The Greatest Lie Parts 1 And 2 (The Biggest Lie) free porn video

This story is purely fictional and meant for adult audiences only! All resemblance to actual persons is coincidental. It contains graphic sex and forcible rape described in first person narration by its transgendered, teenage protagonist. If you are not an adult, or if you find this type of material offensive, please stop reading and dispose of this file. You have been warned of the content. If you proceed neither the author nor the site host will be held responsible! A previous version of Chapter 1 (titled "The Biggest Lie") was originally posted to Fictionmania on January 6, 2002. Chapter 2 carries on our heroine's adventures and transformation. The Greatest Lie By Alexandra Rios Chapter 1 -- Prom Night The greatest lie that they tell you is that what happens in high school doesn't really matter: that life begins in college. I pretended to agree, though I never believed it. For as you will see, I am the world's greatest liar. "Take Sadie Hawkins Day, for example," I said to my buddy Quinn as we hung around outside the art room, "what chickenshit! Just a chance for some cheerleader wannabee airheads to feed the egos of their dumb jock boyfriends." "And their libidos," Quinn remarked sourly. Barb and Anne, our all-too- platonic art room friends, nodded their heads in agreement. They were far too hip to invite me or Quinn. "Let's go to the Bergman film festival instead, Alex," Barb suggested. I nodded in agreement, but did not commit. For the girl who lived inside me knew it was a lie. She would have been thrilled to ask a boy to go to a Sadie Hawkins dance, to spin in endless blind circles across the dance floor with her love, tiara glinting in the strobe lights, before collapsing into passion and bliss. But not with any of the slobs and idiots that ruled this school: the stupid pampered jocks who hassled me in the locker room and bumped me in the halls; the dopers who mocked me from their outpost in the quad; or the motorheads that eyed me with contempt mixed with pure aggression as they spat "maricon" or "faggot" at me whenever circumstances forced me into their path. Our school's thugs may have been complete idiots when it came to anything but petty crime or cars, but they seemed to be able to look through me into my secret soul. Inside myself hid a girl whose existence was kept secret from my mom and dad and my art room friends. She never came out except at night, when I lay in my bed and stroked my modest dick while dreaming of being fondled, trussed, and ravished by imaginary male lovers. Each night, my imaginary breasts swelled with fantasy implants, and my ass was penetrated by many phantom cocks before I finally came, my ass up and my face buried in shame in my pillows. Each morning, I showered away the residue of my cum and my fantasies and pretended to be a high school boy, a merit scholar, and a class intellectual. This had been my life since junior high: a constant struggle to hide my true self behind my intellect and wit. I was trying with more or less success to keep the girl inside me alive and shielded from discovery and torment at the hands of the rough crowd at school. The worst was gym class. My physical development lagged behind that of my peers. At seventeen, I was 5' 7", weighed 120 pounds, and had only an inch of thin blond peach fuzz above my undersized penis. My chest and legs were completely hairless. This led to incessant teasing in the locker room. Things reached their nadir in September of my senior year, when Miguel, one of the motorheads, confronted me after gym class. I had leaned over to open my locker, and suddenly Miguel said, "Hey, chica, nice ass. I'm gonna fuck it. Let's go to the towel room." With that, he snapped me with his towel, raising a dark red welt on my pale ass. I spun around, distraught, for one of my secret fantasies was to be gangbanged in the towel room. Miguel seized my head and pressed my lips against his sweaty, bulging jock strap. "Hey, suck me, chica." The other guys in this section of lockers were all motorheads, and they looked on with lustful interest. I thanked God (who, officially, I did not believe existed) when the coach's whistle sounded and Miguel abandoned his assault. After that, I got excused from gym class. After that, although I lived in dread of Miguel, my sexual fantasies became more and more explicit -- and violent. I was revolted by Miguel, but was entranced by fantasies of a cleaner, less profane Miguel sucking my breasts and making love to my virgin ass. One day, as I rifled through my dad's medical sample box looking for amphetamine (my favorite study aid -- and I loved the way it shrank my balls) I realized that it was stuffed with birth control pills. I had read about the transformative power of these drugs, so I copped samples of estrogen, progesterone or anything that sounded like a female hormone. I began taking them occasionally, but while they had a noticeable effect on my acne (it completely disappeared) and hair (it became smoother and more manageable), I stopped after a few days, both to preserve my supply and to preserve my precarious grip on maleness. Sometimes I thought there was hope for me as a male if I could escape this macho hotbed of a high school. College applications were in, and the end of high school was in sight. I was actually gaining some status as a class genius, and a poem I had written for English class had been published in the school paper. The girls all loved it 'cuz it was romantic. Soon, I would be checking out of this shithole, moving out of my parents house and going to college, where I could start out with new friends and become a new me. But for the moment, Sadie Hawkins Day, and all that went with it, was the here and now. Reality hit me right between the eyes when I opened my locker. I discovered an envelope inside addressed to me, Alex Rios, from Marta Gonzalez, who had been the girl I wanted to be since I was a scrawny and scared eighth grader. Marta wanted me to go to Sadie Hawkins Day with her! I was totally freaked. Quinn told me, "forget it, man, she's way over your head," and Barb and Anne nodded in silent agreement. I told them they were just jealous. I said, "Hey, it's an experience, and it's our last chance to do this high school crap. I can write about it in my autobiography when I'm famous." They rolled their eyes. I accepted, and my mind went into turmoil. Mom and dad were so delighted that I had my first date that they overlooked Marta's modest social background. They had revelled in my scholarly achievements but I could tell they were wondering about me socially, and this reassured them. Was this my chance to banish the horny slut that secretly shared my life and become a normal guy? If anyone could change me, it was Marta. She had an hourglass figure with well-formed breasts and pouty, full lips on a beautiful Latina face. She was a decent student and dressed nicely. Who cared if she had been with a few of the motorheads? She