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"To: Mothers' Group with Transgender Interest" by Princess Pervette Seen on alt.transgendered: It happened to us. What a surprise. Despite all the tests and pills and MD guarantees, when the stork arrived...he delivered a baby boy. We were shocked and very disappointed. We found out through the net a number of couples and single parents have faced the same situation but find it difficult to deal with. We also found out that the disappointment need not remain that way. We started corresponding with others who had experience with transformations and now belong to a small group (3 couples and 2 single parents).... We've found that an early start is very important. Dear Mothers: I know what your group has in mind, but I have to tell you: you're way behind the times. Here's what happened to me, many years ago. My parents were expecting a girl, too, and they were plenty disappointed when I showed up. And, like you, they refused to face the facts and resign themselves to having a boy. I don't believe anybody remembers being born, but sometimes in my mind I feel as if I could remember my mother's howl of dismay when the doctor told her what sex her child was. They thought an early start was important, too. Right from the start they tried to bring me up like a little girl. It didn't work. They got dresses and made me wear them all the time when I was at home, and I hated them. The only times they let me wear boys' clothes was when I went out, either to play with other kids or to go to school. I loved school, because there they had to let me wear boys' clothes. But every weekend I had to wear girl's clothes all day long, whether I liked it or not, unless I was going out somewhere. And I went out as often as I could. They got me dolls, and girls' picture books, and I showed an entirely unwelcome interest in electric trains, instead. I would go to a neighbor boy's house and play with his trains and his toy trucks and his Lego blocks. In the Summer I played ball with the other boys in the neighborhood. My folks wanted me to play with dolls with the girl next door. The made me do that once, and in a fit of anger I broke one of her dolls. They punished me for that, but afterward they let me play with the boys instead. Otherwise they were loving and affectionate parents. They used persuasion rather than force in trying to feminize me. They didn't beat me except when I had done something terribly bad, like the time I broke the doll. There was only one inflexible rule: evenings and weekends, unless I went out, I had to wear dresses. All my pleas and entreaties were in vain. But it just didn't work; I wore them because I had to, but I detested them. And whenever I heard Mom say, "Just like a boy," I knew she disapproved of whatever it was that had prompted the remark. **** This went on until I was eleven years old. Then that Winter, I had the flu. It kept me out of school for a week. And while I had the flu and was in bed, they didn't make me wear my nightie. I thought that maybe they were sparing me because I was so sick, but after I had recovered there still was no more talk about my wearing girls' things. I didn't know what had prompted this change, but I accepted it with relief. Having the flu, I thought, was a small price to pay if it meant that I could live like a boy again. A day or two after I was out of bed, a doctor called. My folks told me that she was there to examine me. I assumed she was just a doctor who was going to give me some kind of checkup, probably to make sure I was over the flu and could go back to school. She started by taking my pulse. She put her hand on my wrist and got out a pocket watch. But instead of looking at the watch herself, she held it up in front of me and told me to watch the big sweep-second hand, so I could tell her when a minute had passed. But while I was doing this, she was talking to me. "Watch the second hand very closely, Terry. See how it moves around the dial. Step by step, measuring off each second as it passes. Little jerky movements. Watch it. Has it gone a quarter of the way yet? Keep your eyes on it. It's absorbing to watch, isn't it? So monotonously moving around the dial, nothing else moving--just the second hand. Watch the hand. Just keep looking, looking. Forget about everything else. Forget about your parents. Forget about me. Forget, forget. Nothing in the world but the watch and the big second hand. Watch it and forget. Watch it and forget...." I was listening to her and staring at the watch instead of keeping track of the time. The second hand must have gone around more than once, but I never noticed. And I began to daydream. I thought about green fields and blue sky. Countryside, with trees and a little stream. It was a pleasing contrast to our own wintry weather. I walked down toward the stream. Off in the distance, I saw a girl running and dancing in the grass. That was all. Then I heard the doctor snap her fingers. I was looking at the watch, and the second hand had completed its circuit. It was as if only a minute had passed, although I know now that it must have taken a much longer time. "There, Terry!" she said. "Your pulse is perfectly normal. Just right!" She turned to my parents. "He's well enough to go back to school to- morrow," she said. "We'll have to keep track of his progress, just the same. I'll come back on Thursday and examine him again, just to see whether everything is