THIS STORY CONTAINS CONTENT SUITABLE FOR MATURE AUDIENCES ONLY.
The Other Decision
By Rachael Platt
I am lucky.
I am cursed.
I am brilliant.
I am foolish.
I thank God that I am.
I thank God for my gifts.
And I spend hours a day wishing it were all different.
While the journey to womanhood excites me,
Living a woman's life drives me.
1. Getting caught
I think my curiosity started when I was six, maybe seven years old. I saw my cousin Isabella running around naked. She was only a few years old, so naturally I didn't think much of it -- certainly nothing inappropriate! But I did notice how she was different than me. There was nothing between her legs, just a slit.
I was curious. That part of me wasn't like hers and that seemed wrong somehow. I didn't want hanging things; I wanted to be smooth like her.
I don't recall why I never spoke up, but that wrongness was never vocalized nor enacted. Oh, sure, I did ask my mom why she was different, but that was just curiosity and mom had no reason to believe it was anything else.
Skip ahead a few years.
By the time I hit 11 years old I had discovered my mom's clothes. I could not hold back my desires. I could not vocalize my feelings. So I turned to display in the quiet dark. Girls' clothes felt good and correct on me. Sure I didn't fill them out like mom did but at least I was still small enough to fit at all. I "rescued" a pair of pantyhose she tossed. I "borrowed" a bra from the dirty clothes and would often sneak downstairs and borrow whatever clothes made me look the most feminine.
That fateful night I was lucky and discovered a pretty sunflower print dress. I lay under the covers of my bed all dressed up with hose and a bra and wishing I would grow to fill them. I dreamed of presenting myself to the world as a girl. I thought I had the night to myself and took security in the feeling.
When mom and dad turned in for sleep I was already dressed up. Suddenly the night was hostile. As I feared, Mom came in to check on my brother and me. I pretended to be asleep. Maybe she would see us and simply close the door. But no, she sat at the edge of my bed and gently caressed my back.
I felt her get up. She walked out of the room and talked quietly to dad. What little I could hear and understand scared me to no end (more than 20 years later I still feel that night's fear). She felt the bra on my back! Darn!
While I contemplated various tortures and punishments my parents could level at me, dad walked into the room and stood at the foot of my bed. "Bobby, I know you can here me. Take off your mother's clothes and come see me in my office." His voice was stern yet somehow shaky. Almost as an afterthought he added, "And bring all of your mom's clothes."
I changed back into my pajamas and bundled up mom's clothes -- all except the hose. They couldn't know about My pantyhose. They were trash, right? Anyway, I cautiously walked into dad's study. He sat behind his desk looking wearily in my direction.
"Close the door and come sit down." He stated. I complied, fear gripping my movements. My heart was pounding nearly out of my chest. He would disown me or make fun of me or do some nasty thing, I just knew it. But he didn't.
"Bobby, I don't know what to make of this." A long pause ensued. "Do you want to be a girl or are you just experimenting?" He paused only for an instant. "Now it's not unusual for boys your age to start fantasizing about girls, but most boys use magazines."
Oh, the loaded question that would make or break my future. How I wish I had answered differently. My real-life answer confirmed his desires. I said "experimenting." That answer led me down a path of regret for the rest of my life. But for this fantasy I will follow another path.
"Daddy... um, Dad... I've always wanted to be a girl." I stammered.
"You don't want to be with a girl? You want to be a girl?" He asked, not entirely liking my answer.
I started down the road so I couldn't back-peddle now. "I want to..." I had to swallow hard here and take a leap of faith. "...be a girl." My words came out as a whisper.
Clearly he heard me because he looked down. "Okay. We'll talk more about this tomorrow. Get some rest." I must have looked very pensive because he concluded with "And don't worry. We'll get through this." I lay in bed for hours just looking up and wondering if I made the right choice.
Mom woke me the next morning for school and nothing changed. I drifted though the day barely aware of my classes. That night moved slowly and I turned into bed early, complaining that I didn't feel well.
I stirred early the next morning to mom's touch. She told me to stay quiet and let my brother sleep. She brought me into her room to get dressed. Dad wasn't around. I guess that meant I wasn't going to be punished after all.
