“You got an eyeful?” I asked, once I had my door closed behind me.

I pulled the heavy drapes on my window and turned on a lamp, watching myself move in the mirror over my desk. The big-breasted woman I saw there was me, but I couldn’t be completely convinced by a mere reflection.

I took off the borrowed shawl the restaurant had loaned me and hung it over my only chair. These were the clothes Jack had bought for me in Target: the denim stretch pants, the soft gray top with the rhinestones around the neckline, and the sandals with the two-inch heels. I blinked but the girl in the mirror wouldn’t go away.

I had a cheap bracelet around my wrist, too, and I took that off first then reached down to unbuckle the sandals. Stepping out of them, I left them where they were and pulled my top off over my head. My shaggy blond mane poured over my face and shoulders; it had been getting into my eyes ever since my transformation.

“I need to get my hair styled,” I murmured. I walked to my tiny armoire and found a hanger for my top, then more hangers for the other clothes we had bought, finally taking off the stretch jeans and hanging them up, too.

I stood there in bra and panties, caught again by my image in the mirror. I looked like nothing but a woman, no trace of any hypothetical previous manly existence visible.

Reaching behind me, I undid the hooks of the bra then slipped the straps down my arms. My breasts hung heavily on my chest without the support, and I rubbed the underside of them where the wires in the contraption had made slight indents in my flesh. The cool air on my naked flesh caused my nipples to crinkle up.

The sensation wasn’t at all unpleasant. I lifted each breast in turn and let it fall with a jiggle and a bounce, watching in the mirror as I did this. They were stupendous, large and firm but soft as any pillow. I clamped my teeth on a giggle.

Just moving in this body was sensuous pleasure. Wearing nothing but the lacy nude panties Jack had handed me back at the changing booth, I climbed between my sheets and stretched out to flick off my lamp. It took a few moments to find a comfortable position, I couldn’t lie on my stomach and lying on my back caused my breasts to sort of pool in my armpits.

Lying on my left side seemed best but after less than a minute, I ended up using my hand to support my right breast to keep it from falling over my left one and sliding toward my face. “What the hell?” I squeaked. Was I going to have to wear a bra to sleep in? If so, it wasn’t going to be that underwire chicken coop.

I ended up with one pillow behind my back and one under my head, so that I could lean on the pillow at sort of an angle and not worry about suffocating in my own generosity. I had most of me under my light covers with my right foot sticking out but I couldn’t be bothered to find a way to get it covered too.

Sleep claimed me almost the instant I felt reasonably comfortable.

I had vivid but mundane dreams except that in all of them, I was a little girl playing in the sand on a beach. We had never lived on the seashore when I was growing up and, of course, I hadn’t been a girl then, either.

*

I woke up suddenly. Someone was knocking on my door. Jack voice came through the wall, “It’s six a.m. You said you needed to get to the studio by seven. Get your shower quick, and we can pick up coffee-and on the way.”

It took me a while mentally stumbling around in a personal fog to locate the reality in which I had a job starting at seven a.m. Jack was going to drive me to the studio? Save me a bus ride, but when I sat up, the rest of my situation made itself known in the jiggles of my new accessories.

Also, I needed to pee. And there was no back pressure to hold things in. Sometime in the next minute or two, I was going to pee. I hurried, disregarding the fact that I was wearing only a pair of beige panties.

I heard Jack say, “Whoa!” from the kitchen as I passed but I didn’t stop. I made it, just barely, and it didn’t tinkle, it splashed. I patted myself dry then decided I might as well shower while I was here and I could use one of the big bath towels to get back to my room.

“Need anything?” Jack called from the short hallway outside his room just as I started the water running.

“Can’t hear you,” I lied. But I’d forgotten my hair. Did I want to shampoo? A mane like this would take forever to dry. Jack had a hair dryer that I’d never had occasion to use, but could it do the job quick enough.

Shower cap. I’d seen one in the bathroom somewhere.

Jack yelled something from the hallway and this time I really didn’t hear him. “Pardon?” I screamed.

“Shower cap is in the caddy,” Jack yelled back, closer to the door this time.

“Thanks!” How does he do shit like that, I wondered?

The plastic tray hanging from the vent in the shower did indeed contain a cap as well as body wash and a loofah. The shampoo and conditioner I didn’t need. I couldn’t linger on the new equipment which was just as well. I didn’t really want to do much exploration with Jack still in the apartment.

I spent less than four minutes in the shower and emerged from the bathroom with the big towel wrapped around me, covering my assets and endowments. Jack stood just inside the kitchen watching me as I hurried to my own door. I heard myself giggle when he waggled his eyebrows at me.

“You got an eyeful?” I asked, once I had my door closed behind me.

‘I did,” he agreed. “Van Nuys.” That part was a running gag. Van Nuys is a northern suburb of Los Angeles, out in the Valley, and its pronunciation is close to a casual, East Coast-flavored, “Very nice.”

I snorted, noticing that Jack had apparently taken the liberty of laying out clothes from my meager supply for me to wear. The deep pink stretch jeans had teddy-bear appliqués on the pockets, how had I not remembered that? A green blouse with a shawl-like collar complimented the color perfectly but I didn’t remember buying it. Am I really that much of a ditz?

I put on clean panties and struggled with my bra before figuring out to lift my girls and gently drop them, letting them find their own places in the cups. The jeans still fit like paint but the teddy bears looked happy. Beige and green pumps on my feet, I dragged a brush through my hair, remembered to snag my purse and met Jack at the front door at seven nineteen.

“Van Nuys,” he repeated, looking me over. “Coffee and a cruller at Jason’s?”

I nodded. He followed me out the door and locked it behind us. We headed for the stairs and then it hit me.

I was going out on my first real acting job, not just a gig as an extra, and I was going as a woman. Because that’s what I am.