My hands. I still had trouble believing they were really mine. They were long and slender and delicate and feminine, wearing rings and bracelets, the ...ingers tipped with sparkly purple fingernail polish. These weren't the hands I was familiar with. They weren't the rough and strong and calloused hands I'd been so dependent on; they were weak and soft and smooth and small and useless to me. They were a girl's hands. But they were mine. And I was a girl now.I wrapped my arms around me, carefully. Naked as the day I was born, but with some new equipment, I sat, as agood girl would do, to relieve myself after the long night. Certainlywas interesting, sitting there, looking down, and not being able to seepast my enlarged rack. Since I had started this journey with Mother, Ihad always sat to relieve myself, like the girl I wanted to be thissummer. It gave me such a feeling of rightness that my flow, unseen,seemed like that of a woman. After daintily wiping the source of theflow with a piece. More

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