She smirks properly, now. 

"And it is not a place where clothes are appropriate." 

I blink and twitch back, a little. 

"It is okay. I'm trans, as well. I know the pain, and what it is like. I am trained surgeon, as well, if that matters to you."

"Then why are you wearing clothes?"

She smiles, lightly and mysteriously. 

"The opening required a certain mindset of you. I did not think that it would be appropriate, to begin this in such a way."

"Then you will strip as well, then?"

"But of course." 

She stood, proud and calm, her hand slipping out of hers. 

Her fingers slipped beneath her shirt, nails sliding gently around her hips, before digging into the deep black of her slightly sheer shirt. She flushed, just faintly, and peeled off her top, the jade-pale skin of her abs pristine save a handful of pinkened scars trailing off into the space beneath her tightly clinging pants. 

She breathed out, and slipped it up, her c-cup chest falling slowly before being tugged back up by the incoming tide of her rising shirt, revealing the delicate expanse of skin of her breasts and fine filgree of her bra trailing off into razor-thin scars swirling off into knotwork across her chest, gleaming black highlights shooting through the marred flesh for lingering moments before fading away as the light failed to catch it. 

She pulled her shirt over her head, and tossed it aside into the dusty floor. 

She inclines her head, and smiles cheekily. 

"Now you, perhaps, given the show?"

I flush and stare through the whole process, raking my eyes along her beautiful form. 

"- Yes. - I will, give me a moment." 

I'm not going to match that, of course, but there's no reason to be indelicate about it. 

I trace my hands down my sides, tugging at the dress, settling it into place for some reason, smoothing it out before I tug it aside. 

There's no bra beneath, no subtle artistic merits to be found, just the amab body that you'd expect, save a faint gloss of lighter softer skin and a handful of scars from my growth spurts and my misadventures with a razor and some dysphoria. My nipples stand out, a little hard against the coolness off the air, as I strip that off and take the time to pant and focuse myslef.

She watches, carefully and mindfully, taking in every detail of the tone of her muscle and the fat on her frame. 

"It is alright, Moonsilver. You bear your scars well, and there is no shame in being alloted a worse draw then you would have hoped, or one that is unbecoming a being such as yourself."

"...I know. It just seems... besides the point, at times." 

I'm a bit hunched, a bit shivery, and I haven't even taken off my bottoms. 

"Nonsense. You cannot build without a vision, inspire with inspiration, charm without clarity of purpose. You are as you are. That does not mean it does not need to be fixed, but regardless." 

She reaches out, and cups her cheek. 

"This is your moment." 

I nod into her hand, nuzzling softly and flushedly. 

I breath deeply once more. 

My hands catch against my pants, a flash of that dubiousness and fear/

With her soft cool-warm-sweet hand against my cheek, I can't just make it a formality, something dull. 

So... 

I look into her eyes, and let it fall. 

She prowls forward, taking a deep long look at her over the table. 

I pant, a little, all too keenly aware of the way that my nipples prick, the way that my whole chest flushes, the silly way that I adjust to try to feel like my boy weight is quite right and that I've puffed up into the right shape, then slackening a little awkwardly into it. 

I'm... a little hard, but it's still just passively there, still essentally enrt beyon the flus had n sudden awareness of the motion at the raking of her eyes along my stretch-mark lined crotch.  

She smiles sharply. 

"Cute." 

I tremble, and centre myself as I stare at her breasts. 

"That would make it my time now, yes?"

I - nod, a little shakily. 

"Yes. Strip, if you would?"

"But of course, Moonsilver." 

Her fingers slip down her hips, and slip aside her own pants, a broad expanse of milky white skin forming her thighs, a clean, pretty and pristine sex that I instinctively averts her eyes from after taking the time to note that yes she has as a perfectly nice pussy. 

Her knees have some of the same lines that I remember from mine, in the little curves and irregularities in the way it lays, and her toes are finely painted with a glossy deep purple. 

I take a moment to readjust to supporting my head, and watch her warily. 

"Good girl. Feel free to stare - we have nothing to hide, here."

I flush deeply, stretching out in place to try to adjust, to remember how my lumbs normally work, when I'm sitting across from something other then a very naked very pretty girl. 

I nod. 

"It's just." 

Breathe, stare, admire, watch her eyes, too. 

"It feels obvious that you have nothing to hide, but me..."