Genesis

Synopsis:

Mike was a tough little guy, until he got thrown off his motorcycle and left his manhood hanging on a picket fence. Dr. Vinci did the only thing possible with what was left. Now Michelle has to adapt to her new life. A TG twist to a classic story.

Story:

Genesis
By Missy Crystal

Mike may have been little, but he was tough. At only five foot five and with a baby face, he took a lot of abuse growing up. He made up for it by being a scrapper. The first insult or joke, no matter how big his opponent, Mike took them on. He lost a lot of teeth and spent a lot of time in the Emergency Room, but nobody made fun of him. He was such a difficult kid that when he turned eighteen, his parents threw him out of the house. He moved to the city and got a job washing dishes at a restaurant. After a while, he took the money he had saved up and bought himself a motorcycle. He wanted a big Harley, but the only one that fit him was made for girls. That was out of the question, so Mike worked with the dealer on a custom bike. It was expensive, but worth it. When it was ready, he roared off down the road. Mike the biker was a bad dude, even if he couldn't grow a beard. Nobody was going to mess with him now.

Mike pulled up to a stoplight. He looked to his left and there was a hot babe in red sports car. He revved the engine to show off. Vrooom. Vrooom. Vroom. The exhaust resonated. The girl turned her head and smiled at him. Then the light turned green. Mike popped the clutch, the bike did an impressive wheelie, shot across the intersection and slammed into the back of a car which had stopped to pull into a parking space. He sailed over the car, across the sidewalk and almost cleared the pickets of the ornamental iron fence. The MedFlight helicopter brought Mike to the City Hospital, where he was rushed into surgery.

Mike opened his eyes and tried to move, but found that he was strapped down to a bed. He was able to turn his head and saw he was in a hospital room. There were tubes running into his arm and some bottles and bags hanging on a stand next to his bed. He was very groggy and in a lot of pain. He tried to remember what had happened, but it was a blank. After a while, he heard the door open and he could see a nurse coming towards him.

"What, what, what happened to, what happened to me?" he managed to get out. His mouth was incredibly dry and it hurt his throat to speak. It was a struggle to get his thoughts together. "Why, why am I, why am I here?"

"Hi," the nurse said cheerfully, "my name is Maggie. I'm afraid you had a very bad accident. It's a miracle that you're alive at all. You've been sedated for almost two weeks while Dr. Vinci completed the reconstructive surgery and you've had an airway in you for most of the time, so your throat is going to be very sore. You shouldn't try to speak. Would you like a sip of water?"

Mike nodded his head. The nurse went over to the bed stand, poured some water out of a carafe into a glass, put a straw in it and held it for him.

"Just a sip," the nurse cautioned him.

The nurse went over to the foot of the bed and picked up a clipboard.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" she asked.

Mike nodded his head.

"The doctor left an order for some medication that will help. Would you like it?"

Mike nodded his head.

"Okay," the nurse smiled at him. "I'll be right back. Don't you go anywhere," she said with a laugh.

A few minutes later, the nurse returned with a syringe.

"This is pretty heavy duty stuff," she told him. "It should send you off to la la land. Pleasant dreams."

She inserted the needle into a nipple on the IV tube and pushed the plunger. Mike could feel warmth as the drug made its way into his vein, there was a brief buzzing sound in his ears and then the room dissolved into swirling colors.

Mike woke up to the sound of voices. He tried to move, but he was still restrained. He couldn't see the people, but he recognized one of the voices as Maggie. The other voice was a man's.

"Yes, yes. Excellent. The surgery is healing nicely. I'm afraid if she stays in bed too much longer, she will have a problem with atrophy. She's already lost a great deal of muscle mass being on IV feeding. We need to have her begin a rehabilitation therapy program. And we should start her on HRT. I will put the medication I want her to have in her chart."

Mike relaxed and drifted off to sleep. They were talking about a woman.

"Rise and shine, sleepy head." Mike recognized Maggie's voice. "The doctor wants you up and out of bed as soon as possible. Let's see if we can sit you up." She pushed the control and the upper part of the bed began to move up. "There, that's better," she said cheerfully.

Mike was a little dizzy, but it felt good to be able to look around. He saw that it he was in a standard hospital room. It had two beds, but he was the only patient. Now that the pain had pretty much stopped and he was not on medication, he tried to remember what had happened, but couldn't.

He looked over to the nurse. "Your name's Maggie, right?"

"Yes. It says 'Margaret' on my name tag." She held it out for him to see, "But everyone calls me Maggie."

"It's nice to meet you Maggie. My name's Mike."

Maggie gave him a strange look, then quickly turned away.

"Is something wrong?" Mike asked nervously. "Why am I here? What happened to me? How long have I been here?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't answer all of your questions. As to your memory, well, often when a person has been in a serious accident they have what we call 'traumatic amnesia'. Their mind wipes out the experience. As to your medical condition, you will have to speak with Dr. Vinci about that. He should be in to do his rounds this afternoon."

Now that Mike was fully alert for the fist time, he noticed that he had bandages that covered his lower body.

"Maggie, why do I have these bandages? Did something happen to me? Did something happen to me, down there? Nothing happened to my, to my, you know, my balls or anything did it? I'm still a man! Please tell me," Mike pleaded with her. "Please, please. Oh my God, no. No, no, no. Please, tell me I'm not, its not," Mike started to sob hysterically.

The nurse pushed the emergency call button and immediately an orderly came in.

"Hold him down," she directed him.

In his weakened condition, Mike was in no shape to resist and his feeble struggles were easily overcome.

The nurse left and quickly came back with a syringe.

"Now you need to calm down. Everything will be okay. Dr. Vinci will be here soon, but for now, I am going to give you a tranquilizer."

She stuck the needle in his arm and within a few seconds, Mike's eyes became glassy and he went limp. She lowered the bed and told the orderly to replace the restraints.

As Mike came out of his fog, he heard the two voices again: Maggie's and the doctor's.

"Well, it looks like our patient's awake," the man's voice said. "Sit her up, please, nurse."

Mike felt the head of the bed moving, until he was sitting up. As his vision cleared, he could see a man in a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck. He was average in height and size. He had curly, sandy blonde hair and a small mustache. Mike guessed he was in his thirties. He moved close to the bed.

"I'm Dr. David Vinci, your surgeon. I'm afraid you were badly injured in a motorcycle accident and it has taken a lot of work to fix you up. Margaret tells me that you don't remember the accident. Is that right?"

Mike nodded his head. For some reason, tears began to form in his eyes. The doctor looked down.

"Make a note to take a blood sample. I want to check her hormone levels. She seems to be overly emotional."

Mike looked at the doctor imploringly.

"No, please doctor, no. It can't be. Why do you say, 'her'? I'm a man. I'm not a woman. My name is Mike," he said agitatedly.

"Now," said the doctor sternly. "It will do you no good to get yourself upset. I will explain what has happened, but you must remain calm. If not, then I will have to have you tranquilized and postpone our conversation for another time. Do you want that?"

Mike shook his head as tears began to run down his cheeks.

"Very well then," said the doctor. "You motorcycle struck the rear of a car and you were thrown off." He turned to the nurse and shook his head. "Why people ride those things is a mystery to me." He turned back to Mike. "Your crotch caught on a metal fence as you went over it and tore off your genitals."

Mike shook his head and began to sob uncontrollably. The nurse looked at the doctor to see if he wanted to medicate him. He shook his head.

"It was a very nasty injury. Nothing was left. If the EMT's had not arrived quickly, given you a transfusion and had you medivacced here, you would have bled to death. As it was, the damage was too extensive to try to repair. The only thing left was a radical procedure we normally only do on very young boys who have suffered severe genital trauma. I reconstructed a vagina."

At the word, 'vagina' Mike broke down into sobs. The nurse again looked at the doctor and this time he nodded his head. She gave Mike an injection and he drifted off.

"Keep her sedated until tomorrow. Let her subconscious try to understand what she was told. I will be back. Oh, and keep the restraints on her too. I don't want her doing anything foolish to my work. Frankly, a lot of women would kill to have a pussy that nice."

Maggie couldn't believe her ears. "Really doctor!" she admonished him. He grinned at her, turned and left.

Mike spent most of the next day weeping. He couldn't seem to control his emotions. Every so often Maggie would come in to wipe his eyes and hold a tissue, so he could blow his nose. They brought in a tray with some food, but he was too upset to eat. Finally, Maggie got cross with him.

"Listen to me. You are lucky to be alive and you have had hundreds of thousands of dollars of the best medical care in the world to save you. You should be grateful. This accident was of your own doing and nothing is going to put things back the way they were. Nothing! Now you can either spend the rest of your life depressed, probably end up in a mental hospital, or you can make the best of it. You weren't born female, but there is nothing wrong with being a woman. I am a woman and I'm quite happy about it. Now, I am going to release your right arm and I want you to start eating your lunch."

