Date: Mon, 19 Apr 2010 23:06:19 -0500
From: Aunt Joanne <auntjoanne@hotmail.com>
Subject: College Education - Part 4 - TG, college

Life changed quickly after my night at the club.  Before the first Monday
back at classes, Stacy and I worked on my hair to make it look less
feminine.  It wasn't that unusual for a guy to have highlights, and upon
returning to class, I actually got a few compliments on my new hairstyle.
I wore panties and a camisole under my boys clothes every day, and I kept
my legs and underarms shaved smooth.  My toenails were always polished
bright red or frosted pink, and my fingernails grew as long as I dared.
The counter in my bathroom filled up quicky with moisturizers, beauty
soaps, and makeup.  Most weekends, I would borrow one of Stacy's dresses
and we would go clubbing.  "Joanne" was getting to be known around town.


I started buying my own clothes, too.  I would get dressed up and Stacy and
I would hit the malls.  The first time we went shopping, I spent the
morning getting myself ready.  Stacy came over and helped me with my
makeup, showing me the difference between makeup for daytime look and
nighttime.  I was used to the dramatic, heavily shadowed look that Stacy
had taught me, but I really liked the fresh, innocent look of my face when
she gave me a daytime look.  I looked at my pink frosted lips and high
cheekbones and got a little tingle when I thought, "If I lived as a woman
full time, this is would be my normal appearance."  It was thrilling to
walk into a public place like a mall dressed as a girl, with hundreds of
people around, and browse through the Junior's section, evaluating which of
these pretty frocks I wanted to buy.  I became friends with a girl at the
Nieman-Marcus makeup counter who showed me some makeup techniques that even
Stacy didn't know.  After my ear piecings healed, I was able to take
advantage of the incredible selection of earrings.  That brought me to the
jewelry counter and I slowly leaned to accessorize.  I even got my belly
button pierced (ouch!)  And then there was the lingerie.  As a boy, I had
always hurried past the lingerie section, my eyes darting to the beautiful
selection of feminine panties, slips, bras, and nighties, terrified that
someone would notice me paying a little too much attention.  Now, Stacy and
I would simply walk in and look.  She would hold up a pretty camisole or a
naughty little sheer nightie and say, "You think Marco would like to see
you in this?" and we would laugh.  We would always stop by the shoe
section, and before long, I had a half dozen pairs of womens pumps,
sandals, and even a silly little pair of maribou trimmed bedroom mules
sitting in my closet next to my clunky boys shoes.


As fun as all this shopping was, it was killing my budget!  If I wanted to
keep up with my part time feminine lifestyle, I was going to need some
extra income.  I thought more and more about what Helen, my manager at the
restaurant, had said.  We were still short a waitress, and I had been
watching them work.  Thanks to Stacy's big mouth, a couple of the
waitresses knew about "Joanne," and they encouraged me to join them.  The
restarant where we worked was a steak place and the waitresses wore elegant
but simple uniforms consisting of a fitted white blouse, a short, slim
black skirt, and plain black pumps.  Hosiery was to be worn at all times,
and necklaces and jewelry were allowed but not to be overdone.  The uniform
was very businesslike, but it was, after all, a skirt and blouse.  The more
I thought about it, the more I liked the idea of making my livliehood
dressed as a female.  So after work one night, I had a talk with Helen.


"I wondered when you'd come around," she said with a smile.  "A cute girl
like you will make a lot of money on tips!"  We talked about all the new
rules that would apply to me, how to take dinner orders, and behavior in
front of the guests.  She gave me a handout describing my new uniform and
we set the next Tuesday, a slow day, as my "debut."  Of course, the few
people who didn't know about my little hobby figured it out quickly when
Joe the kitchen help disappeared, only to be replaced by Joanne, the new
waitress.  I was nervous about that (this was Texas, after all), but was
surprised that no one seemed particularly put off.  It was a college town,
and in our little neighborhood, people were pretty tolerant.


