Fiction: Forbidden Knowledge

When I was a boy, I learned to think of everything to do with women to be forbidden.  I feared it, as did all of my peers.  It was improper for boys to ever see girls' underwear.  There were very strict social norms against boys having anything at all to do with feminine things.  This makes sense: as a child, you're still trying to form a sense of identity, and gender is one of the most immediately comprehensible aspects of it.  It's like a lifebuoy that we cling to, to assure us of who we are.

So imagine what it must have been like to have to wear girls' tights for a school play, so our kindergarten teacher could have us all dressed like flowers.  Now, suddenly, it was ok for boys to wear girl clothes.  But deep down, I knew that it was subversive.  It was even comical, but not so embarrassing since all the boys had to do it.  

I, for one, had tasted the forbidden fruit, and I wanted more.  It planted a seed in my head which in a few years' time, when puberty started to hit, would grow like a weed.

It is forbidden for men to wear women's clothes.  Those who do are cast out of polite company.  It's simply unacceptable, deviant, and perverse.  But why?

First, it was pantyhose.  They seemed innocent enough, since I had already effectively worn some in kindergarten.  But this time, it was more serious.  I wanted to.  And when I did, it felt so good.  I learned about how it feels to have sheer nylons on my legs.  This knowledge is forbidden to boys and men.

From there, my thirst for knowledge only expanded.  I knew full well that it was perverse, and at that young age, at the beginning of puberty, sexual matters are secret; so I did this entirely out of sight.  Nobody would ever know.  I felt guilty about it, too.  But I always wanted more.  Then I fantasized about wearing other forbidden things.  There was far more forbidden knowledge to be learned, and I needed to gain some experience in order to fully appreciate it.  I developed an elaborate fantasy about how I'd have to wear pantyhose hundreds of times before I would be permitted to wear leotards, and those thousands of times before I could wear a bathing suit, and so on.  This was partly a way to rationalize that I did not have access to these things, and would have to leave it to some distant, unimaginable future.

Soon enough, I did try on a leotard.  But before that even happened, I borrowed my mother's swimsuit.  Now I was in trouble.  There was no turning back, and I knew it.  I was deeply ashamed, but that didn't stop my intense cravings.  I would look at pictures of sexy girls, and imagine wearing their bikinis.  Now I was actually stealing things from people, and keeping it hidden in my room.  Just about every day, I would masturbate in something girlie.  Meanwhile, I was slowly becoming a man.

By now, my desire for lingerie was overpowering, yet it remained always out of my reach.  Eventually, I did steal some panties, and wore them often.  I was gaining lots of knowledge and experience.  I could put on a bikini in the dark under my bedsheets.  But it was seldom good enough.

I was so confused.  Sometimes, I would wonder if I were actually a girl, and whether my parents and doctors had made some terrible mistake and made me a boy.  But I knew this wasn't so.  At the same time, I was shyly obsessed with images of girls in lingerie and swimwear.  I fantasized all the time that they would force me to become like them.

By early adulthood, I had been with girls, and secretly worn their underwear.  I started buying myself things, like lingerie and swimwear.  I had accumulated quite a collection.  I had learned more and more, to the point where I had become a sort of expert in feminine undergarments.  I fantasized about ordering lingerie online.  I made laundry lists for myself.

One girlfriend actually bought herself some lingerie and left it in my room, since she was afraid of what her mother would think.  I wore it at least 10 times more than she did.  When she and her family went away on vacation, and I was given the responsibility to water their plants, I took the opportunity to try on just about everything she owned.  No man should know so much about women's clothes.  Especially not what it feels like to wear them.

Relationships with women lasted long, but not forever.  I would start feeling guilty about wearing their underthings while their backs were turned.  I found myself focusing on my fantasies instead of finding new girlfriends.  Wearing lingerie and swimwear was so satisfying that I hardly needed any fulfillment from any woman.  I moved into my own place, and played with my outfits in secret, alone, just about every night.

I developed fantasies of becoming a girl.  I wrote all sorts of them down.  I read other people's fantasies, too.  I learned a lot about men who want to become women.  I bought a bustier, and a patent leather halter mini-dress.  I owned about 5 swimsuits.

I moved away to a different city, and began to spend lots of my extra cash on women's clothes.  I became obsessed with shoes.  I had decided that I knew enough about wearing girls' clothes that I could wear only them when I was home alone.  I would sleep in nightgowns.  I would wear skirts and corsets and stockings and pumps while cooking dinner, watching TV, or vacuuming.  My little French Maid's outfit was particularly fun for doing chores.  This is when I felt ultra-feminine.  I still wanted more.

I started wearing only women's underwear, all the time.  I wore them to work under my boy clothes.  In winter, I would wear a bra, which nobody could see because of my thick outer layers.  I threw away all my boy underwear in a moment of passion.

Soon I started keeping my legs shaven.  Then my chest.  It made the girl clothes feel so much sexier.