wanted me now. I picked her up at her family's apartment, a modest walkup in West L.A. with a sink full of dirty dishes, a harried mom, a screaming baby brother, and a hostile father who looked at me with the same contempt as the motorheads. Marta was bubbly and excited. She tongue-kissed me as soon as she got in the front seat of my mom's Honda. I must have flinched, because she laughed, "Seventeen and never been kissed?" I blushed, and lied that it wasn't the first time for me. We went to the auditorium and danced to Whitesnake and all the other shit music of that era. The motorheads glared, the jocks and their girls gawked in amazement. As I escorted Marta from the dance, I felt I was on the way to becoming a high school legend, my male reputation redeemed by my date with Marta. I felt a stirring in my groin as we drove away. I pulled over at a local lover's lane and turned to Marta. "I'm not ready to go home yet," I started to say. Before I could finish, Marta had lunged at me, and we grappled and kissed across the bucket seats and console for the next half-hour. Finally, we crawled into the back seat, and as I kissed her swaying breasts she unzipped my pants and began to slurp, suck, claw, and pull at my cock. I wriggled my hands into her lacy panties, and found her fragrant, swollen pussy. With a few strokes, my fingers found their mark and lit into her warm, wet cunt. I stroked, she sucked, we swayed in unison. But nothing happened to my skinny, shriveled and nearly hairless cock. It remained as flaccid as a deflated party balloon, impervious to Marta's efforts. Finally, admitting failure, we sat in the back seat and talked about ourselves. In the intimacy of a mutual failure, I let down my guard. "Marta, when I look at you, when I touch you, I get so turned on. But I don't know if it's because I want you, or because I want to be you." She said, "Um-hum." "It's like the existentialists say, you can never really tell whether you are who you make yourself, or whether you are merely the sum of your experiences," I mused idiotically. "I know, baby," she said, not knowing what the fuck I was talking about. She embraced me closer, like I was a little sister or even a doll. I went on and on, telling her of all my secrets and fears. She told me of a life of abuse at the hands of a bullying father and the sexually predatory motorheads. I finally took her home at 2:00 a.m., our minds racing but our bodies unfulfilled. In bed, I jerked off dreaming I was Marta in the arms of Miguel, and then drifted off to sleep. I awoke before six that morning in the midst of a nightmare. I was at school, and all the motorheads, dopers, jocks, and even the art room crowd were screaming, "Kill the faggot!" at me. Marta was standing at the head of the mob. As the nightmare dissolved, I relived the prior night's events in my mind. In the cold light of morning, the adventure that had begun so well had ended in disaster. I had confided the secret of my inner girlish self to Marta, whom I barely knew. Fear welled up inside me until I could barely breathe. At least it was Saturday, so I didn't have to go to school. But anxiety kept rising within me. From beneath my bed, I slid the box where I kept my purloined medical samples and took out a Black Beauty and a Valium and popped them both. On an impulse, I popped a 5 mg. Premarin too. Then I staggered to the shower on scarcely three hours sleep. It was going to be a long day. I showered, fondling my hairless body and entertained alternating visions of Marta and Miguel fondling me. Finally, I slipped a soapy hand around my skinny, hairless ass and slid a finger into my anus. It slid in, and I was overwhelmed with a recollection of the same finger sliding into Marta's slick pussy the night before. It felt the same, only tighter. I was overwhelmed with the sensation that I, too, had a tight pussy. The girl inside me could at last get fucked. I spent the weekend buried in the medical school library researching the hormonal treatment of transsexuals. I stopped by my dad's office, and as he was off doing "rounds," I copped about half his supply of birth- control pills. Counting the stash I already had, I had six months worth based on the the studies I'd found in the med school library. That night, fear of what lay before me if I kept taking the hormones haunted my sleep even after I jerked off, and the reds I took just got me wasted. By Monday, I looked and felt like a like a wreck stayed home sick. Tuesday I was no better. My mom told me she would take me to the doctor if I wasn't better Wednesday. I was terrified that a blood test would show the large amounts of speed, downers and estrogen I had consumed since Friday, so I returned to school, consumed by dread. But everything seemed the same. Except for Quinn, who made a snide comment about my needing three days to recover from my "big date," the people at school had moved on. They must have gotten sick of post- mortems of Sadie Hawkins Day, because now they were talking about the Prom. I spied Marta talking with some of her chica friend across the cafeteria, and she shot me a warm smile. I found another note from her in my locker that afternoon. She wanted to get together after school to talk. We met in the parking lot. "About the other night," I began, "I was just talking about a lot of fantasies." "That's all right, I think you are really interesting and I still want to see you." She blushed, and added, "Your fantasies turn me on." I felt a surge emotion and relief, and replied, "That turns me on." We hugged, and I felt the pressure of her large breasts and her warm pussy against my body. Once again, I felt more like I was inside her feeling my embrace than outside feeling hers. I loved that feeling. We planned a weekend rendezvous of shopping and pizza. I relaxed and went to sleep that night with just my usual jerkoff fantasy of getting fucked in the ass by a handsome but anonymous stud. By Saturday afternoon, I had been taking estrogen for a week and my oily and acne-prone face was blemish-free. My body was outwardly unchanged, still skinny and nearly hairless. I picked up Marta at four, and we went to the mall. First we went to Victoria's Secret, where she selected lingerie and nighties in my size. I paid. Then on to Bebe, where we picked tops, pants and skirts. We bought shoes for my size eight feet at Cole's: high strappy pumps. We stopped at the Clinique counter for make-up, polish, perfume, brushes and tweezers. None of the store clerks suspected anything: it just looked a guy taking his girlfriend on a shopping spree. Marta asked, "Where are we going to go for you to change?" I had just the place. My grandma was in a nursing home and my parents were still working on clearing out the house. I had a key. We slipped in through the garage and went to her old room. Marta drew a bath and I relaxed in the aromatic oils. I slipped into a robe and she began her magic. She styled my shoulder-length hair, applied subtle tones of make-up and nail