gb.ii

the next morning he found himself looking in the
mirror in a way he never had before. he cupped his breasts in his hands and
pretended to lift them up as though they were full. they weren’t pecs any more,
hadn’t been for a while, so there was a slight bit of heft, enough to lend the
illusion that they were something else a little verisimilitude. change. he’d
never really considered such a thing, but just a few words and suddenly it
seemed so enticing. was he really considering this? he pinched his right
nipple, the one with the scar tissue from a botched piercing, and despite the
thrill of the pinch, his pleasure was dulled by the sight of the hairs that
rimmed his aureole. would those hairs stop growing with the right hormones? he
was really considering this. he couldn’t help wondering why.