Sadie Hawkins Day

by Sydney Michelle

 

Chapter Thirteen

 

"In as much as you have declared your consent and vowed before this congregation to love, honor, and comfort one another, may God confirm your covenants, one with the other, and fill you both with love.

"Now that Blake and Jaimie have given yourselves each unto the other, with the joining of hands and the exchanging of rings, I pronounce you woman and wife.

"Those whom God hath joined together, let no man or no woman, rend asunder."

Reverend Goodwife positively beamed. "You may kiss the bride."

Blake looks at me with those dark brown eyes of hers, those eyes that go on forever and ever, as she pushes back my blusher. I tilt back my head and close my eyes.

Kiss me, kiss me you fool. No perfunctory little peck, but kiss me like you mean it.

Blake doesn't disappoint. All this getting ready must have her as horny as I am. Her mouth covers mine, her tongue slides deep inside. We have to break it off for propriety's sake. Besides, I need air, but we manage to come up rather than go down.

I plucked at my skirt nervously, wondered whether it were too short. I fingered my faux pearl necklace as we pulled into my folks' driveway. Blake looked over and patted my hand.

"You're not nervous, are you?"

"Yes!"

"Why? You've been home a million times."

"But never like this!" I swept the backs of my polished nails over my black bolero jacket and dress. Light bent through my ring flashed across the dash.

"It'll be fine, you'll see."

My stomach did flip-flops as we unloaded luggage. It was only four days and three nights, but it felt like we'd packed for a month. Before we were done, Mom was out the back door.

"There you are! I was beginning to worry something had happened to you."

"We're only half an hour off."

"Still, a mother worries." She kissed my cheek. "I'll give you a hand. You're upstairs."

We were. Me in my old room, Blake in Gwen, ehr Jen's. Jen was already at her internship.

"Until you are officially hitched, we should observe the niceties, shouldn't we? But don't worry, Dear. Your father and I won't check up on you." A Hollywood bath connected the rooms, a shared tub between separate toilet and sinks. The tub had been a source of conflict between me and Jen. Now it would make a convenient passageway between the double beds.

As soon as we distributed toiletries, Mom insisted we join her downstairs for coffee. It was an occasion: instead of sitting around the kitchen, she had the coffee set sitting out in the living room. It feels really odd to have formal coffee, complete with doilies and little finger sandwiches, in your own home.

Mom spotted my ring right off. She had to look and was appropriately impressed. She should have been. I was still getting used to the extra weight on my finger.

So there I sat, next to Blake on the divan, hair up, sparklers in my ears, eyelashes on, just enough makeup to be decent, in a dark suit, legs demurely crossed at my ankles, trying not to spill. I was going to be grown up if it killed me, and my girdle threatened to do the job.

"So tell me, Blake, what are your plans for my Jaimie?"

Not what are the two of us planning, but what was she planning for me! Blake was getting the full prospective provider treatment. Given that I had said I might stay home after children, I suppose it was to be expected. Still, I felt slightly invisible.

"For the wedding?"

"That too. Have you picked out a date yet?"

"Not exactly. It will be after I take the bar next year. That date will be up the end of the summer, so we can decide then. We'll have a year to get it all planned out." Blake smiled at me and squeezed my hand.

"Oh good. Until then?"

"Drew and I are keeping the townhouse, We're both working on the law school Journal this summer. So Jaimie and her friend Jan, Drew's fiancee, will move in with us. Jan has a job at the ESU Press, so they can drive to work together."

"What about your other friends? Nikki and Shelby, isn't it? Are they alright with this, or isn't it going to be a bit cozy?"

"They have internships out this summer, Mom. And they're taking another place in the same complex so Jean and Jodi can hold down the fort over the summer. We've already started shifting furniture."

"I'm not sure I approve of you two living together. It's been shown that's not promising for a marriage. But I'm only a mother."

"Mrs. Blair, I assure you it won't diminish my love or respect for Jaimie one bit. It's just with another year of law school, this seemed the best solution."

"It will give Jaimie time to practice housework. He, that is she, said she might stay at home?"

"After we have children."

"You're not planning to start right away, are you?"

"Oh, no. I need to settle into a position first. A year after we're married at the earliest."

"And how many are you planning to have?"

"Three."

"Four." Blake squeezed my hand. "That's still under negotiation."

"Spoken like a true lawyer." Mom sighed. "I'd count on four, if I were you, Jaimie. Your father 'negotiated' me into at least one of each, and when your sister came, that was it. I wanted another, but lawyer's can be very persuasive."

"Jaimie will make a wonderful mother."

"I don't doubt it. She was very patient with Gwen, and younger siblings can be a pain at times. But will pregnancy interfere with your career? It is modern times, but having a baby is no respecter of case loads."

"Here's the good part." Blake just beamed. "ESU is part of a nationwide study. All paid treatment and monitoring through pregnancy and delivery and beyond."

"Surely you won't be working in College Switch? I mean it doesn't appear to have the opportunities befitting someone on law review."

