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Wrecked Ship Penned by: Miss Deborah Leigh Johnson Knowing that you are in a ship that has just struck one of those errant mines from the second world war of nearly half a century earlier, is bad news. That is enough trouble to deal with, is it not? But, suppose that by some circumstance of fate, you were to find yourself in that kind of a situation, but you are not who the passenger manifest claims that you are? What kinds of problems arise? I know all about those kinds of problems. As unlikely as it may seem to be, I experienced just such a circumstance. The year was in 1989. The ship was the SS Fantasy. We were on a cruise in the Caribbean. It was one of those cruises where you have a number of ports of call on a limited time schedule, but it was exciting. Well, it was supposed to be exciting anyway. It was difficult for me to enjoy it, as I was living my first weeks of a new identity. At the time, I was sixteen. Actually I was not. I was only fourteen, but the new persona that my mother had had me assume was that of a sixteen year old young lady by the name of Miss Deborah Leigh Johnson. I had been born as a boy, but I had fallen into agreement with my mother, that for our safety, I should assume the life and identification of a young lady. You see, my parents were quite well off. Well, my dad was. My mother was not. She was of scant means, and her marriage to my father had elevated her status in the world considerably. She knew only too well the horrors of living with no financial security, and she did not want for me, her only child to have to endure such experience myself. My mother and father, from what I have gathered, were quiet in love when they met. His parents had frowned on his wanting to marry a woman of no means, so he had forsaken the family situation in order to marry her. They had been married when they were still quite young, but he had managed to complete his education before the severance of his familial ties. Because of his education, and because of his family name, he was able to eke out for himself a niche in a large international corporation. His specialty was in researching prospective investments for the company that he worked for. He did well. He did very well indeed, and by the time that he had reached his late twenties, he had made a name and a sizable chunk of change for himself. My mother was nearly 8 years younger than my dad. I was not conceived till after they had felt a degree of financial security. That was my mother's doing, not my father's. My dad had always had the attitude that he would always be able to get what he wanted, and somehow, it always seemed to work out that way for him too. Mom on the other hand feared a return to her impoverished upbringing, and she never learned to trust in my dad's ability to keep on generating money, no matter how successful he became. She would spirit cash away for herself, hiding it from the money that he gave her to run the house. It accumulated to a very substantial sum of money too, after a few years. I suppose that in some way, this inability of hers to trust him in this regard was the seed for what was to come. My dad became frustrated with my mother's attitude. He tried to work hard to prove himself to her. It was not enough. He began to give up, and he began to assuage his feelings with drink. It did not take long for his drinking to lead to violence. By the time that I was eight, I knew only too well the fear a child knows when parents fight. I would lay and cry for hours as I listened to them scream at each other on the other side of the house. I would tremble when I heard the furniture being knocked over. I hated it. My only respite was the comfort that I would find in my mother's arms after my father would leave the house. She would come to my room and she would take me in her arms and coax me into sleep. Often, I would awaken in her arms as well. I had two distinct impressions at that age. One was that my mother was a beautiful loving gentle person, and I wanted to be just like her. The other impression was that my father was a mean hard to please man. No matter how he tried to get along with me, I always feared him, and so I would try hard to stay away from him. In retrospect, I know no that he did love me. He tried hard to be a good father, but he tried harder to be a good provider. I often did not see him for days at a time. My overwhelming impression was that he was a big and scary powerful man who was to be feared. By the time I turned thirteen, I'd seen evidence a number of times of his beating my mother. She covered it well, but the evidence was still there. I have no idea of how many times I had to accompany her to the emergency room of the local hospital for treatments. Her injuries were never serious enough to be life threatening, but we were sure that it was just a matter of time before one of them might become that way. So, a week before my fourteenth birthday, my