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.

Fiction: How I Turned Into A Girl

Innocent beginnings

It all started very innocently.  I was 5 years old.  We had a kindergarten class pantomime, in which all the children were to dress up as flowers.  Everyone had to get white tights as part of the costume.  All the boys got to wear girls' tights.  I don't know how anybody else felt about it, but I liked it.  In my primitive sexual mind, at that young age, I liked the way it felt on my penis.  That's when I learned that it's bad for boys to wear girls' clothes.  But the seed was planted.

Tentative experiments

Years later, I got up the nerve to borrow some pantyhose.  I had never forgotten my experience with the white tights.  I liked the idea of being dominated by a woman.  Before the pantyhose, I would fantasize that a woman was making me kiss her boots.  Somehow, I was heavily attracted to women.  But it was all very bad.  I knew somehow that it would be wonderfully naughty to be turned into a girl.  So I played with pantyhose.  At first I wore it over my underwear, for fear of it really making me a girl.  Pretty soon I was all naked inside it, unprotected from its sheer femininity.

Shocking fantasies of being utterly feminized

The fantasies became elaborate scenarios of metamorphosis.  And it had a lot to do with my own free will.  I would imagine resisting for as long as possible, but in the end succumbing to the extreme pleasure.  I imagined what it must be like to wear bathing suits, or even lingerie.  Just the thought of it made me incredibly horny.  I made excuses, believing that if I dared to go that far, there would be no turning back.

Experiments become more daring

I couldn't resist.  I moved on to whatever I had available.  I dared to put on a one-piece bathing suit.  It was heaven!  I knew I was in trouble, but while I wore it, I didn't care.  I wanted to go all the way, by wearing even panties and brassieres.  But I could only do it gradually, given that I had virtually nothing to work with at my immediate disposal.

The collection

I started to steal things from friends' sisters, from Mom.  I needed it.  Pretty soon I had a little collection that I thoroughly adored.  And I wanted more.  I fantasized about stealing underwear from clotheslines.  I had even acquired a bikini!

Busted

I had gotten too bold.  Mom found out.  She was shocked and didn't know what to make of it.  She quickly gathered her things that I had stolen, and I begged her not to let anyone know.  I swore to never do it again.

Purge

I was so ashamed of myself, that I even got rid of the things she didn't find.  I cursed myself for what I had done.

The inevitable relapse binge

I denied myself for so long that the urge to wear something female became uncontrollable.  I stole a bathing suit again, and fell off the wagon.  I binged more than ever with girls' clothes, and loved every second of it.

Denial and abandon

Then I would become ashamed and throw everything away again, vowing to never do it again.  But each time, I could only go so long.  Realizing that I was giving in only made me hornier, because it made me understand that every time I wear an article of girls' clothing, I become more and more addicted to it; which leads to the inevitable conclusion that at some point, I will become a girl from doing it so much.  This only fed the pleasure I got from it more, because the whole point was to make myself feel like a girl.  Then, as soon as I was done, my shame would lead me to renounce my habit yet again, and the cycle would start over.

Caught again

The next time I was caught, I was in the middle of masturbating with a bikini.  I was mortified.  Before, I had only had my stash of girlie clothes discovered.  By now I was in my mid teens, and I was seen by my parents wearing a bikini.  I was so embarrassed that I couldn't speak.  I covered myself up in my shame, and my parents tried to console me, rationalizing it to themselves more than anything.  I swore, once again, to quit forever, but I knew that I had a problem.

Acceptance

My problem wasn't that I was wearing girls' bathing suits and underwear; it was that I wouldn't admit to myself that I loved doing so.  This I discovered when having a little chat with my father.  I didn't tell him so, but he could certainly tell that I was not going to quit.  I would, however, keep it secret.