"No, but lots of medical programs around the country are in this study, almost every one that does gender and reproductive cases. We can be followed in almost any major city in the country."

"That's very interesting, but how do you know you qualify? Do you have a reproductive problem?"

I sat there with a frozen smile on my face. This was the first I knew that Blake might not be fertile. And how would she know?

"But what's really great. It doesn't depend on me at all. Jaimie will carry the babies."

I'm afraid I dropped my cup. Mom didn't notice, judging by the look on her face.

"J-Jaimie?"

"Yes. Drew found out about this program, well she already knew something from some talk in conjunction with family law, but she found out more after Jan talked to her."

"Jan wanted to have, that is carry, a baby?" I was dumbfounded.

"She told Drew about you girls talking in the hot tub, about how nice it would be to have breasts, and Drew remembered this program. As part of it, all the males in the program have breasts so they can nurse."

"Mom? Can you excuse us? I'm developing a splitting headache."

"Of course, Dear. I'm not feeling too well myself, all of a sudden."

I gathered up the mess. Fortunately there had only been a few drops left in the cup when Blake dropped her little bombshell. Blake's hand was on my shoulder and I was too numb to shake it off. Too numb until we made it into my room, that is.

"Blake! How could you!?!"

"How could I what? Can I get you an aspirin, Sugar-Bear? It was a long drive."

"Don't play innocent with me, Blake Marie Jones. You know very well what. What do you mean by 'Jamie will carry the babies!?' When was I to find this out, on the operating table?"

"Don't be mad, Sugar-Bear. Drew just got the details a couple of days ago. It just kind of slipped out when your mother started asking questions. I was gonna tell you, honest."

"Tell. That's the operative word, isn't it? Tell? And Jaimie, like a good little wife to be was just going to go along with it, wasn't she?" I crossed my arms and turned my back.

There's one problem with that position: it exposes your nape and there's this little spot down where it spreads out to become my shoulder that Blake knows all about. Her hands cupped my shoulder and she kissed it softly.

"I'm sorry, Baby. You know I won't make you do something you don't want to do."

"Have you seen what I'm wearing lately?"

"You look stunning in it. And you like that little bauble we picked out for your finger."

"I can take it off, you know."

"I know. And if you'll just get out of this, I'll make you feel better."

"Not that! This!" I managed to turn around and hold up my hand, fingers spread.

"Before you do, Baby, why don't we lie down, Blakey-Bear and Sugar-Bear, and relax and discuss it? It's not like you're going to get pregnant if we do, is it? For me. Baby?"

Blake doesn't play fair. She knows just where to kiss my neck. I can't help it. My eyes close, my head goes over, Then I get weak in the knees and just want to be held.

"Oh. Yes. Just to talk. Right?"

"Just talk." Blake nibbled up to my ear, taking my lobe in her mouth. "Jus' 'awk."

Her tongue slipped into my ear. I gasped. "Alright."

So there I was, in an ankle length black nightie snuggled up against my Blakey-Bear in a little red teddy, tracing our faces with our fingertips while we talked. It's hard to talk when your mouth is full of the most wonderful tongue. It's harder to make complete sentences when you are on your back, your knees spread, hips raised while she gets a pillow under them. And it's impossible to say anything but "Yes! Yes, oh yes!!" while she's slams you through the mattress. If Mom had just known to climb on top, she'd have had all the kids she wanted.

Afterwards I was drowsy in Blake's rams, all warm and woozy while her finger made little circles on me. Then she gave my shoulder little kisses. The she slipped my shoulder strap down and kissed the little hollow. Before I knew it, she was lightly sucking my nipple. I hummed.

"Feels nice, doesn't it?"

"Hhm." I traced her neckline with my fingertips.

"All warm and tender?" She sucked my nipple inside her mouth.

"Oh, yes. Don't stop."

"Wouldn't more feel better?" She licked up and swirled. I arched.

"Maybe. Yes." My breaths came faster.

"I bet you'd have beautiful boobs. Warm." She licked. "Full." She sucked. "Sensitive." She bit.

I dug my head into the mattress, pulled up my knees and slip. I was thick and my bung hole twitched.

"Take me, dammit! Fill me and hump me quick! Make love to me! Please?"

It wasn't our first time in the "missionary position," but with something to work against behind and she riding me like a bucking bronco, the top of my head felt like it would blow off.

I'll never know how she breathes when I do the clinging cockroach, all clamped against her while my tail is going a thousand rounds per minute. I'm just grateful she can. Then I relax, or try to stay firm while she finishes, and we're all soft and drowsy.

"Gawd, you're good."

"You're not bad either."

"If you had breasts, it would be even better."

"If it were any better, I'd die."

"But what a way to go."

I nuzzled under her, kissed her warm orb.

"See? I could do that for you. Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Check out the program with Jan? At least for breasts? You could nurse even if you didn't carry them."

"It's a big step."

"For me, Baby. Think about it? Please?"

"Just think about it?"

"Just don't say no." Blake kissed my ear, nibbled my neck, boring in for the kill.

Blake never did play fair.

