He hadn't wanted to touch them for a while, just look at them, much the same way as he had stared at his previous girlfriends' breasts long before hesitating and with trembling hands touched. This was obviously when he had escaped from the days of drunken groping at parties, and had discovered what beauties women really were. The mirror reflected him and her, but the him was fading fast fortunately.
She smiled in the mirror at him. His smile quivered on his lips and then disappeared into hers. A million thoughts ran through his mind concerning what he would do next. His mates in the pub had not supported him, and he didn't want to see them again, well, not yet. He could call Charlie, the only male friend who had stuck by him through it all, even when the bandages came off after the operation, and while the bruising killed. Charlie liked her too, that was the good thing, apparently despite all the changes he had been through, Charlie liked her too.
Neighbours had stared at him as he'd left the house in the morning to go to the hospital. Many would have denied him the privilege of having his operation on the supposed National Health Service, and his bank account hadn't been drained that much, even with the child support, so a private hospital room had been arranged.
What did it matter? His wife had left him last Spring, taking the kids, little Jamie still crawling and Natalie now in her angst 'you don't understand me' years with her. He missed them daily. Waking up alone he could cope with, but the house was empty without the sounds of their voices and Nat's blaring music that she constantly refused to turn down no matter how much he or Sandra had knocked on her door.
Natalie didn't want to see him. That hurt. Her friends teased her with subtle jokes that took time to sink in, but when they did, they were more painful than anything she'd felt before in her cotton wool wrapped world.
The hormones would take effect soon. Soon he would suffer along with all the women in the universe the emotions and madness of hormones, at least he'd have something to blame his mood swings on.
Running his hand over his smooth chin. Not even one un-waxed hair beheld his face. The moustache had vanished, with the pain a woman has to endure, but it was worth it in the end. The hair would grow long and luxurious, and he too would wish he were a blonde, but not yet, not whilst he was still in the primary stages.
Out with the old in with the new. The clothes of his former life were lain on the bed. The Hawaiian shirt waved it's final goodbye, as if off on a cruise. The clothes of his former wife cheered loudly from the wardrobe. Knowing what to wear was the difficult part. Too old for the tiny weeny skinny binny tops of teenagers, worn with microscopically short belts, and too young for long frilly floral numbers worn by the 50 plus. He hoped he'd have an occasion to wear the red sleeveless dress with low cut back. The heels dug in at the back of his feet, but they always had done in the past, due to the fact that Sandy took a size 7 shoe, not the 8 of his slender feet.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, sinking into the soft mattress covered with the cream satin duvet that he had once slept in Sandy's arms underneath. He knew it was time to forget the past and seek a new future with himself as herself.