Then I found out about a certain questionable drinking establishment where men were encouraged to dress like women.  They provided change rooms and lockers, so you could travel there as a man, and conceal your true colours from the outside world.  Now I saw how much more I had to learn.  Some of my fellow patrons were gorgeous.  I was terribly manly looking.  I had some competition.

As I improved my womanly looks, I learned to spurn the advances of men.  For God's sake, I'm not gay!  Sure, I fantasized often and guiltily about furthering my forbidden knowledge, but apparently I wasn't ready yet.  I longed for the taste of cock, which only women know.  Everything I learned about women made me want to know more.  But after years of happily pushing the limits, I had finally found a new and significant barrier.

People knew now that I was a transvestite.  I stopped caring.  I would wear androgynous clothes to work.  Sometimes I'd have a bit of makeup on.  It was difficult for a while, but I got used to it.  I hardly needed my male wardrobe anymore.

Determined to learn my lesson, I practiced with some dildoes.  I had misgivings about putting them in my ass at first, because most women don't do that, but I figured I'd hardly be feminine if I couldn't have a penis inside me.

Around this time, as I whimsically looked into how I could get a sex change, I discovered that some doctors make a distinction among transsexuals: those who genuinely are women trapped in men's bodies, and men who love to make themselves feminine.  The distinction is remarkably clear.  The former have always been outwardly feminine, and have no trouble pretending to be girls.  The latter are actually very masculine, typically engineers, policemen, soldiers, or other masculine professions, and struggle to come off as women.  Furthermore, the former want to be women so they can have sex with straight men.  They are thoroughly homosexual.  The latter are interested in women only, although they fantasize about sex with men, there is never any emotional connection.  These doctors further posit that the latter should never be allowed to have sex changes, because they really are men through and through.

Recognizing myself as being firmly in the latter camp, I began to doubt my fetishes for stockings and panties and corsets and swimsuits and fellatio.  But I couldn't prevent them.  I envied those who were allowed to become girls.

Unable to resist, I finally sucked my first cock at my favourite bar.  It was a terrible fiasco, as these first attempts always were.  After almost vomiting at the end of it, semen all over my face and skirt, I vowed never to do it again, and stayed away for weeks.  But in retrospect, I became aroused at the thought that I had sucked dick, like a girl.  I had gained another piece of forbidden knowledge.  It comforted me to think that this practically made me a girl now.

They say that practice makes perfect, and I began to meet with a certain man to improve my technique.  I think I became quite skilled.  It was almost too easy to have him teach me how to take a cock in the ass.  By now I wanted to be as gay as possible, because it made me feel so feminine.  When he pounded my ass and came inside it, I could only think of how feminine I was.

Now I became serious.  I had sexy piercings on my belly button, my nipple, and my tongue.  I was ready to learn the final forbidden lesson: what it feels like to have a penis in my own vagina.  The thought excited me to no end.  I was nervous when I made the first appointment.  Lucky for me, the doctor didn't believe in this hogwash about autogynophiles.  I would begin to live as a girl full-time, without exceptions, and take hormones after a year.  A year after that, I would have the surgery and have a small piece of my small intestine cut out and my sensitive parts attached to it, to make it look and feel like a pussy.

It was hard to come out to my family, but eventually, they accepted it.  Work was sensitive, but at least they were prepared for it.  It felt good to be dressed like a girl all the time.  I had a few sexual adventures, too.  I was overjoyed to start taking the hormones, until taking so many pills became a drag.  I had waited so long to fill in my brassieres, and finally, it was happening.

My mind began to change.  I was much more emotional.  I thought about stopping, but I persevered.  After all these years of gaining feminine knowledge forbidden to men, I was finally really beginning to feel like a girl.

I still knew, though, that I was an autogynophile.  Deep down I knew that I am fundamentally attracted to women, not men.  Yet the thought of my own vagina was far too tempting.  I needed this last bit of forbidden knowledge.

At last, the surgery was done, and I became a woman.  It was months of visits and bandages and stitches and ointments before I could use my new body.  In spite of decades of preparation and longing, nothing could adequately prepare me for the reality of it.  I was aroused by the knowledge that I now had a pussy, but at first I couldn't even touch it.  My arousal felt so strangely displaced.  It hurt at first, terribly, because of the surgery around such sensitive parts.  But eventually, it healed, and I learned to find my clitoris.  It felt like somone had exposed the head of my penis to a nuclear blast.  Later, I discovered that deep inside my new vagina are the nerves that were once on the shaft of my penis.  It took days of desperate experimentation, but I eventually discovered a truly feminine orgasm.

This drastic reconfiguration of my cock, which had foolishly led itself to its own demise, was incredibly disturbing.  I cursed myself for mutilating my most precious body part.  I wanted to fuck girls with my dick again.  I realized that I could never do it again.  I cried a lot those days.