Then the unexpected happened. Mom handed me a pair of panties and told me to strip and put them on. She explained as I hesitantly dressed.
"We talked to a therapist yesterday. We decided that if you want to be a girl we should start treating you like a girl to see if that is what you really want."
"So, like other girls you'll wear blouses and skirts and when you sleep you'll wear a night gown. She handed me several sets of panties. Tomorrow you and I are going to the mall to pick up some outfits. For the time being you will spend weekends as a girl, but you will always wear girl's underwear."
That day turned into a blur. I felt like the world was a brighter place. Simultaneously I avoided everyone and floated from class to class in a new feminine haze. Not a soul said a word despite my fear that everyone could tell I was wearing girl's underwear. Then again, I had just started sixth grade. Not many boys were aware of the existence of girls and girls seemed to avoid me anyway.
Tomorrow was Saturday and I both marveled at and feared going into a public place and dressing as a girl. It's taboo for boys to dress like girls. I knew that. Everyone did.
2. The mall
Saturday morning arrived and mom surprised me yet again. I woke early to her gentle touch, this time in my new nightie.
"Let's get you ready. It's a big day today. Your clothes are on my bed." She smiled and opened her bedroom door to reveal a complete outfit lying on her bed. Not thinking, I ran over and picked up the dress, holding it up and twirling. "It's beautiful, mommy." I said then paused. I hadn't called my mother "mommy" for years.
She just smiled. "You get to wear that to the mall."
I flushed and felt faint. Me? Wear girls' clothes to the mall? I had never done that before. What if I saw a friend? "Do I have to?" I asked. This whole girl thing was scary! But I wasn't given a choice.
"Yes you do." Mom replied sternly. There was no way around it. "You are dressing in girls' clothes to go shopping for more girl clothes. If I take you as a boy everyone will look and wonder why a boy is shopping as a girl."
"Do I have to go shopping?" I tried again. Fear ruled my actions.
"If you want to know what it's like to be a girl, you need to dress and act like a girl. Shopping is definitely a girl thing. Besides you'll like it." She smiled again, dispelling some of my fear.
"But-" I started to protest again.
"Bobby, get dressed!" She demanded. I turned around and faced the clothing laid out on the bed.
"Hmmm. I can't call you Bobby in the store. What is your girl name?"
This I hadn't considered. I picked the first name that came into my mind. "Call me Rachael." I announced proudly.
"Okay, Rachael. Now get ready." She prodded once more, grinning.
I smiled and compiled. I picked up the pantyhose first but mom stopped me.
"Honey, wait. If you put your pantyhose on over your panties you can remove your hose without having to take off your panties. And it makes it easier to pee."
I giggled and put my panties on first. Next I put on a bra. She had to help me clasp it in the back. She explained that after a while I would get used to stretching my arms around my back to clasp and unclasp my bras. She continued by saying that I would only have this one training bra for occasional use until my boobies started to grow.
Boobies! I was starting to enjoy the thought of being a girl. Though in all fairness, I've always enjoyed being a girl. I just never had the courage to bring her out and show everyone. Mom picked up the pantyhose. She showed me how to gather the material in my hands and slowly and carefully pull it up my legs. She explained that the pantyhose are very delicate, expensive and when they tear, it's called a run because it runs up and down your leg.
My first attempt produced a small run up near my crotch but mom said it was ok. What she didn't tell me is that it would get longer as the day wore on and I moved about.
The dress dropped easily over my head and fit snugly down my torso. It was white with a wide lace hem on the skirt. Next I donned ankle socks and white-and-pink tennis shoes. I thought I was done but mommy brought me over to the vanity where she worked on my face.
"First thing's first." She grabbed a pair of tweezers, had me hold still and yanked a lash from an eyebrow.
"Ouch!" I reflexively pulled away and brought my arm up in defense.
"Sorry honey. Being beautiful takes work and sometimes a little pain. Don't worry, though. This will get easier each time you pluck your brows. Watch what I do. You need to still be a boy so we're not going to remove much, but you do need to pass as a girl so we need to do something." She explained as she pulled out another lash.
"Ouch!" I exclaimed a little louder. "That hurt!"
"Sorry, honey. It has to be done." And with that a third lash was removed. This time however it wasn't quite so bad.
