Mickie and Laurie Pt. 13

I walked carefully back out into the living room, wincing a bit from the soreness in my behind. Mickie was sitting on the couch enjoying a late night snack of cheese and crackers while she looked at her phone. I would have liked to join her for the food, but it seemed like a bad idea from a calorie perspective. My stomach was grumbling from the lack of dinner, and swallowing Jamal's big load of cum had not really put much of a dent in my hunger. In the end I limited myself to a small serving of cottage cheese and joined Mickie on the couch. She took a break from her eating and gave me a hug, then planted a kiss on the side of my face.

"You make such a great girl, Laurie," she said. "I'm starting to get a little bit jealous of how good you look." I blushed but did not reply. "And how well you fuck," she added.

"You want to see some of the footage from tonight?" Mickie asked. After a few moments of internal debate, I nodded my head.

Mickie spent a minute queueing up one of her clips that she thought I would enjoy, and then held her phone between us so we could both see it. She pressed play and it started with the part where Jamal stood up from the couch while still impaling me on his dick, and carried me into the bedroom. It went much as I remembered it, except I had forgotten that I still had on my camisole. I looked so small against him, with my legs wrapped around his back.

When he set me on the bed, pulled off my cami, and started fucking me, Mickie told me to focus on my facial expressions. I watched as Jamal's thrusts pushed my body, saw my hands grab the bedspread tightly, and noticed that my eyes were squeezed shut and I periodically winced in pain. I felt a sympathetic twinge from down below as I remembered that pounding.

Then came the doggy style, which was kind of cool. Mickie had gotten some close-ups of Jamal's cock sliding in and out of me, and it was such a sight. How had I managed to take something that large up my ass? This was followed by the reverse cowgirl, during which Mickie had focused on my body and face as I rode Jamal's pole, then the final missionary when we had both cum. As that ended, I shook my head in disbelief. Was that wanton slut me?

Mickie picked up on what I was thinking and said, "You're like a different person in these videos, Laurie. We should start an OnlyFans account for you and make some money. I'll bet a lot of people would pay for that kind of content."

I immediately shook my head no. There was no way I wanted any of this available anywhere!

"Well, think if over," she said. "Your work is very compelling!"

After this, we finished getting ready and went to bed. As usual, we fell asleep with Mickie spooning me, but I eventually moved away to protect my sore butt.

I woke up late the next morning (a Saturday, so not really a problem). Mickie was already up and had showered and dressed. I went pee and noticed that the toilet paper I had jammed into my crack was wet with seepage. If I started doing anal more often, I would need to find some way to deal with that problem.

Mickie was in the kitchen drinking coffee when I came out, still wearing my new sleep outfit. "Those pajamas look so great on you, Laurie," she said.

I thanked her and she handed me her phone, which was opened to the message app. There were several new texts from Jamal there:

•Great time tonight babe. Thanks for giving me Laurie to play with.

•That bitch is hot stuff, and sucks a dick like a pro.

•I wanna fuck that ass again.

•I loved watching her rub her clit while she took my dick.

I blushed to read what Jamal said about me, although I had to admit it was somewhat complimentary.

"How's your ass this morning, honey?" she asked.

"Still pretty sore," I replied. "I hope I don't have any big poops today." Mickie laughed and inadvertently snorted a bit of coffee out of her nose.

"You want to know something?" she asked. "Even though I've been with Jamal maybe a dozen times, we've never done anal. And I'm scared to think what it would be like." She paused, and then added, "You're a tough one, Laurie. And fearless."

I appreciated Mickie's praise, although I considered myself to be neither tough nor fearless.

We spent a pretty low-key weekend without any major adventures, but on Sunday I brought up the issue of having a bona fide medical professional who would attest to my legitimate case for gender reassignment when I brought it up at work. I was worried that Mickie would balk at this, but she readily agreed that it was time to do things by the book. She immediately went to work researching the matter on the web, and quickly found a gender dysphoria clinic at our local university hospital. She told me she would work on getting a preliminary appointment.

