I now own a little black dress.
On a whim, and needing some fishnet stockings, I ended up getting this slinky black vinyl minidress. It’s ludicrously feminine. It’s so fabulously tight, and short. It makes me feel ridiculously sexy. It’s also strangely mundane. I wore it outside on the patio, bathed in its stark, inescapable light, exposed for all to see.
I still long to be with a girl. But this is almost as good. I get such a big kick out of being around sexy girl stuff. And fantasizing about wearing it and becoming a girl in it.
Oh my God! I can’t believe I’m actually wearing a dress! It’s so astoundingly sexy! I’m sashaying around the house in it, loving the way it clings to my skin. I am experiencing a sensation that no man should ever be allowed. I’m wearing a lace thong and matching garter belt, holding up my new fishnet stockings. All I need now is shoes.
Diary: Shopping List and Epiphany
I am contemplating some new purchases and experiences, while simultaneously struggling with a recent epiphany.
I have recently discovered that girls find me attractive, especially since I slightly modified my appearance when I moved to California. This realization, and my quick little tryst with N__, have clarified something for me which I have never been able to reconcile before: I wear women’s clothes because I need something feminine in my life. It’s really as simple as that. I desperately want there to be a girl in my house, who surrounds herself with girlish things, and who displays all the physical and behavioural aspects of womanhood. I would probably settle for having a girl in my presence as often as possible. I have found myself talking to girls in airports, and hanging around with them at parties, not because I feel any pressure to be with them, but because I crave their proximity. Of course, in the absence of girls, I must make do with what’s available. Being a solitary type of person, this more often than not means that I must rely on women’s clothes if I can’t have women themselves; and I might as well make myself my own feminine company if I can’t find any genuine women.
It all makes sense now. I am obsessed with femininity, as I should be. It is only my shyness and loneliness that make me want to be feminine myself. I routinely imagine how much fun it would be to have a girl around, in all her pretty girlie things. I wouldn’t have to wear them myself (although I know I’d be tempted) but it would be so much fun to be around such absolute girlhood. Girl girl girl girl girl girl girrrrrrl. I love them! I worship them!
So now I struggle again with my impulse to make myself more feminine. I love making myself feminine. I love pretending to be a girl. I love being as girlish as I can be. I love striving to become a girl. I love abandoning my manhood completely so I can enjoy girlishness in all its glory. It’s so much more controllable. There is no complexity in being alone. I don’t need to worry about satisfying anyone but myself. But I can’t ever have real actual genuine girlishness by myself: I can only simulate it at best, even if I go as far as taking hormones and getting a sex change. There is a charm to me in going that far, just because it shows a true dedication, an utter capitulation, to femininity. Meanwhile, I am still too chickenshit to ever publicly reveal my own feminine side, much less make myself feminine in any way that might be noticeable to anyone.
This is where I start pondering some of the things I’d like to do in the near future. For starters, I need to improve my wardrobe. I need a few key items to make myself truly a closet sissy. Namely, I need some black fishnet stockings, off-white silk or satin bikini panties with a matching bra, a pair of two-inch sandals, and tight silk or satin nightgown, and a mini-dress of some sort. However, I am constantly fantasizing about more swimsuits, much more than lingerie. For some reason, even though I own three bikinis and two one-piece swimsuits, I want more. I can’t get enough! There’s something about swimwear that makes me crazy. As much as I’d love being in public dressed like a girl, there’d be nothing more electrifying than doing so at the beach, in swimwear! The thought fills me with sexual energy. But I must resist the urge to get more swimsuits until I satisfy my need for the garments named above. I could always use more panties and bras, too.
Another thing that I need is a dildo. This dildo must be unmistakably penis-shaped. I don’t care about the colour or whether or not it vibrates; I just want to have something as similar to a real cock inside me at times. I want to feel it wiggling inside me, pumping in and out. I’ve even been fantasizing about the real thing! I’d love to secretly slip away into the night, make myself into a girl, and seduce some homo pervert who likes she-males. I want to know what it’s like to suck cock, and to have a guy pumping me in the ass like I’m a girl. I fantasize about somehow meeting somebody at the lingerie store when I go buy my things, and experimenting with some casual faggot sex. Yes, I want to get fucked like a girl! I want to have sex with men!
Now I wonder if I’ll ever have the nerve to try it. I doubt I’ll ever even show anybody my fetish in action, much less suck cock.
I have recently discovered that girls find me attractive, especially since I slightly modified my appearance when I moved to California. This realization, and my quick little tryst with N__, have clarified something for me which I have never been able to reconcile before: I wear women’s clothes because I need something feminine in my life. It’s really as simple as that. I desperately want there to be a girl in my house, who surrounds herself with girlish things, and who displays all the physical and behavioural aspects of womanhood. I would probably settle for having a girl in my presence as often as possible. I have found myself talking to girls in airports, and hanging around with them at parties, not because I feel any pressure to be with them, but because I crave their proximity. Of course, in the absence of girls, I must make do with what’s available. Being a solitary type of person, this more often than not means that I must rely on women’s clothes if I can’t have women themselves; and I might as well make myself my own feminine company if I can’t find any genuine women.
It all makes sense now. I am obsessed with femininity, as I should be. It is only my shyness and loneliness that make me want to be feminine myself. I routinely imagine how much fun it would be to have a girl around, in all her pretty girlie things. I wouldn’t have to wear them myself (although I know I’d be tempted) but it would be so much fun to be around such absolute girlhood. Girl girl girl girl girl girl girrrrrrl. I love them! I worship them!
So now I struggle again with my impulse to make myself more feminine. I love making myself feminine. I love pretending to be a girl. I love being as girlish as I can be. I love striving to become a girl. I love abandoning my manhood completely so I can enjoy girlishness in all its glory. It’s so much more controllable. There is no complexity in being alone. I don’t need to worry about satisfying anyone but myself. But I can’t ever have real actual genuine girlishness by myself: I can only simulate it at best, even if I go as far as taking hormones and getting a sex change. There is a charm to me in going that far, just because it shows a true dedication, an utter capitulation, to femininity. Meanwhile, I am still too chickenshit to ever publicly reveal my own feminine side, much less make myself feminine in any way that might be noticeable to anyone.
This is where I start pondering some of the things I’d like to do in the near future. For starters, I need to improve my wardrobe. I need a few key items to make myself truly a closet sissy. Namely, I need some black fishnet stockings, off-white silk or satin bikini panties with a matching bra, a pair of two-inch sandals, and tight silk or satin nightgown, and a mini-dress of some sort. However, I am constantly fantasizing about more swimsuits, much more than lingerie. For some reason, even though I own three bikinis and two one-piece swimsuits, I want more. I can’t get enough! There’s something about swimwear that makes me crazy. As much as I’d love being in public dressed like a girl, there’d be nothing more electrifying than doing so at the beach, in swimwear! The thought fills me with sexual energy. But I must resist the urge to get more swimsuits until I satisfy my need for the garments named above. I could always use more panties and bras, too.
Another thing that I need is a dildo. This dildo must be unmistakably penis-shaped. I don’t care about the colour or whether or not it vibrates; I just want to have something as similar to a real cock inside me at times. I want to feel it wiggling inside me, pumping in and out. I’ve even been fantasizing about the real thing! I’d love to secretly slip away into the night, make myself into a girl, and seduce some homo pervert who likes she-males. I want to know what it’s like to suck cock, and to have a guy pumping me in the ass like I’m a girl. I fantasize about somehow meeting somebody at the lingerie store when I go buy my things, and experimenting with some casual faggot sex. Yes, I want to get fucked like a girl! I want to have sex with men!
Now I wonder if I’ll ever have the nerve to try it. I doubt I’ll ever even show anybody my fetish in action, much less suck cock.
Diary: Re-Over-Thinking the Massive Forced Feminization Saga
I think I’ve got the right spin on the mega-story now.
Clearly, it’s too cold now as it stands. I am missing the accusatory aspect, and I am also missing the element of decision. It seems that far too many of my candidates are much too willing, and have very little surprise in store. Also, the first grade courses are far too general. I think now that all our candidates must begin in Grade 1, and move through the ranks accordingly.
Most importantly, I have isolated what I think is the key turning point in a man’s thought on his way to becoming a woman. The programme must therefore change its focus slightly, and become more covert about its ultimate goal. The only thing left is finding a reason for all these men to be in this situation. All I can think of is prison, and a psycho-social experiment that they each volunteer to participate in to reduce their jail time – or perhaps an alternative sentence. They can have no idea what the end goal is, but they are all carefully screened and enlisted in the scientific way I have described above.
Thus the course begins as an exercise in defining female beauty. All of the men are asked to scour girlie magazines, the internet, or anything at all to find materials upon which to base their study. They all participate with great enthusiasm to this initial exercise, without knowing the ulterior motive: each man will be subtly encouraged to emulate his paragon of femininity. It’s a twist on the story of the man who so admired Elle MacPherson’s beauty that he moulded himself in her image. Here we will have 125 men all choosing an ideal, and finally becoming it.
Grade 1’s goal therefore changes, although the rating system remains intact. Rather than embarking on some poorly defined, vaguely feminist quest for sympathy for women, first graders will establish their own explicit model of femininity, and begin to worship it. When they exhibit evidence of having grasped the idea that their servility to it proves its potency as a controlling influence on not only them, but all men, they graduate to Grade 2. In other words, when they admit that girls rule, they move on.
This becomes the seed for the rest of the course. They will go on to learn the same things originally scheduled for Grade 2, but in the same ulterior context as Grade 1. This time, they will focus heavily on all the aspects of their ideals that make them so powerful. They will not necessarily explore any reason to explain how it affects them so much, but will focus only on identifying and admiring in close detail the exact characteristics of femininity that drive them so crazy. Inevitably, this will lead to curves, textures, and clothing.
