Sapphire's Place - Nom de Plume's - " Never in November "

Never in November

LOS ANGELES: In a remarkable feat of neurosurgery and tissue engineering, scientists at the University of California at Irvine have successfully transplanted penises and testicles from male rabbits to female rabbits, and ovaries and uteruses from the former females to the castrated male donors. Once they recovered from the surgery, the new male rabbits attempted to have sex within 30 seconds of being put in a cage with an engineered female. "The males were able to copulate, penetrate and produce sperm,” reported Dr. Theo Binder, Associate Professor of Medicine. “Whether the females will be able to conceive and bear offspring remains to be seen.”

* * *

The decision to volunteer for the first reciprocal sex transplant surgery was made over Bellinis at an Italian restaurant in Beverly Hills. It was an unseasonably warm October evening, and I was wearing the sleeveless dress which Hillary bought for me earlier in the day at a chic boutique on Rodeo Drive. Hillary delighted in shopping for feminine things for me, which I found amusing given our past history. When I was a guy in high school, Hillary had been my dream girl. Six years later, still deeply in love, we were both well down the road towards sex change operations.

As we sipped our delicious concoctions of Champagne and peach nectar, I teased her about how much better she would have looked in my dress if we weren’t both on hormones. Hillary, now in her third year at UC Irvine medical school, gave me a long look before she brought up the amazing breakthrough achieved by one of her professors. “The key to it,” Hillary explained, “was putting the rabbits on hormone therapy before the surgery. Somehow, when their sex organs went dormant and started to atrophy, it protected them from the shock of being transplanted, and made the host bodies more receptive to them.”

“Just like us,” I said as I stared into her deep brown eyes. Hillary Fowler had been a striking woman, and she was devastatingly handsome as a man. “Wanna swap with me?”

“If I thought it would work, I’d give anything to have your package. But we better decide soon if you’re actually serious, Jamie. Another few months of estrogen, and you’ll be too far gone down there.”

I kicked off one of my shoes and started to rub her leg with my stockinged foot. “I can still feel something down there, you know. If my poor little thing can still get happy after everything I’ve done to it, imagine what it’ll be capable of when it’s strapped onto a hunk like you.”

* * *

Two weeks later, Hillary and I sat at a crowded conference room table across from a battery of doctors, lawyers and medical school administrators. It turned out Hillary knew they had been quietly searching for the right subjects for the next stage of their radical surgical procedures, so when she sounded out Dr. Binder after we returned from our getaway in Beverly Hills, the timing had been perfect.

Most of the people around the table knew Hillary as a top-notch student, and many of them had met me socially over the past year, but today they eyed us as if we were a couple of rabbits in a cage. Hillary, wearing khakis, a dark blue shirt and a yellow tie, looked for all the world like an earnest young man, and not a genetic female whose body had been masculinized by breast reduction surgery, steroids, and years of testosterone injections. And I, dressed in a suit with a knee length skirt, heels and stockings, looked like a conservative young woman, not a young man whose body had been slowly feminized by the ingestion of estrogen, progestin, and an anti-androgen to suppress my testosterone production.

“Mr. Fowler and Miss Taylor, if I may address you as such,” Dr. Binder began in a kindly voice, “we certainly appreciate….”

“Those are your legal names, are they not?” a man in a pin stripe suit broke in. One of the lawyers, I mused.

Before Hillary could respond, another lawyer, this one a woman with a big ass in an unattractive pants suit, interrupted him. “According to my file, neither one of you has changed your names.”

“Sweetheart,” I said to her before Hillary could respond, “neither my fiancée nor I have changed our names yet. We thought we’d take care of the plumbing first. Besides, Hillary is a nice name for a guy, very distinguished, don’t you think? And you can just call me Jamie. Everybody else does.”