On my first night as a waitress, I had classes until 4:30 and had to start
work at 7:00.  I raced home from campus and hopped into the tub for a long
bath.  I shaved my legs and washed my face, then, dried off and put on a
garter belt, beige seamless stockings, panties, bra and breast forms, and a
camisole.  Then I sat down at the bathroom counter (now my makeup table.)
I curled and fluffed my hair (easier now that I had regular appointments at
the salon).  Then makeup: I applied concealer, foundation, powder, blush,
eye shadow (not too much!), eyeliner, eyebrow pencil, mascara, lipstick, a
couple of dabs of perfume under my jawline, and I was done.  I slipped into
a white nylon, lace-hemmed half slip, then a little black wool pencil
skirt.  After that, I put on my white blouse and stepped into a pair of 2
1/2" heel plain black pumps.  I chose a thin gold necklace that Marco had
given me and a small gold bracelet, then finished with a quick spritz of
hairspray.  "Professional" Joanne was looking back at me from the mirror,
ready to go to work.  It had taken only forty five minutes from start to
finish.  Not bad!


Waitressing is HARD.  As I walked out into the dining room before my first
shift, I was all tingly thinking about how I would be working as a female
and making my living wearing a skirt, but all the glamour vanished after I
messed up the orders at my first two tables.  I had to be cheerful,
friendly, and professional even when the guests weren't.  And I hate to say
this, considering that I was still (sort of) a man, but...men are pigs.
Even in a nice restaurant like ours, I got my butt grabbed, my legs
fondled, and my boobs ogled (and they weren't even real BOOBS!)  Okay, most
guests weren't like that, but the ones that were were enough to ruin your
day.  I had a long talk with Helen after work that first night, telling her
that maybe I wasn't cut out for this, but she just smiled and said that for
a first-timer, I had actually done rather well.  That made me feel better,
and I noticed that I HAD gotten better at taking orders as the night went
on.  I finished with what I thought were some pretty impressive tips, but
Helen said that they would only get better as I improved.


I persevered.  And I did get better, as did the tips.  Before too long, it
became natural.  I still had the occasional creep grab my butt, which made
me want to lift up my skirt, drop my panties, and show him just whose butt
he has been drooling over, but I was pretty sure that someting like that
would be bad for business.  Stacy and I discussed it, and I asked her how
to gracefully deflect unwanted male attention.  She cocked her head and
without missing beat, said, "You know, all you need is to have a couple of
periods and you really will know everything there is to know about being a
woman!"


Waitressing became a routine after a time, and it became sort of fun.  And
every once in awhile, I would be walking away from a table with an order,
swinging my hips in a relaxed feminine gait, and I would get that tingle as
I realized that I really WAS successfully making my livliehood as a female!


Stacy and I stayed close, and she and I would go out with Marco and her
boyfriend Dave on those rare occasions when we all had the night off.  One
night, Stacy and I were alone at my apartment talking, and she wondered if
I wanted to take my femininity even further.  I noted that I spent most of
my non-class time as a girl, including working as a waitress, and that I
was being humped almost nightly by my boyfriend, and asked her what in the
heck more was there?


"Lots more.  Hormones, for starters," she replied matter-of-factly.  "You
make a great looking girl, but regular doses of female hormones would round
out your figure and give you a nice little cleavage."  It sounded
ridiculous at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I liked the
idea.  I did some soul-searching and realized that I loved acting like a
female and probably always would.  The idea of going back to a full-time
male existence held no appeal at all to me.  I did a lot of research at the
college library, and decided that it was something I could try, at least on
a trial basis.  I told Stacy, and that was all it took.  The next thing you
know, we were in her convertible, speeding down the highway through the
wilds of southwest Texas on a warm spring day, heading south for Mexico.
We went to Juarez and saw the bullfights, drank margaritas, ate chiles
rellenos with Dos Equiis cerveza, and crossed back into the Land of the
Free with a three month supply of Estrace and Spironolactone.


