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.

Diary: Sissy Scoring System

I want to get scientific here for a moment.  I've discussed the possible scenarios when a man is presented with women's underwear, but I've never done it right.  I will rectify this shortly.  First, I want to enumerate the possible outcomes when a man becomes aroused by his own femininity.

First, he might ignore it, either by thinking of something else and masturbating to that, or by not masturbating at all.

Second, he might simply fail to fulfill it because of extenuating circumstances.  For example, he has no opportunity to masturbate before his passion abates.

Third, he succumbs to it in spirit, and masturbates naked or even in his own masculine clothes, reveling in pictures of his own womanhood.

Fourth, he fulfills his fantasy when he ejaculates clad in something girlish.

The first is a crime.  Inadmissible under any circumstance.  The second is unfortunate, but he gets points for having wanted to be a girl.  The third is charming, better than the second, but not quite good enough.  The fourth is the truest man of all.

Wait, there's something missing here: there are really more variables.  What happens to the poor sap who manages to slip into a bikini, but who doesn't get the chance to blow his load?  What if he does a whole fashion show with his girlfriend's wardrobe, fully intending to come in everything, but can only handle one or two outfits?  And none of this takes into account doing anything in public.

So we have 1 constant: the passion to make himself feminine, or desire; and 3 variables: physically ejaculating, or success; physically wearing women's garments (we won't get into point values for specific types here), or dressing; and publicly displaying his penchant for girlishness, or exhibition.  Thus the first scenario touches on only the constant; the second scores the same for lack of any action; the third scores points for success, and nothing more; the fourth achieves both success and dressing, and therefore wins.  However, the man who publicly dresses as a woman for the thrill of appeasing his femininity, must score equally well if he does not eventually find success in his effeminate state.  Also, points would certainly vary for the garments worn in each circumstance. 

Beautiful, no?

So now we can tally up a score for each incident of effemination.  The total score is what really counts, but the statistics are kept for the purpose of showing a balance of tendencies.  As in baseball, where a pitcher can win many games and strike out many batters, but also allow many runs; while another can lose constantly striking out as many batters, and allowing fewer runs.  The pitchers' totals may be the same, but they have slightly different profiles.  Likewise, someone who privately wears lingerie and comes every time might tally up the same number of points as someone who walks around in dresses in public, but never dares to masturbate en femme.

The tricky part of all this is assigning an arbitrary point value to specific types of garments.  There are endless varieties of women's clothes, and they all count for something.  But even different types of panties must necessarily score radically differently.  Surely a g-string is worth more than mother's total-coverage briefs!  The value should be awarded based on a comparison to exact artifacts of clothing, which have constant values associated with them.  The fit must also factor in (take tight over loose any time, but too small is no good either - ideally it should fit perfectly, as if you really could take on the shape of a woman).  For a start, we'll take a pair of plain white cotton bikini briefs always to be worth 100 points.  Add 10 points for lace trim.  Add 25 points for exotic colours.  Lose 15 points for silly, childish prints of teddy bears.  A matching brassiere is worth 100 bonus points.  So I award Bobbi over there the full 200 points for the matching cotton bra and panties, and give him another 15 for the lace in the bra.  Unfortunately, he loses 25 because they're not really bikini briefs, but regular briefs, and are slightly larger.  Candi, on the other hand, scores a massive 150 for his black satin bikini, and another 125 for a white satin brassiere; but he loses 50 points for the contrast.

Clearly, I need to establish the benchmarks in general categories.  I would need a minimum and maximum amount of points for a type, identify examples of the two extremes and the median, and specify point values for frills or problems.  This will take an awful lot of work.  Hopefully, I can backtrack and rank my own outfits and experiences.

It also occurs to me that success should have a bonus if it involves another person or persons.  Perhaps a points system similar to that for dressing is in order.  The starting number of points would be for simply coming.  More points for having someone masturbate you; more yet for sucking cock; still more for swallowing; etc.  Also, the length of time of dressing and the extent of exhibition should factor in: number of people who know, multiplying each article of clothing they know about, multiplied by points for time (1 for 0-15 mins, 2 for 15-60, 3 for 1-4 hours, etc.). 

Now we may return to our original problem: the scenarios when a man is confronted with women's underwear.

This time we can use our points system to accurately gauge the man's state of mind; only here desire is a variable, not a constant.  Thus a man who has never even noticed his feminine side would start at 0, while a man who had pondered it twice would have 2 points.  I would have thousands upon thousands.
Problem solved.  Now to the new problem: scoring.

Diary: Over-Analysis Matrix

I have another little insight to add about my loose structuralisation of transsexual fantasies.  It's very simple, but at the same time completely essential.  I can't believe I missed it.