The two lawyers ignored me and launched into a heated debate about the legal ramifications of our names until Dr. Binder put a stop to them. A short man with thick black glasses and a head full of gray hair, Dr. Binder seemed mild-mannered until he shouted “Silence!” in a voice which startled everybody in the room. “I told you not to include them,” he said, glaring at one of the administrators. Turning to the attorneys, he said, “Leave whatever papers they need to sign and go, please.” When the lawyers looked around the room for support, Dr. Binder shouted again, “Out!” They picked up their briefcases and left the room to a smattering of applause.

“Now that we have removed that impediment to progress, let me thank you once again for coming today. And I agree with you,” he said, winking at me, “Hillary is a fine name for a man, and Jamie is a lovely name for a lovely young lady.” I blushed as he continued. “The lawyers have prepared some papers which it will be necessary for you to sign if you agree to proceed, but I first wanted to discuss with you frankly some of the ramifications of this procedure which you must carefully consider before we go any further.

“Now as everybody in this room knows, both of you are what is commonly known as pre-operative transsexuals, and each of you intends to undergo sex reassignment surgery in the near future. Hillary, I believe your operation is to take place in January, and Jamie, if I am not mistaken, you are scheduled to have the procedure done next spring. Now, the risks and benefits for each of you are fairly well established, and if there are no unexpected complications, you can each look forward to living the rest of your lives with bodies that, from all outward appearances, are in line with your preferred gender.

“However, as you both know, today’s surgical procedures, although almost routine, are quite limited, in that neither of you will be able to function normally in a reproductive sense. Hillary, in your case, although you will have a functioning penis, you will never be able to father a child. As for Jamie, you will have a functioning vagina, which will enable you to reach climax, and your breasts will be capable of nursing a child, but you will never be able to give birth.

“Nevertheless, you will be able to enjoy your lovemaking, and if you stay in California, you will be able to adopt children, and indeed you will be accepted by society as man and wife. In other words, considering all of the trials that you have already been through, and the obstacles that you have overcome, you have a bright future together.”

Dr. Binder got up from the table and began to pace around the room. “I mention all this, even though you undoubtedly know it, because the procedure which you are about to consider offers enormous risks as well as enormous rewards.” He dimmed the lights and motioned for an assistant to turn on a slide projector. The first image was of two white rabbits in a cage. “These little critters were known as Adam and Eve. They were the first subjects to undergo reciprocal sex reassignment surgery.” The next slide showed the gloved hand of a physician holding a scalpel over the private parts of one of the rabbits, obviously Adam. “Here we see Adam undergoing the first phase of the procedure.” As the slide show continued, images of Adam’s castration, Eve’s hysterectomy, and the implantation of their sex organs into each other’s bodies were graphically shown. I reached out and took Hillary’s hand in the darkness, and she squeezed my hand under the table. For a medical student, this was no big deal, but I found myself getting queasy as I witnessed what was happening to the poor little bunnies.

The last slide showed Adam and Eves stretched out on their backs in their cage, dead. “Unfortunately, their bodies rejected their new organs, and the resulting shock was too much for their systems. They died without regaining consciousness.” I stifled a sob and looked away from the screen. “We learned much from them, and based on this knowledge, a new protocol was devised.”

The next slide showed two more healthy white rabbits. “Run, guys!” I said under my breath, loud enough for everybody to hear me. Peals of laughter broke out, and even Dr. Binder seemed grateful for the momentary relief from the tension which hung heavy in the room.

“These critters are named Ada and Yves. This photograph was taken before they were administered high dosages of hormones, male hormones for Ada and female hormones for Yves.” The next slide showed them sitting in their cage again, looking no different. “Here we see them in the same state of progression that Hillary and Jamie have reached today.” I squinted at the screen. “No, Jamie, you are not missing anything, they look just the same to me, too.” Another wave of nervous laughter swept around the table. Once again, the slide show progressed through surgery on both of the rabbits, concluding with a slide of Ada humping Yves in their cage. The room broke into spontaneous applause, and Hillary squeezed my hand again before we joined in.

