A fter living all summer as Rachel, I hated to be Ray again. I fondly recalled some of the events past, but that was little consolation. I'm sorry to say I occasionally had thoughts of suicide.

When I was alone, I would look at my girl clothes and wish I could wear them again. Then I realized that I had about two hours after school before my parents got home from work. I could dress then, as long as I was Ray again before they got home.

The next day I hurried home from school and became Rachel. It felt wonderful to wear those familiar clothes again, but it seemed empty to experience it alone. Without Mark or Aunt Mazzie it just wasn't complete.

Just the same, I dressed each day after school. I wandered all around the house, and sometimes ventured outdoors – into the safety of the back yard. One day I was in the back yard and was caught entirely by surprise when I came back inside to discover my father came home early.

Dad was normally a really nice guy, but he was closed-minded and very religious. At first he thought I was some neighbor girl who came into the wrong house, but when he realized it was me he lashed out, smacking me across the face so hard that it knocked me to the floor. With tears in my eyes I got up, my nose now bleeding.

Dad made me take off the girl’s clothes, calling me a sissy faggot as I did, and other biblical words, like abomination. I ran to my room naked and got into my boy clothes, as he had ordered.

"I've thought it over," Dad said, "You may be my son, but you've been taken over by demons, and I won't have the work of the Devil under my roof."

He grabbed me by the collar and threw me out the front door. "Don't you ever come back, you fuckin' pervert!" he said.

My eyes were filled with tears as I walked away, unsure what to do. I had nothing with me – no wallet, ID or money. I felt my pockets and realized that I still had my cell phone.

I called Aunt Mazzie and told her what had happened. She asked where I was and told me to stay there – she would come pick me up.

I waited for half an hour and then saw her car. She stopped and hugged me, wiping my bleeding nose with a tissue. "You have blood all over your shirt," she said, "That gives me an idea – take it off."

I removed the shirt and handed it to her. She told me to get into the car and she drove to my parent's neighborhood. A few doors away from their house she threw the shirt out the window onto the nearby lawn, and then drove me back to her home.

I have no idea what Dad told Mom when she got home, but later that evening he called the police and reported me missing, claiming that I ran off. Meanwhile a neighbor found the bloody shirt in his lawn and reported it to the police. The police showed it to my dad, who confirmed it was mine.

The police said they suspected it was foul play and began an investigation. Fortunately, they never thought to connect me with my aunt, so to this day I remain legally missing.

The good part is that I am Rachel again and Aunt Mazzie said she knew a lawyer who could get my legal gender changed to female, and that I would be her daughter.

Even though it was time for me to go through puberty, it was slow for me, but I knew it would come. It was only a matter of time before I would grow whiskers and my voice would deepen, and my pretty feminine features would be gone.

"Is there any way I can avoid turning back into a boy?" I asked.

"We could have your balls surgically removed and start you on female hormones," she said, "But that's really extreme, and there would be no going back – ever."

"I don't ever want to go back!" I insisted, so my aunt began to work on making me more of a girl.

Of course, Mark was delighted to see me return, and I was thrilled to reconnect with him. I planned to give his tongue a lot of practice!

While the thought of getting balls cut off would terrify most boys, I wanted it badly. When I told Mark about it, he asked if I would still have my clitty, and I assured him that I would. I looked forward to sharing it with him forever.

After six months my balls were gone and the female hormones were beginning to work. My nipples were very sensitive and hurt if squeezed too hard. Mark continued to be a perfect gentleman and was always gentle with me.

In a year I clearly had breasts – they were only A cup sized but continued to grow. In public I wore breast forms to look fuller, but alone with Mark, he preferred me to be natural. When I complained about my breasts being so small, he assured me that they were perfect. The guy is definitely biased, but I wouldn't have it any other way!

  The End

Feel free to contact me with your comments or requests.
    –Bill Beaumonte (oral_guy_2000@yahoo.com)