A dozen-or-so plucks at my eyebrows and she was finished. I started to get up. "Hold it right there young lady." She said. "You're not done yet. You're skin is still smooth so you really don't need foundation, but I want you to know what makeup is what and how to use it properly."
I felt a shudder of excitement run down my spine at being called "young lady."
The lesson continued through eye-liner, mascara, and lip stick. Then she brushed and teased my hair, pulling down my bangs in the front and trimming them to a feminine length. When she stopped I looked at myself in the mirror and shuddered. My friends wouldn't recognize me. I looked completely like a girl. Rachael was born.
Mommy was correct. I loved and still love shopping. There were so many outfits to try on, so many colors, shapes and sizes from which to choose. I was kept merrily busy for hours. On our way out we stopped at a girls' jewelry store and picked up bracelets, a few necklaces and a few pairs of clip-on earrings. I could have had my ears pierced but that would require me going to school on Monday with earrings in both ears. Pierced ears would have to wait.
When I got home I was all girl and loving life. I even walked next door and fulfilled my second fantasy. I played dolls with Stephanie. I was introduced by mommy as a cousin from out of town. Stephanie and I became fast friends, playing together all weekend.
Monday arrived and I wanted to go to school as a girl. Mommy said she and Daddy would have to talk about it and consult with others first. It was looking like the experiment proved I was a girl in boy's clothing.
That day I came home and dressed up as Rachael again. I didn't want to wait for the weekend! I ran over to Stephanie's house where we played more games.
And the same happened Tuesday. I had a bit of trouble at school because my bangs fell forward and one of the bullies teased me about it for hours. I hate bullies. But he couldn't hurt me any more. Once home Bobby would drop away and Rachael would emerge. All the bullying in the world would simply fall away as a dress came over my head. I found a new contentment.
3. Rachael's first appointment
A new appointment was added to my routine on Thursday.
When Rachael came down stairs after school I was stopped mommy and told we had an appointment. I protested but it was no good. Rachael had an appointment, not Bobby and there was no getting out of it. Again I was full of dread that only increased as I sat in the doctor's office, waiting.
"Hello Rachael. Please come in and sit down." I did as the doctor asked. "Thank you, Mrs. Platt. I'll need time alone with Rachael." My dread increased yet again. I was very close to a full-blown panic attack as my mommy left me alone with this stranger.
"Thank you for coming, Rachael. Do you know who I am and what I do?"
I shook my head no. I was too terrified to speak.
"My name is Doctor Becky Trowly. I'm a psychiatrist. That means I'm here to help you be a better person." She must have seen the fear in my eyes.
"Your mommy has told all about you. I know you've got a boy's body, but it looks like you should be a girl. Is that correct?"
I slowly nodded yes. I was starting to calm down. This doctor person wasn't here to expose my secret to the world or label me a "nut job." Nor was she going to laugh or call me names or tell all my friends. What do you know, my fears were unfounded.
"Tell me how long you've wanted to be a girl."
"I don't know." I whispered. Here was something new to consider. This feeling or desire came upon me so slowly that I couldn't point to a single day where things changed. Yes there was the experience with my cousin Isabella some years ago, but was that the catalyst? I kept my mouth shut.
Slowly "Doctor Becky" -- she asked me to call her that -- got me to open up. An hour later I was really liking her and freely telling her all about myself, my troubles and all about my secret.
On the drive home mommy asked, "Sweetie, did you like the doctor?"
"Doctor Becky? Yes. She's nice." I chimed.
"Well, would you like to see her next week?" Mommy asked tentatively.
"Oh, yes!" I said. I felt much better about being a girl since I started opening up.
And this routine continued for months. Every day I would come home and change into Rachael. Every weekend I would stay as Rachael. And every Thursday I would go see Doctor Becky.
About three or four months into our sessions Doctor Becky asked a new question. "Do you want to grow up as a girl?" I stammered just a second and she continued. "Now I want you to consider this carefully. If you grow up as a girl you won't be able to have children but if you stay a boy you can have children but the longer you wait, the less you will look like a girl until it will be almost impossible to change."
Children? I was far too young to be thinking about children. But I had to consider that if I ever wanted children of my own, I would have to remain a boy. I hesitated.