Maybe it was her tone of voice, maybe Mike had finally come to recognize that he had no choice, maybe he was just worn out or maybe the hormones were changing his behavior, probably a combination of all of them; but he did as he was told. He picked up a spoon and began to feed himself some soup.

Later that afternoon, Dr. Vinci came in.

"Well, it seems our patient is doing better," he observed. "Do you want to hear the rest of what I have to say?"

"Yes," said Mike softly.

"Good," said the doctor.

"I am sorry to have to tell you this, but the change we have made is irreversible. There is no way to put back what was amputated by the fence."

Mike sniffled. The doctor went on.

"When we do this procedure on boys, they are pre-pubescent. That means they have not started to produce testosterone and at that age they do not have any secondary male sexual characteristics. They won't develop any without testicles and with replacement female hormones, estrogen, they will go on to develop normally, in a manner of speaking, the way a girl would. It is different with adults. There are some males, transsexuals, who feel that they should have been born female. After counseling, they begin with HRT, hormone replacement therapy, taking large amounts of estrogen, as we are giving you in your IV. Eventually, they undergo SRS, sexual reassignment surgery, as you have, and live their lives as women. Many even get married and have families, although they obviously have to adopt children."

Mike stared at him in disbelief.

"You mean, I have no choice? I have to be a woman?"

"Yes," agreed the doctor. "You have no choice. You are a woman. The name on your chart is now, 'Michelle' and your sex is noted as 'female'."

Mike started to cry. Maggie went over, sat on the bed next to her and put her arm around her.

"There, there dear. That's it. Have yourself a good cry. That's what we women do to feel better."

After a few minutes, Mike or now Michelle, regained a little composure. She looked up at the doctor who had been waiting patiently.

"Now then," the doctor went on matter-of-factly. "There are a number of things we can do to help with your transition. The more feminine you look, the easier it will be for others to accept you and for you to accept yourself as a woman. There are many enhancements we can do to accomplish that with cosmetic surgery. If you will place yourself in my hands, I am sure that you will be quite pleased with the results. Do you want me to help you, Michelle? Do you trust me?"

"Yes, Dr. Vinci," Michelle said sadly. "Whatever you say."

"Good. Now the most important thing is breasts. Of course, you could use breast forms; but having your own will make you feel much more comfortable and confident as a woman. You may have already noticed some sensitivity and swelling of your chest from the hormones. Let me take a look." He pulled down her gown to expose her chest. "Hmm. Yes, they are coming along nicely. The nipples are puffy. Are they sensitive?"

The doctor brushed Michelle's left nipple lightly with his finger and Michelle let out a little gasp. He gently manipulated her right nipple between his thumb and first finger and got the same response. The nurse raised her eyebrow at the unorthodox examination. The doctor ignored her.

"Excellent. I think another few weeks though, before there is enough to really work with. In the meantime, I can do some work on your face. Is that Okay?"

By now Michelle was resigned to her fate.

"Do what you think is best."

"Sign here," said the doctor, handing Michelle a form.

The next morning, Maggie came in quite excited.

"I can't believe this!" she exclaimed. "There's a hairdresser here to see you. Dr. Vinci arranged it. According to your chart, it's part of your rehab therapy. He thinks you will feel better about yourself with your hair and nails done. The hospital is paying. Can you beat that?" She paused. "Then again, there's nothing like a day of beauty to make you feel like a new woman."

"I'm the newest woman you'll ever meet," Michelle observed.

Maggie cracked up. She couldn't stop laughing. The door opened and a woman in a powder blue uniform came in. She had two big cases with her.

"Is it a private joke, or can anyone get in on it?" she kidded Maggie. "Hi, I'm Beverly." She looked over to the bed. "You must be Michelle."

Beverly walked over and eyed Michelle's hair. It was dark brown. Mike had worn it biker style; shoulder length and tied back in a pony tail. She reached down and ran her fingers through it.

"Oh, my Gawd!" she exclaimed. "That is nasty. When was the last time you had your hair done sweetie?"

"Never," Michelle answered honestly.

"From the looks of it, I'd say that's true," Beverly agreed. "The ends are split and it looks like you went ten rounds with a blender and lost. But never fear, Beverly's here. Makeovers are my specialty. Ugly ducklings into swans. You'll see. Now then," she said, looking at Maggie, "can she get up and go into the bathroom? I need to do a shampoo, cream rinse and, oh, a color treatment too. Honey blonde. It's right here in the instructions from, doctor, umm, I can't read his scribble. Looks like Viceroy?"

Maggie nodded her head and pointed to the bathroom door.

"You wait here for a few minutes while I get set up. I'll call you when I'm ready."

Beverly picked up her cases and went into the bathroom.

Maggie looked at Michelle and raised an eyebrow.

"I've never seen a doctor so involved in his work," she commented. "You have to give him credit though, he's thought of everything, right down to the smallest detail."

"Ready," Beverly called out.

Michelle got up and headed towards the bathroom.

"I wish I could stay," Maggie told her, "but I have other patients. Buzz me when the swan arrives."

Inside the bathroom, Beverly had set up a mini beauty salon. There were all sorts of bottles, combs, brushes and scissors laid out on towels. She was sitting on the edge of the tub, holding a hand shower.

"First we need to wash that mop. Can you kneel down here and bend over the tub?"

Beverly proceeded to wash, rinse, wash and rinse, finally applying a conditioner, which she combed through. By the time she was finished, Michelle's back ached from bending over.

"All done, sweetie. Sit here." She pointed to a potty chair she had placed in the center of the bathroom. "Not exactly what they have in the fancy downtown salons, but it will do." She put a towel over Michelle's shoulders and started to snip away. "Actually," Beverly went on, "I like doing house calls. Or in this case, hospital calls. Not many beauticians do. It's too difficult to schlepp all the stuff you need around, but then you make better money, because you don't have to share what you make with the shop's owner. Usually," Beverly continued to chatter as she cut, "I do little old ladies in nursing homes, so working on a young woman like you is a treat. Anyway, what's with you, if you don't mind my asking. Nothing serious, I hope?"

Michelle thought for a minute. "Female trouble," she finally answered.

"Oh," said Beverly sympathetically. "I hope it isn't something that will prevent you from having babies? You're so young." Then she quickly added apologetically, "I hope I'm not being too personal. You know us hairdressers, we can be real yentas. That means busy bodies. You just tell me if you don't want to talk about it."

"No, it's okay," Michelle assured her. "I can't have babies. But then I was never planning on having them," she said truthfully, "so it's no big deal."

"I'm sorry sweetie. But you know what they say. The cradle may be empty, but the playpen is still there." Beverly gave a little laugh and changed the subject. "All done with the styling. Now for the color," she announced.

Beverly was a perfectionist and the color process took a long time. While she was waiting for it to develop, she gave Michelle a manicure and pedicure. Mike had never paid much attention to his nails and they had grown even longer while she was in the hospital, almost an inch. Beverly shaped and smoothed them, did the cuticles and applied a coat of bright red polish.

"Usually, they don't allow you to wear nail polish in the hospital. They want to see the pink color through the nail, so they can make sure you have good circulation. That's what a doctor told me one time, anyway. I'll leave you a bottle of remover. I'm sure the hospital has lots of cotton balls or gauze pads to apply it with. There's no reason why you can't look pretty for a least a little while. A girl just doesn't feel well dressed without polished nails."

Michelle smiled politely and nodded her agreement.

When the color process was done, Beverly combed Michelle out and fussed with a curling iron, making small waves. Another twenty minutes with a blow dryer and styling brush and she was finally satisfied. Michelle had no clue as to what was going on. She simply waited patiently for Beverly to finish her work.

"Come here," Beverly directed her, pointing to the mirror over the sink. "So? What do you think?"

Michelle looked in the mirror and couldn't believe her eyes. Her face was framed with wispy bangs and beautiful blonde hair cascaded down to her shoulders with gentle curls. She tossed her head from side to side and the hair swirled, just like she had seen on the hair styling commercials on TV. She reached up and gently brushed it back with her manicured fingers, the red nail polish contrasting with the blonde hair. For the first time, Michelle forgot about Mike and saw herself as a woman. A beautiful woman.

Michelle turned to Beverly and gave her a hug. "You are wonderful," she complimented her. "I never dreamed I could look this good. Thank you so, so much."

"Honestly, Michelle," Beverly responded, "it was my pleasure. I told you, ducklings to swans is my specialty and you are one of my best results. Just what the doctor ordered."

After a few more hugs and a promise by Michelle, taking one of Beverly's business cards, to look her up when she got out of the hospital, Beverly packed up her cases and left. Maggie saw her on the way out and headed for Michelle's room. When she walked in, her jaw dropped and the usually talkative nurse was at a loss for words. Finally, she got out, "Michelle, you're gorgeous."

That afternoon, Dr. Vinci stopped in to tell Michelle that he had scheduled her for surgery. She hoped that he was pleased with her appearance. He examined her and said clinically, "You are progressing nicely."

Over the next few days, Michelle was in and out of the OR. He face was bandaged and finally Dr. Vinci came in for the grand unveiling. He carefully removed the gauze and examined his work. He nodded his head approvingly, then held up a mirror.