polish, poked a painful hole in my right ear and loaned me feminine gold hoops to replace my single stud. I put on satin panties and thrilled as they touched my hardening cock. Then pantyhose, a push-up bra, a spaghetti-strap top, and tight, short pink skirt over mules. When I looked in the mirror, I was stunned. I looked like Marta's taller, thinner, blonder sister. "You're a doll," she said. "So are you," I replied. I gave her a hug and we kissed, careful not to spoil our make-up. "Let's go out," I said, eager to try my new look on the world. "No way," she responded. "First, we need some serious training." She taught me how to sit down, and rise from my seat, and the looks to make when I walked into a room. We worked on my voice and language. We ate pizza and drank some of grandma's old sherry. At 10:00, we changed into our negligees and began making out on my grandma's bed. She fondled my dick through the lacy material and it hardened. She sucked me and I kissed her pussy, and I rubbed my cock on her warm, wet labia, bringing myself to the verge of orgasm. Her mons throbbed against my groin, but she would not yield to complete penetration as many times as I tried. "I don't have any condoms, baby, do you?" she said. Of course I didn't, as I had never dreamed that fate would place me in the arms of this exquisite creature. Marta seemed uninterested in fucking, and that was fine with me, and I climaxed by rubbing my cockette against her swollen mons. Then I went down on her, first licking my own semen from her labia, and then feasting on her tangy vaginal juices. She moaned with pleasure, and soon her moans turned to cries of ecstasy: "Mas, por favor, mas, mas!" As her hips undulated with pleasure, her thick pubic hair rasped my tired, tender lips and cheeks, and I fantasized that I was in her body, being fucked hard by a faceless motorhead in the boys' locker room at Uni. Her cries, and the frantic motions of her body, rose to a frenzy and her juices grew hotter and more plentiful until she climaxed over my face. Then her cries receded to moans, sighs, and breaths, and her hips grew still in post- orgasmic exhaustion. God, I thought, how much deeper and more fulfilling must her orgasm have been than the momentary spasm I had experienced. "Was that good for you, baby?" she asked. "It was great. Did you, you know, have an orgasm?" "Oh my God, yes," she replied. "You're a fantastic lover. Much better than?.?.?." She stopped, and I wondered who she meant. We lay in bed for a few minutes, and then heard the grandfather clock toll midnight. I changed back into my guy clothes, took her home, and spirited my girly things into the back of my closet. My parents were really pissed off the next morning. My dad finally relented from his rage and tried to tell me about sex. I laughed and told him he was a little late for that. With that, they grounded me for a month. Marta and I exchanged glances and passed notes to one another at school, but we had no time for play. I continued my improvised hormone regimen, and noticed that by scrotum was becoming more compact. Even though my nighttime fantasies of penetration and rape became more vivid and violent, I had an increasingly difficult time reaching climax. One night, just before the end of my grounding, I improvised a dildo from an old electric toothbrush. I wrapped it in a cloth and covered it with a condom. Behind a locked bathroom door, I prettied myself with makeup and blew out my hair. I slipped into my negligee, wrapped myself in a robe and scampered to my room calling out a breezy good- night to my parents. I slid beneath my covers and turned the dildo on. It vibrated pleasantly against the crotch of my panties. I pressed through the thin fabric against my hole. The vibrations tingled over my whole body. With my other hand I fondled my breasts and noticed with pleasure that my nipples had hardened and risen against the silken fabric of my nightie. I slid down my panties and placed the dildo against my tush. The electricity surged even more powerfully through my body, and my cockette began to harden for the first time in a week. I reached to my bed stand for a tube of KY Jelly, which I slathered over the dildo and applied in a dainty dot on my hole. I clenched my teeth and began to press. The tapered head slid effortlessly into my rectum and I continued to press it up the channel. Two inches in, I gasped and tears welled in my eyes. A fiery electric bolt of pain shot through me and I could not make myself push it further. I squeezed it out and tried to catch my breath. I reapplied KY to my anus, slipping my finger in and out. With apprehension mixed with excitement I again pressed the dildo against my now puckered rectum. It slid in effortlessly, and as I pressed it in further, the explosive pain again shot through me. My tortured body remembered that the dildo's recent exit had been almost pleasant, and so instinctively I pressed downward with my ass muscles while continuing to press up against the dildo. To my surprise, it slid all the way in and my sphincter tightened around it. For a moment, I enjoyed the buzzing in my ass. Then panic started to build in me once again. Now that my ass had swallowed the whole thing from tapered tip to the broad base, how was I to get it out? Tears again welled in my eyes as I imagined a humiliating exposure in the emergency room of my dad's hospital. I pressed like I was trying to poop, and it popped out with a burst of pain as the base exited my now well- lubricated rectum. My panic subsided, and I again slid it in, more carefully, and this time with only slight pain, mixed with increasing pleasure. "My God," I thought, "what must a real fuck feel like? At the tip this thing lacks the bulbous head of a real cock, and is only half the width of some of the dicks you see in a high school locker room. A real stud isn't likely to pause as I had to let my ass acclimate to its violation before fully stuffing it in: he'll ram it in and enjoy increasing the agony by ramming me faster." The thought of these brutal realities of real sex with a real male warmed me. The buzzing of the dildo against my prostate stimulated my nearly dried up juices and with a handful of KY I was able to bring myself to a climax, my first in two weeks. It shot out with great force, but I was surprised that the puddle of spunk was small and very thin, almost clear. The hormones had taken a lot out of me. I popped the dildo out of my ass and hid it under the bed. I was so exhausted that I didn't change and slept the night in my nightie. I slept a dreamless sleep, and woke with my mother standing over me, with a look of shock on her face. "Allie, what are you wearing?" "Some clothes a friend gave me," I replied evasively. "Well, it's not appropriate clothing for a boy your age." "What's the big deal if I only wear it in bed?" I retorted, warming to an argumentative line. "Well, if it's just in bed, I guess there's no harm. Just make sure your father never finds out," she advised