mother asked me if I wanted to leave daddy. I did. She told me that he was a very wealthy and very powerful man. She told me that he had friends in high positions all over the world. She told me that if we were serious about getting away from him, that we would have to become other people. We would have to become people who were very different from who we were now, so different that no one would ever be able to recognize us. I told her that I would go along with that, if it meant that we could be safe. It was then that she told me about all of the money she had saved. It amounted to a little over a hundred thousand dollars. She assured me that if we were careful that we would never have to worry again. Then she told me who she would have to become. She told me that she had gone to the registry office, and she had done some record searching. She had found identities that we could assume that would never give us reason to have to fear. Her chosen identity was that of Hazel Rombough. Hazel was a lady of almost the same age as my mother who had died recently. My mom knew that she would be able to procure identification in Hazel's name with no problem. I asked who I would become. Mom smiled just a bit sadly at me, and told me that I would have to have a lot more than just a new name. I would have to become an entirely new person. She asked me if I would like that, and I told her that it sounded like fun. Then she told me that in order to really be a good disguise, that I would have to stop being a boy. This was most curious to me. But, though it was a strange idea, I found that as she started to tell me why I would have to become a girl to hid from my father, that I started to get a stirring in my under pants. I was so excited by the time she stopped to take a breath, that when she asked me if I would like to become a girl, all I could say was yes. She told me that it was going to take some planning, if we were going to do it right. I would have to learn how to be a girl first. I told her that I would do whatever she thought I should do. So the plan became effected. It started with a day when I came home from school. I went to my room to do some homework, and I found a few shopping bags on my bed. Most curious, I looked in them. There were numerous outfits of girl's clothes. The bright colours, and the softness of the fabrics really excited me. My mother came into the room. She told me that she would have to train me how to be a daughter, if we were going to run away, and do it with success. She sat on the bed and told me that from now on, every night when I got home from school, that she wanted me to dress up in some of my new clothes. Once I looked like a girl, she would teach me how to act like a real girl, so that when I had to become a real girl, I would know all about what was right. She told me that it was very important that we keep it a secret from daddy. If he ever found out that she was dressing me as a girl and teaching me how to be a girl, she was afraid that he might try to kill her. I feared that she was right in her assessment of the circumstance, and so I committed in my will to do this as well as I could, so that we could escape the fearful situation as soon as would be possible. For the next four months, I would rush home. I would shed my boyish attire, and would soon assume my feminine persona. I knew that the girl I was becoming was a girl who had died in a horrible car crash when she was eight years old. But, based on the records in the registry office, my mother was able to get me a birth certificate. That would be all that I would need to get everything else that I would need. After four months, my mother declared that I was so successful as a girl, that no one would ever suspect that I was not a young lady. She praised me for my sense of style and colour. She praised me for my dexterity with my makeup and she would even often let me dress her hair for her. More than once, she told me that she loved me as her daughter and that she felt closer to me when I was Deborah, which shortened to Debi because it was so cute, and I had to admit that I felt much closer to her too. I loved her even more, now that I had more of a sense of what her life was like. At last, we were ready. There was one final thing that she wanted me to do first. She arranged for me to go to a clinic for a few days, where for a fee, they implanted small breasts into my chest, with no questions asked. When she came to pick me up after the surgery, She had all of our new belongings packed, and not one shred of boy's clothes for me to wear. I was elated as I stood and admired my shapeliness in a bright yellow with white polka dot sun dress, as she stood behind me doing up the buttons. She beamed her pride at how pretty I was. I felt the swish of the dress on my thighs. I stepped into the white high heeled shoes. I wrapped the wide white leather belt about my waist. I loved the way the overhead lights cast light shadows on the front