs taking the discarded brassiere with her. After removing her skirt off came her tights and she felt the slight prickling sensation from the static charge as she pulled them down. She gently rubbed her feet and legs, her toes pink and squashed by the shoes, but they had to keep up appearances in her office.

Knickers and top were dumped in the laundry basket along with the bra and she jumped into the shower to wash off the dust and stress of the day. Ten minutes later, she felt clean and human again, removing any remaining makeup with a disposable wipe. Once dry she used her underarm deodorant, sprayed on some scented talc and pulled on a sun dress with a built-in support and then some clean panties, finally slipping her tortured toes into a sloppy pair of mules.

After sorting her hair and rubbing some moisturiser on her face, she took her dirty laundry out of the basket and shoved it in the washing machine before re-boiling the kettle and making a pot of tea. She let it stand while she put her food shopping away and the cat food on the shelf she kept for its storage under the kitchen sink.

Finally, she could sit down and drink her reviving cuppa. She rubbed herself under the breasts again, she was still a little itchy from the chafing of the bra and she smiled to herself. Fifteen years ago she'd have given almost anything to have had to wear a bra, occasionally she did wear one but it was usually at home in her room together with the rest of the one or two outfits she had in those days. Thankfully, not too many people knocked on her door while she was away at university, the one exception was her friend Sue, who accepted her as however she was presenting. In her second year she transitioned, with the support of the university who saw it as no big deal, though accountancy students may not be seen as the broadest minded subgroup, she had very few detractors because she made a reasonably attractive female and one or two of her friends were vociferous defenders of her new self.

She got a good degree a 2:1 and received her results while she was recuperating from her gender confirmation surgery, her parents brought in the letter and the hospital let them all have a sip of champagne to celebrate.

She managed to win a job at a leading group of accountants and auditors and decided to specialise in auditing. In five years, she was celebrating being the team leader and a very capable management auditor with contracts to some of the largest companies in the area.

It had got out at work that she had changed her gender and for five minutes it worried her that it could blow up and disrupt her career, but she had the backing of the senior partner in the firm in whom she had confided at interview, he smiled and told her it wasn't an issue and until the news broke it hadn't been. Someone from personnel was reported for disciplinary action for the breach of confidentiality. It appeared the person confirmed had a religious difficulty in accepting her, believing it was impossible to change sex or gender.

After speaking to the senior partner, she arranged to meet the offender for a private meeting in her office. They sat and talked for over an hour and she explained about how she'd never really been a boy but rather a girl with a plumbing problem. She charmed her colleague into accepting that she hadn't broken any religious commandments but had corrected a slight mistake that her body had made and that she resembled the image of god as much as any other female, including her colleague. At the end of the meeting, she realised that they would never be close friends but she had saved someone's job and received a promise that her secret would be kept.

A year later, she rushed to hospital to visit the same colleague, who had had a breakdown and attempted to take her own life. She visited her every other day until the unfortunate woman suffered a myocardial infarct from her recent suicide attempt and died while she was at the hospital, moments before dying she had declared her friend to be much more godly than she was and she regretted what she had done instead of getting to know her better.

Ten days later she was at the poor woman's funeral, where no one knew who she was other than a colleague and she attended with a couple of other friends from work. None of them went on to the wake declaring they had too much work on, but really, they felt uncomfortable in the atmosphere of celebration that the deceased had passed into glory, whereas they believed it was a time of sadness and loss being skimmed over with nonsensical distraction to hide reality from the mourners.

That was several years ago, she now felt comfortable in her body, except her toes, and she smiled at her memories of wishing she needed to wear a bra. To appear neat and tidy, she now had to wear one as she followed her mother who was well endowed. Now she had to wear one, for support as well as decency, she couldn't wait to get it and the high heeled shoes off when she got home, which were another stereotypical symbol of being a woman in western society. Tomorrow, a Saturday, she'd dress casually in a bra, because she had to, but in jeans and trainers to meet with her brother and his family, where she was a much-loved auntie who gave brill Christmas and birthday prezzies, and on Sunday, she'd collect her husband from the airport. He was a lawyer and had been involved in an international case at the Hague. Once again she'd wear a bra, but she couldn't wait until they got home from the airport and this time, he would take if off her and they'd celebrate their reunion in the most intimate way. Yes, she was looking forward to that with bated breath.