Dr. Binder waited for the lights to come back on. “It is really quite remarkable. But the most stunning development, which has not yet been reported to the public, occurred last week.” Dr. Binder walked over to a built-in cabinet and opened the door, revealing a cage covered by some kind of cloth. He placed the cage on the table, and removed the cloth like a magician. Inside the cage were two adult white rabbits, and five little baby bunnies. “Behold Ada, Yves and family.”

* * *

After the meeting broke up, Hillary and I met privately with Dr. Binder. The forms prepared by the lawyers, carefully absolving the University from liability for any horrors which might befall us, lay signed on his desk. The sight of the baby bunnies had been enough for me, and Hillary needed no persuading.

Dr. Binder chose his words carefully. “You are about to embark on a great adventure, like true pioneers. I can’t minimize the risks, but I want you to know that we will do everything possible to ensure a successful result. Your blood types are compatible, and from what we have learned from our rabbit friends, we anticipate no difficulty in suppressing your immune responses to prevent rejection of the foreign tissues.

“The surgery has been scheduled for December 1^st, which is one month from tomorrow.” He glanced at the calendar on his desk. “Goodness, today is Halloween, I hope that isn’t some kind of omen.” Hillary laughed out loud, but I didn’t find it amusing. “In any event, the reason we have to move quickly is that any further atrophy of Jamie’s testicles or Hillary’s ovaries could be highly problematic.

“There is one more thing. Starting tomorrow, I am going to insist on the two of you engaging in complete abstinence from each other until after the operation.”

“You mean, no sex for the whole month of November?” I asked him, blushing once again.

“Precisely, Jamie. I know you are still capable of male orgasms, and that is the last thing we want happening in your system before the operation. We have to be able to regulate both of your hormonal levels within very narrow tolerances, and sexual relations will add a variable which we can’t control.”

“You said starting tomorrow,” Hillary said.

“That’s right. Have a happy Halloween.”

* * *

The doorbell rang as I was applying a coat of lip gloss at my makeup table. “Come on in,” I shouted. Hillary used her key to let herself in, and she was mixing us each a margarita when I joined her in the kitchen.

“Are you sure it’s okay to drink before the operation?” I asked her.

“Absolutely. We’re going to need it to keep our hands off each other after tonight. My God, look at you. How did you ever get so pretty?”

I did a little twirl, enjoying the sensation as my short pleated skirt flipped above my knees. “And look at you, big boy. How did you ever get so buff?” Hillary flexed her biceps and kissed me on the lips.

I reached for a paper towel and rubbed the lip gloss off her. “For someone who used to be a girl, you seem to have forgotten a few things,” I chided her as we sat down on the sofa.

“Like what, for instance?”

“Like how much trouble it is for a girl to get her makeup just perfect for a big date.”

Hillary drained her margarita and got up to mix us two more. “Is that what you think this is, a date?” she said as she sat back down beside me. “I thought we were past dating and somewhere between cohabitation and ‘till death do us part’.”

“Not until I have a ring on my finger, Mister. I’m an old fashioned girl.” Hillary must have mixed the margaritas very strong, because I felt the second one like the kick of a mule.

Hillary took my glass out of my hands and lifted my chin towards hers. “Afraid I’m going to have to mess up your makeup again.” She kissed me, and I felt her hand sliding up my skirt as our tongues played with each other. My penis was no longer capable of erections, but the sensation of her hand sliding up my nylons sparked an exquisite glow in my panties, and I reached down and started to unbuckle her trousers. We were half undressed when the doorbell rang.

“Trick or treat!” “Trick or treat!” We heard the sounds of excited children through the door of my condominium.

“Beat it, brats, or I’ll boil you in oil!” Hillary shouted. We heard the sound of panicked footsteps retreating down the stairs.

“That was terrible!” I scolded her. “I’m having second thoughts about the whole thing. You’re not fit to be the father of my children.”

