I almost hit my head on the elevator again!
Still not quite used to the new height . . .
My coworkers and my mom tell me I look and seem so *different* since the Fusion Wave. Buuuuuuut I kinda only agree with the "look" part of that opinion. I get funny looks from all the customers who go into my lane at my Walmart branch, understandable since I hardly fit the apron anymore, heehee! :)
I gained about 4 feet in height, not just in my legs but my torso too - and quite a bit of muscle. (Nothing downstairs changed, fyi - I ask my sister what it's like to be a futa all the time, and . . . I still prefer a cooch.) My sister's friends call me a "muscle mommy" and volunteer themselves as "tribute" to get dominated.
Makes me uncomfortable, really. I will admit, my personality has strengthened, and I've been more confident since the Fusion Wave, but I'm still the shy, sweater-loving oversized glasses-wearing geek from before! Hard to see past the wide shoulders, I guess.
And plus, I already have a boyfriend.
We're having a "steamy" dinner tonight - Jody volunteered to make most of it, save for the Neapolitan ice cream I demanded we get from Vons.
It's the best.
Sometimes, it makes me sad thinking of how it was before. Jody can see this, and he tries to hug me with his body (a difficult task, I don't blame him) whenever he notices. He's been trying to make up for it, with every little act, and every passing day.
I forgive him. I forgave him a long time ago, from the day we woke up after the Fusion Wave hit - when I found my bruised body bigger, and his fists . . . gone.
He's a different person now. For real.
This is not bullshit. He's put in the hours with therapy and state-required meetings. Maybe a change in brain chemistry from estrogen and shock helped, since Jody is the only abuser I've ever witnessed actually trying to reform.
He hated it starting out. The helplessness and dependence. He was even more jealous than before. He couldn't be verbal anymore, but he used his legs instead of his fists to kick instead of slap or punch or whip for a few weeks.
And then I started hitting back. Slapping back, punching back. I had every opportunity to walk away, but I didn't. Something new was in his eyes. They weren't cold anymore, they looked . . . broken. Anguished, sorrowful.
I don't know if it was that hit to the nose, or the estrogen kicking in, or the weight of shame - but one day, a week after he stopped being an asshole, he started crying.
That was the start of it.
Dear God. The apartment smells fantastic!
Freshly baked bagels are on the counter. Avocadoes, some fried eggs, and bacon crumbles await their coming assembly into a mouthwatering recipe of his design.
Baby back ribs crackle as they slowly fry in a pan. The unholy combination of Gochujang and Honey Mustard sits in its bottle right next to it.
I can smell the ossobucco in the oven from over here. The gremolata sits alluringly on the counter - I wouldn't be surprised if I finish half the bowl with chips before dinner.
Jody's probably in the restroom.
I'm laughing. He tried making ice cream sandwiches again! The quality is understandable since he's only got feet to use - but the determination is admirable.
(It's a crumbled gooey mess. At least it'll taste good . . .)
In goes the Neapolitan ice cream.
"Ahhki! Hi humbhy!"
Jody! His apron is stained again, but it sure smells good.
It's hard for him to speak with the dong in his mouth, but he tries.
I run over, crouch down, and give him a big hug.
He wraps his legs around me.
Oooooooooohhhh . . .
I hoist him up into the air and give him a spin before kissing him straight on the lips. He blushes, hard, and, aroused, his lips part with a breathy, feminine exhale. The head of his impressively girthy cocktongue stands to attention, and makes an appearance as it slowly inches past his lips, throbbing.
Red-faced, he looks at me through his fluffy bob - he ditched that "Medium Flow" on choice two months ago.
Doe eyes.
He looks so different.
Delicate. Feminine, I guess.
The Fusion Wave placed his legs where his arms should be - but deleted his arms. It's why he only stands barely 3 and a half feet off the ground.
His pecker doubled in size - and replaced his tongue. He's got a snatch, a little bigger than mine, in his groin now.
His skin has gotten so soft. The insides of his smooth thighs are rubbing my cheeks, and I'm getting a little hot. All those rough hairs I associated with hell are gone.
His chest has . . . grown. They're tiny, but sensitive to the touch, and pert. The apron forms mounds around them.
His hips have widened too, and as for his ass . . .
I give it a pinch, and he giggles.
It's pretty plush.
But the most that's changed is his face.
His wide eyes are a warm, soft hazel. They tilt mischievously, gently, shyly. There's a little sadness behind them too. They're framed by silky, bushy eyebrows, and positively luscious eyelashes.
There's no hint of the cold, cruel, soulless gaze anymore.
The cheekbones, the jawline, even his nose - all softer. Gentler.
He's blushing, and his eyes are closed in bliss.
His smile is kind, and genuine.
He's . . . cute now.
The new haircut does wonders, but it, like the rest of him is soft.
Except for the cock.
It's sticking half a foot away from his face, and it's tip is drooling.
"Pweashe?" he whispers to me.
It does need attention.
I smile, and turn down off the heat for the fried ribs.
Jody is squealing into my breasts.
I'd say he's earned it. :)