The gift

On my seventeenth birthday, I was shocked to discover lingerie under my pillow.  I had never been able to steal anything so sexy.  I knew that it didn't belong to my Mom.  Somebody knew of my habit, and was now actively condoning it.  I wore it under my boy clothes all day the next day to celebrate.  Only later did I find the note that was meant to be attached to it.  It read, “I just want to know, for sure, whether you have quit your dirty habit or not.  I know it must be very hard for you.  If you leave this under your pillow tomorrow, I'll know that you want to quit.  If not, then please take these.  I'd rather have you own your own than borrowing all the time.” 

The realization of the enormity

Things started appearing in my dresser at random intervals.  There were many pleasant surprises for me.  Within a year, I had a small collection of just about everything a girl could want.  I was wearing it almost every night.  Only when a girl became interested in me did I realize the enormity of what I was doing.  I couldn't possibly let her know about my collection, which sat openly in the top drawer of my dresser.  I could never tell her that I not only have worn fishnet stockings, a garter belt, a brassiere, many bikinis, and all sorts of satin and lace panties and nightgowns; but I also own some!  I thought of how my initial fears of becoming feminized were becoming totally true.  And I masturbated at the thought.

Busted – for good

By the time I went away to college, I had been with a few girlfriends, and always kept my secret to myself.  But I also secretly borrowed their things whenever the urge struck me.  I was incorrigible.  Annie outsmarted me, though.  She suspected that something was awry.  We were living together, and she noticed that some of her undergarments would shift.  She set up a hidden camera, and caught me red-handed putting on her bathing suit.  She confronted me with the video, and I was contrite, ashamed, and extremely fearful.  She threatened to tell everyone.  I begged her not to.  She relented, but things would change dramatically between us from that point on.

Manipulation

She majored in psychology.  She manipulated me like a handful of putty.  She immediately became dominant, with the threat of exposing my habit to the world hanging over my head.  She was curious more than anything else.  She wanted to understand what got into me.  She wanted to explore the phenomenon.  She had me dress up for her.  At first, it was extremely awkward.  She was only the third person to ever see me wearing women's underwear.  She asked me to go about my routine, and tell her what I was thinking.  I couldn't do it for days, but eventually, I succeeded.  I was wearing a bikini, and she decided to play along, rather than spectate.  We frolicked together, both of us wearing sexy women's swimwear.  I purred to her how I wanted to be just like her, how I wanted to be as sexy as her when I wore her bikini.  I told her that I longed to be worthy of the clothes I play with. 

She tried different tricks, but it became part of the routine.  I would cavort around in lingerie for her every night, under threat of being exposed to the world.  She soon discovered how uncomfortable I became about the whole situation when I wasn't horny.  She had me tell her that I wanted to shave my legs while I was hot with desire, and she talked me into doing it, in spite of the fact that it would be terribly easy for anyone to notice.  I was so horny that I enjoyed doing it, in spite of the consequences.  After I came, she asked me if I would wear makeup, and she couldn't get me to agree to it without threats.

This led to a phenomenal escalation of my habits, which, as long as I was still aroused, I gladly agreed to.  Before I knew it, I had beautiful long hair, easily stylable into a feminine look; I had become an expert at applying makeup; I kept most of my body hair shaven at all times; and I could walk in high heels.  She only let me come just before I went to sleep.  I said all sorts of incriminating things.  I signed documents attesting to my desire to become a girl.  I professed my dissatisfaction with my lack of womanhood to her video camera.  I was giving her more and more material to incriminate me with, to the point where it became almost moot.  I swore to her, on tape and on signed documents, that I gladly give up my own penis in a heartbeat, and even suck someone else's and swallow all the semen.

Exposure

The weight of her threats lay in my desire to keep my femininity secret.  Unfortunately for me, not only had the changes to my appearance become noticeable during the day, but I became indifferent to my reputation as a man.  I was wearing women's underwear under my clothes, to keep me horny all day long.  I felt so good that I wanted people to know what I was wearing.  Many people suspected it.  Eventually, there was no doubt: Annie coerced me into dressing up as skankily as possible with her, and going for a walk in public.  I agreed readily, but became extremely nervous when we actually went outside.  Everyone recognized me.  In a way, I felt extremely sexy and proud; in other ways, I felt deeply embarrassed.  But I got used to it.  Within weeks I was clubbing in my girl clothes.  Luckily, I could still fight.  I was still manly enough for men to want to kill me.