"I want you to think this over and give me an answer next week." That snapped me out of my daydream.
"I don't need a week, Doctor Becky." I said confidently. "I want to be a girl."
"Are you sure? You really should think carefully about this decision." She countered.
"I'm sure. I feel like I'm part of the world when I'm Rachael. But Bobby is always alone and always teased."
"That may not change as Rachael. Girls can be worse than boys when it comes to teasing."
"But I already have more better friends than I ever had as Bobby. Besides I really like being a girl. It's kinda fun."
"It's fun for now. It won't always be fun. Sometimes it's painful. And sometimes being a girl means boys get special privileges before you."
I don't know where the thought came from, but I blurted out, "being a boy or a girl has its good sides and its bad sides. Besides, Mommy said that being beautiful can be painful and then she plucked my eyebrows."
The got a laugh from Dr. Becky. She replied, "And I see that you've kept them well maintained, too."
Next Thursday Doctor Becky asked me the same question. This time I didn't hesitate and provided a better explanation.
"I have to be a boy at school and a girl all the rest of the time. It would be much easier to just be a girl all the time."
That weekend mommy and I went shopping and bought me a bunch more clothes. When we got home I discovered Daddy had moved most of his stuff out of the office.
Daddy had been having a hard time accepting Rachael. His boy, his namesake was lost, and he was gaining a daughter. The conflict was most apparent when I changed from Bobby to Rachael every afternoon.
I immediately started asking questions. I was so afraid that Daddy would be leaving us.
"No, Daddy isn't leaving. He's moving out so that we can make this your room. My Rachael can't live in the same room as her brother." Mommy explained. I was elated. I walked on clouds for the rest of the weekend.
Apparently Mommy and Daddy had talked to the school. The school didn't want to change my name and sex on paper so my parents decided that Bobby would go live with his uncle in Washington and Rachael would move into his room. Rachael would start school in January. Bobby would have to complete two weeks of school.
Monday saw another change. Mommy told me that I needed to start a medication to help me be a better girl. She handed me two small pink pills and a larger white pill. I downed all three without a second thought. She shuddered, shook her head and handed me a glass of water. I shrugged and drank the water. I didn't need it, but I wanted to make Mommy happy.
4. The first change
I started growing like a weed. I was even keeping pace with my best friend Isabella. We would tease the boys because they hadn't started to grow yet. For the moment the girls were bigger than the boys and we used that advantage as often as possible. Mommy told me that girls start growing before boys but that boys will grow bigger. I didn't like that, but I was still bigger than boys for now, so it was alright.
Once Winter break started Bobby disappeared completely. Mommy and Daddy guided my actions and a new routine emerged -- an hour in the morning and an hour at night. I used lotions to keep my skin soft. I monitored every zit on my body and began a regime of cleansing my face. Like mommy suggested, I wanted my skin to look smooth and unblemished from head to toe. At night I cleaned off makeup and applied creams. I didn't enjoy the extra work but I did enjoy the affects it had on my body.
Over the next few months I developed a love for makeup and clothes. Soon Rachael had more clothes than Bobby ever dreamed -- or desired. I wore shirts, blouses, skirts, and pants. I wore panties and nighties and I loved every moment of it. Oh, and shoes... I started with the white-and-pink tennis shoes and graduated to heels.
I even died my hair. The first time I tried red. I didn't like that. It didn't match my personality. My second attempt -- blonde -- worked wonderfully and I kept it like that for years. I even mixed and matched and ended up with a dirty-blonde effect.
When an Uncle married, I attended in a beautiful white dress with princess lace, a low-cut back, and a wide black fabric waist wrap that ended in a bow tie on the center of my back. Mommy and I shopped for hours just to find the right shoes. I ended up in three inch black pumps with a little white bow tie on top. The effect of the outfit accentuated my small hips and flat chest while the pumps made my legs look thinner.
Mommy and I even made special trips to the salon. The day before the wedding we had our hair and nails done. I had to be careful not to break or chip a nail. That meant making very delicate and very "feminine" moves with my hands and arms. The day of the wedding we had our makeup done. I even got help adding a little padding to my bra. A girl can't appear to be completely flat-chested.