me. "Don't worry about that," I said. "Let's keep it our secret, and I promise to keep it under control." "I certainly hope you outgrow this soon." "I'm sure I will, Mom." As I showered I was filled with regret and guilt at my faux pas. I felt worse for involving my mom as a conspirator in my emerging fantasy life. But the thrill of the fantasy overwhelmed my feelings of guilt. To celebrate my success in penetrating my ass and co-opting my mother, I popped a Black Beauty along with my Premarin and headed of to school in a buzz. Spring break was coming, and every day brought news of college acceptances for the art room crowd. Quinn got into Columbia, Barb got Reed with a partial scholarship, Anne got Ann Arbor, and then I got the University of Minnesota with a full academic scholarship. (Sure I'm brilliant, but let's face it, a Spanish surname helps, even if you are really white.) My happiness was tinged with a little sadness, as I thought of poor Marta stuck going to the community college part-time and working nights at her dad's restaurant. But it would be a new beginning. Could I shake this transgender fantasy in a new environment? Had the macho culture of this awful school forced me to flee to femininity, or was it coming from within me? I barely had time to say good-bye to Marta before spring break. My dad had been invited to speak at an AIDS conference in Sao Paulo, Brazil, and with my recent transgressions as evidence of unreliability my parents decided they had better take me along. I was excited to go, as I had read that there were lots of 'travesti' in Brazil. And there were. They lined the streets and crowded the corners of some districts, offering glimpses of their silicone- pumped boobs and asses to passers by. They varied from the comical to the exquisite; just being in that environment filled me with resolve to proceed with my own transformation. I had brought along an adequate supply of hormones, but I needn't have. There was a huge variety for sale without prescription in every 'pharmacia' in or near the travesti districts. I went on a shopping spree and bought oral, patch, and injectable forms of estrogen. In one store, I was offered a canister of liquid silicone and a syringe. This I passed on, and was instantly filled with regret. I never was offered that product elsewhere, and I couldn't find that shop again in the labyrinthine streets of Sao Paulo. But silicone would have added too much bulk to my already sizeable collection of 'mones. How would I smuggle this cornucopia through customs? My last purchase was an inflatable rubber dildo at a sex shop, which would serve as my drug cache. I slit a hole in the side, loaded in the contraband and taped it up to keep the merchandise clean and dry. As the pilot announced our imminent arrival at LAX, I got up for a last bathroom stop. Fully loaded with my estrogen supply, the dildo was distended into a lumpy plug of alarming proportions. I lubed the dildo and my ass with KY, bent over the sink, and practiced my anal insertion technique. I hit a solid wall of pain, and could not make any progress. At that moment, the pilot's voice commanded passengers to return to our seats for landing. "Oh fuck," I muttered to myself. "I waited too long." I tried again, but pain made my ass as tight as a baby's. I relubed, and closed my eyes and imagined myself in the clutches of a big black barbarian. It slipped past my rectum and stopped, and I nearly fainted with pain. The pilot announced that the stewardesses should prepare the cabin for landing. I was desperate, fearing the pain of the entry of this bulbous object equally to the pain of an airport bust of me in possession of my trannie 'mone stash. There was a knock at the door. "I'm sorry, you have to take your seat." "Just another minute, please," I pleaded. As if to underscore the urgency, the plane began to buck and sway in the bumpy air of pattern altitude: our landing was imminent. I put down the toilet seat and eased back on the giant package with all my weight. It impaled me and my eyes filled with white-hot tears. I ground my wounded bottom onto the package, which slipped in past my rectum, which closed over it with a painful elastic snap. I caught my breath and rose unsteadily to my feet as the plane careened bumpily down on final approach. "You have to take your seat right now!" hissed the impatient stewardess. I stumbled out of the bathroom without having washed my hands and barely able to walk with the large lump now distending my lower colon. "Oh God," I thought to myself, "I hope the fucking thing doesn't break: I'll die of an estrogen overdose." As I settled uncomfortably into my seat, the package practically brushing against my ribs, I got slightly horny at the thought of dying that way. The very plane felt like it was fucking me as the pilot extended the flaps fully and the ride grew even bumpier. Naturally, the plane bounced a few times after touchdown. At the first bounce, I turned my face away from mom to keep her from seeing my eyes goggling as condom moved inside me. Finally, the pilot engaged the thrust reversers noisily and brought the airliner to a shuddering stop. The passengers applauded when the plane finally rolled to a stop. I blushed and hung my head as it seemed like they had all noticed and were cheering my last minute bathroom emergency. My father scowled as my mother inquired idiotically, "Are you feeling OK, honey?" I staggered through customs without inquiry, except from my mom, who commented on my halting gait as I struggled with the wad in my gut. "I don't feel so good, it must be something I ate." That lie provided good excuse for the hour I spent in the bathroom at home as I painfully worked at expelling the now blood-smeared package from my ass. But when I got it out I had a year's supply of hormones at my disposal. I had been taking hormones for almost two months and my nipples were enlarged. The beginnings of little titties were blossoming on my chest, even as my scrotum shriveled and atrophied and my dick shortened. My hair was smooth and silky, my skin was soft and had lost most of the little hair it had developed. My muscle tone had diminished, my hips were slightly flared, and my waist had narrowed. My boy clothes were too tight around my bottom and too loose at my waist. That first morning of my return from vacation, I took care to wrap my chest in an Ace bandage to flatten my emerging breasts and protect my nipples from the now harsh-feeling fabric of my black Gap turtleneck. I had settled on a Goth look as the best camouflage for my femininity, and it only partly worked. As I scuttled through the halls at school, trying to affect invisibility, I noticed more than the usual angry stares from the motorheads and remarkable gaping from the jock crowd. Even the art room crowd seemed put off by my new look. Quinn remarked, "You sure look femme today, Alex." "Thanks," I replied carelessly. "That's just what I wanted." I hoped my bravado would aid the disguise, and in Quinn's case, it