Grade 2 will also be far more maddening, as each participant will be teamed up with an outrageously gorgeous woman who closely matches his ideal. This woman will actually live in the same cell, and will possess an entire wardrobe of insanely sexy undergarments and evening wear. The men will continue to wear their prison jumpsuits, but must watch helpless as a living paragon of womanhood dresses and undresses before them, and provides flesh and blood work materials with which to enrich classroom discussions.
The beauty of this approach is the new method for grading. No longer will each participant be required to use his newly acquired knowledge of women’s wear to somehow plan a shopping trip for his own feminine wardrobe – an impossible event to justify both in terms of character development and plausibility – but he will now be monitored closely for any signs that he wants to wield the power that he worships. To graduate to Grade 3, each man must voluntarily put on an article of his cellmate’s clothing for the purpose of making himself feminine. It is entirely up to each man to show when he wants to graduate. Of course, he will invariably do it in secret, so he will be monitored without his knowledge. The moment of graduation will be his first willing and independent foray into his cellmate’s wardrobe, secret or not. This will signify that he has chosen to at least experiment with becoming feminine. He will be allowed, in some cases, to experiment for some time before his cellmate confronts him. That moment will be his graduation.
Imagine the many scenarios: Cellmate barges in on him while he preens in her garter belt and stockings; Cellmate confronts him about stains on belly of her bathing suit, and browbeats him into admitting his crime in a Cinderella-like scenario where he must try it on to prove the innocence he proclaims; he is forced to wear Cellmate’s clothes against his will, because he just doesn’t get it, and he resists bitterly until he realizes how kinky it is and how desperately he looks forward to it, at which point he begins experimenting on his own; man shamelessly asks cellmate to borrow her clothes, and parades around in front of her in them. The best part is that it varies wildly depending on the rating of each man! There’s a different story for each one, and each one must ultimately show how a participant chooses to effeminate himself.
The cellmate must cajole her candidate after catching him flagrantly in the act. She can be angry, supportive, indifferent, embarrassed, or any combination thereof, as long as she understands that the goal is to grant him some portion of her wardrobe for his secret pleasure. She must promise him to keep his secret, yet allow him to continue his exploration of femininity. This can go on for an extended period of time. The candidate only graduates when he deliberately and without coercion reveals his femininity in public.
Public femininity must, of course, have severe consequences. Grade 4 students will have their entire wardrobes permanently replaced with those of their female cellmates. Whether they are comfortable in their new clothes or not makes no difference. They have already chosen, and must now actively pursue feminine roles, in public. Since the original plot had participants either buying their own wardrobes or somehow being granted them, it missed the opportunity to expound on the discovery of new ways to become feminine. Now, each man makes the choice, on his own, to pursue womanhood. Because his choice involves the clothes of his avatar cellmate goddess, who wears only the things that drive him most crazy, she relinquishes her wardrobe to him at the moment of his graduation. From then on, the only clothes he can wear are hers. He has her entire collection at his disposal, but nothing the least bit masculine to fall back on. Best of all, her entire collection was chosen by him to highlight her femininity in Grade 2. This must be presented to him as both reward and punishment: his indiscretion must bring him acute humiliation; but the punishment also satisfies his wildest desire for feminine power. He can take this in as many ways as there are participants. He can either take full advantage of his luck and make himself as pretty and girlish as he can, or he can resist and go naked until he succumbs again and gradually gives in.
Having admitted that girls rule, and that femininity is the most powerful force on earth, each man gradually learns how to wield that power. This is a finishing school for sissies. Graduation occurs when our participant actually uses his feminine powers to seduce a real man, and suck his cock and get fucked in the ass by him.
The fifth and final grade consists of a reminder of one’s innate masculinity, and how far removed each candidate is now that he wears nothing but lingerie and miniskirts, and sucks cock for fun. He is reminded of his subservience to womanhood, and that the power of girls is such that he has attempted to transform himself wholly into one. He is mocked and humiliated. But it’s only a test. He is hereby led to becoming ultimately female, by exploring options in plastic surgery and hormone therapy. Again, he must choose his lot. I can mostly imagine the reluctant ones unable to resist using their feminine powers, even as they refuse to take the extreme measures required to become completely female, until they finally give in. Again, 125 candidates, 125 scenarios.
This new scenario has far fewer holes in it. Now each man must make four excruciating choices before becoming a woman. Each moment of choice should be enough to make it exciting. Also, the whole story becomes more plausible, and therefore more sexy.
Clearly, it’s too cold now as it stands. I am missing the accusatory aspect, and I am also missing the element of decision. It seems that far too many of my candidates are much too willing, and have very little surprise in store. Also, the first grade courses are far too general. I think now that all our candidates must begin in Grade 1, and move through the ranks accordingly.
Most importantly, I have isolated what I think is the key turning point in a man’s thought on his way to becoming a woman. The programme must therefore change its focus slightly, and become more covert about its ultimate goal. The only thing left is finding a reason for all these men to be in this situation. All I can think of is prison, and a psycho-social experiment that they each volunteer to participate in to reduce their jail time – or perhaps an alternative sentence. They can have no idea what the end goal is, but they are all carefully screened and enlisted in the scientific way I have described above.
Thus the course begins as an exercise in defining female beauty. All of the men are asked to scour girlie magazines, the internet, or anything at all to find materials upon which to base their study. They all participate with great enthusiasm to this initial exercise, without knowing the ulterior motive: each man will be subtly encouraged to emulate his paragon of femininity. It’s a twist on the story of the man who so admired Elle MacPherson’s beauty that he moulded himself in her image. Here we will have 125 men all choosing an ideal, and finally becoming it.
Grade 1’s goal therefore changes, although the rating system remains intact. Rather than embarking on some poorly defined, vaguely feminist quest for sympathy for women, first graders will establish their own explicit model of femininity, and begin to worship it. When they exhibit evidence of having grasped the idea that their servility to it proves its potency as a controlling influence on not only them, but all men, they graduate to Grade 2. In other words, when they admit that girls rule, they move on.
This becomes the seed for the rest of the course. They will go on to learn the same things originally scheduled for Grade 2, but in the same ulterior context as Grade 1. This time, they will focus heavily on all the aspects of their ideals that make them so powerful. They will not necessarily explore any reason to explain how it affects them so much, but will focus only on identifying and admiring in close detail the exact characteristics of femininity that drive them so crazy. Inevitably, this will lead to curves, textures, and clothing.
Grade 2 will also be far more maddening, as each participant will be teamed up with an outrageously gorgeous woman who closely matches his ideal. This woman will actually live in the same cell, and will possess an entire wardrobe of insanely sexy undergarments and evening wear. The men will continue to wear their prison jumpsuits, but must watch helpless as a living paragon of womanhood dresses and undresses before them, and provides flesh and blood work materials with which to enrich classroom discussions.
The beauty of this approach is the new method for grading. No longer will each participant be required to use his newly acquired knowledge of women’s wear to somehow plan a shopping trip for his own feminine wardrobe – an impossible event to justify both in terms of character development and plausibility – but he will now be monitored closely for any signs that he wants to wield the power that he worships. To graduate to Grade 3, each man must voluntarily put on an article of his cellmate’s clothing for the purpose of making himself feminine. It is entirely up to each man to show when he wants to graduate. Of course, he will invariably do it in secret, so he will be monitored without his knowledge. The moment of graduation will be his first willing and independent foray into his cellmate’s wardrobe, secret or not. This will signify that he has chosen to at least experiment with becoming feminine. He will be allowed, in some cases, to experiment for some time before his cellmate confronts him. That moment will be his graduation.
Imagine the many scenarios: Cellmate barges in on him while he preens in her garter belt and stockings; Cellmate confronts him about stains on belly of her bathing suit, and browbeats him into admitting his crime in a Cinderella-like scenario where he must try it on to prove the innocence he proclaims; he is forced to wear Cellmate’s clothes against his will, because he just doesn’t get it, and he resists bitterly until he realizes how kinky it is and how desperately he looks forward to it, at which point he begins experimenting on his own; man shamelessly asks cellmate to borrow her clothes, and parades around in front of her in them. The best part is that it varies wildly depending on the rating of each man! There’s a different story for each one, and each one must ultimately show how a participant chooses to effeminate himself.
The cellmate must cajole her candidate after catching him flagrantly in the act. She can be angry, supportive, indifferent, embarrassed, or any combination thereof, as long as she understands that the goal is to grant him some portion of her wardrobe for his secret pleasure. She must promise him to keep his secret, yet allow him to continue his exploration of femininity. This can go on for an extended period of time. The candidate only graduates when he deliberately and without coercion reveals his femininity in public.
Public femininity must, of course, have severe consequences. Grade 4 students will have their entire wardrobes permanently replaced with those of their female cellmates. Whether they are comfortable in their new clothes or not makes no difference. They have already chosen, and must now actively pursue feminine roles, in public. Since the original plot had participants either buying their own wardrobes or somehow being granted them, it missed the opportunity to expound on the discovery of new ways to become feminine. Now, each man makes the choice, on his own, to pursue womanhood. Because his choice involves the clothes of his avatar cellmate goddess, who wears only the things that drive him most crazy, she relinquishes her wardrobe to him at the moment of his graduation. From then on, the only clothes he can wear are hers. He has her entire collection at his disposal, but nothing the least bit masculine to fall back on. Best of all, her entire collection was chosen by him to highlight her femininity in Grade 2. This must be presented to him as both reward and punishment: his indiscretion must bring him acute humiliation; but the punishment also satisfies his wildest desire for feminine power. He can take this in as many ways as there are participants. He can either take full advantage of his luck and make himself as pretty and girlish as he can, or he can resist and go naked until he succumbs again and gradually gives in.
Having admitted that girls rule, and that femininity is the most powerful force on earth, each man gradually learns how to wield that power. This is a finishing school for sissies. Graduation occurs when our participant actually uses his feminine powers to seduce a real man, and suck his cock and get fucked in the ass by him.
