I Missed Myself

“Sometimes, when I’m jogging or playing softball.”

“Good. It’s gonna look a little different,” she said as she wrapped a scrunchie around my hair. She pulled it higher up the back of my head than I was used to, and played with it until I had bangs over my forehead and spit curls over my ears. If I thought I looked feminine before, I was really bowled over now.

“Okay, let’s see what we can do with this pretty face of yours,” she said. She sat me down on the edge of the bed and went to work with her cosmetics. I had to close my eyes as she brushed and powdered me, not quite believing that a pretty girl who used to be a guy was giving me a makeover. I stared at her as she applied a coat of lipstick to my lips, and when she was finished, she gave me a big smile. “Wow. I’m a miracle worker. Look at yourself!”

She was right. My face had been totally transformed into a girl’s. And I was pretty. I just sat there and stared at myself in the mirror as she started to work on my nails. They hadn’t been clipped in weeks, and she was able to shape and file them into a presentable shape. After she applied a coat of quick dry polish, she had me hold my hands up to dry as she smoothed moisturizing crème over my legs and arms. In all my life, I had never experienced anything like the sensation of being pampered like this. Finally, after all the trauma of my operation and recovery, I felt like I was beginning to come alive again.

But I was unprepared for what happened next. “Let’s see if you can figure out how to put on your pantyhose,” she said with a giggle. I picked up the flimsy nylons and tried to get my foot into one of the legs. “No, stop!” she laughed.