Slavery

With the threat of exposure nothing more than a quaint memory, Annie found other ways to manipulate me.  She made me realize just how deep my desire to be female really went.  I had always kept it to a subtext that I wouldn't even admit to myself, but she hypothesized correctly that I wanted to fuck boys.  She would get me so hot and horny that I would be practically female; then she introduced me to some gay man she knew from college, and encouraged me to explore my urges.  She made me feel so thankful to her that her threats had changed: now she threatened to take away my girlishness.  I became her sissy slave.  I would stay home and be her maid, and she would bring home boys for her own pleasure, and show me off to them as her creation.  I was permitted to suck cock from time to time, and even to get a dick rammed up my ass.  I was a time of great and exciting discovery for me.  But she wouldn't allow me to enjoy it as much as I could have.

Privation

Soon she realized that her hold on me was entirely based on preventing me from having orgasms.  She kept me tied in a penis constraining device so that I would behave better.  I was extremely horny at all times, and I became an insatiable cock whore.  She kept me in her power by promising more cock.  But I was not allowed to come!  I physically could not ejaculate.  I so desperately wanted to. 

Emancipation

I broke my bonds from her at last and came wildly for days.  She was appalled, and threatened to deny me from getting any more cock.  But I discovered that I was fully able to get some by myself.  I was now passable enough to get it, or else brave enough to go to a gay bar and bag myself some easy action.  I laughed when she threatened to expose me.  My transformation was now complete!  I hadn't worn any article of men's clothes in many months, even in public; and I bought my own lingerie and club wear.  I was a little tramp!  I moved out in a huff and got my own place.

A taste for cock

I ditched all my men's clothes that I was no longer wearing.  I became a fixture at gay bars.  My parents found out, and disapproved.  I laughed in their faces, too. 

My fate was sealed from the very first moment

So now I'm scheduled for my pre-operation hormones.  I'm growing my own breasts, and giving up my worthless penis for a glorious pussy.

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: Baby Steps

What happens if you keep going that extra little bit too far...

It all goes in baby steps.

Damn, she's so sexy in those panties.  And they look so erotic just lying there on the chair, flung so carelessly in a moment of passion.  I pick them up, just to feel the soft silk in my hands.  I'm so turned on by this item of pure femininity.  I touch it to my cock.  Heaven.  Just a couple of strokes... oh, yeah, that's good.  Like my cock inside her soft smooth cunt skin.  I'm still stroking.  Uh oh.  Time to clean up.

I have defiled my girlfriend's underwear.  What can I say?  It's certainly erotic.  I just have to be careful not to come all over it again.  She'll think it's weird.  I will hide the evidence in the laundry, and forget this ever happened.

There's so much more to panties than the texture.  I like to fondle the shape, and imagine her pussy inside it, and her hips, and her belly, and her thighs.  Crumpling it up against my cock just doesn't let me appreciate them as much.  How can I feel this silkiness on my cock without wrinkling and mangling them?  How can I fondle them as if her body is in them?  I need a mannequin.  Damn, that would be pretty creepy.  I want to feel her cunt!  I want to fuck it!  Now I'm rubbing the absorbant part that's on the crotch against my dick.  Her pussy touches this!  I want to touch it!  I want to caress her ass, the curves that converge on that spot!  How can I do it?  I want this femininity all over me!  I want to be surrounded by it, in its most concentrated form.  I want to feel her body all over me.  I can't rub them on me hard enough.  I'm not getting enough girlieness!  I'm stepping into them.  I'm grinding against them, and OH MY GOD, it feels so good!  Oh my GOD, the femininity is all over me, and I couldn't get away from it if I even wanted to!  I have never been so aroused in my life!  I am worshipping her girlishness!  I am wearing her panties!  And I love it!  I can't take it anymore... And now there's a mess all over, and I'm thoroughly disgusted with myself.