of my dress, below my new breasts. My nipples were so hard that I could almost see them poking at the inside of my bra cups. I was thankful for the full skirt of my dress, because I had a huge erection in my panties. My mom fitted a white wide brimmed straw hat to my head, and she asked me if I was ready to step into Debi's life for good. I hugged her and told her that this was the happiest day of my life. She told me that the very last thing in the world that my father would expect was for us to take a vacation. He would assume that we would be trying to hole up somewhere to hide from him. So, while he and his friends would be looking for a mother and son in run down parts of the nearby cities, a mother and daughter would be taking a Caribbean cruise to celebrate the beginnings of their new lives. Within hours, we were unpacking our suitcases in a stateroom aboard the SS Fantasy. I was delighted with the clothing she had secured for me while I was in the clinic. I had tons of dresses, skirts, blouses and dreamy silky pretty lingerie. I literally had far more new clothes than I ever thought that I would ever be able to wear. I had shoes and purses for nearly every new outfit. I had walked into a teen girl's fantasy, and I was elated by it. The first night, I attended the dining room, my first time in public as a girl, knowing that I would not be able to go back to being a boy if I was too nervous. It was heavenly. The waiter pulled out my chair for me, as he did for the other ladies. Men would smile at me, as they held doors for me and looked me up and down in an appreciative fashion. I knew that I was being ogled, and it should not have been so thrilling to me. I confessed to my mom after the dinner that I loved the way it made me feel when men looked at me. All she did was smile and tell me that it was the way girl's normally did feel, unless they were prudes or something. She told me that this was why we dressed pretty, so that men would notice us and be attracted to us. I asked her if it really was normal, considering what I had in my panties. She looked at me for a long minute, and she told me that I was such a natural girl that she could not imagine me not having girlish feelings, which also meant liking boys and men, the way that other girls did. I sighed. I had hoped that she would say that. Yes, I knew by now that I liked boys and I wanted to become a girl friend. I wanted to have a boy friend like other girls did. I wanted to know what it felt like to be held in strong arms, and to be kissed by a loving man, hopefully a man who was not like my father. I wanted nothing to do with a man like that. It was our fourth day at sea when the storm blew up. Our captain consoled us by telling us that it was normal. He told us that the ship was well designed to weather the normal weather of the seas of the tropics. But, no ship can withstand the assault of a mine. Ships, especially cruise ships are not designed to withstand the blast of a mine. The noise was so deafening. The world trembled beneath our feet as the hull made contact with the mine. I was so frightened, I was sure that we were all going to die. All over the listing ship, I could hear baritone voices ringing out, "Women and children first please..." I knew that everyone would think that there was something seriously wrong with me if I did not join the other girls in the life boats. My mom came up behind me. I could see the fear in her eyes. She had somehow had the presence of mind, while I was acting like a scared little girl, to go to the stateroom, and pack some clothes for me. She handed me a fairly large suitcase, and she pushed me over the railing into a life boat. I screamed for her to come with me, but she smiled down at me, sadly and I could see her lips move to mouth, "I love you Deborah." Our boat hit the crest of a wave with a jolt, and I lost my footing. Somehow I managed to hang onto my suitcase though. It was dark and I could see very little. "Oh you poor dear..." I heard as a elderly lady wrapped a tick wool blanket around my shoulders. I passed out from my fear and excitement. I could not believe that I had actually feinted away, like the weak little girl that I was only pretending to be. When I came too, I was wet and shivering. I could hear the roar of the storm overhead, and the screams of people out in the darkness. The boat that I was in was crammed with women of all ages, most of them sobbing in their own fear and possible losses of loved ones. I have no idea of how long we were there, but by the time that the storm abated, we the sun was high, and when it burned through the clouds, it burned down on us with a vengeance. The heat was welcomed at first as it dried the ladies in the boat out, but after two or three hours, it began to blister our lips and blur our eyes. I feared that my mother had been lost. I felt so alone in the world. And now, I was also a girl with no resources to her name. What could I do now? I knew that I could