The fifth and final grade consists of a reminder of one’s innate masculinity, and how far removed each candidate is now that he wears nothing but lingerie and miniskirts, and sucks cock for fun. He is reminded of his subservience to womanhood, and that the power of girls is such that he has attempted to transform himself wholly into one. He is mocked and humiliated. But it’s only a test. He is hereby led to becoming ultimately female, by exploring options in plastic surgery and hormone therapy. Again, he must choose his lot. I can mostly imagine the reluctant ones unable to resist using their feminine powers, even as they refuse to take the extreme measures required to become completely female, until they finally give in. Again, 125 candidates, 125 scenarios.
This new scenario has far fewer holes in it. Now each man must make four excruciating choices before becoming a woman. Each moment of choice should be enough to make it exciting. Also, the whole story becomes more plausible, and therefore more sexy.
Diary: Forced to Choose
Once more, I explore.
I have been thinking about my slow evolution, and it doesn’t come across at all in my previous entry. I’m trying to remember when and how I first gave in to temptation and willfully put on a pair of pantyhose, but it’s too distant. I know for sure that I had no idea what the consequences were. Well, I did, and they fed my fantasies, but I could never bear to think of it for too long.
I need to evolve my story better. But I just don’t know how. How can I present my innocent young mind’s train of thought when I know so much more than I did then? I need to involve other characters to keep it sensible, to keep track of my differing opinions.
One other thing: I’ve been thinking of the point of accusation, the point of decision. I have never totally been there myself yet, but it approaches more and more with every incident. Imagine being forced to decide, on the spot, which gender to be? Imagine being offered the perfect opportunity to explore femininity to its fullest, that is, to its most final form. All you have to do is accept; after that, there’s no turning back. You must immediately abandon all masculine possessions, or feminize them; you must tell your family in person, en femme, about your decision; you must tell your friends as well. But none of that needs to be immediate: you are allowed to ease into it, in private, under an expert’s supervision.
Or, in a different scenario, imagine the mega-story candidates. Each is asked, at various points, just how committed he is to becoming a girl. At some point, he must tell his prudish friends, “sorry guys, but I really do want to be a girl now.” They’ll chastise him, call him a fag traitor homo bitch. But he will confidently respond that they’re absolutely right, and that he’s proud of it. They will remind him that it means losing his balls, losing his manhood; to which he will respond that he’s looking forward to it.
I have been thinking about my slow evolution, and it doesn’t come across at all in my previous entry. I’m trying to remember when and how I first gave in to temptation and willfully put on a pair of pantyhose, but it’s too distant. I know for sure that I had no idea what the consequences were. Well, I did, and they fed my fantasies, but I could never bear to think of it for too long.
I need to evolve my story better. But I just don’t know how. How can I present my innocent young mind’s train of thought when I know so much more than I did then? I need to involve other characters to keep it sensible, to keep track of my differing opinions.
One other thing: I’ve been thinking of the point of accusation, the point of decision. I have never totally been there myself yet, but it approaches more and more with every incident. Imagine being forced to decide, on the spot, which gender to be? Imagine being offered the perfect opportunity to explore femininity to its fullest, that is, to its most final form. All you have to do is accept; after that, there’s no turning back. You must immediately abandon all masculine possessions, or feminize them; you must tell your family in person, en femme, about your decision; you must tell your friends as well. But none of that needs to be immediate: you are allowed to ease into it, in private, under an expert’s supervision.
Or, in a different scenario, imagine the mega-story candidates. Each is asked, at various points, just how committed he is to becoming a girl. At some point, he must tell his prudish friends, “sorry guys, but I really do want to be a girl now.” They’ll chastise him, call him a fag traitor homo bitch. But he will confidently respond that they’re absolutely right, and that he’s proud of it. They will remind him that it means losing his balls, losing his manhood; to which he will respond that he’s looking forward to it.
Fiction: Feminization School, Part 2
I was fascinated by everything the incredibly sexy teacher was saying. My tutor has a perfect body to explore women’s clothes in. She’s like a store mannequin, only living, and moving, and warm, and soft. I am fascinated by her clothes, and how they accentuate her figure, draw attention to feminine traits that drive me apoplectic with desire. I never knew how complicated it was for women to shave their legs.
They say they’re turning me, and all my classmates, into girls. I’ve never thought about being a girl before. I guess it can’t be all bad. I mean, look at them! It must be a blast to be so feminine, so sexy. I’ve been told that I’m very masculine, but I never really understood it. I suppose I just take it for granted. If I were a girl, I definitely would take every advantage of it. I don’t know how they expect us to turn into girls. I am so completely turned on by the women here that I can’t imagine ever being one of them. I think it’s all a scare tactic to make us better men, but we’ll see.
They have started us all out with a pair of lacy panties. We’re supposed to know enough from our lessons to buy ourselves a complete female wardrobe. They’re generous enough to start us off with some complimentary underwear.
I am fascinated by the shape of these panties, and how they contour the most delicious curves of a woman’s body. They are so pretty, and so damn cool. I can’t believe that I get to wear them myself. Some of the guys are objecting pretty strenuously, but I don’t mind. I’m very curious about them. I’d love to know what it feels like to wear them.
I look ridiculous in them, but it’s quite a different sensation. I can feel how different the crotch is, how it wants to caress only the very bottom of my crotch. I like how they’re so delicate. I love the daintiness of them. They feel so cool. But I don’t want to get too used to them. No matter what they do to me, I’ll always be a man.
I can only imagine what it must feel like to wear a garter belt and stockings. And a bra. How about a one-piece swimsuit? That must feel so weird, so unlike anything I’ve ever worn. And it’s so unmistakably feminine.
I am beginning to imagine how these panties of mine are molding my body into a female shape. I kinda like the idea. A lot. I’m a bit shy about it right now. I never expected to enjoy this so much. I can’t wait to buy my wardrobe.
I have bought the sexiest clothes I could imagine. The whole time I thought about how hot my tutor would look in them, and how cool it would be to find out what it’s like to wear them myself. I’m really looking forward to wearing my string bikini. I love the ties on the side. It’s just so damn sexy. I can’t imagine how wearing it will affect me.
I can’t believe how much fun it is to dress like a girl. At first, I wanted to keep it experimental. I wanted to maintain, at the outset at least, some article of masculinity throughout to keep me from going too deep. But I can’t help myself! When I put on my panties, I want to go further and further. I get so aroused just thinking about how much fun it all is, and how completely wrong it is. There’s no way I should be enjoying this. I know that it’s turning me into less of a man, but for some reason, I don’t care! At the time that I wear it, I want to be a girl. I love the idea that every time I wear something feminine, it makes me more and more feminine myself. All I can think of is how becoming a girl would make me that much sexier in my panties. Or do I love wearing them because they make me sexier and more feminine? I don’t know what comes first. All I know is that it’s incredibly cool, and it makes me feel so amazing.
A lot of the other guys are grumbling about me because I seem to be enjoying this so much. They’re calling me a faggot, and a traitor, and all sorts of nasty things. I hate when they say that, because I’m not any of those things. I tell them that it’s really just harmless fun, and that they’d enjoy it too if they just let go of their inhibitions. Then they show me even less respect. Too bad for them. I’m looking forward now to our first sanctioned swimsuit sessions.
I am really loving my new wardrobe! I feel so sexy now, and so confident! I’m beginning to notice all sorts of changes in me, things that would once have made me incredibly uncomfortable. Things that I would have repressed in utter shame. I was horribly shocked to discover that I look at my tutor differently now. I used to want to fuck her so badly, but now I just want to be her. I look at her cute little ass and think to myself that I want mine to look just like it. I want to share clothes with her, because I think her clothes are far cooler than mine. She looks stunning in everything, and rather than want to strip them off her and have my way with her, I want to trade so I can prance around just like her. Worse, I’ve begun to think about where else this is leading. I have fantasized about doing things with boys. These clothes are also starting to make me walk and talk like a girl. It makes me feel so much sexier when I do that! I’m wearing only girls’ clothes now. I have abandoned all ties to my male clothes. I was giddy with excitement when I threw away my last gitch. I felt so free, and so naughty too. I snickered seductively at the other boys in my class who aren’t doing quite as well.
I have passed on to the next grade now, with flying colors. This means I’m well on my way to becoming a girl, according to the teachers. This put my situation in a little more context. I am so scared now. What have I done? I threw away my male clothes! I’m wearing nothing but silk, satin and lace underwear! I wear makeup and shave all my body hair! I wear little short dresses and miniskirts! Only a couple of months ago, I was a ladies’ man, totally masculine. Now they’re telling me I’m more than halfway to being female! Somehow, I’m ashamed and frightened. I have abandoned my manhood, and betrayed all the men who were convinced that we could hold out and break free of our captors. I have instead collaborated with them, and made myself in their image. But at the same time, I’m mischievously happy, and flattered about my progress; I’m glad I left those louts behind. In fact, sometimes I get horny thinking about how I can contribute to their inevitable feminization. I feel unbelievably sexy.
It’s true. I have gone past the point of no return. I don’t even remember what it’s like to be masculine anymore. I’m going to be a girl! And I love the idea! I can’t wait to start my hormone treatment and get nice and shapely, like a girl should be. But there’s something I need to do first.
To pass on to grade 5, where I can start taking hormones, I need to fuck a boy. That means I have to be feminine and seductive enough to get a boy to fuck me. And I think I can do it. I’m masturbating by shoving a dildo in my ass. It’s shockingly easy to get it up there when I want to. I’m getting hot imagining a real dick inside me, just like a girl. And for good measure, I want to taste his come. I am such a faggot! I love it!
So finally I’ve gotten laid. It was phenomenal, far better than any sex I ever had with a girl. I felt so female, so sexy, so wonderful. It’s so naughty of me to have done that, but that’s why it’s so fun. I’m a boy who dresses like a girl, acts like a girl, and fucks like a girl. And I love it! I can’t wait to be completely female!
