A Bizarre Dream

T__ embodies the spirit of my Muse. She's got confident and sexual. I see tattoos on her forearms, little symbols. She makes no effort to conceal them. She's even proud of them. They represent her conquests, she tells me, of the men she's dominated and fucked. She relishes that this is upsetting to me. She shows me that she has more on her inner thighs. These symbols are inspired by Julia's in The Magicians.

As she shows me this, I see that she has two sets of penis and balls, on each side of her pussy. They're a bit small, and flaccid. She laughs when she sees my shocked expression. She explains that some men she has dominated so much that she kept their penises. I'm facing by the one on the left side of her pelvis, and she has me suck it. I don't resist at all. I have wanted to suck cock, and I welcome the opportunity to experiment with it. However, I'm disappointed that is so small in my mouth, like a child's. I don't tell her this.

This erotic dream has haunted me all day. I have some improvements and embellishments that heighten the effect tremendously.

First, the dicks are not small. They're grafted into her, and fully potent. The one I'm interested in is actually mine. She humiliates me by having me suck my own dick, which belongs entirely to her now. I'm wearing a maid outfit, and I realize that she really does own it: it's no longer on my body, and I no longer feel any of its sensation. She also fucks me with it.

After humiliating me like this a few times she makes me suck and fuck her other dicks too. Think of the possibilities: sucking one cock and jerking off another, both attached to her otherwise ultra feminine body. She can absorb these penises back into her body at will, and make them appear whenever she likes, too. It's my job now to serve her, and watch her enslave other men, and steal their dicks. I am doomed to never feel what it's like to own one ever again. And she never gives me the satisfaction of touching her female parts anymore, either.

Fantasy: Caught and Tested

Surfing around, I've found advice board postings where people ask what to do about their teenage son who they caught wearing lingerie or something.  One suggestion that seems common is to buy him something similar so he doesn't have to steal from his sister or mom, and see what happens.  The rationale is that he'll get what he wants, and be satisfied with experimenting with it.

So, what if...?

Man, I wish.  So when my mother found my stash (which consisted of her bathing suit and leotard and tights) she could have gotten this advice.  She would have given me her bathing suit that I had stolen, and which had really gotten me most interested in wearing girl clothes.  Or she would have bought me a new one.  I would have been utterly mortified, even though she would have given it to me secretly.  But I would totally have worn it.

Now, with a signal that it's ok, I'd have become curious about other things.  I was already fantasizing about bikinis and lingerie.  I would have sheepishly asked for a bikini eventually.  She would initially refuse, but she'd feel bad, and give in, and buy me something modest.  I'd have been disappointed slightly, but hey, it's still a girlie bikini!  

I'd wear that one a lot, then ask for a skimpier bikini.  This time, I show her a specific one.  She gets it for me, and asks if I want to wear underwear, too, full time, if I want to be a girl.  I of course refuse, clinging to my maleness.  I think about it while wanking in my new string bikini, and regret my answer.

After a while of feeding these fantasies, I would admit that I'd love to wear panties.  So now we'd go together to get panties.  Mostly modest ones, cuz she'd try to discourage me.  But I'd push the limit as much as I dare.  I'd now be wearing panties all the time, and be very confused about what this means as far as my own sexuality.  Given how much I love it, I'd surely conclude that yes, I'm a girl in a boy's body, and come out as such.  Now all of a sudden, I'm in therapy, and wearing skirts and dresses.

Given how permissive therapists can be about this stuff, they'd encourage me to drop all attachment to my maleness, and embrace my feminine urges.  I'd start hormone therapy, and grow boobs and get all girlified.  I'd be wanking almost constantly now.

Eventually, I'd get the surgery, and become a girl.  Luckily, I started in puberty, before it was too late, so I look passable.

Fantasy: My First Fantasy

This is what I used to fantasize about when I was a boy:

Women are determined to catch men, and turn them into girls for their amusement.  Men catch on and learn to resist.  They catch me, and start turning me.  They start me off with pantyhose.  I know that my only hope is to have some layer to protect me, so I put the pantyhose on over my own underwear.  But the girliness seeps through somehow anyway, and I'm tainted.  The women catch on, and force me to do it without protection.  I try to cling to something masculine: first, a t-shirt, then maybe a watch or a ring -- anything at all.  But at last, I am left completely without protection.

(In reality, that's exactly how I progressed.  I didn't dare wear anything else, because it was too feminine; even this was dangerously girlie, and I risked becoming feminized each time I wore it.)

The problem is temptation: a small, weak part of me wants to give in to the girls, because it feels so good.  But I must continue to resist.  Without the protection, I feel utterly helpless, and I fear the next stage: leotards!

(once again, I had to move forward slowly.  I couldn't just wear a swimsuit without protection, because it's far more feminine.  At first, I tried it on with my underwear on, but I wanted more.  I couldn't dare, so I dreamed up this fantasy of leotards, which were in fashion at the time.  I did this by wearing a swimsuit over pantyhose.  Eventually, I found a real leotard, but only after it was much too late.)