Armed with my new girlhood, and desperate to truly experience it, I trolled my old haunts for some action.  But none of my old boyfriends were interested anymore.  They were gay men, and fucking girls -- even formerly male ones -- did not at all appeal to them.  It took many depressing months of trying before I finally got one.  He was ugly and disgusting, but I needed to feel a penis inside me.  I hardly even took notice of him as he fucked me.  All I could think of was how incredibly sexy and feminine I felt and looked.  Now it was simply a matter of trying different positions.  Somehow, it was still never enough.  It dawned on me that I must be a lesbian.

At last I knew the price of my forbidden knowledge.  In the end, I am a man, no matter what my crotch looks like.  I am insatiably attracted to women.  I betrayed my gender, my identity, for a sympathetic fantasy about the object of my desire.  I was punished the moment I learned my first lesson when I was a young boy.  I was cursed with an insatiable desire to know everything that was forbidden to me from the beginning.  I should have been humiliated enough to stop long ago, at many different stages.  But instead I took it to this irreversible end.

And just the very thought of it makes me unfathomably horny.

Diary: Shopping List and Epiphany

I am contemplating some new purchases and experiences, while simultaneously struggling with a recent epiphany.

I have recently discovered that girls find me attractive, especially since I slightly modified my appearance when I moved to California.  This realization, and my quick little tryst with N__, have clarified something for me which I have never been able to reconcile before: I wear women’s clothes because I need something feminine in my life.  It’s really as simple as that.  I desperately want there to be a girl in my house, who surrounds herself with girlish things, and who displays all the physical and behavioural aspects of womanhood.  I would probably settle for having a girl in my presence as often as possible.  I have found myself talking to girls in airports, and hanging around with them at parties, not because I feel any pressure to be with them, but because I crave their proximity.  Of course, in the absence of girls, I must make do with what’s available.  Being a solitary type of person, this more often than not means that I must rely on women’s clothes if I can’t have women themselves; and I might as well make myself my own feminine company if I can’t find any genuine women.


It all makes sense now.  I am obsessed with femininity, as I should be.  It is only my shyness and loneliness that make me want to be feminine myself.  I routinely imagine how much fun it would be to have a girl around, in all her pretty girlie things.  I wouldn’t have to wear them myself (although I know I’d be tempted) but it would be so much fun to be around such absolute girlhood.  Girl girl girl girl girl girl girrrrrrl.  I love them!  I worship them!

So now I struggle again with my impulse to make myself more feminine.  I love making myself feminine.  I love pretending to be a girl.  I love being as girlish as I can be.  I love striving to become a girl.  I love abandoning my manhood completely so I can enjoy girlishness in all its glory.  It’s so much more controllable.  There is no complexity in being alone.  I don’t need to worry about satisfying anyone but myself.  But I can’t ever have real actual genuine girlishness by myself: I can only simulate it at best, even if I go as far as taking hormones and getting a sex change.  There is a charm to me in going that far, just because it shows a true dedication, an utter capitulation, to femininity.  Meanwhile, I am still too chickenshit to ever publicly reveal my own feminine side, much less make myself feminine in any way that might be noticeable to anyone.

This is where I start pondering some of the things I’d like to do in the near future.  For starters, I need to improve my wardrobe.  I need a few key items to make myself truly a closet sissy.  Namely, I need some black fishnet stockings, off-white silk or satin bikini panties with a matching bra, a pair of two-inch sandals, and tight silk or satin nightgown, and a mini-dress of some sort.  However, I am constantly fantasizing about more swimsuits, much more than lingerie.  For some reason, even though I own three bikinis and two one-piece swimsuits, I want more.  I can’t get enough!  There’s something about swimwear that makes me crazy.  As much as I’d love being in public dressed like a girl, there’d be nothing more electrifying than doing so at the beach, in swimwear!  The thought fills me with sexual energy.  But I must resist the urge to get more swimsuits until I satisfy my need for the garments named above.  I could always use more panties and bras, too.

Another thing that I need is a dildo.  This dildo must be unmistakably penis-shaped.  I don’t care about the colour or whether or not it vibrates; I just want to have something as similar to a real cock inside me at times.  I want to feel it wiggling inside me, pumping in and out.  I’ve even been fantasizing about the real thing!  I’d love to secretly slip away into the night, make myself into a girl, and seduce some homo pervert who likes she-males.  I want to know what it’s like to suck cock, and to have a guy pumping me in the ass like I’m a girl.  I fantasize about somehow meeting somebody at the lingerie store when I go buy my things, and experimenting with some casual faggot sex.  Yes, I want to get fucked like a girl!  I want to have sex with men!

Now I wonder if I’ll ever have the nerve to try it.  I doubt I’ll ever even show anybody my fetish in action, much less suck cock.