going all right." And she left. It never occurred to me that there must be more to examing a patient than just taking his pulse. Now, there's no point in playing games with you; obviously this doctor was actually a hypnotist, and what I thought of as my daydream was, in fact, a hypnotic trance. But I didn't realize that at the time; I took her at face value. I didn't remember ever being examined by a doctor before; how was I to know? The doctor had come on Monday. On Thursday, when I came home from school, she was there again. She greeted me with a smile, got out her watch to take my pulse again, and again she had me watch the time. She started talking to me again about watching the second hand, but I was back in my daydream almost at once. It was exactly like the first time; I was back in the country again, looking at the same fields and trees, walking toward the same stream, and there, in the distance, was the girl, running and dancing in the grass. No more than that. The doctor snapped her fingers, and the daydream ended. I was back in our house. Nothing changed. I was still being allowed to wear boys' clothes. The next two times the doctor came and took my pulse in the same way, I had the same daydream each time. Well, almost the same. The last time, the girl in the dream saw me. She ran toward me, with a sweet smile, holding her arms out to me. She looked familiar, somehow, and when she came close, I saw that she had my face. There was no more to the dream than that. Somehow that didn't seem strange to me. It seemed perfectly natural that she would have my face. On Thursday I had another session with the doctor. She started the same way, having me look at the watch as she took my pulse. I scarcely glanced at the watch before I was back in my daydream. I was in that same field, down by the stream, with the girl approaching me, smiling. She came up to me and said, "Hi! My name's Terry, too! It's really Teresa, but everybody calls me Terry." It never occurred to me to wonder how she knew my name. But if I had been a girl, that's what my folks would have named me--Teresa. I learned that a few years later, when we were able to speak more plainly about things. They had made the best of a bad situation and named me Terence Lynn, the idea being that either way my name would have been shortened to Terry. Terry Lynn. The Terry in my dream took my hand, and we strolled down to the stream. We sat on a rock by the stream, and she said, "It's nice here, isn't it? I like you. I like you because you have my name." "And you have my name." I smiled. "That's neat, isn't it?" "It's sweet," she corrected me. She went on: "Such a lovely day, isn't it? But it's always lovely here." "Is it? Do you live here, then?" "We both live here, Silly!" "I thought...I mean, I live at...." The words wouldn't come. "This is our real home. You're finding your real home. With me." I heard the doctor snap her fingers, and then I was back home in the living room with him and my folks. The doctor gave me a big smile. "You're coming along nicely, Terry," she said. "I can see real progress. I think it will be only a few more weeks and you'll be well on the way to...well, to where you'll want to be." She turned to my folks and got out a couple of small bottles. "Just give him one of each of these pills at breakfast and again at dinner. He 'll improve a lot faster with these. And I will be back on Monday to see how he's getting along." The next morning, when I got up, my first thought was about pretty Terry, the girl in my dream. I got dressed in my school clothes, and for once I didn't feel that overwhelming sense of relief I usually felt when I put on boy's clothes. It was pleasant, as always, to notice the way the fly zipped up and the way the shirt buttoned, but somehow it didn't feel as important as it used to. I took the pills every morning and every evening. I didn't know what they were supposed to accomplish. I was well over the flu, now, and the pills didn't seem to be doing anything. But they didn't make me feel bad or queasy, so at least they weren't doing me any harm. The next time the doctor came, the dream took a new turn. My dream-Terry and I were sitting by the stream again. She looked at my clothes and frowned. "You don't look nice," she said to me. "Those clothes don't suit you. They look icky. You'd look much better dressed like me. I think you should be." She smiled. "Would you like to change clothes with me? Let's change clothes." For some reason, that idea didn't bother me. I said Yes, and in a flash, I discovered I had taken everything off, and so had she. This was a dream, or a hypnotic trance, and so it didn't seem at all strange to be naked out in the open countryside, or to be naked with a naked girl. In any case, we were both only eleven years old. We quickly exchanged our clothes, and as I put hers on, I had a tremendous sense of well-being, as though the other clothes had been wrong for me and these were right. She giggled. "Now I'm the boy and you're the girl," she said. "Yes," I said. "I'm the girl." And suddenly I felt very relaxed and contented. I was deeply at peace with myself and the world. And that was the end of that dream. The same dream was repeated, with only minor variations, the next two times the doctor visited us. Each time my dream-Terry and I exchanged clothes, each time Terry complimented me on how I looked, and each time I felt this strange feeling of tranquillity. After the last