The women force me to wear pantyhose ten times before I get leotards.  Halfway through it my fear turns to curiosity.  By the end, it's fantasy.  When at last the first ultra-feminine shock of leotards hits me, my fear returns.  It's too much!  What have I done!  I must resist!  I can't give in to this girliness, or else all is lost!  But they will force me to wear leotards 100 times before I am worthy of wearing a one-piece swimsuit.  The thought horrifies and excites me at the same time.

I ease into the transition, because the leotard tights are similar to pantyhose, but with the added terror of the bodysuit, with its high leg cuts.  Bathing suits, of course, look just like the leotard without the tights.

(I probably gave in almost immediately to the swimsuit.  I was still very apprehensive about it for a long time, and only wore it when I was desperately overcome.)

Sooner than I realize, I finish my 100-leotard initiation.  I am given a fairly modest one-piece swimsuit.  I must wear 1000 of these before I can touch a bikini.  I nervously put it on, wishing I had some protection again.  The sensation is so intensely feminine that I come almost immediately.  I am blown away.  I know now that I am utterly feminized in my heart, and only my body remains.  I love the idea of wearing 1000 one-piece swimsuits, but I can't wait to put on a bikini.

(I now have discovered a less modest swimsuit, and after a few lame attempts in my own underwear, furtively, nervously, afraid of being caught, I dare to do it completely unprotected.  The sensation utterly destroys my inhibitions.  I am overwhelmed by its femininity, and I know now that there's no point in pretending to protect myself.  I am beyond protection now.)

The 1000 swimsuit trial drives me insane with desire for a bikini.  I desperately want a bikini!  But the women won't let me have one.  At some point, I manage to sneak into their storeroom, and secretly put one on outside of their schedule.  I know that they schedule it this way to properly prepare us for womanhood, and that breaking with the schedule puts me at risk of becoming too feminine, but I don't care!

(I don't have access to any bikinis.  I must rationalize my lack of one by pretending that I have to go through an ordeal before I am worthy.  But my fantasies won't be restrained.  I fantasize about lingerie, too, even though it's practically inconceivable to me to ever get any.)

I make a habit of sneaking to the store after wearing a one-piece all day.  I am now trying on bikinis, teddies, garter belts, stockings, and everything I can get my hands on.  Nobody needs to know!  By the time I get to bikinis legitimately, the women are surprised at how easily I handle it, and how easily I put it on.  They suspect, but I don't care!  I'm supposed to wear 10,000 bikinis before I can wear any kind of panties, but I've already done that, so what do they know?

(I stole bikini bottoms from someone's dresser.  I couldn't dare with the bra, because I was both afraid of getting caught, and convinced myself that the bra wouldn't do anything for me.  It's not like I really wanted to be that girlish, after all, I told myself.  It was just another defense mechanism, even this late in the game.  Eventually, I stole another bikini, but with the bra this time.  I could hardly just go with the panties anymore, because now I craved the fully feminine outfit.)

The women, it turns out, have known all along about my secret escapades.  In fact, they secretly encouraged it.  The schedule is fake, and is made to test my desire, and push it over the edge.  We laugh about it as I put on an bustier, panties, stockings, and shoes, and go merrily along being girlie.

(At this point in the fantasy, I come all over myself, and suffer terrible guilt and shame.)

Diary: Contemplating Coming Clean

Lately I've been fantasizing about ordering some swimwear, lingerie and shoes online and having it delivered in a plain FedEx box to my office.  I would then hide my new fetish items somewhere and indulge in them whenever my wife isn't around.

At times, I feel ridiculous about it.  Will I be able to hide it properly from her?  Will anyone notice where the packages are coming from when they arrive at the office?  How often will I even be able to use it?  Is it worth the risk?  Other times, I am overwhelmed with longing for self-feminization.  Last night, I masturbated in the dining room while browsing for such toys, imagining myself sneaking into the garage and slipping into that glorious silver one-piece swimsuit from Ujena, while T__ sleeps upstairs, none the wiser.  I felt shame when I ejaculated, but I was aroused all night. 

Even now, having made raucous love with her only an hour and a half ago, I gravitate here to ponder my secret feminization.  I have finally developped the setting for my story: the fictional world and characters that I've sought all my life just happen to be centered around my perversion.  I want to write about it, develop a web site around it, possibly make some money from it.  How can I possibly do this in secret?  I love my wife, but I have never had the guts to even hint at my secret desires.  How can we be complete together when she doesn't know this most essential truth about me?

Thus, I have inevitably begun to imagine what it would be like for her to know.  I would tell her somehow, break it to her gently, but unequivocably.  What follows, I can only imagine now.  I present a few scenarios, plausible or not, of how it might shake down.

Pessimistic

She's in denial at first.  Then I prove it to her somehow.  She's devastated.  She's horrified.  She cries for days, refuses to speak to me.  She tells everybody, and I'm publicly shamed and humiliated.  She files for an annulment.  Meanwhile, I continue to cavort in my stash of undies, but I lose my intimate companion, my wife.  Remember, I suffered such terrible despair before I met her.  It would be unbearable, if not for my pathetic outlet.