“That’s okay. Technically, you’ll still be their father,” she said as she started to unbutton my blouse.

“Well, then you’re not fit to be their mother.”

“That’s okay. Technically, you’ll be their mother.”

“What do you mean?” I moaned as she nibbled on my breast.

“Our kids will be conceived with my eggs and your sperm, and they’ll be born in your birth canal. Technically, that makes you a surrogate father and a surrogate mother.” God, she was already starting to sound like a doctor.

“Where does that leave you?” I asked as I reached for her clit.

“I’m just along for the ride.” God, she was already starting to sound like a man.

* * *

The month of November was excruciating. Frustration from our forced abstinence, combined with anxiety over our upcoming operations, had us both climbing the walls.

On the last day of November, we admitted ourselves into the medical center and spent our last night as man and woman in adjoining private rooms. I was so nervous I had to be given a mild sedative to get to sleep. Hillary put on a stoic front, but I could tell that she was as nervous as I was.

The next morning, I bid goodbye to myself in my private bathroom as I relieved myself standing up for the last time. For years, I had looked forward to this day, but it was impossible not to feel sentimental over my impending loss. Some part of me was still a man, and I allowed what was left of my male ego to grieve over the sacrifice I was about to make. I wondered if Hillary, who had already left her room, was experiencing similar feelings.

When I was wheeled into the operating room to join her, I had my answer. Her eyes were red, and although she tried not to show it, it was obvious that she had been crying. We were dressed in identical blue gowns, with caps over our heads, and from the looks of us, it was impossible to tell who was the man and who was the woman. She gave me a wan smile in response to my feeble thumbs up. “Are you okay, baby?” she asked me.

“Tell me everything is going to be all right,” I said.

“Everything is going to be all right,” she said bravely. We were placed on parallel operating tables, an anesthesiologist fastened a mask over my nose and mouth, and I started counting backwards from one hundred.

* * *

I awoke with a splitting headache and a dull ache in my groin. When I tried to sit up, I felt the tug of stitches in my abdomen. Disoriented, for a moment I had no idea where I was or what had happened to me. Then I remembered. I was a woman now. The first artificially created, fully functioning woman in the history of medical science, if all went well.

A nurse materialized and studied the monitor next to my bed. “How are you feeling?” she asked.

“Fine,” I croaked. I tried to ask about Hillary, but my throat was too dry to speak.

She brought me a cup of ice chips, and I was able to moisten my throat. “Hillary,” I managed to say.

“Your young man is doing just fine,” she smiled. “He’s already up and asking about you.”

I closed my eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

They had us up and about the next morning, and my first sight of Hillary as a man came when he paid a visit to my bedside, a nurse on his arm to make sure he didn’t keel over. “How you feeling, baby?” he asked me.

“Okay. I must look terrible.”

“There you go, just like a woman. You look beautiful, Jamie. I’ve never seen you look happier.”

I didn’t believe him, but his words made me feel wonderful, and when I saw myself in the mirror later that morning, there was no mistaking the look of contentment on my face. My hair was a mess, and I looked washed out without any makeup, but my eyes sparkled and my face was radiant. As for Hillary, there was a glint in his eye that I had never seen before, and a jauntiness about him that would turn into a swagger when he got his strength back.

We both recovered with remarkable speed. As the pain medications tapered off, I endured several days of real agony as my newly created vagina was dilated and my painful dressings healed. Hillary’s recovery was less complicated, and I could tell from the constant grin on his face that he was enjoying his new manhood hugely.

We were subjected to frequent examinations by Dr. Binder and his associates as our conditions progressed. One day, he sat on the edge of my bed and took my hand. “Jamie, everything is going remarkably well. Your body has shown no sign of rejection of Hillary’s ovaries, and your new uterus appears to be fully functional. The other, more mundane aspects of your sex reassignment have been absolutely normal.”

“How about Hillary?”