did. The school was a target-rich environment for his sarcastic venom, and I joined in enthusiastically. After all, I hated all these people as much as they hated me. Except, of course, for Marta. We approached each other shyly, like long- lost lovers. I had been away only two weeks, but to that was added the month's separation caused by my grounding. Spring Prom was upon us, and I left her a flowery note inviting her to be my date. Bouquet of black In a vase of white. You light the world With your indwelling light. Flower of red On your face so bright. You are my heart's delight. Marta, will you go to the Prom with me? Alex She loved the poem and accepted instantly. We agreed that after the school dance, it would be an all-girl event. I gave her my measurements to make my post-prom dress; she cooed appreciatively at my 34-24-34 figure. The art room crowd reacted badly. "Alex, that girl is getting to you. You are getting weirder every day," Barb remarked nastily. The motorheads and their chicas increased their social isolation of Marta. The murmurs I heard as I passed their surly knot in the quad grew more and more ominous. "God," I thought to myself, "can I really survive another six weeks in this shithole?" We made our prom plans. I would dress straight for the dance in the standard rented tux. We would dance for a couple of hours, then we would slip out and drive to grandma's place. There would be weed and Chardonnay to relax us as Marta coifed and dressed me in a match to her own prom gown. Then our private prom would begin. I fortified myself against the stress of the evening with a Black Beauty and an estrogen injection in my bottom. The speed and hormone cocktail was coursing warmly through my veins as I picked her up at her hardscrabble apartment. Her father scowled as her mother fawned over me. Marta was exquisite in her pink chiffon gown, which showed an inch or two of her sculpted cleavage but left much to my vivid imagination, which flitted from visions of her to visions of me in the same dress. At dinner, we sat side by side and started with small talk. She told me that her dad was making her work ever-longer hours in his restaurant, without pay, and he was even taking part of her tips. She was trying to save for college, but he said it was wasted on a girl. I told her about the amazing things and people I had seen in Brazil, and she giggled as I recounted my airline adventure. "Did you save the dildo?" she asked slyly. "It was ruined, but I have another. A strap-on," I announced. She looked aghast at first, but then warmed to the idea. The Prom passed like a short dream, buzzed as I was on my special drug cocktail and by the anticipation of a lustful night with Marta. Marta exchanged glances and a few hellos with her motorhead friends, but I spoke to no one. The art room crowd did not go to proms, and I had no other friends in the whole school. I saw Miguel and two of his cronies, Seth and Jack, and they shot me evil, hate-filled looks and mouthed "faggot" at me. I cringed as Miguel approached Marta and me and said "Hey, bitch, how about a dance for old times." I started to interject, and Miguel interrupted and growled "Shut the fuck up, bitch. I was talking to the other bitch." Marta told him to go fuck himself in Spanish and I said, "Let's get out of here." We hurried to the door, looking back anxiously over our shoulders. We got into my car and I drove a few blocks and stopped. "That was so-o-o- o scary," I said. "They're just a bunch of stupid punks," she said bravely. She never looked so beautiful as she did then, in the front seat of my mom's Honda, bathed in the light of a streetlight. I threw my arms around her neck, kissed her full lips and stroked her heaving breasts. She reciprocated eagerly and ran her hands up under my tux shirt and stroked my rosebud breasts. When, at last we released the kiss, I could barely breathe. I cleared my throat and we drove in silence to grandma's. We were oblivious to the world around us, each of us reveling in our shared feelings of love and lust. We opened the door to the slightly musty atmosphere of grandma's house. She drew my bath as I stripped from the tux. She scrubbed my back, fondled my sudsy, girlish breasts, cleaned my hairless crack, fondled my tiny balls and penis. She rubbed me all over with a deliciously scented moisturizer, as I did my own face make-up. She coifed my hair as I painted my nails. Satin pink push up bra and a garter belt to match, garters and stockings followed. No panties, and my naked bottom and cockette felt obscenely exposed and vulnerable. The gown was a perfect match for hers, and a perfect fit for me. We posed triumphantly before the bedroom mirror. "We're beautiful," I said, turning to gaze into Marta's eyes. Instead of the expected look of love, I saw a visage of horror and fright as she looked over my shoulder. Before I could turn to see what was the matter, an all too familiar voice snarled, "Yeah, a couple of real beauts, don'tcha think, boys." I turned, and saw with shock and horror Miguel, Seth, and Jack, crowding the doorway to my grandma's bedroom. My knack for quick ripostes deserted me, and I asked stupidly, "What are you doing here?" "We're here to fuck your brains out, you sissy faggot. Fuck you, for turning Marta into a queer-loving lesbo whore. Fuck you, for being a superior little shit and hiding behind all your bullshit that you are a maricon slut. We are going to fuck your brains out." With that, Miguel yanked down the bodice of my gown, pulled pushed me backwards onto grandma's bed. Holding my beautifully brushed hair in a knot on the top of my head, he loosened his belt, and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, which slid to the floor with a clank and a thud that could only mean a knife or a gun. His rampant prick was already poking through his boxers, and he levered my head toward it demanding, "Suck it now, bitch." I took the glistening head into my mouth and licked and stroked it with my tongue. A meaty, slightly sour taste filled my mouth and nose. "I mean suck it, you fucking whore" he barked, as he gripped a knot of my hair and slammed his dick to the back of my throat. My gag reflex expelled him, and I must have nicked him with a tooth as his prick slipped out. He slapped my cheek roughly, and screamed, "Suck it or I'll cut your dick off right now!" Tears welling in my eyes, I took his penis back in my mouth and concentrated mightily on this new skill. Soon, my head was bobbing in rhythm to his cruelly pressing hand and the thrusting of his pelvis. I hoped he would be done soon and this nightmare would be one step closer to ending. But he had other plans. He pulled his dick out of my mouth and mounded some pillows in the center of the bed. He ripped off my gown, picked me up and heaved me, tummy down, over the pile of pillows. My ass, framed in the pink satin garters, pointed upward, and my face hung over the edge of the bed. Miguel ordered, "Jack, take her mouth, while I take her from