There's several paragraphs just outlining the possibilities of my little fantasy up there.  There are many things which I didn't even consider at all.  I just made assumptions.  I could probably write hundreds of pages analysing each possible case.  But there is one thing which I somehow managed to overlook: the crucial moment in each of these cases, bar none, is the very first moment when the specimen is exposed to women's underwear.  That has to be the key.  So let's go through this again, not so much for clarification as for the cheap thrill it gives me:

These, first of all, are the possibilites I had up there:

1. have never even imagined wearing girls' clothes, much less done it.
2. have never worn women's clothes, but have guiltily and secretly fantasized about it on occasion.
3. have guiltily worn women's clothes on a bet, or as a quick little experiment, but never gone through with the full experience of wearing it for complete sexual gratification
4. have guiltily worn women's clothing secretly and ashamedly, for sexual gratification
5. have shamelessly worn girls' clothes for sexual fun in secret.
6. be a totally unashamed transvestite.

and these are the possible reactions:

1. I furiously refuse all attempts to get me to put them on, cajoling included.
2. I at first refuse, but after some cajoling agree to put them on
3. I put them on right away, no questions asked.

Now, consider them one by one.

Firstly, I have never even thought about wearing girls' underwear, much less done it.  Therefore, all of the possibilities for reactions are wide open.  How does the suggestion register in my mind?  Is it appealing, revolting, neither, or both?  I could certainly understanding it being both in most cases.  Perhaps some would truly find it revolting, although I can't understand why.  Perhaps some would find it truly appealing, but, even though I am one of those, I can't understand why.  The male ego would always kick in and resist, but there's always that feminine side which just needs to come out.  But once the idea has been presented, I can't see anyone really being indifferent.  But even so, the very suggestion has changed everything.  Before the actual act can even take place, it has to be imagined, or at least considered somehow.  Before this moment, the idea had never even occurred to the specimen; therefore, the specimen is already at 2) without even having done anything.

But that last sentence is a fallacy.  It is indeed possible that the specimen be completely indifferent to the prospect, and only converted to thinking about it sexually and obsessively after the initial contact with girls' clothing.  Look at me: I remember the circumstances of my first brush with femininity.  I must have been five years old.  It was in Kindergarten, and it was for the annual school show.  All of the Kindergarten kids were made to look like flowers.  This required all of us, boys included, to wear white tights.  So the suggestion of wearing girls' clothes came from outside, somehow.  I wonder if it always happens this way.  I was still very young, but I had already discovered masturbation, and fixated on girls when I did, although I had no idea why.  Anyway, I was there when Mom went to a store and asked if it was okay to buy tights and return them, because I was only going to wear them once.  It was, I think, Okay.  I was aware that I would be wearing girls' clothes, but I had no huge reaction to it.  I just knew that girls wore a certain type of clothes, and boys wore another.  The sexual idea had never crossed my mind.  When I discovered how it felt to wear those white tights, though, I became converted.  I had already learned to be secretive about my masturbating.  So I asked Mom and Dad if I could sleep with the tights on, instead of pyjamas.  They said no, of course, and put my tights back in my dresser.  I lay in bed a long time that night, imagining how wonderful it would feel to wear them again and masturbate.  I didn't but I sure wanted to.  After that, I don't know when I first dared to "borrow" pantihose, but it had dwelt on my mind ever since that night.  And I remember that all the boys in the class wore white tights.  We were all dressed like girls.  Funny, isn't it?

All that to say that it is possible to feel complete indifference to transvestism until the moment of contact.
So just think of specimen 1, who hasn't ever thought of dressing up in girls' underwear before.  The poor sucker would have no idea what he's getting into.  If he staunchly refuses, it's because the idea repulses him at first as an insult to his masculinity.  If he's indifferent about it, and gets talked into it, it's because he's confident enough in his masculinity to not really care that he's wearing girls' underwear.  If he slinks right into it, it can either be because he has rapidly jumped to 2, as the idea greatly and immediately appeals to him, or he does it out of open defiance of expectations of his masculinity, always confident that it will remain unscathed.  Or he could do it out of sheer curiosity, just to see what it's like, in which case, he falls more into this latter, or into case 2.

So case 2 has imagined wearing girls' panties before.  Even if the thoughts revolted him, he probably thought about it in sexual terms.  What would it do to my masculinity, he would think?  This is a stage that I can only sort of relate to.  I had worn women's clothes first, before I longed for them.  This one has never worn them.  So he doesn't know what it's like.  He can only guess.