I’m so nervous. I’m fucking boys like a little slut now. It’s part of my routine. I love getting laid this way. I love getting a dick inside me. But it’s time for me to start taking hormones. Once I start, there’s no turning back. I’m still physically as much a man as I ever was. All I have to do is say the word, and I can go back to what I was. Or I can remain like this, which really isn’t bad at all. It’s incredibly fun being this feminine, knowing that everyone knows I’m really a man. I love the idea of turning other men into shemales like me. But I want more! I want to have a true female shape. The thought of becoming truly female turns me on even more. I will take the hormones without a moment’s hesitation.
It’s been almost a year, and my breasts have filled in nicely. I don’t need to fill up my bra anymore, and I finally have that gorgeous hourglass figure I’ve craved for so long. All my parts are softening up as they should. I look exactly like a girl now, except for one last feature. It has come to this, and I am ready. Bring on the surgeon.
I am a girl now. No more unsightly useless bulge in my panties. Now I truly look sexy and feminine in my panties. Off to tutor the new recruits.
They say they’re turning me, and all my classmates, into girls. I’ve never thought about being a girl before. I guess it can’t be all bad. I mean, look at them! It must be a blast to be so feminine, so sexy. I’ve been told that I’m very masculine, but I never really understood it. I suppose I just take it for granted. If I were a girl, I definitely would take every advantage of it. I don’t know how they expect us to turn into girls. I am so completely turned on by the women here that I can’t imagine ever being one of them. I think it’s all a scare tactic to make us better men, but we’ll see.
They have started us all out with a pair of lacy panties. We’re supposed to know enough from our lessons to buy ourselves a complete female wardrobe. They’re generous enough to start us off with some complimentary underwear.
I am fascinated by the shape of these panties, and how they contour the most delicious curves of a woman’s body. They are so pretty, and so damn cool. I can’t believe that I get to wear them myself. Some of the guys are objecting pretty strenuously, but I don’t mind. I’m very curious about them. I’d love to know what it feels like to wear them.
I look ridiculous in them, but it’s quite a different sensation. I can feel how different the crotch is, how it wants to caress only the very bottom of my crotch. I like how they’re so delicate. I love the daintiness of them. They feel so cool. But I don’t want to get too used to them. No matter what they do to me, I’ll always be a man.
I can only imagine what it must feel like to wear a garter belt and stockings. And a bra. How about a one-piece swimsuit? That must feel so weird, so unlike anything I’ve ever worn. And it’s so unmistakably feminine.
I am beginning to imagine how these panties of mine are molding my body into a female shape. I kinda like the idea. A lot. I’m a bit shy about it right now. I never expected to enjoy this so much. I can’t wait to buy my wardrobe.
I have bought the sexiest clothes I could imagine. The whole time I thought about how hot my tutor would look in them, and how cool it would be to find out what it’s like to wear them myself. I’m really looking forward to wearing my string bikini. I love the ties on the side. It’s just so damn sexy. I can’t imagine how wearing it will affect me.
I can’t believe how much fun it is to dress like a girl. At first, I wanted to keep it experimental. I wanted to maintain, at the outset at least, some article of masculinity throughout to keep me from going too deep. But I can’t help myself! When I put on my panties, I want to go further and further. I get so aroused just thinking about how much fun it all is, and how completely wrong it is. There’s no way I should be enjoying this. I know that it’s turning me into less of a man, but for some reason, I don’t care! At the time that I wear it, I want to be a girl. I love the idea that every time I wear something feminine, it makes me more and more feminine myself. All I can think of is how becoming a girl would make me that much sexier in my panties. Or do I love wearing them because they make me sexier and more feminine? I don’t know what comes first. All I know is that it’s incredibly cool, and it makes me feel so amazing.
A lot of the other guys are grumbling about me because I seem to be enjoying this so much. They’re calling me a faggot, and a traitor, and all sorts of nasty things. I hate when they say that, because I’m not any of those things. I tell them that it’s really just harmless fun, and that they’d enjoy it too if they just let go of their inhibitions. Then they show me even less respect. Too bad for them. I’m looking forward now to our first sanctioned swimsuit sessions.
I am really loving my new wardrobe! I feel so sexy now, and so confident! I’m beginning to notice all sorts of changes in me, things that would once have made me incredibly uncomfortable. Things that I would have repressed in utter shame. I was horribly shocked to discover that I look at my tutor differently now. I used to want to fuck her so badly, but now I just want to be her. I look at her cute little ass and think to myself that I want mine to look just like it. I want to share clothes with her, because I think her clothes are far cooler than mine. She looks stunning in everything, and rather than want to strip them off her and have my way with her, I want to trade so I can prance around just like her. Worse, I’ve begun to think about where else this is leading. I have fantasized about doing things with boys. These clothes are also starting to make me walk and talk like a girl. It makes me feel so much sexier when I do that! I’m wearing only girls’ clothes now. I have abandoned all ties to my male clothes. I was giddy with excitement when I threw away my last gitch. I felt so free, and so naughty too. I snickered seductively at the other boys in my class who aren’t doing quite as well.
I have passed on to the next grade now, with flying colors. This means I’m well on my way to becoming a girl, according to the teachers. This put my situation in a little more context. I am so scared now. What have I done? I threw away my male clothes! I’m wearing nothing but silk, satin and lace underwear! I wear makeup and shave all my body hair! I wear little short dresses and miniskirts! Only a couple of months ago, I was a ladies’ man, totally masculine. Now they’re telling me I’m more than halfway to being female! Somehow, I’m ashamed and frightened. I have abandoned my manhood, and betrayed all the men who were convinced that we could hold out and break free of our captors. I have instead collaborated with them, and made myself in their image. But at the same time, I’m mischievously happy, and flattered about my progress; I’m glad I left those louts behind. In fact, sometimes I get horny thinking about how I can contribute to their inevitable feminization. I feel unbelievably sexy.
It’s true. I have gone past the point of no return. I don’t even remember what it’s like to be masculine anymore. I’m going to be a girl! And I love the idea! I can’t wait to start my hormone treatment and get nice and shapely, like a girl should be. But there’s something I need to do first.
To pass on to grade 5, where I can start taking hormones, I need to fuck a boy. That means I have to be feminine and seductive enough to get a boy to fuck me. And I think I can do it. I’m masturbating by shoving a dildo in my ass. It’s shockingly easy to get it up there when I want to. I’m getting hot imagining a real dick inside me, just like a girl. And for good measure, I want to taste his come. I am such a faggot! I love it!
So finally I’ve gotten laid. It was phenomenal, far better than any sex I ever had with a girl. I felt so female, so sexy, so wonderful. It’s so naughty of me to have done that, but that’s why it’s so fun. I’m a boy who dresses like a girl, acts like a girl, and fucks like a girl. And I love it! I can’t wait to be completely female!
I’m so nervous. I’m fucking boys like a little slut now. It’s part of my routine. I love getting laid this way. I love getting a dick inside me. But it’s time for me to start taking hormones. Once I start, there’s no turning back. I’m still physically as much a man as I ever was. All I have to do is say the word, and I can go back to what I was. Or I can remain like this, which really isn’t bad at all. It’s incredibly fun being this feminine, knowing that everyone knows I’m really a man. I love the idea of turning other men into shemales like me. But I want more! I want to have a true female shape. The thought of becoming truly female turns me on even more. I will take the hormones without a moment’s hesitation.
It’s been almost a year, and my breasts have filled in nicely. I don’t need to fill up my bra anymore, and I finally have that gorgeous hourglass figure I’ve craved for so long. All my parts are softening up as they should. I look exactly like a girl now, except for one last feature. It has come to this, and I am ready. Bring on the surgeon.
I am a girl now. No more unsightly useless bulge in my panties. Now I truly look sexy and feminine in my panties. Off to tutor the new recruits.
Diary: What's Gotten Into Me?
I have started experimenting with anal penetration. My experiments were so successful that I’m afraid to continue with them. I’m not sure where this fits in with my other fantasies anymore, as it’s the sheer physical sensation that wins out, rather than any fantasy about getting fucked. It’s quite a feminine shock to realize that something has been inside me.
I want to explore this whole idea of being exposed to femininity, and enjoying it, and realizing that enjoyment means enjoying everything that goes with being female. It starts out when you realize that you like girls’ clothes, not even for wearing them yourself, but just because they’re so obviously sexy. Then you realize that it would be fun to wear them, fun to see how pretty they make you feel. Then you realize that wearing them compromises your manhood, and that you’d better stop before you start developing a taste for it. But it’s already far too late. It’s a foregone conclusion from the moment the idea first entered your head. Now you’re picturing yourself in a bikini, and fantasizing about how wonderful girls look in bikinis, and how it would be so cool, so sexy if you could experience that sexiness first hand. You want to be the girl in the bikini. You start off slow, just fondling it, because you know that’s almost normal. But you can’t take it anymore, and you have to touch the panties with your dick. Not even that is enough. You need the full effect. You put them on, and it’s more amazing than you dreamed. You keep some article of manhood on you, just in case, because you know you’re losing your grip on your manhood. You imagine yourself wearing all kinds of women’s clothes, from bikinis to swimsuits to underwear and lingerie and summer dresses and sandals. You want desperately to give yourself up completely to it, but you don’t dare, because you know that it’s too dangerous, that you’ll like it too much. You’ve already gone too far by now, but you don’t care. You want to go further. You can’t help yourself from trying it again and again, with different clothes. You’re wearing the matching bra now, even though it doesn’t touch your cock, just because it makes you feel even more feminine. You know there’s no cheating involved now. You’ve wanted it all along, you realize, and you’re finally doing it. You’re glad you’ve gone too far. Every new experiment, every moment of complete abandon drives home the reality that you’re getting more and more effeminated. Why else would you now be buying your own lingerie? You’ve started shaving your body to get that smooth, female skin, and so you can feel what a woman feels when she wears stockings. You begin to fantasize about fucking men. Eventually you discover just how pleasant it is to shove things in your ass, and pretend it’s a dick. You know you’re teetering on the edge of homosexuality, but you don’t care! You love it! You start to fantasize about taking hormones and growing titties, and above all having an hourglass figure. Pretty soon, you do it, and you’ve finally caved in and begun to make those irreversible physical changes that were inevitable from the moment you first realized that you like girls’ clothes.