When I first started on hormones, I didn't notice any difference.  After a
couple of days, I felt a little queasy, but that soon passed.  I kept
expecting boobs to magically appear, but things went along pretty much
normally for a long time.  I noticed that I wasn't getting much in the way
of erections anymore, but that didn't bother me since, in my current sexual
role, I didn't have much use for erections anyway.  I did notice an
interesting mental change.  It's hard to describe, but I became more
"receptive" physically and emotionally.  It was something so ingrained that
I didn't notice it until it changed, but instead of feeling aggressive or
competitive, I began to feel more relaxed and passive.  I had been sexually
"receptive" to Marco now for months, but I became even more so.  Having him
inside me seemed to fill some basic mental need in me.  I didn't think I
could ever enjoy his cock more than I already did, but that guilty little
male voice went away entirely.  It felt completely natural to kneel in
front of him and worship his cock, or to get down on all fours, letting him
have his way with me from behind.  I felt strangely "complete" when Marco
was inside me.  Feeling him thrust in and out of my bottom, over and over,
began to fill a need in me that I didn't know I had.  Was all that just due
some different chemicals?  I didn't know, but I liked it.


That's when I realized that I needed a man around the house.  I invited
Marco to move in, and knowing that he had a good thing going, he moved in
the next weekend.  His clothes were on one side of the closet, my dresses,
pumps, and few remaining boy clothes were on the other.  I got into being a
little Suzie Homemaker and learned to cook.  We split the rent, so I had
more money to spend.


I reached another milestone one night when I was going down on Marco and as
always, trying to get as much of him into my mouth as I could.  That night,
I didn't think of his cock as an invader.  I felt like it belonged there in
my mouth.  I relaxed my throat, held my breath, and lowered my head,
feeling his cock slip past the back of my throat and inside me.  My lips
went slowly down, down his shaft until my lips finally touched the little
thatch of pubic hair at the base of his cock.  I had done it!  I had deep
throated my boyfriend!  His big cock felt funny in my throat as I came back
up, but I took another breath, and went down again.  Marco was in heaven,
and I was insufferably proud of myself for doing something that even Stacy
couldn't do.  For the next three days, I didn't let Marco fuck me at all.
I was too busy going down on him in the kitchen, in the shower, on the
couch, in his car, sometimes even in bed!


After a few weeks, my nipples became really itchy and sensitive.  I told
Marco about it, and he started paying more attention to them.  A couple of
times, he grapped or squeezed them too hard and it really hurt, but when he
sucked on them, it felt heavenly.  I loved him to kiss and flick his tongue
over my nipples, then suck them hard between his lips.


I dressed as a girl full time now, except when I went to class, and even
then, there were days when all my jeans were dirty and I would just put on
a pair of girl's slacks and wear those to class.  I hadn't cut my hair in
months, and it hung down past my shoulders in thick, luxurious waves that
Carolyn at the salon kept well maintained.  As time went by, it was getting
much harder to present any kind of male facade to the world.  My nipples
became distended, pressing out from my chest about an inch, which became
very noticeable when I wore boy's shirts.  My nipples were so itchy that it
was necessary to wear a bra all the time just to keep them from gettng
irritated.  The flesh behind my nipples firmed up and expanded until I had
a real pair of shapely little A-cup titties.  Without a bra, I felt them
jiggle on my chest when I ran or when Marco fucked me.  My penis shrank
until it was just a little nub, and my balls became smaller.