Michelle didn't recognize the person who looked back it her.

"What I've done, Michelle, is used collagen to give you fuller lips, raise your cheekbones and define your chin. I've also bobbed your nose and made your eyes appear larger. You may have wondered why you were told not to speak during your recuperation. While I had you under, I shaved your larynx and did some adjustment to your vocal cords, so that you will no longer have a visible adams apple and your voice will be higher pitched. Since you are new to using makeup, I took the liberty of tattooing on permanent eye liner and lip color. You can use lipstick over it, if you wish. I pierced your ears too. After a few weeks, you can pick out some pretty earrings. Oh, and your teeth were a mess, so I had them capped. Are you pleased? You can speak now."

Michelle was not paying attention to the doctor. She was admiring herself in the mirror. If it were not her own reflection, she would be turned on by the beautiful face reflected back.

"What? Oh, yes, Dr. Vinci. It is, well, it is very beautiful. Thank you," she said with a smile, trying out her new pouty red lips and white teeth.

"My pleasure, Michelle. However, beauty is as beauty does. You do have very nice skin, but you need to maintain it soft and smooth. I've asked Nurse Margaret to help you with the various beauty preparations a woman needs to use. Oh, and you really do need to work with rehab to get your muscle tone back. Goodbye for now."

Later that afternoon, Maggie came in with a box full of bottles and jars.

"Dr. Vinci must want to protect his investment in you, because he had me charge a couple of hundred dollars worth of preparations and cosmetics on his Master Card. I have to admit though, it was fun. I'd never spend that kind of money on myself, but he only wanted the best. Let's get started with the skin cleansers and moisturizers you need to use at night. One good thing is that he put on the permanent eye makeup. Otherwise, that stuff is waterproof and a bitch to get off. I've got to tell you Michelle, you are quite the hit on this floor. The orderlies are fighting to see who gets to take care of you." Maggie laughed. "Your chart has always had you as a girl, so, as far as they know, you are one hot babe. You better be careful," she kidded her, "or one of these nights one of them may sneak in to take your new vagina for a test spin."

That was the first time that it struck Michelle, technically she was a virgin.

The next morning, Michelle was taken in a wheelchair to the Rehabilitation Therapy Department. The therapist did an evaluation and consulted the doctor's note. She had a puzzled look on her face.

"I'm Dottie and I'll be working with you. According to this, Dr. Vinci wants you to try walking in high heels. I've never heard of that one before, but he thinks it will help you to regain your muscle tone and balance. I don't know where he thinks we're going to get high heels around here. This is a hospital, not a shoe salon. Hang on, let me see if I can get hold of him and see what he has in mind."

The therapist returned a few minutes later carrying a box and shaking her head.

"This is really weird. Apparently he left these for you to wear." She opened the box. There was a pair of black leather pumps. They had an ankle strap with a pointed toe and four inch spike heel.

"Oh my God!" exclaimed the therapist. "I've never seen anything like that. I'd break my neck trying to walk in those. And he wants us to have you wear them. I sure hope he has his malpractice insurance paid up. Okay, Michelle, put 'em on and let's see what happens."

Michelle looked at the shoes and then at the therapist.

"I've never worn high heels before," she admitted. "Would you help me please?"

"What? You're only about five five and don't wear heels?" the therapist said skeptically.

Michelle decided she could confide in Dottie.

"I used to be a man. I don't know anything about how to be a woman."

Dotti looked closely at her.

"No way!"

"Unfortunately, way," said Michelle. "I had a motorcycle accident and damaged myself so badly the only thing they could do was turn me into a woman. Dr. Vinci has done a lot of work on me."

Dottie looked at her sympathetically.

"Really? Oh, you poor dear. I can see we'll have to work on more than just walking in heels. You need a whole lesson in body movement. Let me help you with the shoes and then we can get started."

For the next two hours, Dottie guided Michele back and forth between the parallel bars, at first holding on for support, but eventually walking with poise and confidence, chin up, shoulder's back, chest out, balancing a book on her head and turning like a model on a runway.

"Holy cow, Michelle. You are a natural. Are you sure you're not putting me on about the accident?"

Michelle grinned and shook her head.

"But my legs ache and my feet are squished to death in these pointy shoes. Women sure go through a lot to be pretty."

Dottie nodded her head. "You ain't seen nothing yet toots. Wait until you wear short skirts in the winter. Having the wind whistle up your keyster is no fun." She laughed. "You're good to go with these things. Why don't you take them back to your room and practice. You really need to wear clothes to get your hip and butt movement down. I will speak to Dr. Vinci. If he can find you heels, maybe he's got a dress to go with them." She shrugged her shoulders. "See you tomorrow."

To Michelle's and Dottie's surprise, the next day there was a box with a pretty pastel pink dress. It was a clingy jersey material with a high round neck and three quarter sleeves. The skirt flared and came to just above the knee. In with the dress was a pair of lacy pink panties and nude pantyhose.

"I don't know where Dr. Vinci is getting this stuff," said Dotti, "but whoever is picking it out has great taste and seems to know your size. Take these in the other room and put them on."

Michelle hesitated.

Dotti looked at her, then hit her forehead with her hand. "Doh. You have no idea how to put on a dress and stockings, do you?"

"No," admitted Michelle.

She shrugged. "Okay. First, step into the panties. The label goes in back. I can help you with the pantyhose when you have the dress on." She picked up the dress and unzipped it. "Slip the dress over your head and put your arms in the sleeves, then let it slide down. No sense struggling with the zipper. It takes some getting used to. I will zip you up when you come out."

A few minutes later, Michelle reappeared, pretty in pink.

"Wow, you look great in that dress. Turn around. There. Not much in the boob department, huh? Don't need a bra yet. Sit on the chair and we'll put on the pantyhose. You slide your hand down the leg and bunch them up, then point your toe and slide them up to your knee. Then do the other once. Once they're on, you work them up until the panty is up to your crotch. Then smooth the material up towards your waist. Now, step into your heels and we're ready to work on your movement."

A few days later, Dr. Vinci came in to see Michelle.

"I have some good news," he told her. "It's time to do your breasts. That's the final stage. Everything else is perfect. We will prep you tomorrow morning. Are you happy with everything I've done so far, Michelle?"

"Yes, Dr. Vinci. I mean, as happy as I can be, all things considered. You have been very kind and I am very grateful. I don't know how I will ever be able to repay you for everything you have done for me."

Dr. Vinci looked embarrassed. "Really Michelle, I am very happy to have had the opportunity. It is not often that a doctor gets to create a work of art. Now then, get some rest. You have a big day tomorrow."

The next morning, Maggie came in. "It's D-Day. Or A- or B- or C-Day," she said playfully.

Michelle gave her a blank look.

Maggie caught on.

"Sorry, I forgot you're new to the girl game. Those are bra cup sizes. The smallest is A, about what you have now, and the largest is D. Well, actually they can go up to DD and even bigger, but those are the common ones." Maggie pointed to her own breasts. "I'm a 34C. The number is your chest circumference. Anyway, the orderly will be in shortly to take you up to the OR, but you need to take this pill to relax first."

Michelle took the pill. She woke up in recovery a few hours later. Dr. Vinci was there. She looked down and saw bandages wound around her chest.

"The operation went fine," he reassured her. "It will take about a week for the incisions to heal and then you will be the perfect woman." He smiled at her. "However, I have some bad news."

Michelle gave him a worried look.

"Oh, no. Not about your surgery. About staying in the hospital. Breast augmentation surgery, which technically is what you had, is a day procedure. The rest of your treatment is complete and the hospital has to discharge you. I'm sorry, but those are the rules."

Michelle panicked.

"Oh, Dr. Vinci. I never thought about what would happen when I had to leave. The room I lived in was rented by the week. I've been here for so long, I'm sure that the landlady has thrown my stuff out by now, not that I have any use for my clothes any more. I spent just about everything I had on the motorcycle. I'm broke and homeless. What am I going to do?"

Michelle started to cry.

Dr. Vinci looked down at her.

"Please don't cry. I have a solution. You can move in with me. I have a big house with lots of room and that way I can keep an eye on you, until your breasts heal up."

"Oh, no, Dr. Vinci. I couldn't. Maybe, if you could loan me a little money, I could get another room and try to find a job. I'll bet I could be a cocktail waitress. Everyone who sees me thinks I'm pretty. It isn't hard work and I heard they make decent money. I would pay you back as soon as I could. Honestly."

"Michele," Dr.Vinci said sternly. "That is not an option for the time being. You cannot do anything that requires lifting, even trays, until the incisions heal and the last thing in the world I want is some drunk deciding to feel you up and ruin my work. Now I insist that at least you stay with me for a week. I won't hear otherwise. You are going to be discharged at two o'clock and I will pick you up."

The doctor walked off before Michele could protest.

When Michelle returned to her room, Maggie was waiting.