So what does he guess?  He has none of the experience.  He probably would have an innate fear that doing it would instantly compromise his masculinity.  That fear, as discussed so many times before, would likely turn to intense curiosity.  The only thing I can think of that I can relate to is homosexuality: I have never experienced it, but I have fantasized about it on occasion.  The idea of sucking dick, or getting fucked up the ass, often creeps into my femininization sessions.  On this level, even, I am ashamed to admit it, ashamed to recognize the possibility.  But it turns me on nonetheless.  If given the chance, though, I would probably never do it.  It doesn't appeal to me enough.  Wearing girls' clothes, however, does.  So the question is, what would I do in a situation where I could have homosexual sex?  In exactly the same terms: a fag has me captured, just like in my other fantasy, and asks me at first to bend over, or to suck his dick.  I really think that I would refuse.  In which case he would rape me anyway.  A part of me wants to say that I would jump at the chance, just out of curiosity.  It does appeal to me that way.  Who knows? I figure, I might really enjoy it.  It might be the ultimate sexual experience of my life.  Why not try it?  All this, I guess, would go through case 2's mind.  

And then there's case 3.  This one would have worn girls' clothes before, but never have had the total experience.  He would be just like I was after having worn the white tights in Kindergarten: longing for women's clothing, but never daring to do it, for the sheer fear of it.  But I'm sure that before I dared to wear girls' clothes again, I fantasized about it, and only about it.  I didn't fantasize about fucking at all: I always imagined that I was being captured by the beautiful girls, and taken away to a place where I would have to become like them.  I would have to wear their clothes.  At first, of course, I would resist, but then I would discover the intense pleasure of it all.  So here's case 3, given an opportunity to act out his secret wish.  What would he do?  This is the ultimate moment, I think.  The mindset is exactly like mine was.  That first time was quite exquisite, even though I did it protected with my own underwear.  I didn't dare go all the way.  But that eventually changed.  I thought of it as purging myself of my feminine demons.  But it only got worse.  It only made me want to do it more and more and more, and with less and less protection.  So case 3 would most likely be so relieved to fianlly do it, that he would be the most willing participant of all.

But this raises a few questions about 1 and 2.  1 would be completely new to the experience, and would probably not enjoy it quite as much.  But look at the way I felt when I first wore those tights!  I didn't want to take them off!  1 would be the same way, I think.  It would be so new to him.  2 would probably be shocked to learn that the thing he wanted to do was so wonderful.  3 would have suspected it all along.

Now 4 is a different story altogether.  He would be like me a couple of years ago: guilty of his frequent sins.  So all of this would be completely irrelevant to him, in a way, because he already has given in to that first moment.  That's what this is all about: the first moment.  It's a chance to imagine the impact that this stuff could have had on me at various stages.  4 would no doubt have refused to give in.  He's ashamed of himself.  This would be an exercise in accepting his femininity.  5 would just be an opportunity to accept it publicly.  6 hardly needs any comment.  I don't know what that's doing there.

It all rests on the possibilities of a sexual shock.  It gets less and less extreme as one goes down the list.  That's where the fantasizing lies: in figuring just how shocking it might have been.

So here are the three scenarios.  I'm finding it very difficult to explain how this can be so incredibly arousing.  But it's incredible.  I think it goes back to my idea of the potency of women's underwear, and the heirarchy.  I used to imagine that I had to pass through certain stages before I could move on to the next.  I would have to do pantihose a certain number of times before I could move on to bathing suits (dare I even imagine!)

That's the incredible thing.  I was intensely aroused by pantihose.  What if I had started out, my very first time, with some kind of lingerie?  As a grown man, yet?  Imagine the shock to my sexuality.  Delicious, I must say.  The lucky sap gets to skip the whole thing and go right to the top of the heap.  It would be so incredible that he would completely go insane with pleasure.  I would have gone insane with pleasure.  Just to think of the big step I imagined with bathing suits!  They were so sexy, because they are form fitting and tight and skimpy on the crotch, right where the focus is.  And then the big step to bikinis, which are even skimpier, and that much more heavenly for it.  And then the not so big step to panties, which are the ultimate, because they are so skimpy, and they are so much the bare essentials.  No girl would go without panties.  So panties would be by far the ultimate sensation.  I can't even imagine a first time in panties.  It's just too intense.

But also imagine how incredible it could be for the guy who had thought about the sexual possibilities, and going all the way from the very get-go.  Same thing.  Oh, I have to go.  I feel like wearing a bathing suit tonight. . .

Fiction: Everybody Else is Doing it

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"There, there," I said, smoothly.

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

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

"What's wrong?  Where are you going?"

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

"Please don't leave me."

"I really must go."

"Please?  I need you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I cowered in fear at this serious threat.  "She was going to kill me.  She was going berserk because I was leaving and she pulled the gun on me.  I wrestled it away from her and it went off by accident, and--"

"BULLSHIT!" she screamed, and boxed me across the head.  "She was going to keep you all to herself, eh?  Not gonna happen!"  She bent over and whispered salaciously in my ear: "I've got you now, sugar.  All to myself.  I can keep you here in this prison for a long time, and nobody can touch you except me.  And oh, am I gonna touch you."  She grabbed my dick, and started stroking it.  Then she threw me down on the ground and fucked me.

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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