I want to explore this whole idea of being exposed to femininity, and enjoying it, and realizing that enjoyment means enjoying everything that goes with being female. It starts out when you realize that you like girls’ clothes, not even for wearing them yourself, but just because they’re so obviously sexy. Then you realize that it would be fun to wear them, fun to see how pretty they make you feel. Then you realize that wearing them compromises your manhood, and that you’d better stop before you start developing a taste for it. But it’s already far too late. It’s a foregone conclusion from the moment the idea first entered your head. Now you’re picturing yourself in a bikini, and fantasizing about how wonderful girls look in bikinis, and how it would be so cool, so sexy if you could experience that sexiness first hand. You want to be the girl in the bikini. You start off slow, just fondling it, because you know that’s almost normal. But you can’t take it anymore, and you have to touch the panties with your dick. Not even that is enough. You need the full effect. You put them on, and it’s more amazing than you dreamed. You keep some article of manhood on you, just in case, because you know you’re losing your grip on your manhood. You imagine yourself wearing all kinds of women’s clothes, from bikinis to swimsuits to underwear and lingerie and summer dresses and sandals. You want desperately to give yourself up completely to it, but you don’t dare, because you know that it’s too dangerous, that you’ll like it too much. You’ve already gone too far by now, but you don’t care. You want to go further. You can’t help yourself from trying it again and again, with different clothes. You’re wearing the matching bra now, even though it doesn’t touch your cock, just because it makes you feel even more feminine. You know there’s no cheating involved now. You’ve wanted it all along, you realize, and you’re finally doing it. You’re glad you’ve gone too far. Every new experiment, every moment of complete abandon drives home the reality that you’re getting more and more effeminated. Why else would you now be buying your own lingerie? You’ve started shaving your body to get that smooth, female skin, and so you can feel what a woman feels when she wears stockings. You begin to fantasize about fucking men. Eventually you discover just how pleasant it is to shove things in your ass, and pretend it’s a dick. You know you’re teetering on the edge of homosexuality, but you don’t care! You love it! You start to fantasize about taking hormones and growing titties, and above all having an hourglass figure. Pretty soon, you do it, and you’ve finally caved in and begun to make those irreversible physical changes that were inevitable from the moment you first realized that you like girls’ clothes.
Fiction: Feminization School, Case 221
Case 221: First Day of School
My sexy little escort leads me through the Institute’s front gates. The place is swarming with gorgeous little sexpots, all of them clad in the scantiest, sexiest outfits. I can’t believe that my girlfriend would willingly have sent me here. It must be a temptation test or something. She wants to test me, to know that I won’t cheat on her again. I’ll make an effort, but I may not be able to resist. Tina here might even be coming on to me. What else could I do? And maybe I’d rather be with her anyway.
She brings me into a classroom, where another 20 guys, all accompanied by equally sexy girls, have taken their seats. Then the teacher walks in, and locks the door. Tina grins at me suggestively. The teacher is incredibly hot, and she knows it. She coolly breezes past all of our wolf gazes to the front of the class, shaking her cute little ass. Her skirt is so short, you can actually see, but just barely, the tops of her stockings. She’s doing it on purpose.
“Welcome to the Feminization Institute, gentlemen,” she says. “I’m your first grade teacher Miss Gardner. Now, I know that most of you have no idea why you’re here. You may even be wondering if I really did say ‘Feminization.’ Suffice it to say that by the end of this 10-week course, you’ll all be eager to be just like me.”
We are all struck with awe at her beauty. It takes a while for it to sink in.
“Uh, feminization?” says one guy. “You mean, you want to turn us into women?”
The class gets a little unruly about this.
“Yes, that’s exactly what we mean to do.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or yell. Most of the others do one or the other. But suddenly, Tina’s got me by the neck, and I can see that all the other guys’ escorts have engaged straps to disable their men. None of us can move.
“The purpose of this course is to get you all thinking like girls. You will learn about the rest of the curriculum, and become familiar with every step of your upcoming womanhood. If you follow the course outlines, and do your homework, you’ll eventually be fortunate enough to be full-fledged women.”
Some of us struggle, but we are too tightly bound. We can’t put up any kind of fight. It’s incredibly pathetic to see 20 burly, aggressive men, easily subdued by delicate, gorgeous girls half their size.
[…]
Miss Gardner looks shocked at the tone of my answer.
“221, you will show me respect at all times. I will not tolerate any kind of rebellion from you, or from anyone else.”
“What are you gonna do about it? Three quarters of this class won’t stand for this bullshit. We’re walking out, and there’s nothing you can do to stop us.”
“The door is locked. You can’t get out without this key.”
“Then give us the key, or we’ll have to take it from you.”
“No.”
I signal to Watson to get the key from her. She stands at the front of the class, one hand on her hip, holding the key up in my direction, taunting me. We’ll kick the shit out of her and take turns raping her ass before we go. She picked a fine day to wear a miniskirt and 3-inch spiked heels.
Suddenly, as Watson gets within 2 feet of her, she sweeps her leg under him and sends him crashing to the ground. She looks right at me, and says, “221, you’re going to call this off, or I’ll have to completely humiliate you.”
Before I can even give the command, we’re rushing her. But she’s far too fast. She’s not even the least bit afraid of us as she punches and kicks every man that comes near her. She has practically subdued the entire class when she gets to me.
Now, I’m no slouch when it comes to fighting. I’m an expert in three martial arts, and I’ve won competitions. I’ve never seen anyone take out 10 men in less than a minute, as she just did. I prepare to face her.
I attack with a flurry of punches and kicks. She blocks and parries everything I’ve got as if I’m a wimpy little child flailing my arms at her. She’s already toying with me. She hasn’t even taken off her spiked shoes. I don’t know how she can walk in them, much less fight.
She catches one of my flying kicks in mid-air, twists my foot, and has me squirming in agony on the floor beneath her. “Have you had enough yet?” she asks.
I ably flip her off of me and throw her across the room, but she lands square on her feet in a fighting stance. She rushes at me and pummels me with a whirlwind of fists and feet. I crumple to the ground in front of her, stunned. I caught a glimpse of her panties as she crushed my jaw with a roundhouse kick.
She crouches down to me, and seductively raises my head with her index finger. “I know you want to be a girl, 221. I can see it in your eyes whenever I mention what we’re going to do to you. Stop fighting, and you might actually enjoy your lessons.”
She takes my hand and runs it along her waist, her hip, her thigh, and up to the top of her stocking. “You know that I wear these stockings just for you, don’t you? I know you like them. You’ll like them even more when you’re wearing your own.”
She pushes me back down to the ground, where I pass out, into a gender-twisting nightmare world.
[…]
Ever since my beating, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Miss Gardner’s stockings. I imagine them clinging to my own legs. I imagine them attached to a lacy black garter belt, concealed by a tight black miniskirt. The thought of becoming her intrigues me to no end. I find myself listening far more attentively than I should to her lectures on feminization theory. I cannot allow this to continue. But part of me wants to test her theories, wants to see the course through to the end and see if it truly is possible for me, of all people, to become female. I want to prove her wrong. But there’s something else that I can’t quite put my finger on, something that I don’t want to think about.
If only I could look at her and not imagine myself wearing her outfits!
My sexy little escort leads me through the Institute’s front gates. The place is swarming with gorgeous little sexpots, all of them clad in the scantiest, sexiest outfits. I can’t believe that my girlfriend would willingly have sent me here. It must be a temptation test or something. She wants to test me, to know that I won’t cheat on her again. I’ll make an effort, but I may not be able to resist. Tina here might even be coming on to me. What else could I do? And maybe I’d rather be with her anyway.
She brings me into a classroom, where another 20 guys, all accompanied by equally sexy girls, have taken their seats. Then the teacher walks in, and locks the door. Tina grins at me suggestively. The teacher is incredibly hot, and she knows it. She coolly breezes past all of our wolf gazes to the front of the class, shaking her cute little ass. Her skirt is so short, you can actually see, but just barely, the tops of her stockings. She’s doing it on purpose.
“Welcome to the Feminization Institute, gentlemen,” she says. “I’m your first grade teacher Miss Gardner. Now, I know that most of you have no idea why you’re here. You may even be wondering if I really did say ‘Feminization.’ Suffice it to say that by the end of this 10-week course, you’ll all be eager to be just like me.”
We are all struck with awe at her beauty. It takes a while for it to sink in.
“Uh, feminization?” says one guy. “You mean, you want to turn us into women?”
The class gets a little unruly about this.
“Yes, that’s exactly what we mean to do.”
I don’t know whether to laugh or yell. Most of the others do one or the other. But suddenly, Tina’s got me by the neck, and I can see that all the other guys’ escorts have engaged straps to disable their men. None of us can move.
“The purpose of this course is to get you all thinking like girls. You will learn about the rest of the curriculum, and become familiar with every step of your upcoming womanhood. If you follow the course outlines, and do your homework, you’ll eventually be fortunate enough to be full-fledged women.”
Some of us struggle, but we are too tightly bound. We can’t put up any kind of fight. It’s incredibly pathetic to see 20 burly, aggressive men, easily subdued by delicate, gorgeous girls half their size.
[…]
Miss Gardner looks shocked at the tone of my answer.
“221, you will show me respect at all times. I will not tolerate any kind of rebellion from you, or from anyone else.”
“What are you gonna do about it? Three quarters of this class won’t stand for this bullshit. We’re walking out, and there’s nothing you can do to stop us.”
“The door is locked. You can’t get out without this key.”