 

§§

 

We managed to get back down looking decent before Dad came home. Mom had dinner going; she was really hitting the hostess bit in honor of the prospective in-law. She had also hit the Southern Comfort a bit, not wobbly, but from the ice bucket, she was on her second. Being told your son might be bearing your grandchildren could be quite a shock, I suppose.

"Ah, Dear, are you absolutely committed to having your babies?"

"It's just an idea, Mom. It's still under discussion."

"Let's just leave it our little secret unless you do. Your dad is having a hard enough time just coping with the idea of you as a bride right now."

"Don't worry, Mom. We won't mention it again. Will we?" I glared at Blake.

"We'll let you know first when we decide, Mrs. Blair. Until then, mum's the word."

That didn't comfort be much. "When we decide," not "if." If I weren't careful, Blake might decide I should shoot for twins!

That evening was a blur. Dad had this pained look on his face, as though he were being pinched someplace or really, really needed to go to the bathroom. But he struggled manfully with seeing his son trying to be the best girl he could be. He tried to compliment me, say my hair was nice, my dress was nice, my jewelry was nice, but his heart wasn't in it. His best line was he wasn't gaining a daughter-in-law, he was getting a potential partner. Actually, he and Blair got fairly deep into cases. I looked at Mom, she looked at me and shrugged. She simply mouthed, "Shop talk," and freshened my Irish coffee. I found out how Mom survived Dad's discourses: the coffee was heavy on the Irish.

We survived the weekend, getting the tour of the area for Blake's edification. Mom talked about the summer production, Dad showed off his office. We had a nice picnic at the overlook. That evening Blake did the dutiful in-law bit, helping Dad with the grill. Not too much, not enough to get in the way of his "special" sauce. I helped Mom, staying in summer dresses the whole time. Slacks would have been more comfortable, but I figured Dad needed to get used to me in skirts. The nice part was I could play footsie with Blake under the picnic table.

Of course wedding plans came up, nothing too specific given the time until the event. But we agreed that Jen should be part of the wedding party. She would be one of Blake's attendants, keeping the women with the women, and Blake's brother Bren would be in mine. Dad laughed that Blake would have a tough time getting him into lace and petticoats, Blake just smiled and countered that Jen would have a lovely squire if the two of them weren't paired off by then. Since he was a year younger than Jen, he shouldn't have much problem following her lead at the dance.

Sunday we took in church, arriving at the last moment and disappearing strategically for the restrooms after the service. I could almost hear wheels turning in Mom's head as she sized up the church, her friends, and how she was ever going to explain the sudden change in me. But not that week. She steered us all to the chapel used for most weddings, "just to get a few ideas." Besides checking the capacity, she insisted we stand at the steps up onto the apse. Knowing Mom, the stage manager professional took over, checking lighting and color in her head.

That afternoon, Jen called, checking in and letting Mom know she was getting settled in. Her reaction to being told she was expected to be in the wedding party was classic Jen: "Did you expect me to sit in the loft with the pigeons? Jaimie can't get hitched without my being there to keep him from running away."

That night we made sure Mom would have two sets of sheets to clean. It felt strange to be snuggled down in Jen's room, like I was trespassing if not a little incestuous, but Blake could always distract me. She spent a lot of time paying attention to my chest, kissing and licking and sucking and generally getting me to wonder if Jan were right, having breasts would be a turn on. But there was no way I was going to be pregnant. After all, how would it get out, assuming it ever got in? But Blake was a mistress at nipple teasing, so I supposed I should at least hear what the program had to say.

Mom had to get back to her summer production Monday, so we said goodbyes early. As we stripped back the beds, a yeasty odor rolled over us. Our eyes met. We realized we were alone, the sheets would have to be washed anyway, and it would be a long drive back. You can't call it chasing when both of us head for the same spot. One very nice thing about a skirt: you don't really have to remove it if you are in a hurry. Our panties were around our ankles and Blake was pulling me on top of her before you could say "Jack Robinson." Foreplay? Just the smell of our coupling was enough foreplay, living together was so new. I had a smile on my face all the way back to College Switch, murmuring "Yes, Blakey-Bear" whenever there was a lull in Blake's patter. That can be very dangerous, as I found out.

 

§§

 

The start of the summer was all new and exciting. Jan and I were settling in with Blake and Drew, Jean and Jodi arranging everything in the new place that Nikki and Shelby hadn't taken away for their internship. Honestly, Jean and Jodi were so nervous and bitchy you'd think those girls had never had a period since puberty when they weren't getting laid. I mean Jodi you could understand, her not having a job offer and all. But Jean? I know for a fact that Nikki had polished her behind real good before she headed off. I mean the way Jean's little behind wiggled kissing Nikki goodbye, you just knew she was no longer a virgin anywhere and was loving every minute of it. But a girl should have a little self-control, you know what I mean?

