#tgtf

Rebirth p17:

I notice it now - the crease where my breasts meet the chest wall visible through the wet fabric as a shadow, a line that has no equivalent on a male chest, the tissue above it moving slightly.

Replication p3:

The face in the mirror isn't mine. The hair is long, past the shoulder. The eyes look like mine. But the jaw line, the nose, the mouth, all of it female and composed and unknown to me.

The Woodsmen p6:

The hands go over the breasts and I make it quick. The nipples draw up hard, and when the soap slides over them my breath catches short and I stand there with my jaw set till it passes.

Closed Doors:

Trapped in soft skin, his panic hijacked by wet, demanding heat between his thighs. She’s in his dense, testosterone-fueled frame, fighting a sudden aggression. The neighbor's at the door.

Reconstruction p2:

The hair’s curled tight. Below it there's none of the loose heaviness from before. The skin runs smooth down into a fullness, a soft rise, and then a seam, two folds pressed together.