behind." Jack stuck his musky dick into my face and ordered me to suck it. It tasted even dirtier than Miguel's had. Jack warned me, "Don't you fucking bite me like you did Miguel." That was a difficult order to obey, as Miguel rained a dozen blows from his rough hands on my exposed ass. I concentrated on the controlling the progress of Jack's penis from my lips to my tonsils, and the suction of my tongue and cheeks as he pistoned out. I heard Miguel clear his throat and spit, and felt his phlegm land in a gooey spot next to my upturned anus. Quickly, his stubby fingers spread it around my ring, and then roughly entered. I gasped, almost breaking concentration on the perfect blow job I was trying to give Jack. Recalling the pain of the improvised dildo and my airplane experience, I knew this was going to be hard. I heard Miguel clear and spit again: he would be wiping that on his prick as a lubricant. I had the real thing in my purse, but my mouth was stuffed with Jack's hard and thick cock. Then it was too late. Miguel impaled me doggy style. I remembered to press down as he pushed in, and initially, I was surprised how easily he slid in my ass, taking three quick shoves to bury it to the hilt. Then, I felt as if a firebomb had erupted in my bowels, as my body reacted to this abrupt invasion. I had the usual reaction, a gasp, and tears welled in my eyes. My concentration broke, and Jack's dick slipped from my mouth. He cursed, and I braced for a brutal slap, but he was too preoccupied and jammed it back between my lips. I quickly regained my sucking rhythm, for I was being ridden hard from behind. Miguel relentlessly rammed his cock into the tight confines of my anus, and my body fought hard against my attempts to ease his passageway by pressing my sphincters down through his upstrokes. Each plunge brought more stars and tears to my eyes. My groans were stifled by the incessant plunge Jack's penis into my mouth. Then Miguel leaned forward and pressed down on my back, flattening the pillows and forcing my breasts to the bed, as he continued his assault. He wrapped one arm around my chest and began pinching my tiny breasts. With his other he clawed at my tiny dick, now even smaller under the influence of my drug cocktail and the pounding that his penis was giving my body. I craned my neck upward to keep Jack's dick in my mouth and hoped they would both come as soon as possible so that I could get on to the next episode of this bad dream. But Miguel had other ideas. After five minutes of fucking me, he suddenly stopped. I winced as he yanked himself out of me as abruptly as he had entered, as my rectal ring suddenly went from stretched to contracted. He growled,"I'm sick of this faggot pussy. Your turn, Jack." He disappeared from the room, as Seth took his place at my face and Jack prepared to mount me from the rear. Jack rammed me as ruthlessly as Miguel had, and his longer, thicker cock added a new dimension to the pain in my abdomen. Seth's penis was larger still, and tasted mossy, but fresher than Miguel or Jack's. This taste soon was replaced by the slightly fishy, salty taste of his precum. Perhaps I could spare my ass a reaming from this rod, I thought as I slid Seth's dick from my lips to the back of my throat. "Feels so good, baby," Seth groaned. Jack was an even more energetic fuck than Miguel had been, and was even more ruthless in his assaults on the rest of my body. He captured my balls and cockette between his thumb and forefingers and crushed and rolled them back and forth. He mauled my breasts and slapped my ass as he rode me. I swiveled my hips in unison to his lunges, hoping to bring him to climax. He yanked me up back to doggy style, causing me to lose suction on Seth's cock. I cringed and said, "I'm sorry." To my surprise, he said, "Watch out Jack, don't bust her before it's my turn." Jack said "OK, take your turn," and ripped his dick out of my ass, which again contracted in a sudden spasm of pain. Jack pushed Seth away from my mouth and shoved his dick in, slathered in my ass juices. I remembered gratefully that I had used the hand-held in the tub to cleanse my ass thoroughly. By comparison to his uncleaned prick, Jack tasted wonderful now that he was spiced with the effusions of my ass. My reverie over Jack's cock was rudely interrupted as Seth's massive tool ripped into my puckered ass. It was the biggest I'd experienced yet, and probed places that neither Miguel nor Jack had reached. But he was a more considerate "lover" than they had been, thrusting more deliberately, and with greater imagination and precision. His fucking built more slowly and deliberately, like a train picking up speed as it left a station. Soon, he was fucking me with all the velocity and even more strength and length than either Miguel or Jack, and I found myself moaning with pleasure despite myself. He fondled my privates and my breasts gently, to evoke pleasure, not pain or humiliation. I was soon responding to him like a real lover, and that incited him to even greater exertions. I heard him breathing heavily and slowly behind me and knew he would soon climax. I wanted to turn my head and look at him, but Jack's dick kept me facing forward. He had resumed his brutal assault on my face, now pounding my lips against his pubic bone and smashing his cock against the back of my throat. As his attack quickened, he began cursing me and calling me his sissy slut, his maricon whore, his cocksucking puta, that he was going to beat and fuck my faggot ass and fuck my fairy mouth whenever he wanted, and then suddenly he heeled back, thrust forward violently and uncontrollably, and spewed a load of foamy sperm down my throat with such force that I soon felt warm rivulets dripping into my stomach. At the same instant, Seth grabbed my pelvis and rammed me his hardest yet. As he cried out I felt a huge orgasm explode halfway up my intestines. Seth kept pumping inside me for a dozen more wet, deep, slippery stokes, and it felt like the two great floods met in center of my tummy. After three gigantic gulps Jack had pulled out of my mouth and yanked himself and sprayed his jism over my eyes, nose, lips, chin and hair. It looked like a creamy pink fountain spurting into my face. When it had slowed to a trickle, he put it back between my lips and squeezed his balls to drain the last cum into my mouth. Seth's fountain too had finished, and now he glided his prick gently between the cum-lubed walls of my ass. Now I really did feel like a sissy slut whore. Unfortunately, Miguel wasn't through with me yet. He came back in the room in a rage and yelled, "Get out of that little cunt-ass." Seth and Jack backed away and Miguel stuck his half-limp dick into my tired mouth. "Suck it, you slut," and I did, with new-found expertise. His dick tasted salty and spicy, and I realized with horror that this was the taste of my beloved Marta's pussy. He got hard as I sucked, and as he did, he pulled out and walked around to my rear. Seth's jism was still oozing from