“Then give us the key, or we’ll have to take it from you.”
“No.”
I signal to Watson to get the key from her. She stands at the front of the class, one hand on her hip, holding the key up in my direction, taunting me. We’ll kick the shit out of her and take turns raping her ass before we go. She picked a fine day to wear a miniskirt and 3-inch spiked heels.
Suddenly, as Watson gets within 2 feet of her, she sweeps her leg under him and sends him crashing to the ground. She looks right at me, and says, “221, you’re going to call this off, or I’ll have to completely humiliate you.”
Before I can even give the command, we’re rushing her. But she’s far too fast. She’s not even the least bit afraid of us as she punches and kicks every man that comes near her. She has practically subdued the entire class when she gets to me.
Now, I’m no slouch when it comes to fighting. I’m an expert in three martial arts, and I’ve won competitions. I’ve never seen anyone take out 10 men in less than a minute, as she just did. I prepare to face her.
I attack with a flurry of punches and kicks. She blocks and parries everything I’ve got as if I’m a wimpy little child flailing my arms at her. She’s already toying with me. She hasn’t even taken off her spiked shoes. I don’t know how she can walk in them, much less fight.
She catches one of my flying kicks in mid-air, twists my foot, and has me squirming in agony on the floor beneath her. “Have you had enough yet?” she asks.
I ably flip her off of me and throw her across the room, but she lands square on her feet in a fighting stance. She rushes at me and pummels me with a whirlwind of fists and feet. I crumple to the ground in front of her, stunned. I caught a glimpse of her panties as she crushed my jaw with a roundhouse kick.
She crouches down to me, and seductively raises my head with her index finger. “I know you want to be a girl, 221. I can see it in your eyes whenever I mention what we’re going to do to you. Stop fighting, and you might actually enjoy your lessons.”
She takes my hand and runs it along her waist, her hip, her thigh, and up to the top of her stocking. “You know that I wear these stockings just for you, don’t you? I know you like them. You’ll like them even more when you’re wearing your own.”
She pushes me back down to the ground, where I pass out, into a gender-twisting nightmare world.
[…]
Ever since my beating, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Miss Gardner’s stockings. I imagine them clinging to my own legs. I imagine them attached to a lacy black garter belt, concealed by a tight black miniskirt. The thought of becoming her intrigues me to no end. I find myself listening far more attentively than I should to her lectures on feminization theory. I cannot allow this to continue. But part of me wants to test her theories, wants to see the course through to the end and see if it truly is possible for me, of all people, to become female. I want to prove her wrong. But there’s something else that I can’t quite put my finger on, something that I don’t want to think about.
If only I could look at her and not imagine myself wearing her outfits!
Diary: Feminization Syllabus
Now that my list makes more sense, I only need to come up with the exact syllabus.
I already have established that there should be five grades, and that these grades are based on the sum of points in the three categories outlined above (I should add that homosexuality should be included in the experience levels, parallel to the instances of crossdressing; such that a man who has just discovered crossdressing is equivalent to one who has made out with a boy, and a man who has worn women’s clothing the requisite number of times is equivalent to one who has been fucked by a boy). The five grades should follow the progress of the complete rookie all the way to womanhood, following the experience levels. In other words, each grade should lead up to the next experience level by fulfilling all of the requirements.
Grade 1: For complete newbies. Gearing men to imagine what it’s like to be women. Intro to the female way of thinking and behaving. Mannerisms. Thought patterns. Familiarity with articles of clothing. Fashion.
Grade 2: For those who understand female thinking. Leads to either crossdressing or homosexuality. Role playing: acting like a girl. Takes lessons learned in grade 1 and puts them into practice. Learn how to please a man, and the essentials of women’s clothes. Project: a) acquire a wardrobe, starting with underwear; or b) make out with a boy. Must pass this to make it to Grade 3.
Grade 3: For those with boyfriends or those with wardrobes. This grade is practical application of lessons learned in Grade 2. Those who have chosen transvestitism will be introduced to their new wardrobes garment by garment, until they have passed the experience requirement to pass to the next grade. Those who have chosen homosexuality will begin an intensive sex seminar, where they will learn the sexual secrets of women, and will intensify their relationships with their boyfriends, until they have actually been penetrated.
Grade 4: For those with sufficient clothing experience and those who have lost their virginity. In this grade, our men having become expert homosexuals or crossdressers, pick up the other discipline; that is, homosexuals acquire wardrobes and learn to wear it, while continuing to have sex with boys; and transvestites learn to seduce boys. To pass this grade, a man must become officially expert in both disciplines, so that he is wearing strictly women’s clothes and sucking cock and taking it in the ass regularly.
Grade 5: For those who have become female in all but physical characteristics. These men embark on hormone replacement therapy and plastic surgery. They participate in a beauty pageant before being granted the privilege of undergoing the final surgery.
Those whose level of participation amounts to zeal are generally overeager to participate in the lessons of the grades above, and will possibly undermine their own progress because of it. Those who are enthusiastic will be eager, but unwilling to move too fast through the ranks, for fear of missing out on something important. Those who are passive will follow the syllabus exactly, and do only as they are told. Those who are reluctant will protest every step, but perform it when threatened with force. Those who resist will be forced.
The course should last a year. Each grade should take no more than ten weeks.
After thinking about the requirements for some time, I have decided that transvestitism should be ranked on a breadth of experience with different garments, with a focus, of course, on underwear and swimwear. I need to finalize my points system before I can adequately issue official requirements.
I think I’m about ready to start.
Also, I think it would be a good idea, given the syllabus I’m coming up with, to track my own experience, and see how many points I get over time. Should be a fun little project.
I already have established that there should be five grades, and that these grades are based on the sum of points in the three categories outlined above (I should add that homosexuality should be included in the experience levels, parallel to the instances of crossdressing; such that a man who has just discovered crossdressing is equivalent to one who has made out with a boy, and a man who has worn women’s clothing the requisite number of times is equivalent to one who has been fucked by a boy). The five grades should follow the progress of the complete rookie all the way to womanhood, following the experience levels. In other words, each grade should lead up to the next experience level by fulfilling all of the requirements.
Grade 1: For complete newbies. Gearing men to imagine what it’s like to be women. Intro to the female way of thinking and behaving. Mannerisms. Thought patterns. Familiarity with articles of clothing. Fashion.
Grade 2: For those who understand female thinking. Leads to either crossdressing or homosexuality. Role playing: acting like a girl. Takes lessons learned in grade 1 and puts them into practice. Learn how to please a man, and the essentials of women’s clothes. Project: a) acquire a wardrobe, starting with underwear; or b) make out with a boy. Must pass this to make it to Grade 3.
Grade 3: For those with boyfriends or those with wardrobes. This grade is practical application of lessons learned in Grade 2. Those who have chosen transvestitism will be introduced to their new wardrobes garment by garment, until they have passed the experience requirement to pass to the next grade. Those who have chosen homosexuality will begin an intensive sex seminar, where they will learn the sexual secrets of women, and will intensify their relationships with their boyfriends, until they have actually been penetrated.
Grade 4: For those with sufficient clothing experience and those who have lost their virginity. In this grade, our men having become expert homosexuals or crossdressers, pick up the other discipline; that is, homosexuals acquire wardrobes and learn to wear it, while continuing to have sex with boys; and transvestites learn to seduce boys. To pass this grade, a man must become officially expert in both disciplines, so that he is wearing strictly women’s clothes and sucking cock and taking it in the ass regularly.
Grade 5: For those who have become female in all but physical characteristics. These men embark on hormone replacement therapy and plastic surgery. They participate in a beauty pageant before being granted the privilege of undergoing the final surgery.
Those whose level of participation amounts to zeal are generally overeager to participate in the lessons of the grades above, and will possibly undermine their own progress because of it. Those who are enthusiastic will be eager, but unwilling to move too fast through the ranks, for fear of missing out on something important. Those who are passive will follow the syllabus exactly, and do only as they are told. Those who are reluctant will protest every step, but perform it when threatened with force. Those who resist will be forced.
The course should last a year. Each grade should take no more than ten weeks.
After thinking about the requirements for some time, I have decided that transvestitism should be ranked on a breadth of experience with different garments, with a focus, of course, on underwear and swimwear. I need to finalize my points system before I can adequately issue official requirements.
I think I’m about ready to start.
Also, I think it would be a good idea, given the syllabus I’m coming up with, to track my own experience, and see how many points I get over time. Should be a fun little project.
Diary: Off the Deep End Overthinking
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Diary: Overthinking the Massive Forced Feminization Story
I have been thinking about this an awful lot. I have it all figured out now. It’s very similar to the above, with a few changes. The three categories remain, but the levels differ slightly. I arrive at these levels by basing them on responses to questions from a survey. Here they are first in summary, then each explained in detail:
Experience
Co-operation
1. What is your sexual orientation?
a) heterosexual
b) homosexual
c) bisexual
2. How often have you imagined what it would be like to be a member of the opposite gender?
a) Never
b) Once or twice
c) Sometimes
d) Frequently
e) Always
3. How frequently do you take on the role of the opposite gender, be it for play, for sexual gratification, or any other reason? This includes transvestitism, playacting, and cajolery.
a) Never
b) Once or twice
c) Sometimes
d) Frequently
e) Always
4. Describe your reaction to the idea of becoming a member of the opposite gender:
a) Repulsed
b) Curious, but unwilling
c) Indifferent
d) Willing
e) Desperate
5. How would you like to join the opposite gender?
a) Would rather die
b) Would like to know what it’s like, but revert to original gender
c) Indifferent
d) Would like to know what it’s like, even if the change is permanent
e) Long to join opposite gender
6. How would you react if someone attempted to change your gender?
a) Resist at all costs
b) Resist until threatened with death
c) Remain passive
d) Assist in these attempts
e) You requested it
These questions are then processed and the participants sorted into classes. Of course, there are two sets of answers to the survey: those submitted by the users, and their honest beliefs.