Optimistic

Denial, as always.  She understands immediately what I'm going through, and she's a bit surprised about it, but enthusiastic about sharing some clothes.  She wants us to shop for lingerie as soon as possible, and we immediately romp around in her lingerie.  It becomes a staple of our sex play.

Cautiously Optimistic

She hates the idea.  I have crushed her image of me as a masculine sexual powerhouse.  She's appalled that I've spent so much of my spare time over the years contemplating this sick delusion of mine.  She's livid that I've worn her clothes, and masturbated in them.  She weeps for days.  She hates me.  But she can't stay upset with me, because she loves me.  She forgives me, and learns to understand and support my fetish.  She adapts to it, and eventually finds it delightfully kinky.  She indulges me once in a while, but I have to do her some serious favours to earn the right to do it.  We work out a deal that when I buy her lingerie, I get some for me, too.

Realistic

She'll be devastated, there's no question.  But she'll come around.  She'll lose a lot of respect for me, and feel terribly betrayed that I never told her before we got married.  She won't understand that I still love her, and that I'm not gay.  She will insist that I stop, that I never do it again, and that I seek help to kick the habit.

I'm almost fantasizing about wearing that silver swimsuit in the bedroom with her.  She'd indulge me to the point of having me shave my body and prance around like a girl.  She'd do my makeup and we'd giggle like schoolgirls as we model lingerie.

Perhaps it's preposterous, but damn would it ever make my life easier.  I wouldn't have to hide (unless I indulge when she's not around), and I could keep my stash in plain view.  However, as I figured above, it's highly unlikely that she'd accept it.  Moreover, the more I sneak around, and the more careless I get, the more I risk getting caught.  Part of the reason I want my own stash is to avoid using her clothes, and therefore avoid damaging or soiling them.  Also, I get to choose whatever strikes my fancy, as long as I can order it inconspicuously.  The drawback, of course, is always the risk of her finding it, or worse, catching me in flagrante.  It's pretty well guaranteed to happen eventually.

In conclusion, I really must come clean, no matter what.  It's going to be extremely difficult, and most likely extremely painful, but it must be done, somehow.  At least by telling her, it wouldn't be so much of a shock, and it wouldn't be so heartbreaking.

Too bad it'll never happen.

What I need to do is lead her to it.  I've been thinking about really emphasising the lingerie for the next little while.  Then I can start admitting at the very least that I have a thing for ladies' underwear.  I can reinforce it slowly, and work up to how I have stolen some before.  I can gauge her reaction to know how far to go.  But I must not stop.  I have to continue until she knows all about it, and is sworn to secrecy.

Fantasy: Contrived Innocence

(A contrived situation where I somehow find myself innocently in women's underwear)

So here I am, wearing this one-piece women's swimsuit.  It's not even remotely masculine.  It can't in any way be mistaken for anything but a woman's swimsuit.  The shape, first of all, is meant to accentuate hips, butt, and tits.  The leg is so high-cut it's almost to my waist.  My cock and balls are squashed snugly by the crotch, which is meant to contain nothing at all.  The lycra is soft.  It's got wires where my boobs should be, for support.  And the colour doesn't help me much, either: it's primarily pink, with little flowers.

The first time was innocuous enough.  I didn't know the speedos I had on were actually a female bikini bottom.  I should have known from the lack of drawstring, and the way it hung off my hips, and seemed so high-cut.  Otherwise, it was just simple navy blue.  I hammed it up when I was told.  I pretended that I wasn't mortally humiliated about being out in public wearing nothing but a woman's bikini bottom.  I pretended that my manhood wasn't permanently and irrevocably destroyed.  I don't think that I knew, however, how much I loved the idea.

I guess the fact that I didn't immediately change out of it didn't help.  I tried to keep my composure.  Not that it would have mattered, though.  The seed was planted.  I wondered immediately how it would feel to wear the matching top.  The thought put a weird itch in my cock.  I felt like I was the centre of attention, and I liked it.  Above all, I loved the way the bikini panties felt on my body.  Maybe keeping it on had less to do with keeping composure than with girlish pleasure.

When we got home from the beach, me still in my bikini panties, I thought about how it would feel to slip into some silk panties after my shower.  With lace trim.  And a bustier.  Stockings.  3-inch heels.  I wanted more.

So now as I prance around in this floral swimsuit, at the beach once more, gushing with pride as I explain how wonderfully erotic it is to be feminine, envying all the pretty girls for their sexy outfits, I can't help but think: damn it, this swimsuit, in spite of its feminine cut, girlish colours, and luxurious softness, isn't anywhere near feminine enough!

At first I denied it, but it only made me want it even more.  It started that first day, when they asked me if I was going to make a habit of wearing bikini bottoms.  I vigourously denied it, but the thought aroused me.  By the time I heard the 20^th joke about my mistake, I angrily defended myself, while at the same time inwardly swearing to never wear anything masculine again.  I practically pictured it fitting me the way it was meant to, if you get my drift.

Naturally, I tried to return the faulty panties to the store, but they informed me that they don't accept returns of bathing suits that have been worn.  I begged them to let me exchange it, but they refused.  I ended up buying the matching top, and a one-piece that I tried to exchange it for.  I couldn't wait to get out of my boy briefs!