Fiction: After the Harem

Or worse (to continue the above idea): the girls get a two-headed dildo, and they all get to fuck me up the ass with it.  The ultimate revenge!  They get to rape me and demean me even worse than I did to them.  Some are violent, some are tender, some are clumsy, some are expert, but all of them do it at least once.  I get no chance to rest: as soon as one is done, and she extracts her dildo from my ass, another comes right back in.  It's the most incredibly outrageously demeaning experience that any human being has ever lived through.  And it affects me deeply: once it's done, and I become a prissy little faggot willingly wearing women's clothes, I slowly work my way back to the top of the heap.  I am one of the girls now.  I convince them that I should be an example to all rapists.  They should all suffer as I have, and that's the only way they'll learn to respect women.  I work as hard as I can to effeminate myself, taking even the most extreme measures.  I take hormones and grow my own tits.  I conceal my dick as much as I can.  I am a total she-male.  I start to look like an Amazon sex-goddess.
Eventually, we start capturing convicted rapists.  We dress them up and fuck them up the ass.  I am usually the first to get in there.  I don't need a dildo, and I resent that; I make sure that these men feel it worse than I ever did.  I make them so effeminate and so docile that I have them competing for who gets the privilege of sucking my dick.

And it grows from there.  Our ranks swell so high from all of our rapist converts, who are forced to undergo sex-change operations and become girls too, that we decide to expand.  Our vigilantism grows to include all criminals, as far as jaywalkers and litterers, and even parking ticket offenders.  Then it's all men.  All men must learn to respect women.  All men must become girls, feel silk and satin on their nipples and cocks, and get dildoes and penises up the ass.  There is no longer any excuse: everyone must wear women's lingerie, and strive to be a beautiful woman.  To do otherwise is a crime.  I become even more powerful than ever, and I do it as a girl.

Fiction: A Willing Partner

Right now, I feel like fantasizing.  But maybe that's counterproductive.  I just love that thought that I'm willingly doing something not only naughty, but damaging to my masculinity.  That's what I love: I'm being offered a chance to destroy my manhood, and I take it, because I cannot resist the pleasure of being feminine.  I love the confrontational aspect of it: I am in complete control of the situation, and I choose the dark side because I love it so much.

              What would I do now in such a situation?  Let's say that one of my fantasies comes true, and I am captured by women who are taking over the world.  I stand naked in front of them.  I have seen them dress other men up in women's clothes, if only to mock the conventional gender roles, to question why it is that only women wear frilly silky lacy underwear.  They would have me there in front of them, and present me with a choice: wear this lingerie, or we'll make you wear it.  How would I react?  Would I pretend that it's repugnant to me?  Would I feign indifference, and hope to heaven that I could wear it?  Would I try to act hesitant as I slip into it clumsily and nervously?  Or would I eagerly accept their invitation and prance around effeminately to our mutual delight?  Would I admit to having worn it of my own will before, once I'm dressed up?  Or would I vehemently deny it, and try to conceal my pleasure?  How about like this:

              A beam of sunlight, harshly bright, shook me out of my deep slumber.  I had absolutely no idea where on earth I was.  I was completely disoriented.  My surroundings were totally unfamiliar.  Have you ever awakened with that distressing feeling, only to realize a second later that you have been sleeping so deeply, in a somewhat unfamiliar place?  Well, I actually was in an unfamiliar place.  The walls were bright red, the carpet plush, and there was plenty of bedroom furniture other than the bed I lay in. 

              I shook myself awake, trying to piece together the events that led me into this unknown location.  But I couldn't move my arms: each arm was shackled to the bed.  My clothes felt strange.  It felt as though there was a strap on my chest, but I didn't think it was connected to the bed.  My underwear felt light but tight.  I had enough movement in my arms to be able to lift the bedsheets.  To my astonishment, I found myself wearing women's underwear.

              I must have lain in bed for hours before anything happened.  I wanted desperately to escape, but I didn't want to alert anyone.  I figured that if I called for help, I would simply be restrained by my captor(s).  Why the Hell was I wearing women's underwear, and why was I chained to the bed?

              What had I done the night before?  I couldn't remember for the life of me.  But somehow, I ended up here, dressed like a girl, and trapped in a stranger's bed. 

              [Here's where the story can diverge according to how experienced I am]

              I tried hard to piece it together.  Someone evidently knew about my little secret now.  I must have gotten extremely drunk or stoned somehow, and gotten involved with someone, and shared my most secret, most embarrassing fantasy.  I had never intended for anyone to ever find out that I wear women's clothes.  Obviously, someone knows now: someone other than me must have chained me into this bed.  But whom?  And what for?  Nonetheless, my shame and desire to escape far exceeded my curiosity.  I could not abide by anyone knowing about this.  Unfortunately, I was stuck, and could not escape, as much as I tried.

              The noise of my struggling must have awakened my captor.  The door opened, and in stepped a voluptuous young woman of immeasurable beauty.  "Ah, so you're awake at last!" she bubbled.

              "Who are you?  Where am I?  What am I doing here?"

              "Don't you remember, sweetie?  Have you already forgotten our little tryst?  You told me that you'd remember my name in the morning.  You haven't lied to me, have you?"

              I was speechless.