That week I noticed that my hair had grown a bit, and was looking a bit uneven. Without consulting Mickie, I called up Candy and asked about scheduling a short appointment to touch things up. She told me she could fit me in at the end of the day on Friday. I booked it, and only later realized that this presented a logistical problem. For the appointment, I should really be presenting as female, but it would be right after work. I would need to find a way to change over before driving to Candy's salon.

I told Mickie about my conundrum, and she set to work thinking about solutions. She told me that she was pleased that I had taken the initiative to book the appointment. Then she told me that we had lucked out and there was an opening for an assessment appointment at the gender dysphoria clinic the following week. I felt a pang of anxiety--how was I going to handle that whole mess? I asked her if she was going to come with me, and she told me that it was probably best if I went on my own--even though she was my spouse.

In the meantime, Mickie and I also had a quieter sex life than normal. I humbly requested no pegging that week, due to the need for my asshole to recover from its extended fucking by Jamal. She agreed, and we restricted ourselves to me giving her oral pleasure or fucking her with the strap-on. That was fine for me--I needed some time off, and I welcomed the chance to focus exclusively on her sexual satisfaction.

Mickie had an insight regarding Friday. She would drop me off at work, and pick me up at the end of the day. She would bring along a complete outfit for me, and would help me change and get made up somewhere along the way to Candy's--maybe a gas station bathroom.

When the time came, things went exactly as planned. Mickie had scoped out the options and found a gas station with a restroom that was accessed from the outside of the building, which would reduce the likelihood of questions about the two of us being in there together. She picked me up and we drove there, and I filled up the gas while she went and staked out the restroom. Then I parked and went around to the back. Checking that no one was watching, I knocked on the door of the Ladies' room, and Mickie opened it and motioned me inside.

She had taken in a hanging clothes bag, which was now hanging from a hook on the door, and a rudimentary make-up kit was sitting on the toilet. She told me to strip down to my panties and take off my wig, and I quickly complied. I shivered a bit, as it was cold in this room. Mickie checked my tuck situation and was satisfied. She then provided me with some dark pantyhose, which I pulled on. Then she gave me a black training bra, and I laboriously hooked that behind my back. Next she handed me the dark red skirt that we had considered for our trip to the club. That made me happy--I really liked its fit and its color. I wondered if the knee-high boots were also part of the plan.

They were. Again, I was very pleased because I had wanted an excuse to wear them. Finally, Mickie presented me with a sleeveless black linen top. It was on the snug side, which troubled me. My minimal bust would be quite apparent. Nevertheless, when I put it on I thought the overall impression was stylish, sexy, and feminine. Mickie had chosen well. She added a nice black velvet choker, telling me that in general this kind of accessory was a good idea until I could reduce my Adam's apple. I hadn't realized that was an issue, but now I became aware of that particular feature, which certainly did undermine my feminine presentation.

She finished up with a quick make-over: foundation, blush, mascara, shadow, and lipstick (a dark red to match my skirt). She did not bother with eyeliner, which was wise considering the poor lighting in the restroom. Finally, Mickie took a comb and brush and worked on my hair for a minute, until it was hanging nicely, with a side part, and handed me a small black purse into which I slid my wallet, phone, and keys. I looked at myself, and concluded that most people would not clock me as a crossdressing male.

Mickie stepped out of the restroom first in case someone was watching. Then she knocked on the door to let me know the coast was clear, and I followed her out with the clothes bag (which now contained my work clothes). We hopped in the car and drove to Candy's salon. This time I could see several women working there through the windows, and multiple customers. I would have to be extra careful to present female; however, our experience at the lesbian club gave me confidence that I could pull it off.

Mickie told me she would pick me up after running some errands, so I stepped out of the car, took a deep breath, and walked into the salon by myself. This would be my first time flying solo, but I needed to get used to it--I would have to do it again the following week at the gender clinic. I put the purse strap over my shoulder and tried to adopt a confident gait--but not one with too much swagger--as I walked to the door.

As the bell sounded, the other women in the shop turned to look at me. I felt vulnerable as they scrutinized me, but tried to cover it by smiling and waving at Candy, who was just finishing up with another client. She waved back and said, "Hi Laurie! I'll be with you in a moment. Just have a seat over there." She gestured towards a waiting area with several chairs. A middle-aged woman was sitting in one of them, leafing through a People magazine.