It didn't take more than a couple of days to get used to walking in heels.  Finding my size was a hassle, but it was worth it.  I couldn't be feminine enough.

Now I tell people, in between mouthfuls of cock, that I fantasize about having my own pussy.

Fantasy: Tricked

To be tricked...

There's something to be said about the idea of being tricked into wearing something feminine, and immediately becoming ultra-obsessed with becoming a super-sexy ultra-feminine girl.

I want to beg for a scrap of feminine attire.  I want it so bad.  I want it to transform me.  I want to utterly forsake my manhood, and become all soft and curvy.

I slip into the bathing suit, feminine as it is.  She giggles.  By the time I've strapped myself into it, I know that something's gone horribly wrong.  It feels like nothing I've ever worn before.  It's soft, and tight all over my crotch and hips and especially my waist.  It's incredibly high-cut, compared to anything I've ever worn.  It's snug around my chest, and the straps on my shoulders keep me snugly inside it.  It clings to my body.  Much to my surprise, it actually feels feminine.  I am picturing her in this very swimsuit, and getting very excited.  I am extraordinarily aroused.  It suddenly occurs to me that what I'm doing is incredibly gay.  As if on cue, she comes to me, and presses her gorgeous panty-clad body against me.  She slaps my ass.

Some inhumanly powerful urge comes over me.  I want to rub my penis all over her.  But at the same time, I don't want it there at all.  I want her to fondle my nipples.  I giggle like she did earlier.  I'm rubbing my crotch over the bathing suit, and squirming around like she does when I finger her.  I want to wear her lingerie.  I want to wear her fuck-me boots.  I am ecstatic with feminine pleasure.

She asks me if I want to be a girl, and to my shock and horror, I answer affirmatively.  And I mean it.  My shock is mainly from the surprising realization that I love the idea.  In a split second, I fantasize about wearing bikinis, panties, bras, stockings, nightgowns, mini-skirts, and all sorts of glorious shoes, all of which aren't nearly feminine enough.  She lets me try on some stockings, even though they clearly don't match my swimwear.  She offers me a corset and a thong, and I take them reluctantly, unwilling to remove this glorious bathing suit.  But I give in, suspecting that this new outfit will be even sexier.

By the end of the night, I've impulsively thrown all of my masculine attire in a garbage bag, and ostentatiously walked it out to the curb, in full view of my neighbours.  I have promised her that from this moment forward, I will wear nothing but the skankiest clothes imaginable, and strive to become as feminine as possible.  She has me ritually forsake my penis, and all manhood, forever.  I moan the words emphatically.  I fall asleep in a silk nightgown, and dream of sucking cock.

When I wake up, I regret what I've done.  I feel ridiculous in my feminine outfit.  I have nothing to change into.  I lament how incredibly gay I've been, and suddenly become aware again of how much I loved it.  Soon I find myself trying on boots again. 

Fantasy: Bad Influence

I meet a girl, the most gorgeous, sexiest woman I've ever seen.  It turns out that she's actually a shemale!  We dated for months until she finally let me touch her crotch.  I'm thoroughly amazed.  I'm too nice a guy to be disgusted.  She knew I would be shocked, because she knows how incredibly feminine she is.  I've made out with her dozens of times.  I've sucked her nipples.  She has sucked my cock, and swallowed my semen.  Now that I've got her willing, and since 95% of her is stunningly gorgeously female, I decide to pretend that she's not a man.  I fuck her in the ass first.  But she wants more.  She makes me reach around and rub her big fat cock.  I pretend it's my own.  Before I know it, we're doing it missionary style, and her cock rubs against my belly.  She flips me around, so that she's sitting on top of me.  I caress her beautiful boobs, and her perfectly proportioned waist.  I fondle the belly-button ring.  She moves up and shoves her cock in my face!  I'm so turned on by her body that I comply, thinking, my god, this is the first time I've ever had a cock in my mouth!  She comes in my mouth, and I spit it out – not out of disgust, but out of surprise.  All this time, of course, my penis has been untouched.  It is desperate for some action.  I am still captivated by her figure, and her breasts.  And her semen all over my face.  I slide her back down off my chest to my crotch, and fuck her again for a bit.  My hand is on her cock.  She asks me if I'm grossed out by her penis.  I tell her, truthfully, that it sorta turns me on, even though I love her femininity above all else.  She asks me if she can fuck me, and not understanding, I say yes.  She turns me over roughly, and I clue in.  I interrupt her, and she begins to pout, but I don't stop her – I reposition myself so I can see her behind me by looking in the closet mirror.  I beg her to fuck me.  All I can see is her titties bouncing up and down and the look of ecstasy on her face.  It hurts at first, but it's such a turn-on that I get used to it, and start to enjoy it.  A lot.  I have her stop for a second and turn 90 degrees so I can see from a different angle.  Now I can see her cock ramming me in the ass, and it feels even better.  She reaches around and jerks me off half-heartedly, concentrating on her own pleasure.  I come hard when I feel her pumping her semen inside me, savouring the thought that I am her bitch, even as her beautiful, slender, feminine fingers caress my dick.  I feel so naughty about losing my virginity that it turns me on, but we're both so tired and spent that we can no longer continue.  She cuddles up against me, her cock against my thigh, and we both fall asleep.

