New Style

 

Model Disha 

Dejectedly, I tugged at the expensive fabric of my favourite suit. Clinging to the futile notion that if it still fit, even a little bit, then I'd still have a link back to the man I was. But the suit hung around my now slender frame like a Calvin Klein tent.

Instead of boosting my rapidly fading male identity, it only served to emphasise how much my body had changed.

With full breasts swelling on my chest and a newly minted pussy between my legs, I was well past the point of denying what the gender flu had done to me. 

It was time to face up to my future like a man, um, woman. 

 The first step, I decided, was to start on a new wardrobe. I'd been getting by with family castoffs and old shirts that fit more like dresses, and I'd had about enough of looking like a student on laundry day.

 I'd always enjoyed dressing well, and I didn't see a reason why that should change now. I'll admit a small part of me had always envied women's wider variety of fashion choices, so it only made sense to embrace being a woman with style. 

 No more outsized hoodies or baggy jeans for me. Instead, I pictured myself wearing a slinky cocktail dress with stylish heels or a smartly tailored skirt suit, feeling an unexpected flutter of excitement at the prospect of all the retail therapy coming my way. 

 For the first time since my body began to change, I allowed myself to wonder if at least some parts of this transformation might actually be fun.