Despite their being off to comfort their women every weekend, Jodi got wind of a Social Studies position at a private girls' school a couple of counties over. She had landed a summer hostessing job at a restaurant, alright, pancake house, just so she could pay for her hair and make payments on the credit cards. She was afraid she would have to learn to say "Kiss my grits" and smile a lot, all her learning about kings and wars and Victoria's effect on the inbreeding of European royalty going to waste. But she wowed 'em, or they were desperate, or a little of both. She got an offer just before the month end. It was too far to drive every day, so she got a little efficiency. But it wasn't so far she gave up her weekly with Adelaide. Transformations didn't lose a client and that fall Jodi was in Shelby's bed almost as much as her own.

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

I'm so misty eyed, it's all I can do to take Blake's hand to kneel for the blessing. I had had a screaming fight with Mom when she made me practice the moves over and over until I could do them in my sleep. But she had been right. Conscious thought on my part was notable primarily by its absence.

"Therefore send forth Thy blessing upon Blake and Jaimie, that they may truly keep their marriage covenants and grow in love and goodness together, so that their home may truly be a haven of concord and peace."

I feel Blake's hand under my elbow, helping me, steadying me, the rock on which I would rely for the rest of my life. I look up, see the altar ablaze with candles behind the minister.

"May God the Eternal keep you in love, one with another, so that love and understanding may abide with you.

"Bear living witness to God's love in the world so that those to whom love is a stranger may find comfort and succor in you.

We turn, I can barely see.

"Jaimie, stop dawdling. The rest of the girls are ready to go."

"Well, I'm not! Just hold your horses, Blake Jones! This wasn't my idea, you know."

I squinted my eyes shut, felt the little incline on the hair spray button. Damn trying bangs! I'll never get the hang of this! I twisted the brush with one hand, hoped I was pointing the right way with the other. There was a whoosh, the feel of cool moist droplets on my hand and face.

"Let's not keep the good doctors waiting. Jean can help you in the car."

Blake hustled me down stairs into the back of her Cheetah. I let Jean work over my bangs and face while she drove. Jan and Jodi trailed behind in Drew's car.

Soon, all too soon as far as I was concerned, we were at ESU's teaching hospital. More particularly, we were over at their Infertility and Reproductive Endocrinology Clinic filling out medical histories. Why they asked if I had ever been pregnant was beyond me, except standard forms never get revised.

If we had any doubts this visit was anything but routine, they were swept away when Mrs. Miller, the Division's Administrative Assistant, shooed us into a conference room. On time.

She was very pleasant, smiling, making eye contact, asking our names, complimenting little things about our appearance, trying her best to put us at ease. When an impeccably coiffed and dressed woman looms over you, over six feet tall in a comfortable mid-heel pump, it's hard not to feel a little intimidated, sit up extra straight, and mind your p's and q's.

At least we weren't in terminal fidget when Dr. Cordray-Williams glided in. This tiny blonde woman just appeared. There was no big fanfare, just a beautiful elf of a woman in an oversized lab coat whose smiling eyes instantly put you at ease.

She talked a little about the Division, how the Clinic had helped couples have families for fifteen years. It was now part of a national cooperative grant program that had begun in Arizona. Several couples had undergone successful treatment in the program. Of course she participated in the semi-annual conferences as well as corresponding regularly with other participating systems so they could share experiences. After all, having a child was the most wonderful thing a couple could experience, and the Clinic wanted to help that be a joyful experience.

"How do you define successful?" Jan was Johnny on the spot.

Dr. Cordray-Williams smiled. "When the patients have attained their desired goal."

"So not all your subjects actually have children?"

"All of them want to have children; that's a requisite for being accepted into the program. But to answer what I believe was your question, no not every fetus is carried by our males. Two couples simply wanted the male to be able to care for their infant after birth. The woman wanted to carry the child, but their jobs meant she would be away from home for extended periods. They and their wives agreed it would be better if he could nurse."

"And they are?"

"One is, very successfully and very happily. The other couple is a few months away from delivering, but we have every expectation his milk will let down quite satisfactorily."

"All your men subjects have breasts? Real breasts? Not implants?" I was incredulous.

"Our minimum goal is for each coman to be able to nurse. We call a men in our study a coman, collectively comen."

"Doesn't that interfere with, uh, you know, conceiving?"

Jean got right to our main worry. We had talked it over when the women were at work. It would be nice to look good, well, better than good, and Jan's dream of feeling, really feeling, soft, sensitive flesh grow taut and tender would be an unforgettable experience, but if we couldn't perform, have our fire hoses do their job delivering the goods, much less not have goods to deliver, then the cost was just too high.

Dr. Cordray-Williams smiled. It was warm, sympathetic, not condescending. "Your concerns are perfectly normal and very realistic. Fortunately we have learned a great deal over the past forty years. Back then, much as in chemo-therapy, the treatments were pretty much like a sledgehammer. Frankly most males receiving hormone therapy had either lost functionality or didn't care if they did. To be perfectly honest, many studies on males had patients who were seeking to gain another sexual function.