We talk about these confusing events in the morning.  It turns out that she, as a young boy, had decided long ago that she would rather be a girl.  She has tried very hard ever since her mid-teens to make herself as feminine as possible.  I am amazed by the overwhelming magnitude of her success.  She looks like a supermodel in a bikini, and in lingerie.  She has the whole world fooled.

Still, I have misgivings about the situation.  I make them clear.  I don't want to be a homosexual.  She promises me that she will have surgery correcting that last little problem as soon as she can afford it (she's been saving for years).  But when she starts getting dressed, I become incredibly aroused.  I snap the elastic on her panties as I admire her cute little girly ass.  Before we know it, we're fucking again.  I am very confused about my feelings about her penis.  Part of me wishes very much that she had a pussy, like other girls; but part of me is very intrigued about how a boy can turn himself into a female sex goddess; and of course there's that last little part of me that's terribly excited about tasting cock and feeling it in my ass.

We stay together, and we have mind-blowing sex.  What turns me on so much about her is her transfermation.  I grill her about what she was like before she was a girl.  She talks reluctantly about her unhappy boyhood, and the dificulties of asserting her femininity through puberty.  It turns me on so much to think that this perfect piece of female ass that other guys ogle at and are envious of actually is a man.  I try to imagine what it must feel like to wear the things she wears.  I ask her, and she gushes about it.  How liberating it is.  How sexy it feels. 

I ask her what would happen to me if I ever wore women's clothes.  She says probably nothing.  Anyway, she says, she likes me all butchy and manly, so she doesn't care for it.  How manly can I be, I ask, if I'm sucking and fucking cock on a regular basis.  She blushes, and says nothing.

I start to envy her her wardrobe.  I think to myself, that could be me in those fishnet stockings, fuck-me boots, and little black dress.  I start trying things on, just for fun.  I try to include her, but she doesn't like playing dress-up with me.  So it becomes my secret.  I get my own panties and bikinis and lingerie.  Eventually, she finds out.  We slowly break up over it. 

Now I realize how fucked I am.  I realize that I'm still incredibly attracted to pussy, but that I really love the idea of Andrea.  I love the thought that I can become just as feminine as her.  Nothing turns me on more than that.  I date some women, and steal their underwear every now and then.  It never lasts long, because they either find out about my fetish, or I feel trapped when I can't make myself girly.  So Andrea comes back into my life.

She is just as disappointed in my girlish habits as any normal woman, but she can't be disgusted, because she does it herself.  I am still incredibly aroused by her, but she can't even use her decrepit dick anymore, because of all the hormones.  I am not in love with her anymore, either, so we get along.  I meet her sister, who guided her through her own effemination.  Together, they teach me.  This is how I learn that I can become ultra-feminine too, by taking on a female persona, and wearing nothing but female sexwear at all times.

It's difficult at first, but practice makes perfect.  The first few weeks are all about discovery.  I wear the skankiest clothes, and I do so in public.  At first, I'm hideous, but with a lot of work, can look pretty feminine.  I start hanging around in gay areas, because those are the only places where I can feel safe.  I start meeting other men, and can't resist the taste of cock.  I am now in Andrea's place.

A few years later, I am even more feminine.  My tits are bursting out of my bra, and I can't get enough cock.  But the best part is that my own penis is completely gone: I have a pussy!  And it's all natural!  I've transformed my body not with chemicals or surgery, but with sheer willpower!  And I love my new body!

Fiction: The Ultimate Fantasy

At last, the ultimate fantasy.

First, a listing of the most important moments in my feminine life, in chronological order, for possible use in this ultimate fantasy:

1. 5 years old: Wearing girls’ white pantyhose for a Kindergarten pantomime, and asking Mom and Dad that night if I could wear them to bed.
2. Around 10: borrowing Mom’s pantyhose for the first time (and wearing it over my underwear)
3. Around 12: stealing Mom’s newer bathing suit, and daring to put it on without wearing my underwear underneath, because I couldn't resist (I tried so hard!) recklessly abandoning myself to the raw femininity
4. Around 14: stealing a friend's sister's bikini bottom, and wearing it almost every night. It was by far the sexiest thing I'd ever worn to that point, and I regretted not having the matching bra
5. Around 15: Mom finding my stash of her clothes under my bed (but thankfully not finding that white bathing suit from number 3)
6. Around 19: after years and years of shame, I start my journal and admit to myself that I love girlifying myself more than anything in the whole wide world
7. Just before Xmas, 1995 (21): buying a lingerie outfit consisting of a white satin teddy, white fishnet stockings, and a garter belt, and shaving my legs to better appreciate it

This story has potential richness beyond anything I’ve ever conceived before, and it’s born from the current evolution of my fantasy.