“It’s most extraordinary. Not only have your genitals been successfully grafted onto his body, they are experiencing a pronounced measure of growth under the influence of his high testosterone levels.”

I couldn’t stop from giggling. “Are you telling me my boyfriend is a hunk?”

“Let’s put it this way. You’d better keep dilating your vagina.”

* * *

We were under strict instructions to refrain from sexual intercourse for two months following our operations. At first, the pain and soreness made any thought of that impossible, and then came the excitement of Christmas and the exhausting round of visits from family and friends. My mother, now comfortably settled in a condominium in Maui, had camped outside my hospital room for the length of our stay, and Hillary and I bid her a tearful farewell on December 31^st. That evening, I dolled myself up for the first time since my metamorphosis.

We had declined dozens of invitations to New Year’s Eve parties, preferring to spend a quiet evening at a favorite restaurant in Newport Beach. I spent the afternoon having my hair and nails done, and luxuriated in the tub for almost an hour, shaving my legs and relaxing in the scented suds. As I dried myself off and inspected my figure in the mirror, I liked what I saw. My breasts were firm, my waist was tiny, my butt was tight, and my pussy was perfect.

I dressed myself in a black teddy, a long dress with a slit up one side almost to my ass, sheer black stockings, and strappy heels. A diamond necklace and earrings that my mother had given me for Christmas were the final touches.

When Hillary came to the door, the sight of him sparked a new sensation between my legs. He was dressed in a navy blue suit, white shirt and Hermes tie, and he radiated power and confidence, from the spring in his step to the tilt of his chin. He kissed me on the cheek so as not to muss my lipstick, and he seemed nervous as we made small talk over a drink before he escorted me to his car for the short drive to Balboa Island.

I threaded my arm through his as he walked me into the dimly lit restaurant. After we were seated at a quiet booth, I tried to start a conversation, but I could tell that something was wrong. Hillary seemed distracted, even aloof, and I felt a knot in my stomach as I tried to figure out what has happening. A waitress came to our table to take our drink orders and tell us about the specials of the day, and I watched as he flirted with her. Oh my God. He's been a guy for less than a month, and he's already on the prowl. He finally sensed my discomfort, and asked me what was wrong.

            "Nothing," I said.

            "Come on, Jamie, I know you too well. Tell me what's wrong."

            "You tell me," I said.

            "What?"

            "Am I losing you, Hillary?"

            "Women!" he sighed. Hillary took my hand. "Jamie, your female intuition is working overtime. I'll admit I'm a little nervous tonight, but it's not what you think."

            "What is it, Hillary?"

            The waitress returned with our wine, and we waited in awkward silence as she opened the bottle and Hillary tasted it for us. When we were alone again, I pressed him once more. "Please tell me, Hillary. Is it something I've done."

            "Absolutely," he smiled. "It's everything you've done. You've gone and turned yourself into a woman, and made me the man I am today. Jamie Taylor, will you marry me?" Before I could react, he produced a ring box and snapped it open. A beautiful Tiffany diamond sparkled in the candlelight.

            I started to sob, and he took me in his arms and wiped my eyes. "Sorry if I seemed out of sorts on the way over here, but a guy doesn't propose every day, and I was trying to figure out what to say." I laughed and took his hand, and as I did so I brushed against the noticeable erection in his trousers.

           "Goodness!" I said.

            "You wouldn't recognize yourself," he said with a wink.

          "Have you taken it out for a test drive?"

            "Nope. I'm saving myself."

            "Such virtue must be rewarded." I glanced around, and after I was sure nobody was watching us, I ducked beneath the table and unzipped his fly. My old penis sprang out into my hands, and I could tell that Dr. Binder had not been kidding. It had obviously taken root and grown considerably. For the first time in my life, I took a man into my mouth, and I started to suck and nibble on him as he grew even larger. I felt Hillary's hands running through my hair as I brought him higher and higher, and suddenly I felt a load of semen jetting into the back of my mouth. My head banged into the table, and I heard china and silverware clattering as the pulsing went on and on.   What must the other people in the restaurant be thinking?