my ass and dripping down my thighs, and my ass was still red and puckered from the half-hour of non-stop pounding it had taken. Miguel's member easily slid up my ass, as Seth's bountiful spunk provided superb lubrication. Miguel only lasted a few minutes before he started grunting and thrusting uncontrollably, and fired his load into my bowels. I felt the warmth of his sperm swimming up inside me, where it merged into the pool of seed that Seth had already deposited in me. Miguel collapsed on top of me, as Seth and Jack relaxed and dozed in chairs across the room. He softened, and his penis slid out with a final pop and drooped down my thigh. A steady stream of cum mixed with my ass juices dripped down my crack onto my scrotum and onto the pile of pillows that propped my butt into position. Miguel grunted and lifted himself off of me, then staggered back to my face and whispered, "Lick me clean, bitch." I swallowed his flaccid dick and sucked off my juices and the mixed sperm. I prayed he wouldn't get hard again, but he did, and soon both Miguel was again pounding his dick into my exhausted mouth and throat, screaming obscenities and threats. Jack stirred, and mounted me again from behind, and again began pounding his dick into my slick but tired ass. With a whoop of triumph, Miguel fired another load into my throat, and moments later Jack squirted another load of spunk into my ass. As Miguel slumped into his chair, Jack took position and my face and ordered me to clean his dick. I carefully licked his shrunken member, and was relieved it did not harden again. As he wobbled unsteadily away, I felt Seth's large hands massaging my cheeks. He brushed my cum-streaked hair behind my ear and whispered, "Ready for me again?" I nodded my head and smiled, and he kissed my cheek tenderly. Then, he gently entered my raw behind and slowly accelerated the speed and force with which his cock crashed into my body until I found myself rising and falling with his motion. He cupped his hands around my cum soaked cockette, and to my astonishment, it began to harden. Our pace quickened, and I ground my tiny member into his strong hand in concert with his massive heaves into my inner spaces. I suddenly felt so full, and so warm, and so tingly, that as he gushed another warm torrent into my belly, I cried out and climaxed, three tiny drops into his palm. He stayed inside a long time until he grew soft, and then he exited gently and painlessly from my body. "Did you cum?" he asked. I nodded my head, and added, "Do you want me to lick you clean?" He offered me his softened penis, and I swallowed it hungrily, sucking and licking it clean of every streak of cum or ass juice. By the time he was clean, I had roused him to a slanty erection, and I asked if he was going to fuck me again. He shook his head no. Then he dressed himself and roused Miguel and Jack. Miguel was still in a rage. "I'll get Marta, you tie the maricon to the bed," Miguel ordered Jack. "I'll do it," Seth volunteered. He tied deliberately loose bonds to the bed posts with my stockings and garters, then covered me with a blanket. His eyes conveyed that he was sorry, and he said apologetically, "Miguel runs this set, so I got to do what he says." I watched in horror as Miguel dragged a disheveled and crying Marta down the hall, and cried at the thought that she might have suffered the pain and indignity that I had suffered this night. Jack smacked my ass and said, "Good-bye, bitch. You were great." Seth gave me a pat on the head. Then the house was quiet, and I was left alone with only my thoughts and frightening memories. Eventually, I drifted off to sleep. I awoke to the flicker of flashlights and the sound of unfamiliar voices. My parents had waited until midnight to call the police, and grandma's house was not exactly the first place they looked. They discovered me still tied to the bed and bums up. "What have we here?" said the first officer. "Looks like a female impersonator who got in over his head," said the other. They wrapped me in the cum-soaked bedspread and took me to the station, treating me as if I were the criminal. I called my parents and told them where I was and that I was OK, but that Marta and I had been attacked by three boys. My dad exploded in rage. "Just what were you and Marta doing at grandma's. I knew that girl was trouble, and I knew there's been something up with you." I told him I couldn't talk about it now. My mom got on the phone and said they were coming right down. I didn't want her to see me this way, and so I told her that I would call her after I was finished with the police report. The police were unsympathetic and contemptuous. I asked to speak to a rape counselor. They said it would have to wait until morning. I asked if I could clean up, and they said that they needed to take a rape kit and that too would have to wait until the medical technician arrived in the morning. So I waited in the interview room, cum crusted on my face, hair and bums, and leaking more cum from my ass onto grandma's already sodden bed spread. Finally, a bored-looking detective came in. "So tell me what happened here, Sonny," he asked. I gave him an overview, and he said, "It sounds pretty consensual to me. There wasn't any forced entry, at least not of the house." He guffawed. It was ten a.m. before they took the rape kit, another deep probing of my wounded ass, and noon by the time I was done with the rape counselor. By then, I knew I would never press charges against Miguel and the others. When I got home from the police station, my dad shoved me a pile of pills and said, "It's the morning-after AIDS cocktail. If I were you, I'd take it." I promised my dad I would stop cross-dressing and give up hormones, and I gave him back the remains of the birth control pill I had stolen from his office. Naturally, I still had my Sao Paulo stash, and while I dialed back on the dose I kept up the daily cycle. Other than that, we never really talked about the events at grandma's house. The rape counselor took care of the school angle and I never had to go back again. I finished the year on independent study and spent most of my time prepping for the A.P. exams, which I aced, naturally. I never saw Marta again that year. I heard that she had been fucking Miguel before, during and after the time she had been seeing me, so it was no wonder he was so pissed at me. I saw Seth from afar one afternoon when I was driving back from a shopping trip, but he was with the other motorheads, so he ignored me and I avoided them. I pretty much lost track with the art room crowd, except Quinn who stopped over once or twice, "to see how I was doing." He had heard about my transformation, and it turned out he was mainly interested in seeing how big my boobs had grown. I showed off for him, and hoped my old friend would put the moves on, but it turned out his interest was purely academic. I grew bored and frustrated, and very horny, for a guy-girl who couldn't get himself off any more. Finally, I called