Two months later.  I don't know what possessed me.  But I haven't been able to shake it ever since.  It felt so sexy.  I could imagine what it must feel like to be a girl, all sleek and smooth and curvy.  It didn't hurt that her panties are unlike anything I've ever  felt before: so ridiculously smooth, and form fitting.  I have to be careful never to do that again.  I don't want to compromise my manhood any more than I already have.  How depraved and disgusting.

There they are again, beckoning me.  I still can't believe I wore them.  They're so indescribably feminine.  I've surely broken something inside myself by wearing them.  How can I ever consider myself a true man again?  But then again, how can an inert piece of cloth possibly change anything?  It's just a little silk cloth.  So why am I so compelled by them?  Why do they make me so nervous?  Why am I so fucking horny all of a sudden?  What happens to a man when he's exposed to such overwhelming femininity?  It can't possibly make the slightest bit of difference.  I'm sliding them on, hesitantly, tentatively.  I can't do this again.  I can't risk it.  A few strokes, and I take them off.  That was easy, wasn't it?  I felt the feminine, and I resisted.  Let's try that again.  Oh God.  No.  I can't handle it.  Whew.  They're off again.  I put them away, and let's think about her some more.  How wonderful she looks in those panties.  I'm caressing myself, grinding into the bed, naked.  How amazing they felt on my hips... Oh yeah, that's much better.  Thank God I didn't wear them.

It's three months later.  I've just had a bit of a scare.  I almost wore her panties again.  Damn, it felt so fucking good!  I jerked off like crazy, but I'm still so unsatisfied.  What can I do?

I resisted enough.  I know for sure that I can control these urges.  I might as well give in every now and then, no?  That's not going too far.  I mean, it is just silk.  So what if it's worn only by women.  I can't believe I'm doing this again!  I feel so relieved now that I am wearing them.  I want her femininity!  To hell with my fears!  I want it!  It feels incredible when I picture her body, and I can feel it in my hands, too.  It's like I'm fondling her.  It's like my body is now hers!  Oh!  It's like I'm channelling her body through her underwear!  It's making me her!  YES!  This is what it's like to be female!  OH YES... What have I done to myself?

It's three months and a day later, and I've finally given in again.  I've been pining for that orgasm for weeks.  I can no longer tell myself that it was a one-time deal.  I'm sure it's perfectly normal.  I think about her all the time.  It's not like I'm becoming a fag or anything.  It just feels really good on my body.  I guess now I know why girls love their lingerie: it's all about the texture.  It's too bad that men can't have silk and satin and lace underwear that fits like that, cuz I'd wear it all the time.  I'm sure this is all perfectly normal; all the same, she can't ever find out that I've done this.  I swear I'll never wear those panties again.

It's such a shame that I have sworn to never touch those black silk panties of hers ever again.  I guess I'll just have to imagine... Just imagine wearing panties again.  Not just those black silk ones... anything!  It's so naughty!  I'd be in such serious trouble if I was really wearing panties again!  It would be so exquisite!

Damn, how I miss those panties.  It's just not the same without them.  I know, I know, it's dangerously faggy.    I know it's undermining my manhood.  But that's exactly what I fucking love about it!  I'm so naughty, I've worn women's underwear!  And I just know that it's turning me into a girl!  Oh God!  I'm turning into a girl!  And I want to come just thinking about it!

Three weeks after that last entry.  This is really starting to scare me.  Not a day goes by that I don't fantasize about putting on those panties.  The things that go through my mind!  I might as well be wearing them, for all the perverted thoughts I've had.  But no, I won't give in.  There's too much at stake.

What harm could there be if I wear these panties again?  I've done it before !  I put them on so shamelessly!  I can't believe I starved myself for so long.  What a feast we shall have tonight!

The very next fucking day!  I made a vow to myself, and I broke it.  I have now officially lost a part of my manhood.  I swear that I will never do that again.  I'll go double or nothing: I'll never give in again; if I do, I willingly accept to lose double the masculinity.  I'm that confident that I'll succeed.  Otherwise, I'll be twice as feminine, and who knows what that will lead to.