"I heard you're being discharged today. I'll be sorry to see you go. Nurses aren't supposed to say this, but you're my favorite patient. I'll miss you."

Michelle went over and gave her a hug.

"I'm not very good at this kind of thing. Being emotional is new to me. But I couldn't have done this without you. You've been my best friend and I'll miss you too. I'll be staying with Dr. Vinci for a week, until I'm healed up, so maybe I can come in with him one of these days and visit you."

Maggie's eyes went wide.

"You're moving in with Dr. Vinci?"

"Just temporarily. Is there a problem with that?" Michelle paused. "Oh my. I never thought to ask him. Is he married?"

Maggie shook her head.

"No, not that I know of. At least he doesn't wear a wedding ring," Maggie observed. "Women notice those things, at least with eligible young doctors." She laughed. "He's very private. I've never heard him talking about anyone in his life. He just comes in, sees his patients and leaves. Come to think of it, I've never even seen him being friendly with any of the other doctors or staff. He's pretty much a loner, which surprises me that he invited you home with him."

"Well," explained Michelle, "he really didn't have a choice. I lost my room and have no place to go. I don't think he wanted to take a chance on having his masterpiece damaged, if I ended up on the street."

"I suppose that makes sense," agreed Maggie. "Have you thought about what you will do, once he finishes with you?"

"No, not really. Maybe be a cocktail waitress. I don't have any other skills. I wish I hadn't dropped out of school."

"Well, if you ever need any help, get in touch with me. I'm not rich, but I know my way around the block. I bet we can come up with something, if we put our heads together." Then she looked down. "Or our chests. Wow! When those wraps come off, it's going to be an impressive rack. Look down. Can you see your feet?"

"Uh, no. Am I supposed to be able to?"

"It depends on whether you're a guy or a girl," Maggie said with a laugh. "Most men would say no. Most women would prefer to be less well endowed. It gets to be a nuisance with trying to find a bra that gives you enough support or finding clothes that fit. Dresses and blouses are designed for an average figure. On the other hand, at your age, they're definitely more of an asset than a liability. Enjoy them. Oh my, it's getting late," Maggie said, looking at her watch. "You better get dressed."

Michelle gave Maggie a panicked look. "Get dressed! I never thought about it. I don't have any clothes."

Maggie thought for a minute.

"What about the outfit you did your rehab therapy in. It's still in the closet." She opened the door. "Yes, the underwear, dress and shoes are here."

"Those aren't mine," Michelle explained. "They belong to the hospital. I just borrowed them."

"Are you nuts? The hospital doesn't provide street clothes. Dr. Vinci must have bought them himself. They're yours. Now hurry up and get dressed."

Michelle put on the panties, the pantyhose, slipped on the dress and stepped into the heels. She had been practicing each day, since she had nothing better to do, and was quite used to them.

Maggie looked at Michelle.

"One final thing," she commented. "Your hair looks like you slept on it. Which you did in fact." She took out a comb and brush. "Let me see what I can do." She fussed with it until she was satisfied. "Okay, let me get an orderly with a wheelchair and off you go Cinderella. Prince Charming is waiting in his Mercedes to carry you off to the ball. Or his house." Maggie laughed.

The wheelchair arrived and Michele went to get in, as she had dozens of times before.

"Wait," said Maggie.

Michelle gave her a puzzled look.

"It's different when you sit down in a dress. You need to smooth the material, so it doesn't bunch up or wrinkle. Oh and keep your knees together or your legs or ankles crossed when you're sitting down." She winked at Michelle.

Michelle followed her instructions and sat down. The orderly pushed her to the elevator and they went down to the lobby area. Maggie followed along. Outside the entrance, Dr. Vinci was standing by a car. It wasn't a Mercedes. It was a red Corvette.

"Holy cow!" exclaimed Maggie. "Did I ever have this guy pegged wrong. Listen, when you get in, sit sideways, put your legs together and swivel around. That's how women do it when they're wearing a skirt. Otherwise, you don't leave much to the imagination, if you get my meaning."

Michelle nodded, remembering Mike's ogling girls in short skirts, hoping to catch a peek at their panties.

The orderly wheeled her chair out and Dr. Vinci greeted her. He opened the door and held her arm, as she stood up. Remembering what Maggie told her, she smoothed her skirt under her and gracefully seated herself, adjusting her dress. Dr. Vinci went around, got in and started the car. As they drove off, Michele waved to Maggie, who blew her a kiss back. Dr. Vinci rounded a corner and the hospital disappeared from sight. It was the first time Michele had been outside since her accident and she was very nervous about appearing in public as a women.

Dr. Vinci must have sensed that she was worried.

"Calm down, Michelle. Believe me. You are prettier than 99% of the women. I should know. I created you. Your secret is safe. I guarantee it or your money back."

It was the first time that Michelle ever heard the doctor not be serious.

"Please Dr. Vinci, don't misunderstand. I am more than grateful for your giving me a new life. I'm sure that with time, I will get used to being Michelle. But right now, everything is so different. I don't understand this. Nothing ever frightened me before."

As they drove along, Michelle looked out the window and saw they were in a very fancy neighborhood with large houses and beautifully kept lawns. A few minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of an impressive house. It was red brick with white columns in front and surrounded by all sorts of bushes and flowers. Michelle had only seen mansions like this on television. She never dreamed that one day that she would be living in one, even temporarily, and certainly not as a woman.

Dr. Vinci pressed a button on the visor and the garage door swung up. He drove in and parked. Michelle was about to get out and then remembered that women waited for the man. Sure enough, he came around, opened her door and held out his hand. She took it and he gently helped her up. He escorted her towards a door, which he opened with key and they went in.

They went through a small entry into an enormous kitchen. Michelle had never seen anything like it. It had dozens of cabinets with glass doors through which she could see all sorts of glasses and dishes. A huge stainless steel stove, a gigantic refrigerator, long black granite topped counters and a matching center island with a huge stainless steel sink in the middle. It would be a dream kitchen, if she had the faintest idea what to do in it. Mike either ate out or used the microwave.

"Oh, Dr. Vinci!" Michelle exclaimed. "You have such a beautiful home."

"I'm glad you like it," replied the doctor. "It is your home now. At least for the next week," he added, "although you are welcome to stay as long as you like."

"Oh now, doctor, you are too, too kind. I couldn't impose on your hospitality. You have your own life, I am sure, and as soon as I am better, I want to find a job and start out on my own."

"As you wish, but for now you are my guest. Let me show you the rest of our house."

Michelle paused at his calling it 'our house'. She guessed he meant that he and she would be sharing it for a while. She followed him out of the kitchen and down a hallway. He proceeded to show her the different rooms, each beautifully decorated. She was especially impressed with his study, which was paneled in dark wood, with a huge desk, high backed leather chair, leather couch and shelf after shelf of books. After the study, they went upstairs to what Michelle expected were the bedrooms.

The first room they entered was very feminine. It had pink carpet and white wallpaper with a design in pastel colors, coordinating curtains and a gigantic bed with a pink and white ruffled canopy and matching bedspread. Against one wall was a long dresser with a mirror and against the other wall was a small table with a mirror. The third wall had mirrored doors. Dr. Vinci went over and opened one. Inside were women's clothes. He opened another. Inside were racks of shoes. He opened a third. Inside were drawers with more clothes in them. He motioned for Michelle to come over to the dresser, which held drawer after drawer of lacy lingerie.

Michelle put her hand to her mouth. "Oh Doctor Vinci. I'm so sorry. Maggie said you weren't married. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to intrude." She began to cry with embarrassment.

Dr. Vinci came over and put his arm around her shoulder to comfort her.

"This was my wife's room, but she's gone. It is your room now and her things are for you to wear and use. I would like that very much."

Michelle shook her head and through her sobs got out, "Please Dr. Vinci. I couldn't. These were her special things. I really want to go. This isn't right."

"Come over here, please," Dr. Vinci said. He still had his arm around her and guided her over to the closet. He took down a hanger with a pale green dress. "Look," he pointed to a tag. "These are all brand new. My wife never wore them."

Michelle stopped crying and gave him a puzzled look.

"I'm afraid I was not much of a husband," he admitted. "It takes a lot to build a medical practice and I was at the hospital most of the day and night. Since I was on call and would often have to leave and come home at odd hours, we had separate bedrooms, so I wouldn't disturb her. My wife, well, she filled her days by shopping. It was easier to give her an unlimited allowance than to spend time with her. When she shopped, it was not just for things she needed. I indulged her. This," he pointed to the closets and then to the dresser, "is the result. One day I came home and she was gone. She cleaned out our bank account and ran off with some personal trainer she met at the gym. The things she wore, she packed up and took with her. The things she bought for fun she left. I divorced her. So, you see, there is nothing special about any of these things. I kept them, because they were expensive and didn't know what to do with them. Now I do. They are yours, Michelle."

Michelle began to cry.

"What is it Michelle? Have I said something to hurt your feelings? I'm sorry if I did," apologized the doctor.