We will have a set of 125 men (5 x 5 x5) who will each have a different set of honest responses. Each of these men will then discover that he is in a one year feminization camp, and that he will compete for the honour of becoming a girl.
- Experience (Have you ever wanted to be female?): Introduce, Beginner, Intermediate, Advanced, Expert
- Desire (Would you like to be female?): Repulsed, Curious, Indifferent, Willing, Desperate
- Co-operation (If someone were to attempt to make you female, how would you react?): Rebellious, Reluctant, Passive, Enthusiastic, Zealous
Experience
- Introduce: Has never wanted to be a girl. Sees women as sex objects, therefore cannot even want to get inside a woman’s head.
- Beginner: Has imagined being a girl, but stops short when it gets hot.
- Intermediate: Has fantasized about being female, perhaps even engaging in some transvestitism once or twice, but still primarily thinks from male perspective.
- Advanced: Has a persistent fetish for feminization; loves to wear women’s clothes, and does it regularly, but is content being a man
- Expert: A woman trapped in a man’s body. Fantasizes daily about being a girl, wears some article of women’s clothing at all times.
- Repulsed: Would rather die than become a girl.
- Curious: Would like to know what it’s like to be a girl, but would definitely want to revert to manhood immediately afterwards.
- Indifferent: Has no gender preference. Would be happy either way.
- Willing: Would happily experience womanhood, and never revert.
- Desperate: Longs to be a girl. Would actively seek to become a girl.
Co-operation
- Rebellious: Refuses to co-operate; force required.
- Reluctant: Refuse to co-operate until threatened with violence.
- Passive: Will do exactly as told, without question, but will not volunteer for anything or participate beyond what is required.
- Enthusiastic: Participates actively, studies, looks ahead. Willing to learn.
- Zealous: Participates aggressively, seeking to be the best in the class.
1. What is your sexual orientation?
a) heterosexual
b) homosexual
c) bisexual
2. How often have you imagined what it would be like to be a member of the opposite gender?
a) Never
b) Once or twice
c) Sometimes
d) Frequently
e) Always
3. How frequently do you take on the role of the opposite gender, be it for play, for sexual gratification, or any other reason? This includes transvestitism, playacting, and cajolery.
a) Never
b) Once or twice
c) Sometimes
d) Frequently
e) Always
4. Describe your reaction to the idea of becoming a member of the opposite gender:
a) Repulsed
b) Curious, but unwilling
c) Indifferent
d) Willing
e) Desperate
5. How would you like to join the opposite gender?
a) Would rather die
b) Would like to know what it’s like, but revert to original gender
c) Indifferent
d) Would like to know what it’s like, even if the change is permanent
e) Long to join opposite gender
6. How would you react if someone attempted to change your gender?
a) Resist at all costs
b) Resist until threatened with death
c) Remain passive
d) Assist in these attempts
e) You requested it
These questions are then processed and the participants sorted into classes. Of course, there are two sets of answers to the survey: those submitted by the users, and their honest beliefs.
We will have a set of 125 men (5 x 5 x5) who will each have a different set of honest responses. Each of these men will then discover that he is in a one year feminization camp, and that he will compete for the honour of becoming a girl.
Diary: The Variables In the Massive Forced Feminization Stories
My feminization camp stories are missing one thing: a goal for its interns. No, a competition. I am watching the Miss Universe competition. I think my candidates should compete in a beauty contest for the privilege of becoming female. The losers are released into the world as they are; thus they have every incentive to turn completely female, or else re-enter the world as mere transsexuals.
All of the contestants are told from the beginning what they must strive for. Those who resist must either submit or die, as we have already established. And of course they must all struggle with how badly they want to be effeminated. Of course, they all start from different points of view. The variables:
This gives us 125 participants. Of course, this is only how they begin. They all eventually succumb.
All of the contestants are told from the beginning what they must strive for. Those who resist must either submit or die, as we have already established. And of course they must all struggle with how badly they want to be effeminated. Of course, they all start from different points of view. The variables:
- Experience (never imagined, imagined, tried a few times, often, regular)
- Desire (not interested, indifferent, curious, interested, desperate)
- Resistance (rebellion, reluctance, passivity, acceptance, zeal)
This gives us 125 participants. Of course, this is only how they begin. They all eventually succumb.
Fiction: la fameuse histoire d'André
Excuse-moi si mon récit est un peu long. Ça commence avec cette fameuse histoire d’André.
Depuis que je le connaissais, André n’a jamais montré une prédilection si étrange que celle qu’il m’expliquait ce jour là. J’ai toujours cru que je le connaissais mieux que tout autre, mais me voilà surpris. Cependant, qui connaît vraiment les fantaisies les plus intimes – les plus gênantes – de ses proches? Sûrement, je n’ai jamais dit un seul mot à propos de mes propres fantaisies les plus sauvages, alors comment reprocher la même discrétion chez André?
En tout cas, ceci n’est pas arrivé tout d’un coup. Ce n’était quand même pas moins surprenant de découvrir son secret, manifesté si innocemment ces premiers jours. À qui aurait pu nuire ses petits caprices, quand ils le rendaient si content? S’il n’y avait pas sa jolie amie derrière cela, j’aurais été peut-être inquiet, mais au moins il prétendait qu’il accordait tout simplement ses désirs à elle.
Comme vous savez déjà, c’est devenu bien plus sérieux maintenant. Je crains même que le récit de ses expériences m’ont déjà corrompu, et que je finirai comme lui. Je veux bien espérer que non, mais vous verrez vous même une fois que j’aurai fini mon histoire, que ce pauvre diable s’est trouvé une liberté enviable.
Bon. Je commence au début.
Personne ne savait rien de cette affaire avant quatre ou cinq mois après qu’il s’établisse comme couple avec Brigitte. Ils étaient si contents ensemble, qu’ils nous rendions tous malades. C’est à dire, tout notre petit groupe d’amis. Nous étions contents pour lui, mais en même temps, nous ne sommes plus adolescents. Nous avions tous appris de ne jamais se laisser emporter si profondément par une femme. Elles aussi ont appris la même leçon. À notre âge, on a épuisé nos naïves attentes sur l’amour.
Enfin, après quelques semaines de ne l’avoir vu qu’avec elle, sans moyen d’y en parler d’homme à homme, il me révèle tout une soirée que nous étions seuls à jaser. Toujours content, avec un air rêveur, il me raconte comment bien il s’entend avec elle, que tout va incroyablement bien, et qu’il ne peut pas s’imaginer sans elle. Je lui demande des détails que seulement des amis proches comme nous peuvent discuter, c’est à dire, comment elle est au lit. C’est là qu’il a montré la seule indication de doute à propos de cette affaire. Je crains lui avoir mal conseillé.
Comment, me demandait-il, roulant le fond de son verre contre le comptoir sans me regarder des yeux, agirais-tu si ta blonde voulait que tu portes ses culottes?
J’ai ri. Cette question m’a tellement éblouit, il faut l’admettre, que je ne pouvais pas contenir ma réaction. Comment, je lui dis, c’est pas toi qui porte les pantalons dans cette relation-là?
–Arrête-donc, me dit-il. Comme tu vois, elle commande beaucoup de mon attention, mais c’est toujours moi qui suis en charge.
–Mais comment ça ce fait qu’elle veut que tu portes ses culottes?
–Eh bien, c’est seulement pour jouer. Tu devrais voir comment sa lui plaît!
—Comme ça, tu les portes, ses culottes?
—Tu ferais pas la même chose, à ma place?
Je ne savais pas quoi répondre. Voilà une question philosophique que, en général, les hommes se posent constamment. On se demande toujours comment loin on irait pour plaire à nos femmes. Il y a toujours des limites. C’est seulement in situ qu’on fait l’épreuve, tant qu’à y penser d’avance. C’est seulement là que l’on découvre ou finit notre amour, et ou commence notre fiereté. Pour André, c’était, comme toujours, un cas singulier que nul autre homme n’aurait pu résoudre sans énorme difficulté.
—Je suppose, lui dis-je enfin, que ça dépend combien je l’aime, et combien son petit caprice me dégoûte.
—Je l’admets, j’ai trouvé cela bien curieux quand elle me l’a demandé la première fois. Nous étions empassionnés, et dans l’ardeur du moment, je l’ai obéi. Sa passion après ça c’est redoublée. Je ne l’avais jamais vue si sauvage, si folle de désir.
—Et puis ça c’est répété?
—Ça devient de plus en plus commun. C’est vraiment une fille différente quand je le fais.
—L’as-tu déjà refusé?
—Comment je peux lui refuser? C’est le meilleur sexe que j’aie jamais eu!
—Mais toi, ça te donne pas honte? Christ! T’es pas supposé de t’abaisser comme ça!
—Ça me dérange pas.
—Comment, ça te déranges pas! Es-tu malade?
—Dis donc, pourquoi ça devrait me déranger?
—Bien, premièrement, tu t’esclaves à elle si tu accède à tout ce qu’elle te demande.
—C’est pas vrai. Il y a bien des choses que je refuse. C’est toujours moi qui porte les pantalons, comme tu disais.
—Mais tu t’enlèves ton autorité masculine en portant ses culottes. En effet, ça ne sera pas longtemps avant que tu commences à porter des jupes si tu continues comme ça.
—Voyons donc!
—C’est sérieux!
—Me penses-tu vraiment si faible? Je te dis que c’est toujours moi qui dirige, au lit ou ailleurs.
—Tu ne penses pas qu’elle fait seulement commencer de te controller? On ne te voit plus souvent…
—Si tu pouvais seulement savoir comment éblouissant, comment spectaculaire est notre amour quand je porte ses culottes, tu comprendrais!
—Alors tu aimes ça!
André rougit. Et puis? répond-t-il.
—Ha ha! Tu aimes porter ses culottes!