The effect of my dress and makeup surprised everyone, myself most of all. I looked like an eighteen-year-old girl! I really looked like a girl! That support made me more comfortable in my roll as Rachael and I acted more the part as a result. However, once my identity was discovered news traveled quickly and just as quickly I found out which of my relatives had a problem. There were several "quiet discussions" between certain relatives and my parents. Once I was asked by an aunt if I was happy being a girl. I smiled and nodded. I was too nervous to say anything. My aunt just smiled and continued with the party.
By the end of the fourth month I had quite a collection. Every day brought something different -- some bit of makeup or some arrangement of clothing. I felt a love of life that was far beyond Bobby's comprehension. And by the end of the fourth month, Bobby was only a distant memory. Rachael was even starting to remember her past as if she were always a girl.
It was about this time that a new sensation made itself known. My chest, though flat, started to hurt. Occasionally my nipples would itch but it would hurt to scratch them. It took me a few weeks but I brought it up to Mommy.
"Mommy? I have a girl question." I said cautiously.
"What is it, sweetie?" She replied.
"My chest hurts all the time and it looks big." I said. "I know that girls grow boobies but should it hurt?"
"Show me your chest," was the reply that worried me. Was there something wrong? Did I do something I should not have done?
I complied, lifting my blouse up over my head. She touched my chest in a few places. I jumped once or twice. Then she told me to pull my blouse down.
She smiled. "My little girl is getting her boobies. Yes, they will be tender. But, the soreness will gradually fade. Just remember that from now on if you get hit in the chest it will hurt." She paused a moment, thinking. "I think it's time that you start wearing a bra every day."
Mommy's words rang in my ears. I swooned at the thought that I was a girl becoming a woman. And yet some part of me held to fear. I would never have children. I would always be a boy in girl's clothing. The elation faded and with it some of the fear.
The next morning a new pill was added to my daily regime. But this one was twice the size of the larger white pill. Mommy told me it was something to prevent my boy parts from growing and making me hairy and big and, and, well, boyish. I was glad to start taking it! I didn't want to be big and hairy! I wanted to be dainty and soft and smooth.
The same morning I was given my first bra. I had worn bras, but they were temporary and were usually filled by falsies. Now I have my own bra filled with my own flesh. The thought rippled through my body. It was good. As always, mommy had to help me put it on and take it off. I made a couple of practice attempts and eventually worked my arms up my back to clasp then unclasp my bra. No doubt time would make this an easier task.
I felt so proud to be wearing a bra. I wanted to show it off at school but mommy said that girls should not do things like that.
By the time I got home I wanted to take off my bra. It was getting uncomfortable. Mommy just smiled.
5. And a year later...
"But Mom, it's been over a year!" I complained.
"No. Honey you can not sleep at Dirk's house. It is not proper for girls and boys to sleep together at your age. Let me tell you about the birds and the bees."
I rolled my eyes. "Geeze! I'm not eight."
"Then let me put it this way: girls who spend lots of time at boys' houses are called Whores. They become dirty and ugly and live in boxes on the street."
That was more than I needed to know. Sleeping at Dirk's was a bad idea. I like being clean and smooth. I gave up but reluctantly.
Hormone-induced distribution of fat combined with all the attention my skin received left me with very soft, very smooth skin. I was looking round and hairless whereas my brother was starting to grow and looking hard and angled.
He even started to grow hair on his face. I was glad I didn't have to worry about hair on my face! And shaving my face -- yuck! That is until mommy told me that girls have to shave their legs and underarms. My legs alone are much bigger than my face. I didn't think it was fair, but I did sign-up for it and I had to accept it.
My boobies were definitely growing. They were little but filled an A-cup bra. My shoulders, already big for a girl, never grew any bigger. My voice never cracked. My feet didn't get larger. I didn't even think my hips had changed at all. It was hard to tell with my body getting all soft and smooth. I had to try on a pair of Bobby's old pants before I was convinced I had changed. And the difference was drastic! There was a good two inches of extra material around my waist! My hips fit but I would never get the zipper up. I removed the offensive jeans and slipped into a pair of Rachael's jeans. Girl's jeans fit perfectly! I guess that makes me a girl.