Clearly, that kind of deal will lead to me being twice as feminine.  Just think: I've only worn one pair of women's underwear, so how feminine can I be?  Imagine how much more fun it would be if I were twice as girlish?  I could wear other panties!  Like those pink flowery lace ones!  Or the sheer white thong!  I'm sorry, but with those kinds of benefits, I don't see the point in stopping.

Twenty minutes later.  That was fucking hard, wasn't it?  At least that should satisfy me for a while. 

The lacy panties are, believe it or not, even more exquisitely sexy on me than the black satin.  Now that I'm twice the girl, I get twice the fun.  I'm not beating around the bush with this anymore.  I have now reached a whole new level of femininity!  And it feels fantastic!

A month later.  I'm now drawn to all her underwear.  I've got to stop at two.  I already know far too much about wearing women's underwear than I'm comfortable with.

It's such a shame that she's wearing the ones I've already tried.  Tsk-tsk.  I guess I have no choice.  I'll have to put on some others.  Why limit myself?

Six months later.  I think I've tried on all of her sexy panties by now.  Each time I tell myself that it's the last time, but I come back anyway.  I can't let this become a habit, or she'll surely catch me in the act.

Aw, panties again?  Sure, they're lots of fun, but I want some excitement!  How about that bikini bottom?  Yes, it's a very big step, going from just innocent panties to a bathing suit.  But I'm in so deep now that there's no point in resisting.  Still, with all my experience, I tremble with the bikini panties in my hands.  This is so feminine that I can hardly fathom what I'm getting into.  Oh, yes!  This is sweet!  How will I ever explain this one?

Two weeks later.  It's bad enough that I wear panties almost every other day now, but I'm now trying on swimwear!  No more for me.  I don't care how good it feels.

I couldn't possibly do without this for 48 hours anymore!  Wasn't it only yesterday that I utterly effeminated myself by wearing panties?  And also the day before?  And the day before that?  Don't tell me now that it's not having an effect.  I'm hooked.  I'm turning into a girl!  The more I do this, the more irreversible it gets!

Three months.  I'm a fiend.  This is better than sex now.  I can't believe she doesn't know.  As long as it's a secret, I should be fine.  If she finds out, I'm toast.

Only a true girl would wear panties like this all day long!  They feel so nice under my regular yucky boy pants.  Nobody knows!  Tee-hee!  Only I know what a wretched little t-gurl I've become.

A month later.  Busted.  She cried for days.  She got amorous and started undressing me, and found her own panties in my pants.  What could I say?  There's no conceivable explanation.  So now she knows.  I don't know what will come of it.  I have promised to stop.  I only hope that I can keep my promise.

Who would've thought that a one-piece bathing suit could feel so agonizingly feminine?  I love the way it sleeks out my waist, and covers my nipples.  This is a new favourite.  Too bad about that promise, eh?  This is so radically different from just plain old panties and bikini bottoms.  And it's so unmistakably feminine!

Another month.  I'm such a scoundrel.  But it's all I can think about!  Those swimsuits are a force to be reckoned with!  Anyway, we weren't getting along.  It's too bad she had to move on, but frankly, I think I'll be fine.

I'm dying for some action!  It's time for a wardrobe.  Let's go shopping.  First, some panties.  No problem.  They can just think I'm buying lingerie for my girl.  Which is exactly what I'm doing, in a way.  The bathing suits are going to be a bit trickier.  They'll just have to wait.

A week.  I now have women's underwear in my dresser, and it's all mine.  I bought it.  For myself.  And you know what?  I'm cool with that.  As long as word doesn't get around.  I wear them for comfort, not some sick fetish.

Funny that my days always culminate in me getting sexual gratification out of my “comfortable” underwear.  Swimsuits are comfortable too, and it's time to get one.