"But now we know much more about the mix of the full range of hormones, the relationship to base levels and weight, the effects of other medications and nutrition. We have studied males who experienced natural breast development. We have followed children born with genital ambiguity through puberty into adulthood. We understand something of the effects of a person's DNA on their adaptability to such treatments. Our current estimate is that about three quarters of functional males could become comen with little or no impairment.

"If you enter the program, and we are very excited about having you as a group, you will be thoroughly evaluated before we undertake any treatment program. It is highly unlikely each of you would receive the same dosage or combination, so no swapping pills."

"You said the minimum goal would be for us to be able to nurse when we have children. Would they be, uh, big?" Now where did Jodi get that?

"Not necessarily. A-cups are often quite adequate. It depends upon your genetic background, especially from your mother. If she were, shall we say, well endowed?, then you might very well be. But perhaps not. We are not in the business of producing freaks."

"But they would be sensitive?" Jan leaned forward, pressed her arms to her chest.

"We've found taking your time, at least a year so that the bosom enlarges naturally, mimicking the natural progression of puberty, produces the best emotional and physical comfort. The sensitivity will vary over the growth span, but when the process culminates, you should obtain pleasure from manipulation, either by yourself, or by your partner." Dr. Cordray-Williams smiled, a warm smile, as if rehashing a fond memory. "Our comen report they gain an insight into why women are bereft if they lose a breast to cancer. They enjoy them immensely."

Jan looked extremely pleased.

"But you do intend for each of us to become pregnant? To carry a baby to term? And deliver it? How?"

Dr. Cordray-Williams looked seriously at Jean. "We have very few intentions for our patients. We take only couples, and the couple, not just the potential coman, is our client. They must be married or have firm intentions to marry before they will be accepted."

Jan looked down at table. Drew still hadn't formally proposed.

"The couple must be married before either partner is pregnant. As part of the study, we follow the health of the children and we want the infants issuing to at least start in an intact home. We would be pleased if you four wanted to and were capable of having issue. But it is not a requirement of the program at this time."

"But it might be?"

"Never fear. Once accepted, you will be followed and treated until your children reach maturity. It might become a requirement only if we need more of those subjects to follow."

"And how would we deliver?" Jean was dogged in getting answers. She had joked she did not intend to undergo prolonged labor while they invented a way out.

"Caesarean. We schedule delivery at thirty-eight weeks to minimize the risk of an infant demanding an early out. If you undergo pregnancy, you will wear a monitor so we can respond should anything go awry. And we ask the last six weeks before delivery you not be more than an hour from the delivery facility. After all, we certainly don't want to lose one of our subjects. You're much too hard to come by."

"Publicity? How will we avoid that?" Jodi's shyness was always giving her doubts even about dressing. Only Shelby's frequent and ardent wooing kept her going.

"We protect the identities of all our subjects, of course. One, you'll meet her at our monthly gatherings, has become something of a spokesman since her circumstances were extraordinary. But you'll have to deal with family, friends, and acquaintances. After all, when you're eight months along, it's pretty obvious. Wonderful, but obvious."

"Have any of your, uh, clients had problems?"

"Usually when they begin to wear dresses. You are all dressed quite attractively, so I would imagine you would be experiencing whatever difficulties you would have now. A maternity smock has brought about some unexpected familial reconciliations if any of you are having problems in that area."

Jan raised her eyes off the table.

"Do all the comen in the program dress?" Jean looked interested.

Dr. Cordray-Williams smiled encouragement. "Once their bust starts to blossom, clothes just don't fit unless they're terribly baggy. Our comen report that looking good, and the process of being made to look good, is comforting. I must say none of you look as though you missed this week's beauty salon appointment."

We laughed. We had had long discussions with Loretta and Adelaide about what would be most appropriate for the occasion. Last night, we had laid out outfits, fretted and fussed over just what to wear.

"Do any of you mind being attractive? Or do your fiancees?"

We shook our heads, laughed, relaxed.

"I understand two of your fiancees are away this summer. Are they completely comfortable with this? We'll need to interview them before we issue a final acceptance."

Jean cocked her head. "Comfortable is an understatement. It's a long story, but if our women hadn't been so persistent . . ."

Dr. Cordray-Williams raised her hand. "I don't need long stories at this point. Just an assurance that they won't change their minds from jealousy in the off chance you do develop, ehr, big ones."

Jean laughed. "Definitely not. My Nikki keeps hoping she can get a little early reaction by suction power alone."

"Well, that's fine. Mrs. Miller has a video that will answer most of your questions about the program, then I will return. If any great concerns have arisen, we'll discuss those then see about setting your appointments for your initial evaluations. You'll need two full days for those."

Two days! No wonder the women had pushed us to visit the clinic. As it was, Jan could just squeeze it in before she started at the Press.

After the video, the big question from Jan was how we would carry the fetus. After all we weren't born with a womb. The good doctor explained that fetuses had attached themselves to other blood rich parts of a woman's abdominal cavity in ectopic pregnancies. The peritoneum worked in early subjects, but the preferred procedure now is to implant donor womb tissue, from our mothers or sisters preferably, attached to the intestine to provide a nest for the embryo. Three months was an adequate recovery period, but they were doing the implants at least six months before impregnation to be on the safe side.

