It started with consoling my love, by stroking his naked thigh.
You see, 'someone' has a touch of hormone madness from the hysterectomy.
I can't remember why Papi needed comforting, but that's how it began.
I didn't realize it, but I was stroking mi esposo's man hair leg, and to my surprise, it didn't feel like a nasty Brillo Pad, raring to cut my flesh like a knife through butter.
I was enjoying the feeling, as if it was a member of our Fuzzy Family.
"It actually doesn't feel so bad. It's pretty soft! I think I'm getting used to it."
Papi responded with, "Yeah, I'm finally getting used to it too. It was weird at first."
It shocked me, that Papi had to get used to it as well.
I really thought he would feel connection with every aspect of the transformation.
I suppose all the joking and terrorizing was really my love's way to deal with the changes.
I guess it's an adjustment for everyone that takes getting used to.
I mean, it must be! It's huge for me, so it must have some impact on the person who's morphing, leaving their prior 'self' behind.
One of the most amazing therapists I ever had, once explained our reactions to loss, change, hurt and even joy.
She explained that every person is unalike, and is therefore cut from a different cloth. We all have distinctive strengths and weaknesses.
When you press an iron at a high setting on varying materials, they each have individual reactions.
If someone is made of silk, well, you can imagine what the heat will do to them.
Honestly, I'm 100% sure that there will be more challenges in life, because that's just the way life is.
But perhaps, my silky fabric has changed into denim.
Anyway, I thought about how lucky I am to have found this person I love, who loves me as deeply.
I no longer care if my love has extra hair, although there will be waxing in Papi future.
I mean really! I keep those areas tidy for sexy time, skirt exposed legs and armpit stink.
So yes, there will be waxing, Papi.
However, I really don't care if my love talks, walks, acts, or looks different anymore.
I've had a good year to get it out of my system, and at the same time, grow with the changes.
I'm still attracted and madly in love with mi esposo.
That doesn't mean I'm going to let go of all my opportunities to share TMI about his antics here in my blob/blab.
There's just too much fun to be had with the DIY exploits of the Tranny Terrorist.
But what I do get to let go of, is that comatose, weeping wife of an F-M.
Over the past week, I've unconsciously started to rub Papi's chest.
Through my love's t-shirts, I let my fingers softly rub over the scars.
There may be loss of pillowy softness, but that loss doesn't compare to the love I have for Papi, which was really my worst worry.
Now that I know my attraction and love are here to stay, I'm ready to get on with life and talk about other important things.
Like my ass.
My love thinks it's imperative that I get a pic of my ass in this here blob/blab, because, "It's a great ass," my love pleaded, "You have to show everyone your ass! Look at that ass! It's better than a 20 year old's!"
Yeah it is, but no.
Other than when my cheeks are nicely tucked into a pair of yoga pants, or skin tight Dominican Republic jeans for the world to see, my butt belongs to Papi.
Well, except for when I lend it to the Needle Master.