not go back to my dad, not with pretty breasts on my chest, and a suitcase full of dresses. He would kill me for sure. Lethargically, I rolled with the swell of the waves. Fortunately, it was not real long before we heard the search helicopters overhead. They had found us. The rest of the day was a blur. I found myself being examined by a doctor. He listened to my breathing, and listened to my heart, with his stethoscope between my breasts and my shoulder blades. He told me that I was a lucky young lady, and signed off on his examination. Within a day, the ladies of my boat were ensconced in a very nice hotel room. For my part, I stayed in my room, glued to the television, hoping for news of the rescue of my mother. No such news came. By the second day, I was famished. I opened my suitcase to get something to wear, and I nearly fell to the floor and wept. There in my suitcase was the bag that my mother had accumulated her money in. She had known that I would need money, even though she could herself be facing death, and her thoughts were for my welfare, not her own. Oh, I hoped that I would some day have the kind of character that she had shown herself to have. I wept for my loss and I wept for the joy at having been so loved by my mother. She had selected the nicest of the clothes that she had bought for me, and had packed them, even as the ship was sinking. The final reports came in. Nearly seventy percent of the passengers had died in the accident. It was thought that somehow the violence of the storm had loosened a mine that had been undersea for nearly fifty years, and that it had floated to the surface and had struck the prow of the ship. I thought seriously about using some of the money to have my breasts removed and buy some boy's clothes, and try to go back to live with my father. But I was so scared of him that I did not really want to do that. Because my birth certificate attested that I was over sixteen, the authorities decided that I did not need to be placed in foster care while all the legalities were worked out. I was informed that the cruise lines carried a large liability insurance policy, and that I would probably expect to get somewhere in the area of four hundred thousand dollars of cash once the claim was processed. I was also advised that there might be a class action suit against the cruise line as well, and that if the class action suit was won that I would receive some more money at that time. I knew that if I wanted the money, I had to remain as a girl. I wanted to be a girl anyway. But by the time three weeks had passed, the cold realities were setting in. For the first time in my life, I was all alone, and I was all alone as a girl. I had made friends with some of the ladies that I had been rescued with, but I needed something more personal. As they days of awaiting the settlement from the insurance company clicked by, I found a deep and growing desire in me to have intimate personal contact. I knew that because I was a girl, that meant meeting a guy. I also knew that because I was a girl with something special in my panties, I would have to meet a special kind of guy. I began to walk around the city exploring, as I really had nothing better to do. I missed my mother so much. I stopped at a news stand, and a news paper caught my eye. It was called Transvestite Admirers. I knew that a guy who wore girl's clothes was called a transvestite. But I had not knowledge that there were people who admired girls like me. My hand shook as I purchased the paper. I folded it into a little ball and stuffed in deep into my purse. Then I made my way back to the hotel. I was astounded when I opened the paper. It was filled with articles about girls like me who dated men. It had numerous personal ads, mostly with pictures, from men who wanted to meet boys who liked to wear girl's clothes. One ad in particular caught my eye. It was because the guy in it looked like a slightly younger more physically fit version of my own father. I read his ad with care. "If you are a feminine young boy, and you want to be loved by a fatherly understanding man, call me. My name is Randy. 555-9823. I am home every night after 5:30. Call me sweet heart. I will not disappoint you honey." Wow! I just had to find out if it was real. With hands trembling in nervous fear, I dialed the number. A rich tenor voice answered. "Hello?" "Uhhh, are you Randy, sir?" "I sure am sweet heart. Ohhh... You meant my name honey? Yes, I am Randy." He guffawed in a way that made me like him. It was then that I caught on to the fact that randy was a term used in some parts of the world to described the feelings of being in lust. I giggled at the joke. "What can I do for you honey?" "Well, I was walking in the city today, and I stopped to pick up this news paper. Your picture was in it. I read your ad, and I liked it, so I thought that I would call?" "I am glad that you did girl. Do you go outside as a girl honey?" "Ummm, I... I live as a