I didn't care. I would go along with having breasts. I would even share three o'clock feedings. But I wasn't going to have to worry about being opened up like Mrs. McDuff.

 

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

"The Peace of the Lord, which passeth all understanding be with you always."

"And with thy spirit also."

"I am honored to present to you Miz and Mrs. Blake Jones."

Jan thrusts my bouquet into my midriff or I wouldn't have remembered it. Blake takes my arm, which is the only way I make it down the two steps without falling flat on my face. Music starts, the Hallelujah Chorus, I think, and we start back up the aisle

We were all accepted. Our women were enthusiastic, and being interviewed at Jodi's advisor's insistence had prepped us for the psychological exams. We were pronounced healthy, part of the males with good chances of becoming comen without those nasty side effects. We were even reassured that the process would make us appear overall a little softer, more classically attractive. It wouldn't totally redo us, our bone structure was already in place, but there would be some calcium adjustments and definitely some redistribution of padding. We shouldn't buy a lot of clothes unless they had a lot of material in the seams.

Jan's moods swung like a pendulum on steroids. On the one hand, her family background held out hope for a really nice pair. She and Drew were getting it on hot and heavy when Jan wasn't sulking. But Drew still hadn't formally asked her despite the Clinic interview.

It took all the way to July 4^th for Drew to slip one on Jan. The sky wasn't the only place lit up with fireworks that night. Little Miss Proper disappeared on us and didn't show up until we all had gotten untangled and were starting to organize a search party. She was all rumpled, and her hair was loose with straw in it, and she wore a grin as big as Texas. Of course she had to act like she had a hurt arm so she could hold out her hand, and we could all squeal and hug her and offer congratulations. Our women gathered around Drew and told her they were relieved. We had been making them crazy, bugging them about when Drew was going to make an honest coman of Jan.

My roomie and I were still roomies of a sort. We shared chores and hostessing while our women worked on the Law Review Journal. By the fall we had the routine down of she prepped and I cleaned, so we were the party givers in our set. We even had some of the other program couples over after meeting them at the monthly support group parties.

It turned out that the fabulous Miss Antoinette was a good friend of Thelma's and a joy to know. She has the cutest daughter, Angela Marie Neville, ESU's first coman birth. She was engaged to a lovely woman, Kim Krauss. Angela made the idea of children really appealing. When Lynne Waring was delivered of her daughter, we all went bananas holding Anna. We were all hooked. I mean how can you resist a sweet little face looking up at you, her little hand waving as she turns to your breast to sleep or suckle? We all suffered empty womb depression for a few weeks, and we didn't even have them. Until we married, all we could do was practice and plan.

Living with Jan, my maid of honor to be, made planning the wedding so much easier, especially since Jan loves giving the perfect party. If I looked as good in a shirtwaist dress, black stiletto heels, and a frilly apron as she did, I might like my parties a little more planned too.

Once Drew did the honorable thing, Jan's mother unbent. If her son was to become the daughter she had always wanted, Jan should at least look presentable to the Women's League and the Daughters of the Confederacy. Jan didn't make much at the Press, but Mrs. Vaughn believed an editor had to look like she came from money. Which Jan did. Not bundles, but respectable. Mrs. Vaughn helped her dress to her hair: dresses and petticoats, girdles and jewelry, and always gloved and made up. She looked like a million dollars. It turned out she and her mother shared a sense of understated elegance. With that, and Drew's assurance that she would be a properly invisible groom at a big Southern wedding, Jan actually basked in her mother's approval.

Jan really wants to have kids. She says it's her wifely duty, but she looks enviously at every pregnant woman waddling by. I caught her not only reading What to Expect When You're Expecting, but highlighting sections. It doesn't hurt that Mrs. Vaughn likes the idea of being a grandmother. I would have thought she would've recoiled in horror from being dated, but she wants to be a doting grandmother: unfulfilled mothering instinct, I suspect. At one point, Drew threatened to enter the Foreign Service just so her future offspring wouldn't be terminally spoiled.

Blake finally took me home after the summer term. To say that Mrs. Jones was not thrilled was an understatement. She was too polite to start open warfare, but she wouldn't go one step beyond properly polite either. That woman could give lessons to Miss Manners on how to use manners as a club. I never had so many home cooked meals before. She was determined none of her set would see us.

She made it perfectly clear that her expectations were that Blake would be professionally successful so she would not be a doormat from economic necessity. But she had also expected her to marry someone who could take care of her should the need arise. After all Blake would have to devote time to the children, so seventy hour work weeks really weren't feasible for a woman.

At least Blake's brother Bren saw possibilities in the situation, more to give their mother a conniption fit than anything, I suspect. At least he agreed to be in the wedding party, although the bridesmaid bit was a bit much. In the end, the chance to give Mrs. Jones angina was too much. He is perfectly darling today with his hair up, flowers in the curls of the postiche pinned to his crown. He has really nice ankles that taper into high heels and his legs show off really nicely under that mid-calf, fully petticoated, butter cream skirt. With his brows lightly arched and pearl drops in his ears, he's quite a looker. Come to think of it, Jen was doing a lot more than looking after the rehearsal dinner last night.