              "Well in that case, I'll try to jog your memory."  She jumped into the bed and started playing with my bra and panty straps.  She was teasing me.  "Don't you remember how you got into these?  I thought it would be something that you'd never forget."

              She started rubbing my dick through the silk panties.  Just as I had always fantasized.  I came all over her hand, feeling so incredibly feminine.  Then it started coming back to me.

              I was in her bedroom.  Not this room, but in a different room.  We were making out.  She was down to her panties, and I was buck naked.  I was playing with her undies, because I just love women's underwear.  That's when she caught me totally off guard.

              "You like my underwear, do you?"

              "I sure do!"

              "The way you're touching me, it's almost as if you like them more than me."

              "Well," I said, trying to be witty, but probably blushing, "they are pretty sexy."

              "How would you like to wear them," she purred, somewhat shyly.

              "What?"

              "Trust me!  I'll make sure that you'll enjoy it."

              "You're serious."

              "I sure am!"

              I hesitated a bit, unsure of what to say.  I never really thought about wearing women's underwear in front of a girl before.  But I knew how much fun it could be.  I just wasn't sure if it would be wise to let on that I was into that kind of thing.  I take my transvestism very privately.  "Why do you want me to wear your underwear?"

              "Just trust me!  You'll love it!"

              "What makes you think I'll love it?"

              "Well, you're thinking about it, aren't you?  That tells me that you're probably not repulsed by the idea."

              I'm sure I must have blushed.  "Yeah, so?" was all I could say.

              "Will you do it?" she cajoled, rubbing against me.  "I'll make sure that you won't regret it."  She whispered that in my ear erotically.

              "Okay," I said, "if that's what turns you on."

              With that she giggled and led me to her dresser.  In it was a huge variety of ladies' undergarments.  "Pick out anything you like out of there.  Anything!"  She must have sensed my giddiness.  I shook like a leaf.  Here I was doing with another person what I did only in the utmost secrecy.  I looked at her undies, and picked a nice frilly panty and bra set.  I would have picked it out for myself anyway, I think.  I was about to put it on, as I have so many times with similar garments, when she offered to strap me in.  She must have supposed that I didn't know what I was doing.  I felt so girlish when she snapped my bra.  No one had ever done that to me before.  I was feeling very sexy.

              By now we were both in her undies.  She had me prance around for her.  I was nervous, I was clumsy.  She giggled.

              She fucked me with a two-headed dildo.  Right up the ass.  She was on top, taking me like a girl, my legs spread wide to accept her.  I swear that the whole time I felt like I was a girl, with her caressing my effeminate bra strap, and teasing my hair.  Something in the way she handled me made me feel that way.

Fiction: Genie

One day, as I walked along the beach at sunset, melancholy, depressed about my lack of luck in love,  a strange looking bottle caught my eye as it glistened in the fading sunlight.  I picked it up, cleaned it with my sweater, and nearly shit myself as a massive djinn billowed out of the bottle.

"You have released me from my prison of a thousand years.  I grant you anything you wish for," said the djinn.
Unable to pass up such a wicked deal, I instantly wished for infinite wishes.  The djinn was reluctant, but he had to accept.  Oh, well.  That's his problem.

Amazed with the possibilities, the infinite possibilities, I sat there dumbstruck.  Then I wished myself a few trillion dollars, and a harem of beautiful women.  That's when my good fortune began.

My women were all ugly.  So I wished for new women.  I had to give specific details, and I found myself completely unable to sufficiently describe a woman adequately enough so that she would appear to me as perfectly as she had in my imagination.  So I began to pick and choose from the real women in the world.  I started with the [girl I met at a live music show who models skin care products].  And I added the blonde from music class and the hippie girl from school.  I had them all at once.  I didn't give a damn what any present girlfriend thought, although I made sure to wish for her eternal happiness with men, out of a sense of combined guilt and respect.


But this grew tiresome.  Mostly, the girls just didn't connect as well as I could have hoped.  I wished for them to, but it wasn't the same.

Then I got the idea.

"Djinn," I asked, "I wish for my ultimate sexual fantasy to be fulfilled immediately, whatever that may be; and to make sure that there is no mistake, I wish that you might have a perfectly clear idea of exactly what my fantasy is."

Then the djinn replied, "These wishes test the limits of my power.  You must choose now whether you want to keep this fantasy as reality or return to an entirely mundane way of life of before.  They are your only two choices."

"So, let me get this straight," I said.  "I have a choice of either living my ultimate sexual fantasy forever, or returning to my normal life forever.  Tough choice."

"Do not choose too quickly.  No one fully understands the extent of their fantasies until they truly live them out. . ."

"I choose to live my fantasy forever," I immediately answered, perhaps too rashly.  But I think it must have been the best decision I ever made, even though I had my necessary doubts for a long time afterwards.


The djinn laughed and said, "as you wish," and snapped his fingers.  He disappeared in a puff of smoke, and I looked forward to being swept away by beautiful maidens who would fuck my ever-potent immortal dick forever until the end of time.