time, I remembered Terry's smile when I woke up, and how friendly she had looked. Pretty, too. Somehow that girl who had had my face had looked pretty. I wondered whether I had looked pretty when I was in her dress. Pretty...! Hey! What was going on? Those were girl's clothes! I was a boy! That's what I was always telling my folks--I was a boy, not a girl. But the dress...well, it hadn't seemed bad at all in the dream. But the next morning, as I dressed for school, I was glad to put on pants and a boy's shirt. I felt good about having it button the right way for a boy's shirt. But Mom must have known, or sensed, something, because just then there was a change. The Saturday after that last visit, when I got up, Mom came into my room with a dress. "I was wondering...whether maybe you would like to try one of your dresses for a change. You don't have to if you don't want to; you know we won't make you. But if you'd like to...." I remembered my recent daydreams with the other Terry and how nice it had felt when we swapped clothes. So, rather to my own surprise, I said, "Why...er...I suppose so. Why not?" I looked at the dress Mom had, and it was the same dress as the girl in my daydream had been wearing and that I had put on. I wondered briefly how Mom had happened to choose that dress. I put it on. I didn't have the feeling of peace and contentment I had felt in the dream, but I didn't have that perfectly *awful* feeling I used to have when my parents dressed me. What I did notice was how comfortable the dress felt on my body. The next time I dreamed for the doctor, Terry and I were both wearing the same kind of dress. She smiled at me. "Now we're both girls. Isn't that nice!" And she gave me a little kiss on the cheek. These daydreams generally followed a pattern: there would be an advance, like this one where we were both wearing the same style of dress, and then a sort of period of stasis during which the latest adventure would just repeat, with no significant differences in detail. And on the next two visits from the doctor, that's the way it went: my dream-Terry and I were both wearing the same style of dress. I was getting used to the two of us being dressed the same. On the next Saturday morning, Mom laid out panties and a dress for me, as she always used to do on weekends. The dress was the one I had worn in the latest dream, when Terry and I had both been dressed alike. I looked at it. "My Terry dress," I thought, with a smile. I hoped I'd see her again. So I put the dress on, thinking of my dream-Terry, and I put on the short white socks with the embroidered floral tops and my Mary Jane shoes. What shoes had my dream girl been wearing? I'd have to look next time. I came to breakfast, kissed Mom, and sat down, unconsciously smoothing the dress under me. This was something Mom had always bugged me about, and I never remembered to do it, until to-day. I took the big purple pill and the smaller white pill, as I did every morning, washing them down with my orange juice. You've probably guessed that the pills were hormones. Well, the big purple ones were, although of course I didn't know that then. What I did notice was that life had become so much more calm and serene ever since the doctor had started her treatments. The little white pills were tranquilizers. You've probably also guessed that the doctor was guiding the content of my dreams when I was hypnotized. As I learned much later, she was talking to me all the while, guiding me through my dream, like the "pathworking" they do in some of the New Age religions. She was gradually changing the way I felt about clothes and, more important, about myself. Looking back, I know that her treatment did more than the pills did, at least at first. **** Most weekends I would spend some time at my neighbor's, playing with his electric train. I liked that, and back when my parents were still pushing girls' clothes on me, it gave me an excuse to go back to boy clothes for a while. But this weekend I didn't. I sat around in my dress, pretty much at loose ends, until I thought of looking at a book. My room was full of books about cars and woodworking and sports, but off in a dusty corner there were some girls' books my folks had gotten for me years before. I never read those. In fact, I had torn a couple of them up in a fit of temper, and they had punished me for being destructive; but after that they had given up on me and let me read what I wanted. They still wouldn't buy me any boys' books, but they let me get the ones I wanted from the library. Now, for some reason, I searched out those old girls' books and made a selection. It had been a few years since they had last gotten me any, and they were now actually too young for me. Finally I found one, all about a girl who went to a ball, full of pictures of the pretty things she wore to the ball. I lay on my bed, reading it and imagining what it would be like to get all dressed up that way and go to a ball. And the curious thing was that I didn't find it at all peculiar to be thinking that way. Looking back, I think it was strange how I fell into this mind set without thinking. At the time, I did feel a little funny reading the book, but that was only because it was too young for me, clearly intended for seven-year-olds. But somehow the fact that it was a girls' story book didn't bother me at all. On Sunday, there was another dress laid out for me. My folks weren't churchgoers; otherwise I suppose