..." Amanda, sometimes all of us girls need help, at least until we're bigenough to fill a bra properly."I slipped the rubbery objects into the bra cups and noticed an immediatedifference. They filled the loose bit of cloth in the blouse. I lookedmuch better.I stood looking at the image in the mirror. A very pretty girl in barefeet looked back. Amanda reached out and touched the mirror with herfingertips; a tear ran down her cheek and dropped to the floor. Thefeelings I had were overwhelming me, or should I say, Amanda? It wasbecoming harder each day to remember I was a boy named Mark, and seeingmyself like this only highlighted that fact. I shouldn't be feeling theexcitement of discovery like I was, but the creation of, Amanda, hadbrought me here, here to this place where a girl like, Amanda, shouldbe. This was a place where a boy named, Mark, was losing the battle hehad so innocently begun ten years earlier in his mother's bedroom and agirl named, Amanda, was winning."What's wrong?". Have a seat and I'll write this out for you." She motioned to the bed. The boy sat down. Susan pulled her housecoat slightly closed, but she left it open enough that if the lad wanted he could see just about all of her. She fetched a pen from the end table and sat down next to him, crossing her long ample thighs, letting her Shiny beaver show just enough. As she leaned over the new check book, her boobies were again in plain sight. "How much was that?" she asked again."Forty-fours," said the delivery boy. He was looking at Susan's luscious titties, not thinking about the price of the pizza. "I mean," he corrected himself, "Four-ten. Four dollars and ten cents." Is something bothering you?" asked Susan, sticking her chest out at him. "Does it bother you, young man, that I'm not wearing a bra?" It doesn't bother me," he said. "It just, ah, distracts me a little." I see," said Susan. "Would you like to touch my breasts?" She put the pen and checkbook on top of the pizza box which was in.
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