As I walked over and found a chair, I realized that with the two-inch heels of my boots I was pushing five eleven. There were certainly women that height, but it was unusual and I needed to be sure that I did nothing to provoke suspicion that I was anything but a young woman who happened to be on the tall side. I took a seat several chair away from the middle-aged woman, and demurely crossed my legs.

I had not had a chance previously to inspect the boots Mickie had got me, so I did so now. They had fairly high heels, but more boxy than stiletto. This was fortunate, since I had no experience with stilettos. They fit snugly around my calf, and had a cute, buckled strap at the ankles. They really looked great with the rest of my outfit, and even my purse. I had to hand it to Mickie, she understood fashion, and intuitively knew what would be good for me.

I sensed that the woman across from me was looking at me, and glanced up at her. She had put her magazine in her lap, and was studying me. Had she clocked me?

"You are a very nice looking young lady," she said.

I gave her a friendly smile and tried to downplay her compliment. I was working hard on my voice pitch, and even added a little bit of vocal fry for good measure. I also ran my hand through my hair, which Mickie had told me to do when I wanted to convey nervousness or uncertainty.

"I hope you're not here to cut that beautiful hair," the woman said.

"Oh no, it's just a touch-up," I replied. "I really like it this length."

"That's good," she said. Then she pivoted and asked, "Do you have a boyfriend?"

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, and contemplated how to answer. I could tell her I had a wife, but that might open a can of worms. Instead I replied, "I'm in a serious relationship."

"That's too bad," she said. "You would be perfect for my son." I nodded in commiseration, and she went back to her magazine. I thought I would have to tell Mickie about this interaction. She would be amused, and perhaps also pleased that I was being sized up for matchmaking.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Candy and her customer head over to the register to settle up. She would be able to take me soon. After a minute or so, she walked back to her work area and said, "I'm ready for you Laurie."

I stood up and walked over, again monitoring my gait to make sure it was not too masculine. She told me to take a seat, and held out her hand for my purse, which she then hung on a hook under her counter. Assuming I was going to come out sometime in the future, I would need to learn a whole new set of habits with things like purses, since pockets did not seem to be a thing with women's clothes.

"So what are we doing?" Candy asked. "Are we still happy with the extensions?"

"Oh, totally happy," I said, again throwing in a bit of fry. "I just need a little touch-up at the ends, and maybe in front as well."

Candy had me facing her mirror, and studied me intently. Then she walked to one side, the back, and then the other side. Not satisfied, she turned my chair first one way and then the other to look at me in profile. Finally, she spoke.

"I think your hair looks really good, Laurie. But it's been a few weeks, and a trim is not a bad idea. It's grown a bit." I nodded, then she added, "I'm not going to shampoo you first if you don't mind. It will save time, and anyway we don't want to risk damaging those extensions. They weren't cheap!" I readily agreed.

Candy spent about 20 minutes carefully evening out my hair, and even thinning it a little bit in certain places so that it would lie right. As she did this, I let my eyes wander, and caught both of her co-workers watching us at various points. I wondered whether they knew the score. At the end of the day, it didn't matter, but it was still useful to know what kind of impression I was conveying.

Soon enough Candy was finished. She brushed me off and we went over to her register. She charged me $50 for the trim, which seemed a bit high to me. However, I appreciated both her skill and her discretion, so I didn't let it bother me. I opened my purse and fumbled with the wallet, trying to remove my credit card without taking out the whole wallet. Eventually I got it, and handed it to her--the same "Lawrence" card as before. She rang it through and I tapped the payment. She thanked me, then leaned over to whisper in my ear. "You look great, sweetie. Keep up the good work." I smiled my thank you and fished out my phone to check on Mickie's status.

I texted her, saying, "All done. Will you be by soon?"

Her reply came after a couple of minutes. "Running behind. Could you take an Uber?"

I thought about it, then replied, "My account has my old name. Could be awkward."

"Just tell the driver Lawrence booked the ride," she replied. "It'll be OK."