But it didn't happen.  I stood on the sidewalk where the thought had struck me to wish for this and waited for things to happen instantly.  But nothing came.  I began to wonder if the djinn had somehow tricked me.
Just then, an explosion rocked me off my feet.  I was knocked out cold.  When I woke up, it was in a dark room, all alone.

I felt fine.  I was uninjured.  But I had to wait for hours for anything to happen.

It was then that I noticed that I was naked, and in a small cell.  A huge beast of a man came to my door, unlocked it, and dragged me out.  I was powerless, and surrounded by big burly guards.  They threw me into a room, where a beautiful woman sat upon a sort of throne, attended by plenty of other beautiful girls, scantily clad.  I was made to kneel in front of her.  So much for my fantasy, I thought.

"You have been chosen," she announced to me, "to further the causes of women.  You will soon be indoctrinated in our ways."  She waved a hand, and the room cleared, and we were alone together.

She came off her throne, and sashayed over to me.  She was wearing fishnet stockings, a tight little skirt, and a tight little blouse, accentuating her tits, her ass, and her legs.  She was blonde.  It was the Noxzema girl, the hippie girl, the music girl, all the beautiful girls wrapped up in one.  My eyes virtually popped out of my head.  "Do you like girls?" she asked.  I could only stare in amazement.  My dick was flaccid with embarrassment.

"Well, you don't seem to be very excited.  But I know that you are.  You have to do me a favour.  You see, I need some people to help me in my little cause.  And you're a prime candidate.  I know you like girls.  I know you want to fuck me.  But I have to change all that.  You don't have to understand why.  There's nothing you can do about it.  You've been chosen.  You will do everything I tell you to, not because I tell you to, but because you will desperately need to to fulfill your own petty desires.  Any questions?"

I stammered.  This was pretty much what I had told all the girls in my harem when I wished for them and got them.  Except for having to change anything.  I started to get a huge boner.

"Since, you're speechless, let's get started."  She shoved her genitals in my face, and let me undress her, bit by bit.  I worshipped her every curve, every little feature.  We fucked like animals for a long, long time.  It was the best sex I had ever had.  It is still the best sex I have ever had.  I will never forget it.  I thought that my existence would hereafter be slavery to this beautiful woman forever.  And I could never get out of it.  And I feared that my decision had been too hasty.  As much as I enjoyed fucking this goddess, I didn't want to be her slave forever.  But it was only just beginning.

We did it all.  She blew me.  I ate her out.  We had 69.  I tit fucked her.  I fucked her up the ass.  She fucked me up the ass with a dildo.  I dressed up in her clothes.  We added one of her girls into the mix.  We tossed her and added another man in.  I was shocked to discover how far I would go to please us both.  For the first time ever, I had a sexual encounter with a man, albeit she was the focus of my attention.  I actually sucked him off for her.  Throughout the entire time, I must have come a hundred times, and instantly reloaded.  It was fantastic.

I was quite surprised when, after she had finished with me, she turfed me, naked as I was, and exhausted from so much incredible gratification, onto the street.  I was alone and helpless.  I hated her for treating me like that, and vowed to either forget about her, or if I ever saw her again, to kill her.  I was completely disillusioned about my djinn.

I went home to my palace, and fucked the girls in my harem as I had before.  But they were so very bland compared to the goddess.  I thought of her in her little panties and bra as I had my way with my harem girls.  The picture jsut wouldn't go away.

I hoped to forget.  But I just couldn't get that picture out of my mind.  I found myself thinking about those panties.  How I had worn them myself, how much fun I had with her.  I tried to recreate the experience I had with her with my harem girls.

I had routinely had several at a time, so that was nothing new.  And I had sucked every part of their bodies, and had every part of mine sucked in turn by each of them.  So I experimented with their panties, too, and restored some of the drama, some of the chemistry.  Only the harem girls laughed irreverently, secretly, at my little experiment.  They didn't appreciate true femininity.  They didn't know how to please me like that goddess did.  I continued to do it, and continued to titillate myself, in spite of their derision.  I'm sure they like it anyway.  I sure as Hell did.

But I couldn't get away from it.  The panties were my only link to the goddess.  Sure, they weren't hers, but still, the fact that I wore any at all made me think of her.  I needed to relive that moment.  I desperately needed to wear women's underwear to satisfy myself.  It slowly became a necessary staple in my sexual encounters with my harem girls.  Soon I couldn't do without them.  I would buy new lingerie for them with the view in mind of slipping into it myself after stripping it off of them.  