they would have had to let me dress as a boy. But that wasn't the issue. I went and found Mom. "Mom, can I wear the pink dress instead of this white one?" She gave me a startled look, and then smiled. I had never expressed a preference for any dress before. "Of course, Dear, if you want. You know where it is. Just be careful to hang this one up nicely." I hung the dress up, making sure it was properly on its hanger, and got out the pink dress. I put it on and imagined I was my dream-Terry wearing that dress. On Monday, the doctor was there again after school. But this time, my mom had asked me whether I'd like to put on a dress before she arrived, and, impulsively, I had said Yes. The doctor looked at me, smiled, and said, "How's my little girl to-day?" That may have been some kind of post- hypnotic trigger, because instead of reacting to that remark as I would have a month or so earlier, in a moment I was back in dreamland. No watch this time. This time Terry and I were in the field on the other side of the stream, the field in which I had seen her running and dancing in my very first daydreams. We were both dressed alike, in the same kind of dress I had put on for the doctor. We smiled at each other and admired each other's dresses. We didn't talk much this time, but we both danced together where she had once danced alone, and as I turned around with her, I noticed with pleasure how my skirt billowed out. I felt a glow of sheer happiness. This was the best dream I had ever had. And the doctor snapped her fingers. "Terry," she said, "I'm very pleased at how much better you are. I thought it would take much longer to, well, to cure you, but your progress, in just a few weeks, has been amazing." She turned to my parents. "Thursday, as usual?" They nodded. The next three days dragged along. I longed to see my dream-Terry again, and I thought Thursday would never come. But it did, of course, and I was back in my dream world with the other Terry. We were back by the stream again, as we had been so often before, but then she got up and said, "Would you like to see where I live?" I said yes, and, as happens in dreams, we were suddenly in her house without my having any awareness of how we got there. It was like my own house, but somehow different, and I realized that it was a mirror image of where I lived. We went up to the mirror image of my room, and it was her room, all pink and feminine, with lace curtains and a flowered bedspread. Where I had pictures of Star Wars characters and cars and airplanes on my wall, she had pictures of kittens and ballerinas. Where my desk would have been, there was a pretty little vanity. "Let's dress up." But that wasn't my dream-Terry speaking; it was I who said that to her! "Oh, yes!" she cried. "That's why I brought you here!" Most of my daydreams had been short--just a little look around in my dream world and a short encounter with my dream-Terry and nothing more. But this was a long dream, the longest dream I had ever had. For what seemed like hours we rummaged through her dresser and her closet. She would get out a pair of panties and hand them to me. "Here. Aren't these pretty? Try them on." And I would try them on. I marvelled at how nice they felt. Why hadn't I ever appreciated this in the past? I tried on all her underwear. And all her dresses: white, light blue, pink, yellow, all sorts of colors. And each one seemed more dainty and feminine than the last. And after the dresses came skirts and blouses. Lovely ruffles and lace and ribbons. I was in heaven. Finally, we settled on what I thought of as my Terry dress, the one I had worn when we first exchanged clothes, and then she sat me down at the vanity and put just the lightest touch of makeup on my face. Very pale lipstick, so light that I felt it more than I saw it when I looked in the mirror. Just the least dab of blush on my cheeks. But, while the makeup was minimal, I saw my face gradually turning into Terry's. I said that she had my face, but that wasn't quite right; it was mine as mine would look if it were a bit more feminine. Now, my own face, as I looked in the mirror, was exactly like hers. It was as if we were twins. When she was done, she said, "Stand up and let me look at you!" I stood up, and I turned back and forth, making my skirt swirl about me. "Oh, Terry, you're a *lovely* girl!" And she gave me a kiss. I had never kissed a girl in waking life, but now I put my arms around her, hugged her, and kissed her back. It was only a chaste little peck, but I kissed her on her lips. The doctor snapped her fingers. I was back in our living room again. She seemed very satisfied with me, and her remarks were even more satisfied and encouraging than usual; but I wasn't listening to her. I was still half in dreamland, thinking about wearing Terry's clothes...and then I suddenly realized something. In the dream I hadn't had a boy's male parts. The front of my panties had been absolutely smooth. This realization, which would have horrified me as little as a month ago, didn't disturb me in the least. It felt, in some way, profoundly right. That evening, I picked up one of my mother's fashion magazines and took it into my bedroom to read. I read it as thoroughly as I ever read any of the railroad or airplane magazines I ordinarily read. I leafed through it slowly, taking in the ads...lingerie, dresses, outerwear, makeup, hair styling, perfumes. I saw pictures of women modelling panties and