"No, Dr. Vinci, actually, I'm very happy," Michelle told him tearfully. "This is like a dream. Not that I ever dreamed of being a woman and wearing dresses. But having a beautiful home and beautiful clothes and having someone to care for me the way you have. I've been struggling to get by on my own since I was a kid and this is all too wonderful. I guess women cry when they're happy, because I can't seem to help myself."

Dr. Vinci regained his professional demeanor.

"Now then, it is time for your bandages to come off. I have a surgical kit downstairs I keep for emergency calls. I will get what I need and be right back. While I'm gone, please remove your dress."

After Dr. Vinci left, Michelle started to get undressed. She reached around behind her with her left hand, trying to find the zipper. Then she reached over her shoulder with her right hand and caught it, but was only able to lower it a few inches. Then she tried with her left hand and managed to get it the rest of the way down. Dottie was right, she thought, zipping and unzipping a dress is a struggle. Michelle leaned forward and let the smooth material of the dress slide off her arms and then wiggled out of the bottom, letting it drop to the floor and stepping out of it. Dr. Vinci was her doctor and had not only seen her naked, but he had actually made her body, so she had no thought of modesty.

Dr. Vinci returned holding a pair of curved scissors with a blunt tip. He began to cut away the bandages around her chest. Michelle was standing facing the mirror over the dresser, but Dr. Vinci was in front of her, so her view was blocked. She felt the bandages come off and then felt Dr. Vinci examining her right breast. Since she never had a breast examination before, not having any breasts to examine, she had no idea what to expect. His hands moved gently over and around, prodding, squeezing, massaging and manipulating the nipple. Michelle tried hard not to respond, but it was a losing battle. She let out a soft moan.

Dr. Vinci looked up at her, still cupping her right breast.

"Am I hurting you Michelle?" he asked with concern. "The incision is healing well and I don't feel any abnormalities. You shouldn't be tender anymore."

Michelle was ashamed of her reaction and said very quietly, "No Dr. Vinci. You weren't hurting me. It felt, well, I'm sorry, I know this is wrong, but, well, it felt good."

"Actually," he explained, "it's not your fault, it's mine. I should have realized that you might have an erotic reaction to the stimulation. A woman's breasts are a very sensitive part of her body. I will try to be as brief as possible, but I do need to check your other breast to make sure the implant is properly placed and it is symmetrical. Don't be embarrassed if you find it pleasurable. To the contrary, it means that the nerves are working properly. Is it alright if I continue?"

Michelle regained some of her composure.

"Of course, Dr. Vinci. Please continue. I'll think of elephants or something to take my mind off of it."

Dr. Vinci moved his attention to her left breast and continued his examination. Michelle let out another moan.

"Sorry, not working," she admitted.

Finally, Dr. Vinci was done. He stepped back and then moved aside, so that Michelle could see herself in the mirror.

"I am quite pleased," he told her. "The stitches have almost complete dissolved and the incisions are barely visible. The shape is very natural and the nipples are quite impressive. Take a look."

Michelle gazed down at the two mounds of pink flesh project out from her chest. She looked in the mirror and saw large brown circles with protruding nipples. Mike would have given his left nut to get his hands on those breasts, she thought to herself. Then she realized he had and more.

"They're beautiful, Dr. Vinci. Thank you," Michelle said enthusiastically. "You were right, they do make me look and feel feminine. Nobody is going to mistake me for a man with this rack," she giggled. "I'm sorry, that's how Maggie described them. You know, the nurse."

Dr. Vinci nodded. "Don't apologize, Michelle. You're right. They are quite a rack. That is what I intended. I could have given you an average bust, but I didn't want you to be average. I wanted you to be special."

Michelle turned to see her profile. Her breasts were firm and rounded. She lifted them with her hands, feeling the sensation of their movement. They were so natural it was hard for her to believe that she wasn't born with them. She imagined herself in a low cut evening dress with men gawking at her cleavage, the way Mike had drooled over busty movie stars. Being a woman might not be so bad after all, she thought.

Michelle's day dream was interrupted by Dr. Vinci.

"I'm glad you are happy with what I have done, Michelle. Now that the bandages are off, you should bathe. If you will follow me, I'll show you to the bathroom."

He went to a door at the back of the room and held it open. Michelle went in. Like the bedroom, the bathroom was very feminine. Pink and white tile, a gigantic tub, a pink marble counter with an oval sink and gold faucets. The back wall behind the sink was mirrored, as were the other walls, except for around the tub, so that you could see yourself from all angles. Dr. Vinci opened another door and inside was a toilet and some other type of fixture. Michelle asked Dr. Vinci what it was and he told her it was a bidet, which women used for feminine hygiene. He showed her how the water squirted up to wash her crotch. He suggested that, even though Michelle's vagina was not fully functional, she should still keep herself clean. Michelle assured him she would use it.

"I have to go back to the hospital to do my rounds," Dr. Vinci told Michelle. "I will get your bath started while you get undressed. These aromatic bath salts," he pointed to a jar of purple crystals, "are soothing. I will add them to the bath water. When you are finished, there is a robe hanging on the hook behind the door. Please pick out whatever you want to wear. I will call you from the hospital to see how you are doing and let you know when I will be back. It should be about dinner time. I will stop on my way and pick something up. In the meantime, please make yourself at home."

Michelle stepped out of her heels, slid her thumbs into the waistband of her pantyhose and peeled them off, then did the same for her panties, letting them drop to the floor and stepping out of them. She stood naked, waiting for Dr. Vinci to finish preparing her bath. Finally, he turned around and came over to her.

Dr. Vinci studied her.

"Turn around, please."

Michelle did as the doctor asked.

Dr. Vinci moved closer and slid his hands over her hips and around to her buttocks, then back up to her hips.

"The hormones are working well," he told her. "Your figure is filling out nicely. Bend over, please, with your hands on your knees."

Michelle bent forward, her breasts swinging out.

"Spread your legs, please."

Michelle moved her legs apart.

"More, please."

Michelle widened her stance. She felt Dr. Vinci's hand move up the inside of her left thigh to her vagina, briefly brush over it and move down her right thigh. Then he put one hand on her back, holding her in position, while his other hand returned to her vagina, this time parting the lips and probing inside. Michelle tried to hold back, but couldn't control herself any longer. Her body quivered and she began breathe rapidly as his fingers moved around inside her.

"Oh, oh, Dr. Vinci, oh, I'm sorry. I can't help myself. I'm very sensitive down there."

Dr. Vinci withdrew his fingers.

"You may straighten up now, Michelle. You don't need to apologize for having a reaction to being stimulated. That was the purpose of my examination, to see how sensitive you are to penetration. One of the functions of a vagina is for sexual intercourse and with your beauty, I would expect you will have your choice of young men." He paused. "Now that you are all healed, perhaps I should prescribe a dildo you can use to help prepare you. A small one, of course, with which to get started."

Michelle shook her head.

"I understand that you are trying to help me to be a woman, Dr. Vinci, but I am not interested in sex. I've thought about it, but I can't picture myself having a romantic feeling towards another man."

"Of course not, when you put it like that. However, with time your body will take over and you will change your mind. The other day, when I examined your breasts, you found that pleasurable and just now, you had an erotic reaction, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, but that was because it felt right for you to be touching me. I can't imagine being pawed by some strange guy who's looking to get laid." Michelle shook her head. "I'm sorry, Dr. Vinci, but I've been on that side of the fence." She shuddered. "Ouch, I shouldn't use that expression, because it hadn't been for the fence, I wouldn't be on this side of it. I know how insincere and self-centered men are when they're lusting after some good looking woman. I screwed up my life as a man and now you've given me a second chance as a woman. I'm not going to waste it as a bimbo, even if I do have the equipment."

Dr. Vinci nodded and said appreciatively, "I am impressed with your attitude, but being respected and being loved are not necessarily mutually exclusive. It will come in time." He paused and gave Michelle a little smile, "And so will you."

Michelle couldn't decide if Dr. Vinci was speaking medically, as to how her body would function when she finally did make love to a man, or being suggestive. She gave him a curious look, but he ignored it.

"You had better get in while the water is still hot," he told her, holding out his hand to help her step in. "Hold on. You should put your hair up, so it doesn't get wet."

"Oh, yes," she agreed. "Is there an elastic around?"

Dr. Vinci opened one of the drawers and took out a black pony elastic.

"Here," he said, handing it to her.

Michelle put it over her wrist and pulled her hair back into a pony tail, like she used to do when she worked at the restaurant. She slid the elastic over her hand and bound her hair, doubling it over to make it tighter.

Dr. Vinci went back into the drawer and brought her a big clip with pointed teeth. He handed it to her. She gave him a blank look.

"Pile you hair up on your head and use the clip to hold it in place."

It took a few tries to coordinate getting all of the hair up and putting the clip in the right place, but she eventually worked it out. Dr. Vinci put his hand out again and Michelle stepped into the frothy, floral scented water. She sat down and stretched out, enjoying the relaxing warmth and soothing fragrance. Looking down, she noticed that her breasts were floating. She pushed them down. They bobbed up. She did it again and then again.