Over time, most people that I knew found out about me and my lifestyle.  It
was hard to keep it a secret, anyway.  I lost a couple of friends over it,
but I decided that they weren't friends worth keeping anyway.  Most people
that found out were either accepting or simply too busy with their own
lives to pass judgement on me.  I had always been close to my parents and
had had a long heart to heart with my Mom months ago.  She was very loving
and accepting.  Dad less so, but he was coming around.  (Okay, so I hadn't
told them about Marco - so sue me...)  I threw away the last of my boy's
clothes and began life as a full-time female.  Strangely, this had an
unexpected effect; I lost one of my favorite thrills.  The act of putting
on a pair of panties became...mundane.  Well, maybe "mundane" isn't the
right word.  Putting on lingerie would always be fun, but instead of being
an exciting, forbidden act, dressing up as a girl was now just part of my
everyday life.  There was something else new, though.  I walked outside
into the world as a female every day, looking a the world through pretty,
heavily lashed eyes, feeling the hem of my dress swirl around my nyloned
thighs, hearing the click-click of my heels as I walked through campus, and
it was like someone had turned up the color intensity in my life.  In
short, I traded the guilty pleasure of secret crossdressing for the simple
fact that I was happier than I had ever been.


After a year of self-medication, I did what I should have done in the first
place and went to see a doctor.  Dr. Kent was a lovely woman in her
mid-thirties who spoke to me very sternly about practicing medicine on
myself without a license and immediately referred me to a psychiatrist
specializing in gender dysphoria.  I told the psychiatist my story, and in
short order, he wrote out a recommendation and it was back to Dr. Kent for
a prescription.  Now I could get my hormones legally, and that was great,
except that I was going to miss the bullfights.  Upon recommendation of the
psychiatrist, I was able to get my gender changed from "M" to "F" and had
my name legally changed to Joanne, which made clubbing with Stacy a lot
easier, among other things.  A couple of weeks after visiting the driver's
license office, I received my new license in the mail.  A pretty girl with
makeup and long hair looked at me from the picture on the license.  I never
thought that a mere letter could mean so much, but seeing an "F" under
"Sex" on my license was a bigger deal than any pair of panties or any dress
that I had ever worn.  Regardless of what was between my legs, I was
officially a female now.  Legally, I could only be a wife, not a husband.
Society "expected" me to wear pretty dresses, make up, and a pretty,
feminine hairstyle.


My breasts eventually measured a nice, modest B-cup.  They were shapely and
perky.  With a WonderBra, I had a dynamite cleavage and my tips at the
restarant went way up.  (Like I said, men are pigs...)  My bottom and hips
got wider, and I took up jogging just to maintain my shape.  Marco and I
settled into a nice domestic routine, and I couldn't deny any more that I
was in love with him.  Dr. Kent and I talked about sex-reassignment surgery
but for some reason, I was reluctant to take that final step.  I still sort
of liked my tiny little penis down there, and Marco was certainly happy
with all my available openings.  One thing I did decide to do was to have
my testicles removed.  Much more than my penis, they seemed to just get in
the way.  It was a surprisingly simple procedure.  I went to see Dr. Kent
one afternoon, put my feet into some stirrups, felt the prick of a local
anesthetic, and listened to some nice music on headphones for awhile.  In
twenty minutes, Dr. Kent's face appeared and she smiled and told me that
she was done.  Marco drove me home, and I spent the next three days sitting
on a sack of Bird's Eye Frozen Green Peas.  A week later, the bruising was
gone, and there was almost nothing to see of what used to be my scrotum.
The skin eventually tightened up against my body, and my penis got even
smaller, poking out as a little nub from the smooth, girlish vee between my
legs.  Three weeks after the surgery, Marco and I were able to have sex
again, and it was awesome!  I could lay on my back, wrap my legs around
him, and he could press against me harder than ever before as he pushed his
big cock all the way into me.  His abdomen rubbed against my little nub,
giving me a nice tickly feeling to compliment the deeper, fuller, grinding
feeling in my bottom.  I ground my pelvis against him, trying to get the
maximum penetration, and I think Marco had his best orgasm ever.  Dr. Kent
changed my prescription as a result of the procedure, and I began to fill
out my clothes even better.  I went from a "modest" to a "generous" B-cup.
My panties fit perfectly.  I had a nice, shapely woman's bottom and hips.
My skin seemed softer and smoother, and my voice, which had never been deep
enough to give me away, got higher.