It’s about a boy who discovers his feminine side much like I did. The twist: he actually is some sort of hermaphrodite, and every time he thinks like a girl (that is, every time he wears women’s clothes for a sexual kick) his female hormones kick in. This results in an extremely gradual girlification process. By early puberty, a vaginal opening begins to appear, little by little, and fade away after a rest. He knows that his habit is turning him into a girl, and he’s both horribly afraid and ecstatic. He can’t resist, try as he might. Eventually, his testicles begin to disappear into his ever growing hole when he indulges, and his penis actually shrinks; his chest swells ever so slightly. Some of the cumulative effects aren’t subsiding: his hole doesn’t fully close anymore after he’s done; he becomes concerned about the fat distribution on his body, his loss of body hair. He also begins to cultivate his hair for when he does indulge, guiltily, so that he feels more like a girl. By the end of high school, he becomes female when he fulfills his fantasies of wearing girls’ swimwear and lingerie: his balls get sucked right up into his vaginal opening, and his penis recedes until it becomes practically a clitoris; his waist actually shrinks, his hips expand, his voice goes up an octave, some of his body hair falls out, and he grows sensitive boobs. He becomes extremely feminine, and absolutely loves it. Of course, this is problematic: he tries hard to maintain his image as a boy, but he can’t be naked in front of other boys, for fear that they might see his growing cunt and shrinking penis. He can’t have sex with girls, whom he adores. He avoids medical checkups. All the things that happened to me happen to him, only he gets to actually become a girl when he fantasizes. As he becomes an adult, he reaches a point where he must choose his gender. He endures all sorts of mishaps from remaining female longer than expected. Eventually, of course, he realizes that his sexual fun is always as a girl, so he experiments with going all out. He’s ugly at first, so he gives up. He tries several times, and gives up each time. But the improvements are never fully reverting back to manhood. He becomes innately more female every day, because he so desperately loves to indulge his fantasy. It’s like he’s taking hormone treatments. Eventually, he has sex with a man while he’s a girl, and can’t get enough.

Fantasy: Converted

You've seen all sorts of pictures.  You've spent countless hours busily downloading them.  You stare for hours at them in various men's magazines.  You know exactly what you like: shapely girls in bikini-style panties, shiny like metal, or like glistening skin; round, pendulous boobs, restrained in sheer black lace; long, lustrous legs lovingly covered in fishnet stockings, starting at mid-thigh and ending at open-toed heels; waves of long, tousled hair tumbling upon slender, bare shoulders; I could go on.  Just imagine if you could ever touch something so exquisitely feminine.  What would you do?  Where would you start?

I'll tell you what would happen if you found yourself with one of these fantasy girls from your precious pictures.  Just think: she's posing, just for you, in the same outfit as in the photo.  You forget, but she's used to better men pawing all over her.  You'd try to put your hand on her waist first.  Maybe touch her thigh.  You're overwhelmed by her inhuman femininity.  She lets you get so far, but then gently pushes your hand away with a girlish giggle.  And you try again.  You're reaching for her panties.  She slaps your hand away.  "My clothes stay on… for now," she says.

She can tell how desperate you are for a piece of her.  That's why she's not giving you anything.  Just letting you look, and maybe allowing you a little feel here and there to keep your hopes up.  You'd do anything right now if she allowed you to simply caress her waist, her knee, her shoulder, or anything at all, with your hand.  But she won't let you.

Some men might resort to violence in such a situation.  Rush over and grab her.  What can she do?  Pick her up, throw her onto the bed, and rip off all her clothes.  But you would never dream of doing such a thing to one so perfectly, divinely feminine.  You are worshipping at the altar of femininity.  You dare not defile it.  You dare not contravene her will.

She struts around the room.  You are hers.  You want to be hers.  You relish every moment that she tortures you.  You drink up her every gorgeous curve, and clamour for more.  And she's hardly let you touch her yet!  Better still, she hasn't taken anything off!  The anticipation is killing you.  You need to touch her just like you need your next furtive breath.

Now she approaches you.  She lets you caress her hips.  She kisses you.  You can smell not just her perfume, but the scent of her naked skin.  The faint odour nearly knocks you unconscious.  You mould your body against hers and keep your eyes open as your tongue meets hers.  She closes her eyes.  You fondle the waistband of her panties, but she takes her arms from around your neck and moves your hand away, grinning.  "Not yet."

She places your hands back on her hips, and turns around.  She lets you admire her waist, her hips, and her butt before she slowly leans back against you, rubbing her beautiful, round buttock against your dick.  She gyrates her hips back and forth, and sends you into a fit of ecstasy.  One hand fondles her hip, her butt, her thigh, and back up as she moves; the other her other hip, her waist, her breast and back down. 

She is amazing.  You reach for her panty waist and start pulling down, but she stops you.  She turns around and playfully shakes a finger at you.  "You're bad!" she admonishes.  But now she continues her little dance while facing you.  She moves forward against you for a brief moment, and your member touches her sanctum sanctotum against both your clothes.  But she slowly dances away.

"You need to get naked," she says.  You immediately obey.  You stand naked in front of the avatar of the Goddess, who still wears her scanty little outfit.  She looks at your throbbing erection and says, "I know what you want.  You want this."  She gestures at her body, knowing it to be worth more to you than everything on Earth.  "But I need to know," she says, "just how far you'll go to have it."