About this time something new turned up. My penis, always small, seemed to be getting a bit smaller and was starting to point down instead of out. I thought nothing of it since I was always pushing it back between my legs. I just figured all the time it spent pointing backwards was making it grow into a new position. I liked it. If nothing else, it made wearing panties easier.
Life was good. Not perfect. No, life was not perfect. Becoming a woman meant giving up some freedoms -- like dessert. If I was allowed a dessert it would not be as much as my brother would get. My mommy would say, "A girl's got to watch her figure."
Rachael had new friends and new duties. Isabella and I played together almost every day. I was given a reprieve from "boy's duties" but required to perform "girl's duties." I complained that girls had to do more than boys. Mommy reminded me constantly that girls had to work harder to get recognition and daddy would just hug me and tell me I would get used to it.
Gradually I learned that men get more respect in the world. Men get better jobs. And my best chance for a rich life would be to marry a respectful man. I could live my life as a woman, but I would not earn the money or respect that I would as a man. Still I felt better being Rachael. I did try going back to being Bobby a few times, but I never managed to stay as Bobby for more than a few days. Life as a woman may not be so fair but life as a woman was my future nonetheless.
And then there was Billy Hill. Billy found out that I was once Bobby. He threatened to tell everyone if I didn't show him my boobies. I cried and tried to plead but it only made him take a stronger stance. With tears running down my cheeks I pulled up my blouse to expose my bra-encased, a-cup "boobies." He wasn't satisfied and made me take off my bra. At least he let me find a semi-private place first. Once nude from the waist up, his eyes did not leave my boobies. He touched and pinched them. Sometimes it felt electric, other times it hurt. And when he grabbed and twisted hard, I screamed and ran. I held my shirt to my chest all the way home.
Billy got in a LOT of trouble. He almost had to transfer to another school. He made it up by promising not to tell anyone and apologizing over and over to me. I felt empowered by his forgiveness. I could force him into a new school. But I'm not a mean person and I accepted his apologies and asked that he stay at our school.
A few weeks later I saw Billy again. This time when he stopped me he was nice. We talked and walk together. He asked me all kinds of questions about becoming a girl. Why was I doing it? Was I like all the other girls? And the list continued. He was fascinated. When we parted, it was as friends.
That night when I sat to pee, I had to wipe myself with tissue because the spray was getting me wet. When I examined myself I noticed how I had changed even more. My penis seemed to be pointing slightly back, pushing my balls to the sides. If that wasn't enough, my balls seemed to be getting much larger. Where each started out the size of a pea, they were now three or four times larger. I wanted to tell someone but I was afraid that I was turning into a boy and nothing could be done.
Over the next month I watched my penis change. It continued to point further and further back -- not move back, just point back. Meanwhile the head of my penis was growing longer by the day. As the angle shifted my ball sack (I think it's called the scrotum) was pushed into two smaller sacks. As I played with and explored myself I found my penis was attaching itself to the underside of my body. It grew more and more difficult to pull it forward. That's why the spray of pee was getting me wet. My penis was pointing back and the slit on its head was longer. I couldn't direct the pee anymore.
Another month passed. It was a rainy night that I suddenly awoke to the sound of a muffled "THUMP" and a sharp pain in my groin. I curled up and as my hands touched my groin I heard and felt another "THUMP!" The pain subsided quickly and I fell back to sleep, my hands on my crotch.
I woke in the morning, peed and wiped. Feeling something different about myself and remembering last night, I suddenly felt the need to explore. I relaxed for a few moments and inspected myself. The results were obvious. My balls were missing, the sacks containing them limp and mostly empty. Again I felt faint.
A bang on the door reminded me that someone else needed to use the bathroom. My brother's voice boomed through the door, "you done in there Rachael?"
I pulled up my panties and redressed. I noticed how I didn't need to push my penis back anymore and how my panties felt more comfortable today.
I flushed and quickly went back into my bedroom to continue my exploration of change. I grabbed a compact with a mirror, dropped my panties and sat down. The mirror showed something I was hoping to see. My penis, now about the thickness of a pencil, was less than an inch long and the head was nearly two inches long with the slit running the entire length. My ball sacks looked more like small lumps than "sacks." But now that they were empty, I could see that my penis had indeed become attached to my groin and now pointed straight back. That could only mean one thing. I smiled a deep satisfying smile.
