Sunday, January 01, 1995

Fiction: Everybody Else is Doing it


I noticed that many of my co-workers were disappearing, and being replaced with women.  At first, I attributed this to affirmative action/employment equity run amock, but I soon realized that even in public, women outnumbered men.  I wasn't that I noticed only women in my perpetual sexual fantasizing, but there were actually more women everywhere.  Their numbers seemed to increase by the day.  I was soon surrounded by women, many of them quite beautiful.  They were tall, strapping, the type who would be fun to have dominate you.  They had an air of power which I find strangely attractive.  Unfortunately, I never had any nerve.

Eventually, I began to feel both like a sex object in the office, and strangely, I felt oppressed.  I was being bossed around and given the most menial tasks.  These new women were really tough to work with.  They flirted with me and came on to me.  Many were very aggressive.  I had to draw the line.  A few of them I fucked, not necessarily because it pleased me, but because I felt threatened.  One girl actually forced herself upon me, and I had no way of defending myself.  One could say that it was rape.  I tried to avoid women for a while, but they were all over me.  I couldn't escape.

One girl I fucked told me how good it felt to fianlly have a dick inside her.  She was actually a virgin!  She told me how hard it was becoming to find a man nowadays, but not in the sense that they normally tell you, like "I'm so glad I have finally found a man who can really satisfy me," or "Gee, a man I can trust," etc.  No, in this case, she just wanted to get laid, and mentioned it quite frankly.  She was simply glad to have gotten laid, and I just happened to be the prick who did it.  Oddly, it was true:  men were so difficult to find;  even my buddies no longer returned my calls.  I called on Andy personally, but some woman told me that he went on a trip to "discover his true self."  And he didn't even tell me.

The great shock of epiphany came at last when I tried to pick up this really hot looking damsel on the subway who was wearing this short little mini skirt and a tight see-through blouse.  I could see her little white panties creeping into her crotch.  I sat next to her, and dropped a line.  She turned around suavely, took off her shades.  Staring back at me was Andy, but with gorgeous long hair, and a very pretty, feminine frown.  She said: "sorry, Rob.  It just wouldn't be right."  She got up and sat elsewhere.

It was Andy, but not Andy;  I could swear, by some manner in which she walked, talked, the fact that she knew my name, that it was Andy in drag.  But she was so. . . feminine.  Just moments before, I imagined sticking my head up her skirt and. . .  But it was Andy.  Devoured by curiosity, I pursued her, and came on even harder, even though my heart wasn't in it any more.  I just had to be sure that she wasn't Andy in drag.  I asked her things, alluded to things, that only Andy would know.  She seemed uncomfortable.  Finally, I asked her outright.

"Yes, Rob, it's me, Andrea.  You used to call me Andy.  I am now a girl.  Is that a problem?"

I was quite taken aback by this.  "Prove it."

"You grew up on the East side, and you have a birthmark on your left shoulder blade.  You used to play basketball in high school.  You used to hide a stack of dirty magazines under your dresser when you were a boy.  Your--"

"Holy shit!  It really is you!  How. . . why. . ?"

"I can't explain here.  You'd have to talk to me in private sometime.  You know that you're quite sexy, don't you, now that I can see you from this perspective."  Andy rubbed my thigh with his--hers, I mean--and gave me a woody.  Creeped out, I bolted out the door, as the train had conveniently just stopped.

Imagine!  Andy, the guy I roomed with!  We had shared in so many sexist pranks and had fucked so many chicks!  Women were our life!  And now, he becomes a chick!  I couldn't dare find out if he was really as female as he claimed to be.

Weeks later, I found out the truth.  A girl picked me up, and I went to her place to fuck her.  Easy sex like that became habitual.  I was getting picked up every time I left the house.  When I got there, I was thrown onto the bed, stripped down viciously, and fucked.  Brutally.  I loved it.  But when she reached orgasm, she began to cry.  Always the sensitive type, I comforted her.

"There, there," I said, smoothly.

"You don't understand," she sobbed.  "I didn't mean to be so rough.  I always wanted to have a man caress me gently and make love to me tenderly, without any violence.  But I. . . I lose control, and I hurt him, and get all wild.  Why can't I ever control myself, and really get laid?  I'm not a man anymore!  Why must I still act like one?"

I froze.  My heart sank.  I left her there crying and put on my clothes. 

"What's wrong?  Where are you going?"

"Uh. . . I gotta go.  I've got an appointment. . ." I stammered.

"Please don't leave me."

"I really must go."

"Please?  I need you."

"Well, uh. . . no, I really have to get going."

"I need you.  I want you to understand.  Or else I'll kill you," she said, as she reached into her dresser, still lying on the bed, and pulled out a gun.

"All right, if you put it that way, I'll stay."