marveled at how smooth and neat they looked Down There. And I remembered how smooth and neat I had been Down There, too, in my dream about Terry's house. I reached inside the panties I was wearing and tried to tuck my penis back between my legs, so I would look as I had looked in my dream. But it kept slipping forward, and finally I crossed my legs over it, tightly, to keep it in place. **** I had never dreamed about the other Terry except when the doctor came, but I dreamed about her that night. We were in her house again, in her bedroom, trying on underwear and dressing up. At one point, just when I was about to put on another dress, she pointed between my legs, at the little lump in my panties, and said, "You know, you don't have to keep that ugly thing. You could have it taken off, and then you'd be a real girl, just like me." Even now, I don't know whether this was another post-hypnotic suggestion from the doctor or whether I had thought of this myself. But this is what happened: In the dream, Terry went to the bathroom and came back with a big thing that looked like a caulking gun, a big tube in some kind of holder. I took off my panties and she squirted the contents of the caulking gun all over between my legs. By the time she finished, there was nothing but a big, billowing white mess down there. But then she wiped it all off, and when she did, I saw that my penis and balls were gone, and I had a nice, smooth front--just like hers and just like the models in Mom's magazines. I was elated. "Look, Terry! Now I'm a real girl! A girl all the way through!" And I put on a pair of her panties and marvelled at how perfect they looked. I danced around in my panties; then I hugged my dream-Terry and kissed her. "You've fixed me!" I cried. "You've made me well again!" I don't know what we would have done next, because the dream drifted away onto another subject, as dreams do. But in the morning, I remembered it, and I looked down between my legs at my little eleven-year-old penis. I had always liked it and been proud of it, but now it seemed somehow out of place. I put on a pair of panties and went to the closet to select a dress...and then I remembered that this was a school day. I sighed, went back and sat on the edge of my bed and started to take the panties back off. But then I thought that I could perfectly well wear them under my trousers. Nobody would know the difference. Every day after that, except when we had gym class, I wore panties under my trousers. Later on, I realized that I could even wear them on gym days. I would stuff a pair of boys' Jockey shorts into my book bag, change into them in the lavatory just before gym, and then change back into the panties afterward. Mom must have noticed all this when she did the laundry, but she never said anything. The next time the doctor came, we were back in my dream-Terry's house. She showed me her shoes. There were Mary Janes, like the ones I was wearing, but she also had some pumps with high heels. She had me try them on, and I thought they looked lovely with my dress. "Why don't you try some of your mom's when you get home?" she asked. I suppose that was another hypnotic suggestion from the doctor. They say you can't make a hypnotic subject do anything he doesn't, at some level of his being, want to do, so it's entirely possible that I unconsciously wanted these things to happen and that I thought of them myself while in my trance. It's hard to reconcile that with the way I had resisted being a girl over my first eleven years, but the mind is a funny thing. Whichever way it was, the next afternoon my mother announced that she was going out to play bridge--conveniently!--and when she had left I went into her bedroom and started trying on her shoes. They were too big for me, so I had to put on three or four pairs of socks before they were snug on my feet. I loved the way they looked, but when I tried to walk in them, I could barely stand up. That was the difference between my daydream and real life. I had begun to get the hang of it, teetering slowly and carefully about the room, when I heard Mom's voice. "Why, Terry Lynn! Don't you look lovely!" My first reactions were shock and alarm. But then I considered that, after all, they had been trying to get me to live as a girl over all these years, so she hardly had any reason to complain. And in fact she was smiling at me. "Yes, Mom," I said, summoning up a returning smile from somewhere, "but they're too big for me." "But you're getting to be a real lady now," she said. "I think we should go shopping and get you some of your own. You're a little young for heels just now, but the sooner you learn, the better it will be." I was beginning to *like* dresses. And that weekend Mom and I went shopping. I wore my boy clothes when we went, but we shopped for lingerie, for dresses, and for shoes. All for me! I was entranced. As the treatments went on, I began to notice changes in my body. It was the hormone pills taking effect. Mostly it was in my tits. They had been small and almost colorless, like any boy's, but now they were beginning to get larger and darker. And gradually they began to protrude. My boy tits were turning into breasts. And my features softened a little, so I began to look more like my dream-Terry. I was beginning to grow pubic hair, too, like the other boys in school. But there was a difference there, too; their penises were beginning to grow, as I could see from covert glances