Dr. Vinci had been watching her.

"The implants are saline," he explained. "That is, they are filled with salt water. It is much safer than silicone and the same consistency as your own body. Well, since you seem to have found something to entertain yourself while you bathe, I will leave you."

Michelle hadn't realized she was playing with herself. She blushed.

"Here's a washcloth and if you want to shave your legs and underarms, here's a razor and shaving cream. There are towels in the linen closet." He pointed to a door. "I will be gone for a few hours. Please make yourself comfortable. Go wherever you please and please make use of my wife's, or ex-wife's I should say, wardrobe. "

Dr. Vinci turned and left, closing the door behind him. Michelle slid down, letting the hot water cover her body. She had never experienced such luxury. A girl could get used to being pampered, she said to herself and gave a little sigh of pleasure. Her thoughts drifted to what Dr. Vinci had said about her having sex. She closed her eyes and pictured different men she knew, but none of them had any appeal. The only man she could imagine was Dr. Vinci. He was so kind, so compassionate and so generous; but that was out of the question. Not only would it be unthinkable for her to come on to her doctor, even if she had romantic feelings for him, which she didn't she assured herself; but he knew what she really was. He was young, attractive from the little perspective she had of what women liked in a man, and rich. He could have any real woman he wanted, so he certainly would not want her. For some reason, a small tear trickled down her cheek. Stupid hormones she thought.

After a good long soak, she decided it was time to attend to business. She used the washcloth to give herself a good scrub, until her skin was pink, and then picked up the razor. Even though Mike had only grown peach fuzz, he still shaved, because that was what men did. Shaving their armpits and legs was what women did. Michelle lathered up and used the razor, carefully guiding it over her legs and under her arms, until they felt silky smooth. When she was finished, she rinsed herself off and stepped out of the tub. There was a white terry robe hanging on a hook on the back of the door, which she wrapped around herself and tied the belt. She opened the door and went into the bedroom.

Dr. Vinci would be home in a few hours and she wanted to make herself look good for him. It was the least she could do to show how much she appreciated his kindness. However, she had no clue as to how to do it. She noticed a large cabinet across from the bed and went over to see what was in it. Inside was a big screen TV with a built in VCR. She noticed a number of tapes on the shelf above the TV. She looked them over, hoping that there would be a home movie, so she could see what Dr. Vinci's wife looked like. The first one was an exercise tape, "Abs of Steel," as was the second one, "Buns of Steel." The third one was about macrobiotic foods and diet. Obviously, Mrs. Vinci liked to keep herself trim and in shape. Michelle thought that wasn't such a bad idea. The next tape just what she needed, "Quick and Easy Hair Styling Techniques," and so was the next, "Professional Beauty Secrets." She popped the hair styling tape in and turned on the TV.

The tape began by explaining about proper hair care, protein and hot oil treatments and other things that really weren't of interest to Michelle. She fast forwarded to the next section, which was about different hair styles. The French braid looked really nice, but was much too complicated. Michelle decided that once she made some money she would give Beverly a call for some lessons. She fast forwarded some more and got to a section on styling long hair like hers. She watched intently as the man, Vidal somebody or other, went over various types of brushes and combs and the use of a blow dryer. Michelle rewound the tape and went over to the table, where she found what she needed. Then she started the tape with the remote and tried to follow the instructions, stopping, rewinding and replaying each step, until she was satisfied with what she saw in the mirror. Not bad for a beginner, she complimented herself.

Michelle took out the hair tape and put in the beauty tape. She concentrated on the explanation of the various types of makeup and their application. She stopped the tape. Going back to the small table, she found everything that had been described. Various size and shapes of brushes, lipstick, lip gloss, powder and a puff, foundation, eye shadow, mascara, eye shadow, little eyelash and eyebrow brushes, eye lash curler, tweezers, lip and eye liners, eyebrow pencils and blush. She started the tape again on the explanation of proper eyebrow shape. Michelle looked in the mirror and saw that hers were a mess. Taking the tweezers, she began to shape them. Pulling out the hairs one by one really hurt, but she was determined and eventually found that quick, sharp yanks made it bearable. The increasingly feminine look as each hair was removed and a smooth, thin arch took shape rewarded her efforts.

Michelle continued with her beauty routine, following the video's step by step instructions. She decided to hold off on the eye shadow and lipstick, until she decided on her outfit, since the tape said that those colors should be coordinated. Turning off the video with the remote, she stood up and went over to one of the closets. She opened the first door. It was the one with dresses. Michelle looked through them, but decided to start with a skirt and blouse. She opened up the next closet and looked through the assortment. Not having any experience in picking out women's clothes, let alone wearing them, she decided to go for simplicity. She held a few different skirts up in front of her and finally decided on a pleated black one in a soft, flowing material. Looking for a blouse to go with it, she chose a white, silky one with a round color and long sleeves ending in ruffles.

She laid them on the bed and went to the dresser to find some underwear. The top drawer had sets of bras and panties. It really didn't matter, so she took the first ones she found, which were shiny white nylon with lace trim. Finally, she wanted to wear stockings, so she looked in the next drawer down and sure enough there were packages of pantyhose in every imaginable color. Poor Dr. Vinci, Michelle thought, he wife was merciless in her shopping. How could she spend his money on so many clothes she would never wear and makeup she would never use? She decided on a pair in 'suntan'.

The panties and bra still had the store tags on them. Michelle went to the small table and found a little pair of scissors. The tag she cut off the panties said 'Size 5'. Michelle went back into the bathroom and looked at the label in the panties she had worn. They were size 5. She wondered about the coincidence that she and Dr. Vinci's wife were the same size. She went back into the bedroom and picked up the bra. The tag said '36D'. Michelle remembered that Maggie said the letter was for the cup size and that D was really large. She guessed she must be a D. How much more of a coincidence could it be, she wondered, if they wore the same bra size too? There was only one way to find out. She put the cups over her breasts. They had something stiff underneath them. Running her hands around the band, she tried to fasten it in back, but couldn't get it to hook. She took the bra off and put her arms through the straps, hoping that would hold it in place while she worked on fastening it, but she still wasn't flexible enough or experienced enough to do it.

After puzzling about how to get it on, she decided to hook it in front first, then turn it around and tuck herself into it afterwards. There were four hooks and three sets of eyes. Not having anything to go by, she used the middle set, which left her with some room for adjustment. Once she had it around her, she slipped her arms through the straps and wrestled her breasts into the cups, moving them around until the nipples were centered. She noticed that it was a little saggy and found a slide on the straps that let her shorten them to give more support. To her surprise, when she was finally done, the bra fit perfectly, at least as far as she could tell in her very limited experience.

The rest of the outfit went on quickly, since she had worn pantyhose, and the skirt and blouse weren't much different from her dress. Michelle put on the skirt like she did the bra, zipping it up in front and turning the waist around. The blouse had buttons which were easy, except for the fact she wasn't used to doing them backwards, at least opposite from the way men's shirts buttoned. Finally, she was dressed and went to pick out a pair of shoes. There must have been a dozen pair in different styles and colors. Going through them, Michelle found that they were all the same high heel. Michelle wondered why. Was Mrs.Vinci really short? But then the length of her skirts and dresses seemed to be for someone Michelle's height. Maybe she took the other shoes with her, Michelle reasoned. That must be it. After all that, Michelle decided to wear the shoes she had gotten used to in the hospital. It really didn't matter, since she wasn't going anywhere. When she was finished she stood in front of the full length mirror on the closet door and admitted herself. Not bad for a beginner, she complimented herself.

Michelle decided to explore the house. She started with the room next to hers, which she guessed must be Dr. Vinci's bedroom. She wondered if she should intrude on his privacy, but she wanted to know more about him and his ex-wife. Maybe he kept a picture of her. Her curiosity overcame her inhibitions. The door was open and she walked in. The room was as masculine as his wife's was feminine. It struck Michelle that Dr. Vinci had never mentioned her name. She wondered what it was and hoped she might find something to tell her. She moved slowly about the room, being very careful not to disturb anything. She peeked in the closets, opened up a few drawers, but there was just what you would expect in a man's room. She should know. She noticed that the bed was not made. When she was younger, she had gotten in trouble for borrowing a neighbor's car and had spent a few months in a juvenile detention facility. They were required to make their own beds, so knew that much about housekeeping. She straightened up the sheets and blankets, tucked them in neatly, fluffed the pillows and pulled up the spread. Well, at least she wasn't totally decorative she told herself with a giggle.

Michelle continued to go though the different rooms, but found nothing of particular interest. It was obvious that somebody had very good taste. Each room was beautifully decorated. However, none of the rooms looked like they were used very often and there was nothing personal, except for some diplomas hanging in Dr. Vinci's study that showed he had an impressive medical education. Having satisfied her curiosity, there really wasn't much for Michelle to do, but wait for Dr. Vinci to get back. Considering that everything in the house was spotless, except for his unmade bed, she guessed that he must have a cleaning service come in and wondered if she'd run into them. What would they think and what would she say to them? "Hi, I'm a transsexual who Dr. Vinci is letting live with him until my tits heal?" Then again, why did she have to explain anything to anybody? Her thoughts were interrupted by the telephone. At first, she was reluctant to answer it, but then she remembered that Dr. Vinci said he would call to let her know when he would be home. She went over and picked it up.