It got to be so bad that I couldn't come without girls' clothes on me.  I needed to wear panties to come.  It sure was ironic: here I was asserting my manhood with the harem girls by wearing their underwear.  Eventually, I stopped touching them, because I could get more satisfacton from just prancing around in their panties and brassieres and teddies and garter belts than by fucking them.  I was completely transformed: I thought of the goddess, and of my pleasure in recreating the experience of that fantastic encounter.  I stopped having the girls come to me, strip, and give me their clothes; I asked them to bring it to me first.  I asked to try things on with them.  Of course, this was still always in our private sexual encounters.  Nothing was ever said about this outside of the proverbial bedroom.  I never ventured out of the bedroom to get women's clothes on.  Up to that point, anyway.  I just felt the need to wear girls' stuff so strongly that I eventually started stealing into the girls' wardrobes to steal a peek at their panties.  And then to touch them.  And then to wear them, while they weren't around. 

I started wearing girls' panties under my clothes.  It made me feel so sexy, so connected to that mysterious goddess.  My girls would never miss their panties, considering how much underwear they had to choose from.  Still, I was careful never to be caught by them wearing it before they gave it to me.  For a while at least.  Then I started meeting them, and stripping down to my panties and bra.  We were virtually mirror images of each other.

Even that wasn't enough.  I still felt too distant from the goddess.  I started thinking about how great it felt to be feminine.  I realized that the goddess wasn't the center of my sexual thoughts anymore.  I was just using her as an excuse to justify my wearing women's underwear.  I began to realize that this must be leading up to my ultimate sexual fantasy.  It was just too incredibly tantalizing to give up.  On a whim, I shaved my legs.
Pretty soon, I was completely femininely attired under my clothes: under my shirt and pants, I had some kind of lingerie covering a hairless body.  My hair was long.  Being feminine made me feel incredible.  I saw less and less of the harem girls.  I relished taking off my suit at the end of the day, and finding my femininely attired body underneath.  I wore girls' panties all the time.  

Now I was thinking that this is the height of my eternal fantasy.  But little did I know how much more there was to come.  

I didn't expect one day as I went on my daily walk to spot the woman who had introduced me to such unearthly delights.  I ran after her, and I accosted her.  How I wished I still had the power of wishes, so that I could subjugate her and keep her forever in my harem!  But that would not be the case.  Instead, I had to go the old fashioned way.  I had to talk to her.

She recognized me instantly.  She gave me a wink, and we flirted over a cup of coffee.  She invited me back to her place, and I accepted.

Once inside, she said, "so, by now, you must have found yourself making choices you never thought possible."  I asked her what she meant, knowing full well what she meant, but too guilty to admit it.  She stepped towards me, and tore off my shirt, revealing my flowery, lacy bra.

"Ha!  I knew it!  Well done.  Go home.  I'm glad to see you're doing what I want."

I was hurt.  Again.  I couldn't believe that she was turfing me again.  I pleaded with her to keep me along, to have another fling just for old times' sake.  She laughed, and pushed me to the door.

"But wait," I pleaded.  "Can I at least have something to remember you by?"

"I suppose," she answered, and she disappeared into her bedroom.  She came back and handed me a bikini.  I was enthralled, and looked forward to slipping into it later.  Satisfied (amazingly) I left.  And did I ever wear that bikini!

But it wasn't enough.  I had to have more.  I needed to be more feminine.  On a whim, I started looking into taking female hormones, to give me tits and a waist, and remove my hair, and change my voice.  After a long time of deliberating, I took the plunge.  I started turning myself into a girl.  After only a few years of constant masturbating in women's clothes, I began to notice significant improvements to my figure.  I was looking good.  I started wearing skirts and blouses.  My harem women were both appalled and amused.  My guards and servants were shocked.  I was beginning to flaunt my femininity.  I wore makeup, pantihose, heels, the whole works.  I had made myself into a complete transsexual.  All I needed was a cunt, and I would be female.  I often wondered at this point if this was my ultimate sexual fantasy.  But it wasn't over yet.

To try to feel more feminine, that is, to continue in the way that I thought I had to go to fulfill my fantasy, I started to pick up men.  I started having sex with men.  They fucked me up my girlish ass, and I sucked their dicks.  Those who found out that I was actually still a boy either didn't care, or ran away.  I didn't care who knew.  But I found that I didn't quite enjoy it.  I still longed for femininity.  I still wanted to caress tits (not my own) and eat pussy.  Pussy was still tops on my mind, and it wouldn't go away.  I was stuck.

Then it all came to fruition.  As I strutted my girly butt down the street, she made herself visible to me again.  She took me back, and told me, "yes, now I can see that you're almost ready."  I followed her home again, and she led me into a large chamber.  In it were the beautiful servant maidens I had seen before, when I was brought to her naked.  Each and every one of them had a dick.  They welcomed me to the fold, and I stripped down with them.  These were men, too.  

Now my fantasy came to its conclusion.  I found myself cuddling up to one of the "girls," and admiring her beautiful, lithe girl's body, and rubbing my silken-covered cock against hers.  I was rubbing up against the most beautiful women on earth, and they were all men.  The feeling of silk on silk, of lace on silk, of satin on lace, etc. etc. etc. gave me the most pleasurable experience since the one with my goddess.  Then I understood that I was to attend on her always, just like the rest of the girls.  