A week.  I'll admit, it is pretty cracked.  There was no way to appear normal in a bathing suit store full of girls, shopping for a one-piece woman's bathing suit.  I was nervous, I was sweating.  They know.  They can tell.  So maybe I do have a bit of a fetish.  At least I don't know them, and they don't know me.

I miss her bikini bottom.  It was so snug and cozy.  I guess I'll just have to imagine it...

Three weeks.  Imagine their surprise when the weird guy came looking for bikinis.  Now they know for sure.  They were giggling at me this time.  They have no doubt now.  Fuck them!  At least I know what pleases me!  It took so long, too, to pick out a bra.  I have to at least pretend that I'm buying for a girl, even if they don't believe me.  It's too bad I had to get one, because God knows I'll never go so far as to wear one.  It's strictly for down there.

Now that I have my hard-earned bikini bottom on, I feel sorta half-naked.  The bra is just kinda sitting there.  I was going to throw it away.  I mean, I don't have any boobies to cover, so why bother?  Only girls need to wear those.  I tremble as I put it on.  With great difficulty.  Now, there can no longer be any pretense.  I am wearing a bra.  It matches my bikini bottom.  I'm full-on wearing a female outfit.  I am doing it because I want to feel feminine.  And good Goddess, does it ever feel feminine!  I explode with girlishness now.  I am hooked.  I give up.  This is what I want. 

Three hours.  I don't want to take it off.  I like it.  A lot.  I can't believe that I'm wearing a full bikini!  And it turns me on, even after coming three times!  This is truly amazing.  I admit it.  I love to wear women's clothes.  I love feeling feminine.  But seriously, it has to remain a secret.  I'll have to enjoy this alone. 

How could I have worn panties so long without one of these bras?  Oh my god, this is so fucking female!!  What other delights have I deprived myself of?

A week.  I just now found myself compelled to buy tops to match my panties.  I am now a consumer of brassieres.  This is completely out of control.  What if somebody saw me?

What a binge!  It'll take me days to try on all these pretty tops!  Bras, bodices, corsets, bustiers, teddies!  I'm in heaven!

A day later.  I now officially have more articles of female undergarments than male.  What a ridiculous situation.  It's not like I even really wear the gitch anymore.  I should at least hold on to it in case of emergency.

Now I have no choice but to wear panties every single day, at all times.  It's so liberating to be rid of that ugly men's underwear!  Long live lingerie!

Two weeks later.  Well, now I've got more space in my dresser.  I can't possibly go much further.  What will I do if I ever have a girl over?

I couldn't possibly be without some article of femininity for any prolonged amount of time, could I?  That's why nightgowns are so important.  Now I can sleep in lingerie, wake up, and put on some panties that I'll wear all day.  I'm such a fag!

Three months.  This is getting ridiculous.  Fags are hitting on me now.  They never have before.  It can't be a coincidence.  I'm getting carried away when I think about what my underwear looks like.  And maybe the bra shows, after all.  Too bad I don't have any guy underwear anymore, to go back to. 

This body hair is so disgusting.  I want smooth silky girlie legs.  And belly.  And arms.  I can't shave this much, and it'll grow back all scratchy.  This Nair ought to do the trick.  Oh my Goddess!  I feel so naked!  I can't believe I've done this!  This is so feminine!  I have girls' legs now!

A month.  This is getting really scary.  Now I can't even change in front of other men at the gym.  How can I possibly explain the lack of body hair?  I know that bodybuilders do it, but I'm no bodybuilder.  I'll enjoy it while I can, but it'll have to grow back.

Wow, do bare legs every look good in stockings!  I can't believe I didn't try this sooner!  It was so gross with all that hair in there before.  Now my legs look positively female.  Oh Goddess!  I can finally wear that garter belt and not be embarrassed!

A day.  Great.  Now I've worn just about everything that can be found in a lingerie shop.  I'm clean of body hair.  People can tell.  But God know I'll never admit what I'm doing!