"Hello," she said softly. "Dr. Vinci's residence."

"Hi Michelle," said the caller.

"Oh, it's you Dr. Vinci. I wasn't sure if I should be answering your phone. I didn't want to give people the wrong idea."

"Don't worry about it," he reassured her. "Patients never call me at home. I have an answering service and they page me, if it's an emergency. Anyone else who calls, well, you did just fine. They'll think I have a housekeeper. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I'll be leaving the hospital in about half an hour. It's six o'clock now. I will call 'Tarantella', it's an Italian restaurant I go by on the way home, and order some dinner. You do like Italian food don't you? I mean I can get something else if you'd rather."

"To tell you the truth Dr. Vinci," Michelle admitted, "spaghetti and pizza are about the only Italian food I've ever had, but I would very much like to try it. Please order whatever you like and I'm sure it will be fine."

"Okay, Michelle. I'll surprise you. I should be home by seven thirty. Do you think you can set the table? Just look through the cabinets and drawers and you will find what you need."

"I'll give it a try, Dr. Vinci. Thank you."

Michelle hung up the phone. Dr. Vinci was so sweet. Maybe she should do something nice for him. At least she could get dressed up for dinner. That would make it a special occasion. After all, she kidded herself, it was their first date and a girl should make a good impression. She hurried upstairs. Looking through the dresses, she found a low cut black one. She got undressed and started to put the dress on. Then she realized that the bra she was wearing would show in back. Hopefully, in her passion for shopping, Mrs. Vinci had picked up the right kind of bra to go with her dress. Michelle started to search the dresser and found something that looked like it would work in the bottom drawer. There was a panty attached to a tight fighting middle part that ended in bra cups. It was strapless and the back was open almost to the waist. Michelle noticed that the crotch of the panty had little snaps to undo for going to the bathroom. How convenient she thought.

Michelle got undressed and stepped into the bottom. She continued to wiggle and jiggle as she pulled the bra part up over her hips and loaded her breasts into the cups. They were about half the size of the cups on the bra she had worn and a good portion of her flesh was exposed. Michelle looked in the mirror and wondered if it wasn't too provocative. Then again, it wasn't like Dr. Vinci hadn't seen it all before. Next, Michelle a found package of black pantyhose with little sparkles. They seemed right, because the dress had rhinestone buckles where the straps attached to the front and back. A pair of black satin shoes with crisscrossed straps joined with a rhinestone clasp finished the outfit.

Having put herself together so quickly, Michelle wondered why men always criticized women for taking so long to get dressed. Then it struck her. She hadn't finished her makeup. She hurried over to the small table, where she picked out a smoky gray eye shadow with little sparkles, fussed with her eyelashes and applied lip gloss. A touch up of blush and now she was ready. No wait. Something was missing. What was it? Of course, jewelry. Women always wore jewelry when they got dressed up. Mrs. Vinci couldn't have left any of that behind, could she? Michelle went over and started searching the dresser. Nothing. Then she saw a box on top. She opened it. Sure enough, it had a whole collection of necklaces, bracelets, rings and earrings. Just like everything else, they all had price tags on them. Most of the items weren't that expensive, anywhere from twenty five to about eighty dollars. Dr. Vinci's wife probably made off with the real family jewels. Michelle laughed to herself, because she also had made off with the family jewels, but in a much different way. She picked out a matching set of gold and rhinestone necklace, bracelet and dangling earrings. It took a bit of effort to get the clasps fastened and, but finally she was successful. A couple of rings finished her decoration.

Michelle glanced at the clock. Quarter past seven. Dr. Vinci would be home any minute. Okay, she told herself, don't panic, all she had to do was set the table. How hard could that be? Was she ready? No, something was still missing. She looked in the mirror and remembered that the tape on hair styling had mentioned glamorizing a hairdo with accessories. She went back to the jewelry box and found two rhinestone butterfly hair clips and carefully used them to pin back her hair, so that her earring were exposed. No, that wasn't it. Aha, perfume. Sure enough, there were some bottles on the dresser. She sniffed them. One in particular had a powdery floral scent she liked. The name on the bottle was 'White Shoulders'. Whatever. If Mrs. Vinci used it, her husband probably liked it. She sprayed some on her wrists and neck, as she had seen women do on TV.

She hurried downstairs and started to go through the kitchen drawers. On her fourth try, she found some placemats. She put them on the dining room table. Then she went back and found a drawer full of silverware. In addition to washing dishes, Michelle's job was to put together silverware sets before the restaurant opened, wrapping a knife, fork and two spoons in a napkin, so she had a basic idea of how to set a table. Finally she took out some dinner plates, butter plates and wine glasses, the same as she had seen the busboys put out. Anything else? Doh! Napkins. She found some that matched the placemats, folded them in triangles and put them on the plates. Good timing, because just as she finished, she heard the garage door open.

Dr. Vinci came into the kitchen carrying two big shopping bags. There was a wonderful aroma of tomatoes and garlic coming from them. When he saw Michelle, he just about dropped them.

"Michelle," he complimented her, "you look great. I love that dress on you and everything you chose goes well with it. If I didn't know better, I would think you had been wearing women's clothes all your life." He continued to admire her appearance. "Your hair and makeup look good too and," he sniffed, "I like your perfume."

Michelle smiled and struck a pose; her right hand behind her head and her left hand on her hip, the way she had seen movie stars do it for photos. The movement just about made her breasts pop out of their skimpy containment, which made Dr. Vinci's eyes open wide at their anticipated escape. Michelle quickly recovered and adjusted her decolletage into a more modest configuration.

"Beginner's luck," Michelle countered, "and a lot of help from the beauty instruction tapes your wife left in her room; but I did want to surprise you and I believe I succeeded."

Dr. Vinci nodded his agreement and went on, "I am impressed with your adjustment. You have taken to your new life even better than I had hoped."

"Well," Michelle, replied, "you know what they say. If rape is inevitable, then you might as well lay back and enjoy it." She paused and frowned. "You know, that is a really stupid expression. Now that I'm on the receiving end, I can see that being forced to have sex with someone who you having no feeling for could not possibly be enjoyable."

"Your changed attitude confirms your progress. You know," Dr. Vinci mused, "we are all a combination of male and female qualities. We simply make children repress those that don't correspond to our society's image of how they should behave. Perhaps part of the difficulty you had in your former life was the frustration of keeping that part of you hidden." He shrugged. "I don't pretend to know about the psychology of being transgendered, that's not my field; but I do now that it seems to have had a positive effect on you. Now then," he changed the subject, "I hope you're hungry, because I got a lot of different things for you to try. Why don't you take them out of the bags while I go wash up."

Dr. Vinci headed upstairs and Michelle began to take containers out of the bags. She wasn't sure whether she should open them up, but decided it would make it faster for them to sit down to dinner. As the lids came off, the aromas became stronger. She didn't recognize anything, except the tomato sauce, and when she unwrapped a tinfoil package, it was obviously garlic bread. There was also a box with four circular shells filled with something creamy. Once everything was out, she waited patiently for Dr. Vinci to return. Looking around, she noticed some candlesticks on the counter and decided to add them to the table's decor. She got another placemat to put under them, so they wouldn't drip wax on the table, and then searched for matches, which she found in one of the drawers. She brought the candlesticks into the diningroom and lit the candles.

"Very nice," Dr. Vinci said appreciatively.

Michelle had her back to the kitchen door and was startled.

"Oh, Dr. Vinci, I didn't know you were here. Are you ready to eat?"

"Yes," he replied. "Actually, I'm starving. I missed lunch when I brought you here."

"I'm so sorry," Michelle apologized. "I never thought about my interrupting your schedule."

"Don't worry about it, really," he said politely. "I can go without a meal for a few hours with no ill effects. Anyway, that gives me an excuse to indulge myself tonight." He looked at the table. "I see you put out wine glasses, would you like me to open a bottle? I have some very nice wine that I've been saving for a special occasion and I don't think that there will be much more special occasion than our first dinner together. Would you like that?"

"Oh, no, Dr. Vinci, I couldn't. You've already gone to too much expense with this dinner. I don't want to impose. Anyway, I honestly didn't think about what we would drink. That was the how they set the tables when I worked in the restaurant, so I just did it the same way. Water would be fine."

Dr. Vinci shrugged and replied, "If that is what you prefer, but I would like a glass of wine with my meal. It compliments Italian food. I am going to open a bottle anyway and you are welcome to join me."

"I suppose it would be rude to let you drink alone," Michelle conceded. "However, I never drank wine before. Or much of anything else," she added. "I snuck a few beers out of the fridge when I was living at home, but I'm not old enough to buy liquor or go to bars."