"I'll do anything," you answer, meaning it.

"Anything?"

"Yes, anything!"

You know you've just sold your soul to the devil.  But you don't care.  It's worth it.

She sashays back to you with a demonic grin.  "Well, then," she says, huskily, "Let's begin."

She grabs your cock and whispers into your ear, "I know what your deepest fantasy is, even if you don't."  She sits you down on the bed and straddles you.  You can feel the roughness of her fishnet stockings on your sides – then, the excruciating softness of her panty-clad pussy against your dick.  You grab her by the ass and hump away greedily.  She pushes you down and gyrates obligingly.  

"Do you love me?" she asks.

"Of course I do!" you reply, humping her madly as she sits on top of you.

"Do you worship me?"

"Yes!"

"You'll do anything I ask?"

"Yes!"

"Then STOP!  NOW!" she screams.  And you stop – not because she said so but because of the shrillness of her ear-piercing command.

She gets up from on top of you.  "Good.  Very good," she says.  "I'm almost convinced."

She sits you back up, and drags you to the middle of the bed.  She lies on her back, and drags you back on top of her.  She kicks off her shoes.  She grabs you by the ass and makes you come all over her belly.  And she's not even naked!

"That was a bit premature, wasn't it?  But you're ready for more, aren't you?"

And you are.  You desperately want to fuck her now. 

"Here, lick this off.  I don't want this mess all over me."

And you do.  You don't even hesitate.  You're lapping up your own semen from her belly and the front of her panties, because you just want to taste her skin.  Her belly is so infused with girlishness that you'd eat anything off of it just to put your lips to it. 

Before you know it, she's had you remove her panties, and you're licking her glorious pussy.  Her perfect, slender, fishnet-clad legs are on your shoulders.  After she comes, she doesn't let you stop.  She takes off her bra, then pulls you up to her by the hair.  She lets you fumble around a bit before she guides your stiff cock into her dripping wet cunt. 

My God!  Do you ever love it!  She's bucking like a bronco, and you're struggling to keep up.  You grab her nipples, her ass, her clit, her hair, her thigh, her waist, her shoulder, and all you can think is: girl, girl, girl, girl, girl, girl, girl, girl girl girl girl GIRL!  You want to come a million times.  You never want to take her hands off of her.  You want to explore her forever.  You want to flip her around so you can admire her from every angle.  She lets you.

"I know what you're thinking," she says as you fuck her pretty brains out.  You've come at least fifteen times by now, and you're only getting hornier.  "You can't get enough of me, can you?"

"No!" you pant, "I can't!"

"You want to touch me forever, don't you?  You don't ever want to let go of my girlie bits, do you?"

"Yes!  No I don't!"

"Well I hate to break it to you, but I'm done for tonight."

"Please!  I need more!"  You continue to fuck her frantically, clutching her tighter so she can't move away.  But she's not trying; she's still meeting your every stroke with her own enthusiastic rhythm.

"I know.  I have a solution for you."

"What's that?"

"What better way to eternally explore the female body than by becoming a girl?"

"What do you mean?!?" you cry, as your heart begins to pound with dread and excitement, your pelvis desperately keeping time.

"Think about it: if you were a girl…"

You're fucking her really hard now, but her voice is mesmerizing.

"You'd get to look at girl thighs…"

You moan as you look at her thighs, still clad in those ultra-sexy stockings.

"…Girl boobs…"

You realize that she's been fondling your nipple ever since you moved her hand there five minutes ago.

"…Girl waist…"

You prop yourself up on your hands, pounding harder still, and picture the slenderness of her waist on your own body, and just below that…

"…Girl ass…"

The picture is vivid in your mind.  Oh…

"…Girl pussy…"

My…

"…Girl everything…"

GODDESS!

"…all the time!"

Your body convulses violently.  You feel like you're having a heart attack.  The pain in your crotch is excruciating.

"You'd get to touch girl non-stop for the rest of your life!"

Your skin tingles all over your body.  You expect to withdraw from her and gape in horror at your own moist, tender pussy where your mighty penis once stood.  This orgasm intensifies tenfold and reverberates throughout your entire body with this epiphany.

"And just think…"

You are shaking yourself loose from her, even as your climax continues, as you picture your now curvaceous body trembling as femininely as hers.

"You'll even get to use your pussy!"

"No!" you scream, at the top of your lungs, shrilly, like a woman, as you realize that you crave a huge, erect penis inside your cunt, even more desperately than you wanted your own penis inside hers. 

"That's right!  You get to fuck like a girl, too!"

What you thought was your climax a moment ago pales in comparison to the unbearable pleasure emanating from your crotch, and drowning your entire body.  In your mind, you are her.  You picture yourself as her from the very beginning, teasing, sashaying, dancing, and especially fucking.  You long to taste another man's semen in your mouth.  You deeply regret not having savoured your own when you ate it off of her belly. 