It seemed to take forever before I sucked him dry. "Is the coast clear?" I finally whispered.

Hillary ducked his head under the tablecloth. "Come on up. Hurry!" I tried to look ladylike as I slid back into the booth and looked around for witnesses. Nobody seemed to be paying any attention to us.

Hillary had a huge grin on his face as I patted my lips with my napkin. “You’re looking mighty pleased with yourself,” I said after I freshened my lipstick.

“Wow,” was all he could say.

“Was that a medical opinion?”

“Yes. One of our biggest worries was that the nerves wouldn’t fully regenerate, and I might suffer a loss of sensation. No problem there. That was the most amazing thing I’ve ever felt. Wait until I tell Dr. Binder.”

“No way! You can’t ever tell anyone what we just did. Think of your wife’s reputation.”

“You definitely are a different kind of girl.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not every woman will give her man a blow job after she gets her ring.”

“Keep talking like that, Mister, and it’ll be your last.”

* * *

Our wedding was hurriedly scheduled to take place one month later, at the same church in Newport Beach where my sister Emily got married. She and my other sister, Janet, joined me for a last girls’ night out a few days before the wedding. Since I used to be a guy, they were at a loss to give me sisterly advice on how to please my husband, and we spent most of the night reminiscing about old times growing up as brother and sisters in Southern California. Our mother flew in from Maui the next morning, and the hours leading up the ceremony were a whirlwind of excitement as I prepared myself for my big day.

Dr. Binder agreed to give me away, and when he saw me in my white gown and veil a few minutes before he walked me down the aisle, tears rolled down his cheeks. I blotted them away with his handkerchief, folded it back into his breast pocket, and thanked him from the bottom of my heart. Hillary was waiting for me at the alter, looking absolutely gorgeous in his morning coat and striped trousers, and after we exchanged our vows, the congregation broke into spontaneous applause. Despite the best efforts of the medical school to keep us out of the spotlight, news of our incredible transformations had inevitably leaked to the press, and a throng of paparazzi was waiting for us outside the church. We managed to avoid them as we ducked into our limousine, and if they were able to follow us to our reception at a private country club, they were barred at the gates.

When Dr. Binder danced with me, I saw Hillary shooting the breeze with some of his classmates from medical school, like he had been a guy all his life. Everything about us seemed so normal. Dr. Binder knew better, and he clearly had something on his mind.

“What’s up, doc?” I asked him.

He laughed at my lame attempt at humor. “I know this all started with bunnies, Jamie, but you are definitely a real woman now. I see no reason why you and Hillary cannot start a family.”

“You wouldn’t ordinarily recommend that a third year med student get his wife pregnant, would you? Not with all the work and pressure facing him. You’d tell him to wait, right?”

Dr. Binder shook his head. “You’re extraordinary. I thought only my own wife could read my mind.”

“So what do you think we should do, doctor? Go for it now, in the interest of medical science, or bide our time, in the interest of Hillary’s career?”

“Hillary will never have a normal career. He has been catapulted into the pantheon of the medical gods. And not just because he had an operation. I chose him carefully, because he is brilliant, articulate, and attractive. He is far better suited than I am to champion the development of reciprocal sex change surgery.”

“Where does that leave me?”

“Jamie Fowler, you are a beautiful woman, who can be anything she wants to be. But I am a bit of a mind-reader myself, and I think I know what you really want. I say, go for it.”

* * *

Our honeymoon in South America was a fantastic dream. Hillary had spent a year as a foreign exchange student in Buenos Aires, and he took me to a place I’d never heard of called Punta del Este. February was their summer, and the beaches were mobbed with gorgeous guys and girls from Argentina and Brazil. We lolled on the beach every day, played in the casino every night, and made sweet love so many times that the staff at our small hotel is probably still talking about us.