Dr. Vinci looked startled.

"Of course, Michelle, I should have remembered. It's just, well, you look so sophisticated, I forgot about your age. However, you are home now and free to do as you like."

Michelle smiled and said softly, "Then I would very much like to have a glass of wine with you Dr. Vinci."

"Excellent," Dr. Vinci said enthusiastically. "However, there is one condition."

"What is that?" Michelle asked curiously.

"You are no longer my patient. You are my guest. Please call me David."

Michelle was taken by surprise.

"Really? I mean sure, if you want me to," she agreed eagerly.

"Good, that's settled then. Now let's take our plates into the kitchen. It will be easier."

Michelle followed Dr. Vinci into the kitchen. He patiently explained each of the different dishes: chicken cacciatore, veal marsala, eggplant parmesan, shrimp scampi, angel hair pasta Alfredo, a Caesar salad, Italian green beans and, of course, the garlic bread. He put a little of each in Michelle's plate, took some for himself and they went back into the dining room. He put his plate on the table and then went over to a cabinet and took out a bottle of wine.

"This is Chianti," he said, holding out the bottle so she could see the label. "Most good wines come from France, but this one is Italian." He got a corkscrew and took out the cork. "When you open a bottle of wine, you always want to feel the cork to make sure it is damp. If it isn't, it means that air has gotten into the bottle and spoiled the wine." He handed her the cork. "Feel it. Smell it too. If it smells like vinegar, then the wine is bad." He poured some in his own glass first, took a taste and nodded. "Very good." He filled Michelle's glass and then his own.

Dr. Vinci raised his glass. "To my most beautiful patient."

Michelle picked up her glass and took a gulp. She made a face.

"You don't like the wine?" Dr. Vinci asked her. "I can get you something else to drink."

"No, it's fine. I told you, I never drank wine before. I just didn't know what to expect. I thought it would taste like grape juice. I mean it should, shouldn't it? It's made from grapes."

"Yes and no," the doctor explained. "The juice you buy in the grocery store is full of sugar. The process of making wine turns the sugar into alcohol. That is what you taste. You should try sipping the wine and letting it sit on your tongue for a bit, before you swallow. That lets you get the full flavor. Try it again."

Michelle followed the instructions and looked pleased with herself.

"Mmmm, yes, that's much nicer," she agreed, taking another sip and savoring it. "I think I could learn to like wine. Thank you, David."

They ate dinner slowly. Michelle wanted to be very careful not to stain her dress and so she took little bites and wiped her mouth with her napkin repeatedly. Halfway through the meal, her glass was empty.

"May I have some more wine please, David?"

"I don't know Michelle. I think you should take it easy."

"Please David, just a little more," she pleaded. "I'll be a good girl, I promise."

He filled her glass half full and they continued eating. Michelle wanted to know more about the doctor. Where had he grown up, what was he like when he was a little boy, did he have any brother's or sisters? He told her that he lost his parents when he was very young and grew up in a foster home. He was pretty much alone and had to struggle to put himself through school, but he always knew he wanted to be a doctor. Michelle expressed her sympathy and put her hand on his to comfort him. When they finished the meal, she told him to sit while she cleared the table. He protested, but she insisted.

"It's woman's work," she asserted, "and I'm the woman of the house, aren't I?"

The doctor couldn't argue with that logic.

"Yes, Michelle, you are most definitely the woman."

"Very well then, David. You go watch TV or whatever it is you usually do after a meal while I clean up."

"In that case, I am going into the den and listen to some music."

"Good. Take the wine with you and my glass. I want some more."

"Michelle," he cautioned her. "I don't think you should have any more. You're not used to it. I don't want you to get sick."

Michelle pouted.

"David, I am having the best day of my life. The wine is wonderful and, if I do get sick, I have my doctor right here to take care of me. You will take care of me won't you?"

"Of course, Michelle," he assured her. "But even my considerable medical ability can't cure a hangover. As your doctor, I prescribe a cup of coffee."

Michelle pouted some more.

"Well then, you're fired as my doctor. Do you know another one around here that might prescribe a glass of wine? I could make it worth his while," she teased him.

David shook his head.

"I give up. Have it your way," he conceded. "Come in the den when you're done and we'll finish the bottle together."

Michelle gave him a big smile and started to clear the table. She rinsed and put everything in the dishwasher. Finally, she thought to herself, woman's work that I know how to do. Then it struck her that she wasn't a woman when she did it. It was too much for her to think about after the wine. She shook her head her head to clear it.

When Michelle finally came into the den, David was sitting on the couch. The lights were dim and there was soft music playing. It was very relaxing. He had a glass of wine and when he saw her come in, he filled her glass. She sat next to him, kicked off her shoes and took a sip.

"I like your music," she said dreamily. "It's very pretty. I never listened to that kind of music. Just the loud, noisy stuff." She turned towards him. "David, you've given me so much. Not just a new body, but a whole new life. People are always talking about getting a second chance; but for me, this is a first chance. I don't know how I can ever repay you."

David turned to her, took her hands and said, "You can marry me."

Michelle shook her head.

"David, please don't say things you don't mean. If I were a woman, I would marry you in a minute; but you deserve a wife, not a, not a whatever I am." She began to cry.

David put his arm around her and she rested her head on his chest, the tears still flowing. After a while, he spoke.

"Michelle, I have not been honest with you. I've never been married. This was all for you."

Michelle shook her head again.

"Oh David, I wish that were true."

"It is true, Michelle," he insisted. "When they first brought you into the Emergency Room, you were just another accident victim. Your injury was so severe, it was a chance for me to show off my surgical ability. Even to write a paper about it. Then, as your metamorphosis continued," he paused. "I'm sorry, Michelle, 'metamorphosis' means to change from one form to another. Something unexpected happened," he continued. "I fell in love with my creation."

Michelle had calmed down.

"David, no," she protested. "This house, the beautiful bedroom, all of the clothes, you couldn't have possibly done all of that in so short a time."

David smiled.

"Love can move mountains. So can money and I happen to be a very successful doctor. I called up a realtor, told her the kind of house I wanted, brought in a decorator and gave her a free hand. I also hired a personal shopper. I must say, I was very creative. I told her that I had just returned from the Middle East and had married a Muslim woman who was arriving with only traditional Arab clothes. I knew your measurements and told her to buy a complete wardrobe, except that there were to be no pants and you loved high heels, the higher the better. Look around Michelle, everything is new, even what we used for dinner tonight."

When Michelle finally recovered from David's confession, she put her arms around him and looked up.

"Please kiss me, David."

He leaned down and gently pressed his lips against hers. After a minute, she pulled away.

"David, I can't. You should have a woman who knows how to be a woman. I would be an awful wife. I don't even know how to kiss you properly."

David took her hand and put it in his lap. It took a second for Michelle to recognize the bulge.

"I would say you're a pretty good kisser." He went on. "Don't you see Michelle, having grown up female, women have already developed their personalities. They are who they are. You have never been female, so you can be who I want you to be. Not a perfect woman, but the perfect woman for me. Does that make sense?"

"No, but it doesn't matter. Kiss me some more, I need the practice."

When they finally came up for air, Michelle slid her hand back into David's lap.

"Just checking to see if it was a coincidence. Nope," she observed, gently squeezing him.

David moaned.

"Perhaps you can write that paper after all," Michelle teased him. "You could call it 'The Ins and Outs of Artificial Vaginas' and, from the looks of things, I'd say you'd better get started on the research right away."

Not to be outdone, David retorted, "You do understand that a work like that requires years and years of study."

Michelle laughed and got in the last word. "Not a problem, just so long as I'm the only test subject."

Michelle stood up and took David's hand. They headed upstairs. When they reached his room, he stopped.

"Wait," he told her.

"It's okay if you can't go through with it David," Michelle said bravely. "I understand. I will sleep in my own room. Goodnight."

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

"What? No! I just thought that since we were starting our honeymoon early, I should carry the bride-to-be over the threshold."

He put has arms under her and swept her off her feet. Michelle snuggled against him and gently nuzzled his neck as her carried her towards the bed.

"David, darling," Michelle whispered passionately in his ear, "could I please be on top?"

Author's note. This story is based on the Greek myth of Pygmalion and admittedly takes some literary license with the medical profession. I understand and agree that severe male genital trauma is not a reason for SRS, although my recollection is that, in the past, there were cases where infants or very young boys had a traumatic amputation of their penis and were turned into girls. I believe they were never happy and eventually reverted to males. Also, I understand and agree that no ethical doctor would perform involuntary SRS and, even with the patient's permission, not without mandatory psychiatric approval. On the other hand, recently a doctor left a patient in the middle of surgery to go to the bank, to prevent his account from being overdrawn, so one cannot always depend on good judgment from the medical profession. In addition to trying my hand at a TG version of Pygmalion, I also wanted to show that to create the perfect woman, you have to start with a man. At least God thought so when he created Eve from Adam's rib. Now do you get the title? Missy.

Notes:

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