"You'll even get to wear garter belts, stockings, lace, bikinis…"

Ali Landry

Your transformation is complete.  You laugh huskily and girlishly as you contemplate the excitement of picking out your new wardrobe.  Your body quivers whenever you imagine yourself in some pair of white lace panties you saw Heidi Klum wearing in a Victoria's Secret catalogue; or a brightly coloured string bikini like the one Ali Landry wore in that picture you used to salivate over; or the very outfit that she seduced you with what seems now like centuries ago.  "Yes!" you whisper, "fishnets!"

Then, an hour later, you come down at last, when you suddenly realize that you are covered in semen, and that your hand is fondling your softening penis. 

You have not become a girl, as you had hoped.

"So what do you say?  Sound like a good idea?"

She's been sitting in a chair across the room, waiting for you to come back to Earth.  You can't remember if this was some weird dream, or if she really did fuck you, and convince you to betray your own gender forever and become female.  She is naked, and still terrifyingly beautiful.  "What do you mean?" you sputter, shaking the cobwebs from your wet dream.

"You know exactly what I mean.  Get dressed."

You are confused.  Your first instinct is to reach for your pants, but the idea fills you with some inexplicable dread.  You drop your pants back on the floor, perplexed.

"Is something wrong," she asks, pointedly.

"I… I have no clothes," you answer uncertainly.

"What about those pants, silly?"  She plays coy.  You glance at her, and take in that gorgeous smile of hers, and how sexy her butt is, and how you long for it once more.

"I can't wear those," you answer confidently.  "Can I borrow something of yours?"

"Like what?" she replies, taken aback.

"Well, can we start with some underwear?" you retort.  You don't feel like playing games anymore.

"I don't have any men's underwear, silly.  You can't wear mine."

You start to wonder if you're losing your mind.  You figure that she must be testing you.

"Can I please?"

"What?"

"Please, can I wear your underwear?"

"You can't wear women's underwear.  You're a man.  Put on your pants."

"I don't want to be a man.  I want to be a girl."  You blush as you say it.  "I want to be a girl, and I want to wear girlie clothes."

"Are you fucking serious?  After the night we had last night?  This isn't funny."

"I am serious.  Don't mess with my head.  You convinced me last night that the best way for me to love you is to become you.  Don't pretend it didn't happen."

"Come on, now," she says.  "You're starting to scare me."

You start to feel horribly embarrassed.  Is this some kind of sick joke?

"OK, I know you're kidding," she says.  "But sure, have it your way.  You can put on the outfit I had on last night.  Come on, put it on!"

You pick the panties up off the floor, and slowly, gracefully, slip them on.  You already feel sleek and curvy.  You can picture your pussy again.  You've never worn panties before – only in your imagination.  Now you feel the luxurious satin tightly against your hips and especially your crotch.  You like it, an awful lot.

Encouraged, you find the bra on the other side of the bed.  She follows your every movement like a hawk.  You wrap it around your waist, its back on your belly, and tie it; then you turn it the right way as you put your arms through the straps and bring it up to your pathetically small boobs.  You love the way it feels tight around your chest, and how unforgettably feminine it feels to bare your waist between matching satin undergarments.

"You're really going to do this, aren't you?"

You take your time rolling on the stockings.  You lament the fact that you have so much unsightly body hair to get rid of.  You almost want to stop and shave your legs now, but you just can't resist the feeling of enveloping your legs in girlishness.

She tosses you the dress as she sees you strapping on the shoes.  They are far too small, but you can't bear to wear anything else.  You thank her and slip into the little sausage casing she wore last night at the club.  You feel marvelously empowered.

"So, are you ready to go out?" she asks.  She put on some jeans and a t-shirt while you were busy with your precious stockings.

"Well, I'd have liked to shave my legs, but this will have to do for now.  Thank you so much for the clothes!  I feel wonderful!"

And you go out onto the street, dressed like a girl. 

No sooner do you go out the door than she drags you back in and says, "OK, you've passed the first test.  Now go shave your body, and I'll have a surprise for you when you're done.

And you go into the shower and shave off all your body hair.  You're very excited about your new look.  You imagine that maybe she'll bring back some more clothes for you.  You get out and put on her clothes again.  She arrives just in time with a man.

"Here's your second test.  If you really want to be a girl, you'll enjoy this."

And you do.  You enjoy it even more than you ever enjoyed fucking any girl.  He really makes you feel like a girl.  At first, you're coy about sucking his cock, but the way his hands fondle your sleek lingerie-clad body turns you on so much that you can't help but encourage him.  You lament not having a pussy, but settle for him fucking your ass.  It feels so feminine to have a penis inside you that you come with every third stroke.  And after he comes deep inside you, you don't hesitate to revive his erection with some more fellatio.  The whole time you imagine that he really is fucking your pussy.

After he's done with you, you help him fuck her.  You get him hard, and guide his dick into her pussy.  You live vicariously through her for a while.  She lets him do things that she never let you do to her.  He even fucks her in the ass, and you feel a tinge of jealousy – not of him, but of her. 

Finally, you relax with a cocktail of feminizing hormones, and put on the most outrageously girlish lingerie in her closet, well on your way to becoming a she-male sissy faggot chick-with-a-dick.