in the locker room at gym. Mine wasn't. I remembered that wonderful dream where Terry had applied the magic cream to my loins, and I wondered whether that dream was on the way to coming true. The other boys had started masturbating, too, and they made crude jokes about it. I didn't understand what they were talking about, at first. When I finally found out, I tried rubbing my little penis, but it never got very hard. And while it felt wonderful, it never seemed to have the explosive effect the other boys talked about. At about this time I took to changing into girl's clothes as soon as I came home to school. Ever since I had had the flu, my parents had dropped their rule about putting girl's clothes at home, but now I did this of my own accord. I would feel the cares and tension of the day falling away as I put them on, and they were beginning to feel right on me. I was especially fond of the training bra Mom had bought me. About this time, too, the doctor changed my medication. She took me off the tranquilizers and (as I learned much later) changed the other pills to a carefully balanced mix of hormones. I noticed some difference when I stopped the tranquilizers--I was somewhat less relaxed in school--but the happy awareness that I had a pair of panties on under my boy clothes helped a great deal. And changing clothes after school had much the same effect that the tranquilizer pills had had. I think a pretty dress is the best tranquilizer in the world. **** When Summer came, my parents rented a cottage at a lake. They had never done this before. It would make a nice story if I could tell you that one day I discovered my dream meadow in my wanderings about the lake, but I must stick to the truth: that meadow and stream never existed outside my daydreams. We spent two weeks there, and the important thing is this: at the cottage I dressed and lived like a girl all day long, every day. A year earlier, I would have hated this and fought it tooth and nail. But now I enjoyed it. Enjoyed it? No: I loved it! I loved the way my little girl shorts looked and how my pretty Summer blouses looked. I liked the way it felt to have just the tiniest touch of lipstick on my lips and to have my hair swept back into a ponytail. Whenever we met people, Mom always introduced me as her daughter Terry Lynn. For swimming, she got me a girl's suit, but one that was very tight about the bottom. I was able to tuck my little penis back out of sight and the fabric held it there. And inside the tight fabric, my little balls slid up out of sight into some secret hiding place I had never known they had. The first time I did this, I looked down with admiration at the smooth contour, modestly curving down between my legs with only the slightest hint of a bulge, more like a mons veneris than a boy's bulge. I knew, too, that some day my dream about losing my organs would become a reality. It wouldn't be as neat and effortless a transition as it was in my dream about the caulking gun, but it would result in the same happy feeling I had had then: the joyful realization that now I was a real girl, a girl all the way through. **** So you see, Mothers' Group, an early start wasn't enough for me. Forcing wouldn't have worked, and persuasion didn't. It took a doctor who slowly, artfully hypnotized me into femininity. The pills may have helped, but they were more a preparation for what was eventually to come. I know this, because once I had lovingly embraced being a girl and was having a girl's adolescence, I had a long conference with my parents and with the doctor. "Each time I put you under," she explained, "I led you, ever so gently, further into feminization. Every male has a feminine part in his nature. We call it the `Anima.' I was recruiting your Anima to help us change you into the girl you should have been. Your dream-Terry was your own feminine part, the hidden girl every male has buried deeply within himself. There's much more to the Anima than that, but that was the important part for you. "Yes, I talked you through your dreams. But you talked to us, too, while you were in your trance, and your commentary and my own suggestions worked together. We went very slowly at first, just repeating your experience of being in the meadow and seeing your feminine part running and dancing in the distance. I wanted that to happen several times before we tried to go further, so you could get used to her and so you would start being curious about her and want to get to know her. Her being in the distance represented your own separation from your feminine nature. "Then, to bring you closer to your own femininity, I had her draw closer to you. But you know, it was you who told us that she had your face. I didn't tell you that. I didn't have her tell you that your dream-world was your real home, either. That came from your own mind. And we knew, that day, that at some level you knew exactly who your dream-Terry was." She smiled as I glanced modestly down at my breasts. "And as you gradually became friends with her, you were becoming friends with your own feminine nature. Becoming friends with her was the important thing, much more important than the business with the clothes. And we knew we were going to succeed the day you kissed her. You were kissing your own femininity. You were making this potent and unmistakable gesture of love toward your own feminine nature. After that, it was only a matter of time." Princess Pervette March, 1998