So my ultimate fantasy had come true: I got to fuck my goddess, and her servant girls, some of whom were actually transsexuals.  

Then djinn reappeared to me, and asked me if I ws still happy with my choice.  And although I was reduced to a sex object, always fucking, always ready to come, always hard, and immortal, I had to say, YES, I want to be like this forever.  So here I am, wearing girls' clothing only, and rubbing up against another girl's dick, while eating out the goddess.  Forever.

Diary: Fantasizing About a Week-Long Retreat

I am dreaming up concrete plans for a week's retreat in seclusion to explore the depths of my affinity for femininity.  One day, I suppose, when I have some money saved up, I'll rent a place in the country, isolated, perhaps in the winter, where I can be alone and no one will disturb me.  I'll take it for at least a week, and make sure that no one knows where I am, or what it is I am doing.

I will either have accumulated over time a whole assortment of panties and bras and lingerie, or I'll buy it all on the way up, and an assortment of makeup, including lipstick, eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadow, and perhaps even rouge and nail polish.  My hair will be long and thick.  I'll bring a razor, or bottles of Nair, and remove all of my unsightly man hair, from my arms, my legs, my chest, my face, my back, my ass, my bikini line.  I'll be shaven smooth to the skin, like a girl, for a little while at least.  Then I'll shower, and abandon my male clothes.  I'll slip into the sexy lacy little panties awaiting me outside, and slowly relish getting all dressed up.  I'll pull on the silk stockings, hook them up to my garter belt, and parade around for a little while like a girl.  I'll spray a bit of perfume on myself, and make up my face.  Then I'll put on whatever sexy skirt and blouse or dress or whatever suits me best, and be a girl for the rest of the week.  I'll walk, talk, eat like a girl.  I'll sit like a girl, pee like a girl, think like a girl.  I'll admire myself in the mirror, because I want to see how beautifully feminine I have become.  I'll just stick around the place, not to leave, and masturbate about a hundred times, always careful not to soil my clothes.  No, better yet, I'll torture myself by waiting until night before I allow myself to do it, and do it until I am totally satisfied.  I'll wash up and go to bed in a silky nighty, without panties or anything.  I'll wake up in the morning and repeat everything, until I either get sick of it or vow to change my sex for real.  And I'll have to model bikinis and swimsuits and lingerie often.  If I feel really kinky, I'll shove a dildo up my ass when I masturbate.  

If I feel very successful, I'll venture out of my seclusion, at first unseen, but soon in public, as a woman.  As I gain confidence, I'll pick up guys and fuck them, or let them fuck me.  But I doubt that I'll get that much into it.  If I find that I'm feeling that feminine, I'll force myself to prefer male bodies.  Most likely, I will simply wear the clothes and feverishly anticipate my eventual release. 

The more I think of it, the more I would like to do this soon.  I want to discover my long-repressed sexuality.  This desire is extraordinarily powerful.  But I think that my desire to fuck women is more powerful, only rarer, and simply because it is social.  When I see people, I always want to fuck the pretty women.  Always.  Or rather, I want to worship them by falling in love with them and showering them with gifts and affection.  My fantasy, though, is much more personal, more pervading, more commanding.  I perpetually think of it when I'm home.  When I'm out, and I pass by lingerie stores, I think whimsically about owning certain items.  I have lately been accused on e-mail of being a woman.  I wasn't thinking about it at the time, but the comment made me want to answer sarcastically -- but honestly -- that I was busy dressing up in girl's underwear to care about what he said, or something like that.  I was almost flattered that he would call me a woman.  What a compliment, to be associated with perfection!

How perfect the female body is.  I recently cut out a Page 3 Girl, the prettiest, sexiest one I've seen in ages.  Somehow, she exudes femininity.  She wears a blue checkered sort of bra, probably from a bikini, and jean shorts up to her belly button, with the top button subtly, but erotically undone.  Underneath the shorts is probably a matching bottom.  She is photographed on her left side, and her right arm is raised, her hand pushing through her brown hair.  A few strands of hair sensuously rest upon her bare shoulder.  She leans on a stone wall, and shows off her hourglass shape by curving with her waist.  Her ribs protrude the slightest bit above her firm, curvaceously flat belly.  Her pretty face has an air of sensuous indifference, of basking in the glow of her own, self-conscious femininity, as if she is slightly bored of being so perfect, and resents that she is an object of desire for lowly men, despite her obvious, but malicious relish for her own beauty.  She knows that she is beautiful, and hates men for finding her so, but uses her natural gift of femininity to lure her lustful but brutishly lowly admirers into her trap, to be taken advantage of.

Notice that I always associate women with manipulation.  Genetically, they are.  They are made, apparently, to attract our gifts of protection and money and security.  When we can't provide it any longer, they dump us.  Our sex, which is the most important thing in them to us, is useless to them.  Our sex is just a toy, a pastime to them.  They only pretend to enjoy it, because it makes us think that we are worth something to them besides our money and power.  Oh, well.  They simply rule.