Chapter 5: All You Can Eat

We slept until eleven Sunday Morning, made leisurely love, then showered. It was decided this would be a casual day for Dianna and Lisa; jeans, T-shirts, and athletic shoes. With Dianna's help, I still looked good enough to eat — at least, she thought so. Dianna looked... damn, no woman had a right to look so sexy in such a sexless outfit. She filled everything out to perfection, tying off the T-shirt below her boobs to show off her twenty-two-inch waistline and navel ring. Turnabout is fair play. I wore her suede high heels the night before. Now, she fit perfectly into a pair of my Reeboks. Is it scary we wear the same sizes, or kismet?

She attacked my wig with a styling brush and comb, moving errant locks this way and that, restoring the fabulous 'do to respectability.

"There!" Dianna pronounced triumphantly, "maybe not as good as Angelo would do, but it will do for today."

"Angelo?" I questioned.

"He does all our wigs, Sweetheart," she informed me. "He's been around for ages. He used to be the stylist at Broadway Wigs. Now he has his own shop. We wouldn't think of using anyone else. When this needs to be cleaned and re-styled, I'll take you to him and introduce you."

We knew neither of us could bear to part with the beautiful hairpiece, so I made plans to send money with Dianna to reimburse Mimi. My lover assured me Angelo would be able to obtain the replacement before the following weekend.

Sunday was another shopping day. First, we went back to the same lingerie store in Water Tower Place. This time, we purchased lingerie for me. A stop at the MAC store netted makeup 'essentials' — about two shopping bags' worth. Dianna promised she would have me a genuine makeup artist by the time of the fashion show. Who better to teach me than a showgirl who had appeared on stages all over the Midwest since age sixteen?

Our next stop was the furniture store from which I had furnished my condo. I purchased a second, matching dresser for Dianna's things in accordance with our avowal that my home was now her home as well. The same bedroom collection offered a jewelry armoire and vanity table. We snapped up both, then paid a premium to have the three pieces delivered that same day.

We motored on to a theatrical makeup and supply store on the Northwest Side to acquire some special items Dianna professed I would need the following day. It was a short trip from there to Paul's studio, where I was measured for additional corsetry I would need for my ongoing figure training. Upon completion of my fitting, we hurried home to await the delivery truck, ordering a stuffed pizza from Edwardo's en route. Both arrived shortly after we did. After having the delivery men array the new furniture to our liking, I tipped them and sent them on their way. They looked crestfallen to have to leave, after having feasted their eyes on the stunning brunette and blonde 'roommates' for a half-hour.

We had a heart-to-heart discussion over pizza, concerning my future. Dianna admitted the figure training alone, in conjunction with external prosthetics, plus her makeup and deportment lessons, would probably be enough to get me by for the fashion show. The word 'probably' had hung heavily in the air between us. I knew without pressing she wanted more — a lot more. She had enumerated the options available, both surgical and otherwise.

Oh, how she wanted me to get a boob job! She didn't say so in so many words, but I could tell.

"Do you remember Sugar?" she murmured.

I nodded slowly. How could I possibly forget? Sugar also frequented Ringers. She and Dianna bore more than a passing resemblance. In fact, some in the past have mistaken one for the other — until they looked below the neckline. Dianna had full, firm D-cup breasts. She hadn't wanted to go bigger than that, avowing she liked the "All-American Girl" look. I had stifled a laugh when she told me that, thinking how much our perceptions of "All-American" were changing. Sugar, on the other hand, possessed the kind of fantasy chest that made men's eyes bulge out of their sockets and pre-cum surge like a river.

Dianna's eyes glazed over and her breathing became rapid and shallow as she described Sugar's choice of size, the procedure itself, and helping her friend through her post-op recovery period. My lover's eyes regained their focus, and she hurriedly added she just thought I should know what to expect, should I ever decide to go that route. I got the distinct impression there was — or at least, had been — more going on between the two than just 'friendship'.

Dianna tread delicately on the subject of hormones. The benefits were softening of skin and muscle tone, thickening and improved luster of the hair, development of so-called 'secondary sex characteristics' — boobs, hips and buns — not to mention increased sensitivity, particularly in the nipples. There were consequences, too. Some girls experienced hot flashes and pronounced mood swings. Others claimed the hormones made them sleepy. There were some medical risks as well, although there didn't seem to be a high incidence of them in girls our age. Of course, there was also the potential for loss of male sexual function...

My companion had been massaging my crotch as she related all of this. She had spoken those last words softly, almost reverently, as she gazed in the direction of her hand. She lifted her head; her eyes met mine. She leaned into me and kissed me tenderly. No other words were spoken on the subject, but she left no doubt where her feelings lay.

There was probably something fundamentally irrational about having a rational discussion with my paramour about methods to transform me permanently into a more feminine image. If there was, I didn't see it. At that point, it was just a discussion; nothing more. Dianna wasn't insisting on anything; she was merely offering options. To be honest, my mind was elsewhere at the moment.