I am embarrassed to describe the consummation of our marriage, because it took place on an airplane at 35,000 feet. We sprang for first class, and our sleeper seats reclined to full length beds. After a seven course meal and way too much wine, I thought I was out for the night when I felt him crawling under my blanket. The cabin was dark, and I hope nobody saw us, because we went at it like Ada and Yves. When my old penis entered my new vagina, Hillary had to stifle my cries with a pillow, and although I did not reach climax that night, he certainly did. By the end of our honeymoon, I had more than caught up with him. Any argument over which is the more fortunate sex can be settled by two words: multiple orgasms.

One of the joys of being a woman that I was not looking forward to was my first period, and when two months went by without one, I was concerned enough to visit a gynecologist who had been part of our operating team. It didn’t take him long to diagnose my condition. I was pregnant, with twins.

I spent the rest of the day in a complete state of shock, wondering how we were ever going to cope with this. But when I told Hillary that night, he was over the moon. “God, I can’t believe I’m going to be a father!” he said over and over again.

“I thought you told me I was the father.”

“Let’s call it a team pregnancy. When are we due?”

“October 31^st,” I said.

“Halloween! I hope that isn’t some kind of omen.”

I punched him on the arm. “It better not be. These are going to be normal American kids. We better start thinking about names.”

“If it’s a boy and a girl, how about Ada and Yves?”

* * *

I put my foot down, and our children were not subjected to the indignity of being named after a pair of rabbits. My maternal instincts emerged out of nowhere, and I became very protective of my unborn children as my pregnancy progressed. You will learn nothing about them here. The University managed to keep the public in the dark, and Hillary and I were determined not to let our family become some kind of media freak show.

Although my children are off limits for this story, my relationship with Hillary is fair game. The psychiatrists were divided over how we would adapt to our new situations as mother and father. The animal behaviorists who monitored Ada and Yves were surprised when Ada did not attack her offspring, as would be typical with male rabbits and their kits. How would I react to the challenges of motherhood? Would Hillary retain his nurturing instincts?

He was busy with his medical studies, so I had a lot of time to prepare a nursery in the small house we moved into after our honeymoon. By October I looked like a walking Winnebago, and I was sick and tired of wearing frumpy maternity clothes that made me feel like Hilo Hattie in a bad muumuu. When the doctors determined that a C-section was the safest course for my children, they got no argument from me. On October 31^st, Hillary was right there with me when I was wheeled into the operating room, and because he was a medical student, he was able to participate actively in the deliveries. I was out cold, so he saw our kids before I did.

They were beautiful, two perfectly normal babies who nursed side by side as I held them in my arms. My mother arrived from Maui shortly after we got home from the hospital, and it was wonderful to watch her as she took charge of our household. Needless to say, I would have been lost without her. Hillary soon returned to his grueling medical studies, and I threw myself into becoming a full-time mom.

By the end of November, I was hard at work on getting my figure back. After everything I had gone through to get it, I was determined not to lose it now, and Hillary and I began taking long walks together, which graduated into light jogs, and finally serious running. By December 1^st, exactly one year after our operations, I felt I was ready to reclaim some of Hillary’s attention. He was a doting dad, but I knew he felt the same way I did when I asked him what he wanted for Christmas. “Something to get the plaster out of my fingernails,” was his reply.

A weekend in Las Vegas was just what the doctor ordered, and since he was my husband, I was happy to comply. When the time came to leave for the airport, Mom practically had to force us out of the house. But once we were on the plane for the short flight, Hillary and I were the only two people in the world, trying to keep our hands off each other until we got to our hotel. I had packed the dress I wore the night he proposed to me, intending to seduce him after a romantic dinner, but I never got the chance to wear it. As soon as we got to our room, he put the Do Not Disturb sign on the door. I spent most of the weekend looking at the mirror on the ceiling above our bed, watching a man and a woman go at it like bunnies.

From the author of “The Jessica Project”