I gave up trying to change Mickie's mind, and opened my Uber app. I saw that there were lots of cars in the vicinity, and a ride back to our place would be reasonably cheap. I booked one and went outside to wait. In a few minutes, a white SUV pulled up and the driver leaned out to say, "Is Lawrence here?"

"He booked the ride for me," I said. "Is that going to be OK?"

The driver, a fortyish man with stubble and a ball cap, sized me up and said, "Sure, no problem."

I climbed into the back seat, and he started the trip back to our house. I wondered about getting out of the car and walking to the door with a key, and whether any neighbors would wonder who the strange woman was. Oh well, there was nothing I could do about it.

The driver was chatty and wanted to strike up a conversation with me. He asked me if I had been at the salon, and I confirmed that. Then he asked me if I lived at the address he was dropping me off at, and I got a little bit paranoid. I told him I was visiting a friend.

"Lawrence?" he asked. I decided the easiest thing would be to answer yes, so I did. Then he started talking about work, and asked me what I did. I told him in a general sense, but declined to mention where I worked. Throughout this, I tried to keep my affect open and charming, so as not to come off as bitchy or cold. It was hard!

Eventually we pulled up in front of my house. I gave him a $5 tip, and he said, "Say hi to Lawrence," as I stepped out of the car. I waved as he drove off, then turned to walk to the house. As I did so, it occurred to me that he might have surmised that I was an escort that Lawrence had booked. Oh well, if that was the case who cared--I would never see that driver again.

As soon as we had decided to go legitimate with the HRT, Mickie had stopped my weekly estrogen injections and cut off my spiro. Initially there did not seem to be any noticeable effect, but by the second weekend I was starting to feel antsy, as if something important was missing. I asked her if we could at least continue with the estrogen, but she was adamant that I needed to have cleared all of those drugs from my system well before I went under a doctor's care. I knew she was right, but I was getting worried about my state of mind--I felt agitated and occasionally somewhat desperate, as well as the hot flashes and insomnia that I was experiencing. One positive note was that I did not have to pee as often once the spiro was out of my bloodstream.

Mickie also downloaded a lot of background literature on the assessment process for transgender care. She drilled me on the hallmarks of gender dysphoria to make sure that I could make a convincing case for being accepted into their treatment program. As I read through the questions and the kinds of responses that they watched for, I realized that I really did fell much more comfortable as a woman than I ever had as a man. Somehow nature had gotten it wrong for me, and it was not too late to correct that. However, I needed to avoid any sense of rote recitation of the talking points. I needed to be authentic.

That Tuesday I had my appointment in the morning. I had asked for a day off work for a "doctor's appointment," and got up early to prepare myself. I made sure that I was freshly shaved from face to ankle, and put on lots of moisturizing lotion. I unbraided my hair and let it hang for a while before securing it behind my neck in a loose, low ponytail. My dirty blonde hair had retained a bit of wave to it from the braiding, and it looked really nice pulled back to either side of my face. I went with low-key make-up, and a subdued pink lipstick.

I tucked and used the gaff, slid on some white, low-cut panties, then put on my white training bra. Next I put on a red and grey, high-waisted tartan skirt that came down to two inches above my knees. This was matched with a lightweight, waist-length, short-sleeve white blouse that buttoned in front. I put on black ankle socks and some black ballet flats and looked at myself: very feminine without being overtly sexy. I finished off the outfit with a black bowtie choker and a cute black blazer that Mickie had loaned me. There was a strong schoolgirl vibe, with an overlay of professionalism. I thought it would be suitable for my interview.

I walked out into the living area, and Mickie gave me enthusiastic reviews on my look. She asked if she could carry my books for me, and I chuckled. As usual, I was skipping breakfast, even though it worried me that low blood sugar might affect my performance in the interview. I skipped coffee as well, to avoid getting too hyper and also because I would then need to pee, and I was not sure what the bathroom situation would be there. I got my same black purse with shoulder strap, made sure I had all my IDs and credit cards, as well as my phone and keys, and headed for the door. Mickie gave me a hug and wished me luck.