girl?" "Wonderful. When would you like to meet? Would you like to go out for supper with me tonight?" "Tonight? Yeah, I guess? Okay?" "Where can I pick you up sweet heart?" "I am staying at the Ambassador West hotel on Oceanview Drive?" "Okay, that is only five minutes from here. What is your room number?" "1204." "I will be there in twenty minutes. Bye for now." "Bye Randy." I hung up the phone, wondering what on earth I had done. But those fears flew out of my mind as I realised that if he was going to take me out for supper that I needed to change my dress and redo my makeup. I flurried about the room as I chose a white satin sleeveless mini dress with a pleated skirt that I thought was very pretty, not to mention sexy. I was just completing my lip stick as I heard a light rap on the door. I was so scared, and yet I craved the attention, the attention of a one on relationship. I made my way to the door, and I slowly opened it. Randy stood there, far better looking in person. He wore a short sleeved plaid shirt, unbuttoned for the top four buttons, and he had on a heavy gold chain that seemed to have gotten entangled in the thick mass of chest hair. He was very tanned. His trim waist was accentuated with a black leather belt and he wore light gray flannel slacks with a very sharp crease, and pleats at the waist. He had on black leather sandals. I looked up into his light gray eyes. He was smiling and he was a blond. I did not want to, but my heart beat wildly. Randy was gorgeous. He was examining me as I had examined him too. "You my dear, are a very lovely young woman." I blushed as I curtsied. "Thank you." I stepped aside and he came in to the room. Even in my three inch heels, he was at least four inches taller than me. That was not too hard, as I am only five foot three in my nylons. He was making me very randy for Randy. I felt myself bulging in my panties. I was glad that the skirt flared out the way that it did, so I would not have to bind myself back between my legs. That way, I could enjoy every inch of the satin I wore over the only boyhood that I had left to me. "Are you ready to eat?" "I am famished." I picked up my purse, and he extended his elbow to me, which I lightly wrapped my fingers around, and he escorted me out of the room. Soon we were walking through the lobby to the parking lot. His car was nothing really fancy, but it looked beautiful to me, as it was the first time that a man had held open a car door for me. I tried not to let him see too much as he ogled the way my skirt slipped up as I situated myself in the seat. In seconds we were out on the highway. He told me that he knew this little town up the road that had some of the best seafood restaurants in the world there. He was so easy going, that it did not take him very long for me to be telling him my whole story. The only parts that I left out were who my father was, and what my real age was. He told me that he had been looking for a girl like me for a long time, and that he hoped that we could become really god friends. Then, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, he reached over and took my left hand. He pulled it over so that my palm was resting on his thigh. I could feel the taut muscles rippling under my finger tips. Randy was really exciting me, and I wanted him to like me. I also found that I had a desire to be pleasing to him as well. The restaurant was dark, candle lit and you could smell the sea strongly. It was open on three sides, so there was a gentle breeze all the time, making the candle flicker a lot. We talked and got to know each other as we dined. Finally, Randy looked at me intently. "Debi I have to admit that I am really turned on by you. You give me the biggest hard on that I have had in a very long time. I would like it if you would let me take you back to your hotel room, and I would like it if you would take care of me the way that a girl takes care of a man that she has turned on. Would you like that Miss Deborah?" "What could I say?" I knew what everyone thought of guys who wore girl's clothes, and then went out on romantic dates with guys. But Randy was making me as hard as I was making him, according to his words. "Okay..." It came out as a mere whisper. My throat was too constricted to talk. He gathered me into his arms as he helped me from my chair and for the first time in my life, I felt a man's lips on my own. It made me melt, and I was thankful that his arms were wrapped around me. I was certain I would have fallen to the floor if he had not been holding me. Back at the hotel room, I sat meekly on the love seat as Randy put on some soft music and ordered white wine from room service. Then he came over and stood in front of me. I felt ever so small, and so weak. I cherished those feelings too. I loved them. I looked up at him, and I felt like a submissive little girl. I knew that I would do whatever he wanted me to do, and I knew that I would like doing it. I wanted, no, craved the experience of