—C’est seulement parce que ça la rend folle! Ça me fait de telles associations dans ma tête, que je ne pourrais même pas commencer de t’expliquer.
—Bon, je fais juste te taquiner.
—Et toi, le ferais-tu? Imagine-toi avec ta femme idéale, et que tout ce que tu devais faire pour la posséder entièrement du corps et de l’esprit, serait de porter ses culottes. Ne le ferais-tu pas?
Et puis la question demeure là. Est-ce aussi sérieux de porter des culottes de fille que je le pensais? Surtout dans les circonstances décrites par André? Pour un tel paradis, n’est-ce pas un sacrifice assez insignifiant? Pourquoi c’est si honteux pour un homme de porter des culottes de fille? Mon instinct me dit, me cri toujours que c’est une affreuse trahison de sa masculinité, mais pourquoi? Et puis si on le fait pour gagner l’amour d’une femme, n’est-ce pas une excellente affirmation de sa masculinité? Mais comment peut-on affirmer sa masculinité en s’habillant en femme? Voilà le paradoxe. Pour moi, c’était une situation impossible.
André alors disparut du bar pour plusieurs autres semaines, toujours avec sa précieuse Brigitte. Leur relation ne s’étaignait pas du tout. En même temps, je ne pouvais pas éviter de penser à son étrange position. Notre joli paradoxe n’était jamais loin de mes pensées. Quand je le voyais, il changeait de mesure à mesure, d’une façon que je ne pouvais pas expliquer, mais que je comprends complètement à cette heure.
C’était la fin d’avril, et la saison de hockey s’était terminée à peine deux semaines avant. Il était temps de s’abonner à la saison d’été, mais André n’y avait pas encore commit. La première partie aurait lieu au début de mai, et il risquait de la manquer, alors je lui ai payé une petite visite. De plus, je m’inquiétais de lui. C’est un règlement suprême parmi les hommes que les femmes ne sont jamais acceptées comme excuse pour manquer une partie. Comme il était si prit de Brigitte, j’avais peur qu’il perdait ses priorités.
Comme de raison, il n’était pas content de me voir, sachant que je lui gronderais pour avoir trahi son équipe. Mais ce qui avait de pire, c’était qu’il répondit la porte en pantalons courts, ses jambes, antérieurement les plus poilues que j’ai jamais vues, rasées nues comme celles d’une femme.
Il a vu immédiatement ce que je regardais, et me méfiait.
—Bon, je lui dis, c’est clair que tu ne veux plus jouer au hockey.
—C’est vrai.
—C’est Brigitte qui te fait raser les jambes?
—Pas tout à fait. C’était mon idée.
—Mais pourquoi alors?
—J’aime mieux ça.
Cela me suffit pour ce sujet. J’ai du pâlir comme un malade. Je crois que ma visite l’a surprit, car il me semblait mal à l’aise. Je croyais voir un soutien-gorge dessous sa chemise blanche. Avant que je puisse me composer, Brigitte apparût à la porte, me saluant chaleureusement. Elle me jasait aimablement de rien du tout, tout en remuant sa main sur les hanches d’André. Elle passait son doigt le long de sa ceinture, exposant la dentelle féminine de ses culottes sur les flancs de son amant. Elle n’a jamais perdu le train de la conversation, ni le contact de ses yeux avec les miens. André ne l’arrêtait pas. Brigitte me souhaitait bonne chance pour la saison de hockey, et je suis parti ébloui par cet étrange spectacle.
Même mes inquiètudes ne m’avaient pas préparées pour cela. J’essayais d’imaginer comment il pourrait laisser Brigitte l’humilier devant moi. Justement, le lendemain, il me visitais pour tout m’expliquer.
—Alors ça va toujours plus loin, ton affaire?
—Je veux que tu me comprennes.
—André, comment peux-tu la laisser te contrôler comme ça?
—Ce n’est pas elle qui contrôle. La vérité, c’est que j’adore porter ses vêtements.
—Quoi?
—Oui, tu m’entends bien! J’adore porter ses vêtements!
—Ça te donne une joie sexuelle de te mêler dans ses affaires?
—À vrai dire, ce n’est pas strictement ses vêtements, mais n’importe quoi de féminin.
—Tu n’est pas sérieux!
—Absolument!
—Qu’est-ce qu’elle t’a fait, la maudite!
—Rien du tout! Elle m’a seulement introduit une idée, et c’est quelque chose qui m’est terriblement agréable.
—Et les jambes rasées?
—Tiens, dit-il en levant sa chemise, ce n’est pas seulement mes jambes. Je trouves que ça paraît tellement plus beau sans poils nulle part.
—Encore le soutien!
—Toujours un soutien!
—Seulement, je te prie de ne pas me montrer tes culottes…
—Elles vont si bien avec mon soutien!
—Assez, assez! Maintenant, ce n’est plus seulement pour plaire à Brigitte?
—Non, c’est devenu mon caprice aussi.
—Tu ne trouves pas que c’est allé trop loin?
—Ça fait juste commencer! C’est ça qui il y a de meilleur!
—Mais avant tu me disais que tu faisais ça parce que to bénéficiais de son extase. Et maintenant, te voilà féminisé, sans même qu’elle soit là. Qu’est-ce qui est arrivé?
—C’est bien simple : elle aimait tellement ça que c’était devenu un rituel chaque fois qu’on faisait l’amour. Enfin, je me trouvais dans son garde robe à planifier ce que je porterais pour elle, quand j’ai réalisé que ça me plaisait autant qu’elle.
—Mais qu’est-ce qui te plait là-dedans? N’as tu pas peur de te corrompre la masculinité? Quel sorte d’homme es-tu devenu?
—Dis-moi, Robert, comment je pourrais me corrompre avec les vêtements de ma bien-aimée? J’adore tellement sa féminité, j’adore tellement ses vêtements, que ça me semble être le plus honnête acte d’amour de les porter pour l’imiter.
—Mais comment pourra-t-elle t’aimer si tu n’es plus masculin?
—Elle apprécie mon imitation. N’oublie pas que c’est elle qui a initié tout cela.
—Alors c’est elle qui contrôle!
—Je m’en fous! D’ailleurs, comme je t’ai dit hier, c’est moi qui a eu l’idée de me raser. Même elle est surprise de ma dévotion pour elle.
—Comment loin veux-tu aller avec ça?
—Aussi loin que sa me plait.
—Qu’est-ce qui arrive si elle te lâche?
—Elle ne me lâchera jamais.
—Voyons! Sûrement elle ne veut pas sortir avec un homme plus féminin qu’elle!
—On verra!
—À part de nous trois, qui sait?
—Personne.
—Le dirai vous aux autres?
André hésitait.
—Je ne pense pas.
—Et si moi je leur dis?
—Non! Dis rien!
—Mais alors pourquoi viens-tu ici me montrer cette maladie la si fièrement, si tu ne veux pas que tout le monde le sache?
—Tu es mon meilleur ami! En plus, tu le savais déjà.
—Les autres ne soupçonnent rien?
—Je ne pense pas.
Même s’il ne pensait pas, tout le monde se demandait qu’est-ce que Brigitte lui faisait, et remarquait qu’il semblait si bizarre. Pas deux mois après notre conversation, et il ne restait pas de doute. Il s’habillait de plus en plus féminin, jusqu’au point qu’il sortait avec Brigitte en jolie robe d’été. Ses cheveux avaient assez allongé qu’il les coiffait comme une femme. Il ne cachait plus rien. On me dit qu’ils sont allés à la plage ensemble, et portaient tous les deux le même maillot de bain. C’est peut-être des bêtises, mais ça ne me semble pas impossible.
Malgré ses efforts pour l’imiter, Brigitte s’est tannée enfin de lui, et l’a lâché. Mais André a prit cet échec avec grâce. On pourrait même dire qu’il ne s’en faisais pas. Il continuait de porter ses vêtements féminins, et continuait même de devenir une femme.
—Oh, que je me sens belle! Disait-il. Ou elle. C’était devenu difficile à décider quel genre utiliser en parlant de lui. Elle.
Maintenant nous sommes tous habitués, et de plus, il est presque prêt pour entreprendre sa chirurgie finale. C’est bien vrai qu’elle est belle.
—Cependant, cela n’explique pas votre propre état…
Ah, oui! C’est vrai que c’était autre chose que je devais vous raconter. Eh bien, ne voyez vous pas comment j’ai commencé moi-même?
Eh bien, moi, je n’ai pas excuses. Andrée avait commencé parce qu’elle croyait plaire à sa blonde. Mais moi, je n’avais pas de blonde. C’est encore pire pour moi. C’est tout simplement qu’il m’a piqué la curiosité.
J’étais possédé de cette fantaisie du moment ou il me l’ait racontée. Mais moi, je n’avais pas de fille de qui empreunter les culottes. Je l’entendais parler, je l’imaginais avec elle, je m’imaginais à sa place. Je me demandais si c’était vraiment possible de s’endommager la masculinité en portant des culottes de fille. Ah, que j’étais curieuse! Je voulais me tester, je voulais prouver que je pourrais passer l’épreuve! Je voulais me préparer pour le cas ou je serais à la place d’André. Ce sont tous des mensonges. Je voulais seulement découvrir mon propre féminin. Il n’y a autre raison.
Alors j’ai commencé par m’acheter un ensemble de lingerie, en faisant semblant que c’était pour l’anniversaire de ma blonde imaginaire. Et je l’ai porté. Souvent. Je m’haïssais. Mais avec André qui découvrait tous les jours quelque chose de plus féminin, je ne pouvais pas m’empêcher. Quand j’ai découvert qu’il se rasais, je ne pouvais plus le suivre sans m’exposer à tout le monde comme lui. Je le voulais tellement, mais je n’avais pas son courage. Je n’étais pas du tout jalouse quand j’ai entendu l’histoire de la plage. Je possédais déjà mon propre maillot féminin, ainsi qu’un bikini, tous deux que je portais plus souvent même que des culottes.
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