TFebruary: Romance

Model Natasha 

 It was all so unfair Jessica grumbled to herself. Bad enough that the virus had turned her into a woman, but did it really have to make her this kind of woman? She knew plenty of women who cut their hair short and never wore skirts. Hell, her own sister rarely used makeup and loved football. Why couldn't she be more like her? Then at least she'd have more of a connection to her old life as Jeff.

Sighing, she remembered the last time she'd visited a bar. The way the beer had tasted sour on her new taste buds, how her stomach had churned after a few swigs. Finally, the noise and bustle of the crowd had frayed her nerves and sent her scurrying home in defeat for a relaxing bubble bath and a glass of Chardonnay. 

She had to face facts, as her therapist never tired of telling her, she wasn't a tomboy, and she certainly wasn't a man anymore. Denying it was only going to make her miserable. She had to learn to adjust to her new personality the same way she'd accepted her new body.

 So, reluctantly and with a profound sense of relief, she slipped into her favourite silk négligée and returned to the trashy but oddly compelling romance novel her nieghbour had lent her.

Perhaps, she thought, imagining herself as the swooning heroine as the stern  yet vulnerable Duke took her in his strong arms. Perhaps, this new self had some good points too, if she could just let herself enjoy them.