By Thanksgiving our mounds had a definite shape and were starting to give us a whole new thrill. It's not that we were up to sweater girls, although I was almost as happy as Jan that my angora had a definite curve. Blake and I went to my house for Thanksgiving, her mom still being cold enough for frostbite. When we went to the Club for dinner, I wore a new little spaghetti strap number that at least showed a crease up there. So there was some help from Wonderbra and Jen was a very full two cup sizes ahead of me, at least there was something. I mean I couldn't support a completely off the shoulder, heavy gown yet, but at least I didn't look totally anorexic.

I'm afraid I did myself in. I gushed on about how wonderful Lynda, Dr. Cordray-Williams, was, and how much I enjoyed holding Anna and how much she had changed in just two months. Either that or it was the half bottle of Sauterne with the sweet potato pie. That's when Mom dropped it on me.

"Blake tells me you need a womb tissue implant to bear children. Would you like that option for children?"

"Options are always good. Sure."

"I could provide you some of mine. It's not doing anything at the moment."

"That would be sweet of you, Mom." It was like my body sat there while the real me was off on the other side of the alcoholic fog screaming "Stop, you idiot! Think what you're saying." I was never a very attentive listener.

"If you're getting married in August, six months before that is February. I'm tied up putting on the Valentine's Day Ball and doing the Junior League fund raiser. How about January? Right after New Year's?"

"That would be perfect, Mrs. Blair. That way Jaimie would be recovered in time for our Valentine's Dance, Jaimie's grand unveiling anniversary. There's a red gown with bare shoulders that will show off her new figure to perfection. Loretta's been dying to put her in a mini-fall of Southern Belle banana curls. Sugar-Bear will feel irresistibly bountiful as well as looking the beautiful belle."

"Full skirt?"

"A full bell. With a little bustle effect for that sweetly rounding rear of hers."

"Long gloves?"

"Definitely."

"You can wear my diamond drops, Dear. Oh, my daughter is growing up so fast. Soon you'll be a bride, then a wife, then a mother. Where does the time go?"

See what I mean? Everybody's been living my life for me ever since that first, "For me, Baby? Please?" First it was wear a dress. Then breasts. Then it was add a little womb tissue. Next thing you know, my belly will get to the corner three steps before I do.

But you know what? The procedure turned out to be no big deal. Not exactly out-patient, but they shipped me out the next day. We were all done by mid-month, lying up and making the most of it. Jan's mom was positively in seventh heaven at the prospect of Jan being able to be "with child." And it wasn't pain pill fog either. Not only did they plan a layette, they must have mentally decorated the nursery four times while she was there.

We were all fit to dance the night away by Valentine's. At least we could with properly spaced rest breaks. We didn't have to be envious of our ladies' breasts. We all filled a bra quite adequately, thank you, even if not spectacularly, except maybe Jean. Hers didn't stick out that far, but they're full, and quite round, with the perkiest upward pointing pair you could ever hope for. Wonderbras do wonders for her, and she even fills one of those fifties bullet bras quite nicely. We had managed to master fans and shawls and now we had something to call attention to with them

Let's just say that if we nurse, and all of us want to try, we should have no problem providing an adequate milk supply. For now, we're just happy to find out they really are sensitive and responsive, and now we know better how to titillate our ladies' wonderful pairs. Now that they're grown, they make us, as comen, feel complete, sensual. Alright, honestly, if Blake blows down my cleavage just right, my heels point to the ceiling on automatic. But I know mine look nice. The Clinic took pictures documenting their progress.

Our dresses were nice, all bare shoulders graced by long curls. Jan got to fulfill her dream: dressed in a cloud of dusty rose chiffon, shoulders bare while a thick curl fell down to touch a red thornless rose nestled in her cleavage. Her mother brought down jewelry, drops, a choker, and a pave bracelet to complement her engagement ring. With the full complement of Transformations services, we looked and felt really good. This time we danced backwards and loved every waltz.

A late supper was followed by sweeping home. Home. Yes, it felt like home being with Blakey-Bear. After a round of good morning kisses, we each headed for our bedrooms, wanting sleep, needing sleep, too excited to sleep.

We peeled out of our clothes, at least the top layers. You can only hold off so long being so close to your love. Blake knew just where to kiss, to nibble. My toes pointed to the ceiling, opening ms to be filled. The drill slipped home, her dampness engulfed me, and I squealed my head off. It was the third or fourth time, who counted, that I heard myself pant, "Harder, harder. Fill me up and make me pregnant, Lover. Make me carry our baby." The throes of passion can make you say things you regret later.

Getting rounder, living in skirts with the breeze constantly caressing our thighs really changed our outlook on life. You know that Biblical passage: "You will crave your husband and he will rule over you?" Lordy, yes. Blake puts me on my back and makes my body quiver and I just follow her around panting. That's how I wound up agreeing to four children the weekend of Dallas and Clay's wedding. Two each is so symmetrical.