By now I had learned something about girl's anatomy. I wanted to know if I had any of it beyond the boobies and shapely figure. Carefully I traced my penis. That felt good but harsh. I needed something softer and rounder than my long fingernails. It suddenly dawned on me that I wanted a penis. Not ON me, but IN me!
I feigned illness and managed to get the day off school. I wanted to experiment!
Once everyone had left, I searched through mom's clothes and hit the jackpot. I pulled out a small dildo and ran back to my room with it. I might not have a vagina but I have labia and a clitoris. It had been a long time since I had masturbated using that part of my anatomy and I was excited to try.
With a single pass I discovered that I needed lubricant. A touch too much oil and I was exploring every inch of my new gender. I found the slit down the head of my penis was deep. At the front, slightly under the slit was a mini-penis -- my clitoris. When I touched and played with that I found heaven. I was moving back and forth with the dildo when I discovered it vibrated. Then I rediscovered it. *Orgasm.* One hand massaged my breasts while the dildo teased my clitoris and labia.
I moved back and forth for what seemed like hours. I moaned, I screamed, I bucked my hips. It was wonderful until I pushed too hard and felt pain. I was moving a vibrating dildo up and down my labia, moaning in pleasure. With each pass I was using more pressure. And when I got back near my butt, I felt the dildo slip into me. It didn't suddenly disappear, but I felt a dimple or small hole there. Immediately I dropped the dildo and felt with my finger. The effect of my masturbation made everything down there swollen and loose. Apparently that included a small hole that seemed to be leaking fluid.
That explained why I didn't need to add more lubricant. I was making it myself. I probed the small hole with a fingernail. I could imagine that I felt something so I pushed a little harder. I felt something tear and the hole opened up a bit. I jerked my hand back in pain.
After a few minutes the pain ended and I pushed again. This time I felt my finger enter up to the first knuckle, then the second, then... Wow! My body jumped as my finger touched my "g-spot." I felt that! Yes, I felt my insides with my finger, but even bigger, I felt my finger inside my vagina!
I slowly worked the dildo into my virgin self and felt a new sensation. It took some doing, but I managed to get the full three inches of dildo into me. Once there I felt full in an indescribable way. I felt like life was complete like this. Having someone inside me was natural and desirable!
I grabbed the dildo and twisted slightly, intending to remove it only to turn it on. My hands instantly flew over my head and grabbed the pillow under my head. My hips bucked up and down, up and down, faster and faster. I thrashed on the bed in a building orgasm that crashed around my body. I twitched as I pulled it out, exhausted.
It took nearly twenty minutes to recover from this last masturbation and I slept for a few hours after it. What a feeling!
Twenty-eight days later there could be no doubt. Rachael could have children and did want children -- some day. But now my playing dolls with my friends had real meaning.
I was learning to become a mommy.
At 19 I married John White. I am Mrs. Rachael White and proud of it. I couldn't tell daddy but mom knew that I was pregnant with John's child when we married.
I love and cherish my man. I feel so protected and loved in John's embrace. He makes me happy and content in ways I never knew possible. Moreover, I feel a bond to him stronger than any power that could rend us apart. It never fails that no matter the trouble, my worries drop with one of his smiles and a hug.
Two weeks before my twentieth birthday Mom surprised me once more. I just had given birth to my son, Robert. As I lay on the hospital bed, holding this new life that I delivered, Mom confided in me once more.
"Rachael? Did I ever tell you that I was glad that you wanted to be a girl?" This was indeed news!
"Being the only woman in the house made some things very hard -- like getting three men not to pee on the toilet seat! Having you around evened the odds and gave me a princess to play with."
We hugged and cried together. It was beautiful.
I look at women and wish I was one. I see a skirt walking down the street and notice the flat stomach and smooth crotch that are not mine. I don't undress women. I put myself into their skin and their clothes and dream of being them.
And now I'm getting married as a man. I love this woman I will marry. She is the perfect yang to my yin. She knows my hidden desires and to a large degree allows for them, though with her I may not become a woman.
I can still dream. Tonight I dream in color.
I pray you find contentment in your journey.
- Rachael Platt