doing whatever real girls were allowed to do. I wanted to know what it felt like to do what my mother had done. I wanted to know what it felt like to do what all the other girls my age were allowed to do. I wanted to know how it felt to be completely feminine. There was a light rap on the door, and Randy went to get the wine. He poured me a glass, my third of the night. Then he stood up in front of me again. "Debi, I have met a few girls like you before, and I think that you girls are the most exciting creatures on the face of the earth. But I also know that there are certain things that really make you girls hot too. One of them is when you get to feel a sense of submission to a man. So, I want you to come over here and to kneel down in front of me." Then he put his fists on his waist, and he waited for me to obey him. I felt mesmerized, and it was very exciting. I became aware of myself, with lowered eye lids, raising gracefully from my seat, and walking over to stand in front of him. Then I blushed out my humiliation, and I lowered myself to my knees, and I became aware of the throbbing bulge in the front of the loose fitting gray slacks that he wore. I looked up at him. I saw, in his eyes a number of things. I saw his sense of masculine superiority over me. I saw the gleam of his sense of being victorious and conquering over me. I saw his desire for the feminine girl in front of him. I saw the sense of power that he felt over me. It made me feel ever so erotic. I bulged and throbbed in my panties. I had never been so turned on in my life. I knew that I was about to do what real girl were allowed, nay, expected to do, because they were girls. I lowered my eyes and I saw him lowering his zipper for me. I saw the brilliant white colour of his jockey shorts as he reached in and he slowly extracted his maleness for me. Then he put his fists back on his waist. "Kiss my cock Deborah." It was so big and it was so ugly that I was fascinated by it. I felt like a moth drawn to a flame and I leaned over and for the first time in my life, felt the dry skin of a cock head on my pick feminized lips. I felt waves of delightful humiliation wash over me, as I kissed his cock, like a girl does. I wanted to taste him. "Deborah?" I leaned back and looked up at him. I was his girl, and he knew it. So did I. I wanted to be all girl for him too. "Do you want to take me into your mouth, and suck my cock? I do not want you to do it unless you really want to. I know that most girls like you feel very effeminate when you do that to a man, and so I only want you to suck me if you want to feel like that." I smiled submissively up at him. I also knew that there was a touch of adoration for him in my smile. I looked back at his cock. I opened my mouth, and I moved my head towards him. I felt the dry hard shaft slowly touch my lips and slide ever so slowly over them, as I moved so that I could receive him. I was now a girl in this regard too, and my heart fluttered with my joy of being allowed to be so much of a girl. I licked and gently I sucked at him. I felt a strange sense of pride in being trusted like a girl is trusted with a guy's most prized possession. He moaned and grunted and I knew that I was being pleasing to him. "Girl, you are going to make me cum, you are such a good cock sucker. If you have never done this before honey, you are a natural. You suck cock better than most real girls." His words made me feel a sense of pride at the depths of my humiliation. I wanted him to think that I was the best. Then he held my head, and drew back till just the end of his cock was in my lips, and he erupted with his forceful ejaculate. I felt it pounding the roof of my mouth. I felt the big thick salty gobs drip onto my tongue. I felt utterly girlified, and it was the most wonderful feeling I had ever had. I felt like being Randy's girl had some how made me into a complete and whole personality, something that I had never felt before. For the first time in my life, I felt deep peace, and I loved myself, as a girl. I looked up at him, and I could tell by the smile on his face that he loved what he was seeing. I knew that he could see my love for him, and my pleasure at being his girl for him. He let me slowly suck and lick him till he grew soft in my mouth. Reluctantly, I let him drop from my lips. I sat on the love seat again, and Randy sat beside me. "Debi, you are such a delightful sweet heart. I could fall in love with a girl like you." "I... I think that I could love a man like you too Randy." I loved the sense of girlishness that washed over me as I heard the kind of loving and intimate words that a girl would say pass my own lips. "Honey, would you like to come and live with me for a few days? You could pretend like you were my wife, and you could take care of me and take care of my house when I am at work." I threw my arms around him. Oh, how I wanted to be a wife. "Randy, I do..." If you like, you can write to me at: debijo@cybergalcom