Jan's breasts grew round and firm, naturally close together, with rosy pink aureolas. She poured herself into waist nippers that displayed them like ripe fruit. At least they would have if she didn't stay covered up. Well, most of the time.

She talked us into going to one of those Renaissance fairs, except she went dressed as Mary, Queen of Scots, with a tiny ruff, and a square cut bodice that left nothing to the imagination. To little Miss Prim, it was only make believe so it was perfectly alright to be in character. Never mind that half the males in the yard were drooling over a trim waist and full white mounds whose nipples threatened to pop out at any moment.

Besides that, she likes to sunbathe in the tiniest excuse for a bikini imaginable. She doesn't have that Godiva length hair she would like, but give her time. Now, she makes sure that she doesn't have any tan lines. It drives Drew crazy, and they have some doozie arguments about that. But those are followed by retreats to the bedroom and a series of shrieks and groans that would be embarrassing if they weren't so erotic.

I tried talking to Jan about it. She and her mother had had mother daughter talks about a woman's duty to keep her spouse interested and happy. Apparently Mrs. Vaughn, under that prim exterior, could give her father a run for his money most any night and twice on Sundays. Jan was determined that when she was just the "tiniest bit out of commission," when she was carrying, Drew would have so many memories her red hair wouldn't lead her to stray.

Jean's job kept her hopping. Configuring and testing new systems kept her working nights a lot. That meant was she was home trying to sleep lots of days. I didn't witness it myself, the Library filled my days, but the women said that Nikki seemed to forget a lot of material for her afternoon classes. That meant she had to run back to pick them up. Usually she came back very relaxed. Jean was partial to red negligees, and she always seemed to be in need of a new one.

This past Spring Break, we all did justice to something skimpy. Jean may not be a Sports Illustrated swimsuit model, but she has nothing to be ashamed of. Come to think of it, some of the SI models are more long than round. It's just we have to be careful the bottom isn't too small. Jean's was as small as she dared, with two little ties that let the back drop down. For someone who at first had doubts about her back door, she has no regrets her cherry was popped. There was this one afternoon when it rained, and we all got amorous, so without planning it, we girls all found ourselves facing inward in the doggie position and she just had this enraptured look on her face as Nikki mounted.

The biggest change in our bunch was in Jodi. As she grew round, she went from shy and retiring to flaunting it. It's not like she does table dances or enters wet tee shirt contests, but she got into hair pieces for round hair to complement her French Curves. Her behind rounded out most, along with the fullest set she got honestly from her mother. She says if there are going to be any snide comments, they'll be from pure jealousy. Besides, when her belly is round with their child, she wants to be round everywhere, especially her heels.

She holds it down at school, tortoise shell glasses and all. But she has quite a collection of black, lacy lingerie, for Shelby's eyes only, and this low cut, barely there silk cocktail dress that she practically spills out of. When she almost puts that on, along with her pearl choker and some sheer seamed stockings that show off a really fabulous pair of legs, we know we aren't going to see hide nor hair of them for the weekend. Afterwards Jodi has a real spring in her walk, although she's a little tender sitting down. Shelby, on the other hand, can barely function until the third day.

Lynda was quite complimentary of our progress. We keep our diaries up to date, didn't skip our pills, watched our weight, and were generally positive on life. Why not? When you're getting rolled over in the clover virtually every night, excepting exam periods, and the magic date for walking down the aisle to truly become hers keeps drawing nearer, what's to be unhappy about? Besides this baby bearing thing, I mean.

Jan and I had to quit our jobs in June. Try coordinating big weddings and working. Each of us got a nice wedding shower /going away party from our coworkers. Amazingly, many of them didn't have a clue that our spouses to be were women and the wives to be were comen. I suppose it was a natural mistake, what with our blossoming figures, the talk of how many children we would bear, and our bi-weekly visits to the Fertility Clinic. Our co-workers without a need to know just assumed we were getting our plumbing checked before the big date. They weren't wrong, it's just we had outies instead of innies. For once the grapevine hadn't worked overtime.

My hair is almost a foot longer even with trims, and I like getting a different teased hairdo every week. My hair curves warmly around my breasts, my cup size having grown to a C while my waist is down to 26 inches. My nails are ovals, no extensions to damage my cuticles. I have three holes in my lobes and one in my septum. I put in my hoops, slip into a little silk veil and perfume, and this harem slave is ready to be dragged off by her hair to pleasure her mistress.

I can put on basic war paint in less than five minutes, now that the little facial hair I have is fine and silky. Quarterly waxing means the only hair on my body is a cute little triangle Blake likes to run her fingertips through. I can slip into or out of a silky little nothing faster than you can wink. My flexibility has improved to where I roll my knees back to my shoulders. Other than getting a little out of sorts once a month when the Clinic adjusts my medication, I really enjoy being a girl. If there just weren't this pregnancy thing Blake keeps talking about.

 

 

 

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