Marco graduated a year ahead of me and got a great job in Vancouver, 1,700
miles away and in a whole other country!  I was stuck with 20 more credit
hours before graduation.  I helped him move into a condo on a hillside
surrounded by trees in North Vancouver, and we had a tearful last night
together before I came back home.  Marco and I had an understanding.  I
didn't expect him to be a monk for a whole year, and he thought it would be
good for me to kick up my heels a little.  I dated a few guys that last
year.  I even fooled around a little with a tall, sandy blonde haired guy
named Steve, who was on the swim team.  He was a nice guy, but he wasn't
Marco.


The time dragged by until finally, I was enrolled in my last semester.
Stacy and I were promoted to assistant managers at the restaurant, which
meant more money and more elegant dresses to wear for work.  With
graduation approaching, I started sending out resumes.  Strangely enough,
all my resumes seemed to want to go to British Columbia.  In April, I lined
up some interviews and flew to Vancouver.  Marco met me at the airport.  We
had a wonderful time and my interviews went well.  The interviewers all
commented on the confidence that I showed.  That was another unexpected
result of my change in gender.  As a boy, I had always been shy and more
than a little withdrawn.  As a girl, it was different.  I suppose it was
because I worked so hard to look pretty.  Why waste all that effort by
being shy?  I liked the way I looked and the way people looked at me.  That
made me feel friendlier, more outgoing, and strangely, more maternal.  I
really had become a different person, and not just physically.  In May, I
got a graduation gown and two great job offers.  I memorized the lyrics to
"O, Canada," applied for a work visa, and developed a taste for tailored
suits and silk blouses with cowl necks and french cuffs.  I also developed
a dangerous addiction to Manolo Blahnik open toed slingback pumps.  And
sandals with ankle straps.  And heavenly taupe suede boots with 2 1/2"
spike heels that came to mid calf and made my legs look awesome when I wore
them with a short wool skirt.  And these fabulous tiny little cocktail
slippers that...well...you get the idea.


Six months later, I donned a vintage snow white garter belt and slid brand
new white silk stockings up my legs.  I put on a white, lacy push up bra
that gave me an impressive decolletage.  A white satin half slip borrowed
from Stacy came next.  I smiled as I put my silk encased, red polished toes
and into the leg openings of a lovely pair of lacy silk panties and slid
them up to my waist.  The panties were a gift from Stacy.  They were a pale
pastel blue and in keeping with Stacy's perverse sense of humor, had the
words "Sissy Boy" embroidered across the back.  What little was left of my
penis made not the slightest bulge in front of my panties.  Carolyn had
spent two hours working my long blonde hair into a lovely upsweep style.
My attendants carefully helped me slip into my snow white gown with sheer
sleeves, antique lace, and faux pearl accents.  Then I made the last
touches to my makeup, admiring the happy, successful, and lovely young
woman looking back at me from the mirror.


That nagging little voice of male guilt in the back of my mind had
developed a sense of humor.  I almost laughed out loud to think that I, who
had been born a male and who still had a penis between my legs, was wearing
a gorgeous wedding gown and was about to be led down the aisle by my father
to be given away to another male to be his wife.  After those first
furtive, guilt-ridden encounters with Rich back in high school, what a
delightful joke it was on me and the rest of the world that I had found
happiness in the role of a woman!


I walked into the foyer of the church, keenly aware of the feel of my
panties, stockings, and wedding gown as undeniable reminders of my
effiminacy.  I stood behind Stacy and watched her walk down the aisle bside
the Best Man to take her place next to the altar as Maid of Honor.  The
music paused.  I slipped my arm into Daddy's, and the organist began
playing the Bridal Chorus.  Marco was standing at the altar, looking
nervous.  Everyone turned to look at me.  I took a deep breath, smiled, and
began my walk down the aisle.


The End


Many thanks to everyone for the kind reviews.  I hope you enjoyed reading
this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!


Hugs and kisses,
Joanne


copyright 2010 Aunt Joanne