What's the point of wearing stockings without some pretty heels?  Sandals would show off my toes.  But that's so feminine!  Do I dare?  This saleslady is looking at me funny.  Hasn't she ever seen a man browsing women's shoes?  She looks a bit uneasy and embarrassed when she asks me if I'd like to try some on.  She does not tell me that they're women's shoes.  I make up some lie about dressing up for some masquerade, but I can tell she doesn't believe me.  But it's ok.  At least I know they'll fit me.  It doesn't bother me if a few key salespeople know!  I need to keep my wardrobe up to date, after all!

Two weeks.  How humiliating!  Everyone in the shoe store now knows what I'm doing.  Not only have I bought the skankiest strappy sandals and fuck-me boots in the store, but I tried them on!  And they even commented on the stockings I had on under my jeans!  I must keep this private!  Good thing I can't even walk in heels!

I look and feel like a dominatrix in the FMB's, and a club skank or even a hooker in the strappies!  Who knew that footwear could be so sexy?  I am so overwhelmingly feminine now!  There is absolutely no turning back now!  What more can I possibly do?!?

Three days.  I'm clomping around in the mall in women's fuck-me boots, just barely covered up by my jeans.  Everybody can see the three-inch heels, and the pointy toe.  I get funny looks from lots of people.  But I also have a huge boner, so I don't care.  It's not like I'm too obvious.

The saleslady wouldn't let me use the change room to try on the clothes I'd picked out.  She said it would be improper.  I can't believe I asked her to!  I wasn't thinking, I was too excited.  The little black dress will be so stunning on me, as will the blouse and miniskirt.  It's ok, I'm sure they'll fit me anyway.  If not, I'll just exchange them!

A week.  So I've now worn it all.  My makeup skills are getting pretty acceptable.  Nobody says anything about the cut of my jeans or shirts, even though they are for girls.  I am officially a total transvestite.  I haven't had the balls to go out in a dress or skirt, but I've come pretty close.  At least I do this because I love girls.  Hard to explain how this is all a result of extreme heterosexuality.

There is something about Andrew that makes my legs quiver.  I've only ever fantasized about this before.  In public I still can't help but stare at other girls, and get jealous about what they're wearing.  I'm not even wearing a dress, and I think he likes that.  He's so flaming gay!  But there's something erotic about him, about the way he carries himself. 

Two months.  What the hell is happening to me?  I can't stop thinking about Andrew!  It feels just like it felt when I met my ex-girlfriend!  I have a crush on a man!  I can't let it continue.  I have to avoid him.

I melted in his arms when he kissed me.  I knew what he really wanted.  I clutched at his cock.  Oh, how I've longed to have another man's cock in my hand!

A week.  I'm excited about what's happening.  Here I sit, wearing a little miniskirt and a halter top and strappy sandals, wondering how I became a fag.  I think of little more than cock now.  I fantasize about it rubbing against my butt cheeks, about how it must taste.  I want to rub cock all over my ultra-feminine body.  In a way, I wish I really did have a pussy; in another way, I'm extremely turned on by the idea that I'm a flaming faggot who wants a cock rammed up his tight little asshole.  How did I become so gay!  Why do I love it so much!

I have never come so much in my entire life.  My little prick is so sore from it that it hurts to pee.  I came twice with his cock in my mouth.  I didn't know how to swallow, but what came out of my mouth I spread on his cock and his chest and lapped it all up.  I came again when he merely touched my butt cheek with his knob.  I came again when he got in all the way, even though it hurt.  Just the thought of having a penis inside me made me come, let alone actually having it there.  His pumping made me howl like a she-wolf, and come at least twice more.  Then when I felt him pumping his semen deep inside me, I came again.  We tried a few different positions, with always the same result.  He's exhausted now.  So am I, but I want more, can you believe it?  And I just know that as fun as this is, it would be even better if I were a girll, and taking him in my cunt.

We've been a couple for about a month now.  He barely satisfies me.  He's not happy about me taking the hormones, either.  He's not pleased about me growing boobs to fit into my many brassieres, and he's certainly not happy about the prospect of me having a pussy.  Tough luck!