She made me remove my clothes again.  Then she told me how she had had a sex change, by some new technique, and how much more confident she felt.  But she needed sex so badly, and there are so few men left.  It's such a great technique, she said.  She needs me to fuck her constantly, or else she'll die.  So she fucked me again, and again, and again.  I was brutalized each time.  When she fell asleep, I grabbed her gun, blew her head off, and ran away.

When I got home, two female cops were waiting for me.  They hauled me into my house, fucked me, and threw me naked into the squad car, to hoots and hollers from the many female neighbours.

In the station, they threw me into a cell, and had some other bitch come in and interrogate me.  I was still naked. 

"So why did you kill that girl?  You wanna go to prison?  Huh?  I have a mind to kick your ass, you little punk."

I cowered in fear at this serious threat.  "She was going to kill me.  She was going berserk because I was leaving and she pulled the gun on me.  I wrestled it away from her and it went off by accident, and--"
"BULLSHIT!" she screamed, and boxed me across the head.  "She was going to keep you all to herself, eh?  Not gonna happen!"  She bent over and whispered salaciously in my ear: "I've got you now, sugar.  All to myself.  I can keep you here in this prison for a long time, and nobody can touch you except me.  And oh, am I gonna touch you."  She grabbed my dick, and started stroking it.  Then she threw me down on the ground and fucked me.

When she was done, the door swung open, and a man entered the room.  "Burns!  Get the fuck out of here!  Quit fucking my prisoners, or I'll have you put up on charges."  Burns muttered and left without a word.

"So you're the white slave who shot his mistress, eh?  Chicks must be mad about you."

"Yeah.  They can't keep their cunts off of me."

"Well you'd better get out of here.  You're one of the last holdouts we have, and you've got to survive.  Otherwise, the whole human race will disappear."

"What do you mean?"

"Haven't you noticed all the women around?  Are you blind?  Haven't yo wondered where all your friends went?  Well, your buddies have probably all fucked you by now, and you haven't even noticed!  Everybody's signing up for Guina's operation nowadays.  Everybody wants to be a girl.  You and I are a dying breed.  I'll tell you now to resist as long as you can, or else you're in for it.  You don't want to be a girl, do you?"

Just as I was about to vehemently affirm my masculinity, I considered how much power women had now, and for a split second I doubted.  "Hell, no!"

"Then get out of here, and go into our retreat.  They won't bother you there.  Your cock'll need a rest, I think."

He was right.  The bite marks were beginning to add up.  Days later, I was in a camp with a dozen other men, and I was greeted warmly.  Not a woman in sight.

As I pondered the situation, I noticed that I began to crave sex again.  I masturbated constantly.  I was always thinking of my perfect woman.  I began to wish that I had something to remember women by.  A piece of jewelry, handwriting, clothing, anything!  Then I doscovered the warehouse.  It had tonnes of female clothing in it, of every type.  One time, I stole in there and jerked off looking at a dress.  Gradually, I moved onto better things, like panties and swimsuits.  Then I had to touch them.  Then, I had to rub myself off with them.  Then I did the unthinkable.  I wore them over my clothes.  I was in drag.  Slowly, as I succumbed more and more often to this wicked temptation, I began to realize that women's clothing gave me a more satisfying orgasm than women themselves.  I began to wear girls' clothing naked.  Then I began to act more feminine in them, to heighten the effect.  I grew my hair during this time.  I sometimes dared to venture back to the camp with girls' clothes on underneath.  I loved it so much, but I was so ashamed!  The kinkiness of it was unbearable.  I went back all the time.  Eventually, I was dressed like a girl more often than not.  I wondered what the other men would think.  Finally, I decided to take a plunge.  I dressed up completely like a girl once, and sachayed into the cmp.  The men were sex-starved, and they ran me down and tried to fuck me.  When they removed my panties, they stopped in shocked silence.  Then they turned me over and took turns reaming me up the ass.  I was so ashamed.  I enjoyed having a dick inside me!

They left me there alone, and I went back to the warehouse.  Every night thereafter, I went back and had sex with the men.  They knew it was me, the transvestite, but they didn't care.  Neither did I.  Or rather, I did care, enormously, because I loved the taste of come in my mouth, and the fucking, and the being female!  I was their whore for a few months before they suddenly refused to have me anymore.  I went back home, as a woman.

I masturbated constantly with my clothes.  I threw out my old wardrobe and replaced it with lingerie and other girls' stuff.  I went totally feminine.  My penis seemed to shrivel up after each homosexual experience, but I didn't mind.  It eventually disappeared into a fold appearing at my crotch.  At the same time, my hips grew, and my tits grew.  My body hair fell out.  I was becoming a real girl.  When I looked at the panties' labels once, I understood, and laughed gaily.  They were made by Gyna Inc., the people who develloped the sex change.  Everybody wants to be perfect.  It just so happens that femininity is perfection!  

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