the University of Minnesota and asked if I could start in summer school instead of waiting until autumn. They said sure, but my scholarship money wasn't available until the fall semester. I emptied my bank account and got my mom to co-sign for a student loan. I packed my bags and left home the day after my eighteenth birthday. I think my mom and dad were relieved to get rid of me. So if anyone tells you what happens in high school doesn't matter, tell them they're wrong or else they're lying. If they go on to tell you that life begins in college, well, I hope that they are right. Chapter 2 -- Don't You Hate Buses? Never take a long distance bus if other transportation is available. If I had just lobbied my parents a little harder, they probably would have sprung for the plane fare for my summer school at Minnesota. They were still pissed at me about the problems I had at the end of senior year, but those same problems made it imperative that I get out of town. After all, when a teenage cross-dresser like me has been gangbanged by a Latino gang once, it's only a matter of time before they (or their friends) come back for seconds, or even more. Just spending a few minutes at the Greyhound Bus Station in downtown L.A. was enough to convince me that the creeps and losers I was escaping from must have come from large families, because this place was so full of them. The thought of spending three days on a bus with this cross section of the lumpenproletariat made me sick and fearful. Although I hid behind my Ray-Bans, they gravitated to me. A greasy- bearded, tattooed middle-aged loser beckoned to me from the bench opposite me. I pretended to ignore him, but he rose and took the empty seat next to me. He hissed in my ear, "I tol' jah ta come 'eeer, pretty boy." He clamped his callused hand on my skinny forearm. "Wassa matter, dincha get it?" A flash of genius struck, and I responded, "Je ne parle pas l'Anglais." He looked at me with disgust and stalked off, not noticing the 'Los Angeles Times' lying on my lap. That narrow escape brought me back to my immediate dilemma, the painfully distended bladder full of pee, and my fear of going to the men's room in this dump. I hate public rest rooms, and have a difficult time peeing if I even think that somebody might be watching me. The alternative, waiting and trying pee in the swaying rear of a moving Greyhound while all of the passengers watched and waited, seemed even more daunting, so I took my carry-on bag of estrogen, female dainties, and amphetamines and skulked as invisibly as I could to the loo. The public bathroom was even worse than I imagined. Instead of urinals, it had a long, canal-like trough, which was lined with pissing travelers. Even though I was wearing boy's undies for this voyage, just the thought of pointing my tiny, estrogen-shrunken penis over a fetid river of piss, while being watched by a long row of real men pissing loudly and freely from real penises gave me a bashful bladder. So I opted for the most remote of the littered, wet-floored and graffiti-covered stalls. Even though I preferred to pee sitting down, I would rather have died than have sat on the damp, sticky seat. So I squatted and waited nervously for the pressure in my bladder to overcome the nervous sphincter of my little cock. After a long wait, the pee came. I pulled up my now unfamiliar boy's briefs and struggled to hoist my tight Levi's over my rounded tush. Why was I so nervous, I wondered? When I opened the stall door, I had very good reason to be nervous: there lurked the guy with the greasy beard from the waiting room, pretending to be waiting his turn for my stall. He covered my mouth with one hand and shoved my chest up against the wall, banging me so hard that my Ray-Bans went flying, exposing my fear-filled baby blues. He snapped shut the door latch and put a 5" buck knife to my throat, hissing, "sh-sh- sh" menacingly. With his other hand, he fumbled with his belt, button and fly, and his greasy jeans slid down his legs, revealing a long, partly hardened cock. He pointed to it, and nodded commandingly. I nodded back and knelt on the slimy, piss-sprayed floor, remembering not to regain my command of English. I lifted his tumescent member into my mouth. He was uncut, when his head slipped out from under his foreskin it released a stale and sour slough of dried sweat and dead skin, which his pulsing prick pushed to the back of my throat. The reddish mass of his pubic hair was rough and clumpy, like it hadn't been washed for a week, and it scraped rather than tickled the soft skin of my face and lips. His filth was so overpowering that I could barely taste his pre-cum. His shaft was long and ridged with veins. It was long and thin enough to pass my tonsils and slide down my esophagus, so I easily deep-throated him. He placed both hands on the nape of my neck and forced my head up and down his long, slender shaft, my gag reflex rebelling at each forceful shove. I controlled it and steadied my motion by bracing on his hairy ass, keeping my fingers well away from his crack. Clearly, this character liked to be in control. And controlled he was, ramming my face so hard and long that I began to pay attention to the public address announcements for fear of missing my bus. To speed things up, I slipped one of my hands up between his legs and began massaging his blood-engorged balls. He moaned and began pulsing faster, and then the motion became jerky and more random and his load filled my mouth. And a huge load it was: I had to swallow three gulps to get it all down and keep my sweatshirt clean. When he was done, he tilted my face upward, as if to study it. Then, he spat in my face, slapped me and wordlessly opened the door and left. I was alone, wet kneed on the filthy toilet floor, spit mixed with tears of humiliation dripping down my flushed and stinging cheeks. Then, I heard my bus announced. I grabbed my Ray-Bans and bag, pulled myself to my feet, rinsed my hands and faced and hurriedly gargled with the cold water of the stained and paper-towel-stuffed sink. I ran off to my bus and jumped aboard just as the doors were about to close. "God," I thought, "if this is the real world, it's even worse than high school!" I noted with relief that Greasybeard was not a passenger on my bus. I found a window seat next to a Mexican woman and tried to compose myself. What rotten luck I had! When I dress as a boy, my effeminate good looks attracted the worst weirdoes of this world. I didn't have the ID or the nerve to pass full-time as a girl. I felt trapped and helpless. Fortunately, this bus was filled with modest working folk returning to their families or heading off to factories or fields. I found their ordinariness comforting. None of them would take an interest in me, I hoped. When we were on the Interstate, I went to the bathroom, bag in hand. I stuck my finger down my sore throat forced myself to vomit. I washed my face and brushed my teeth about five times, to get the foul taste of my assailant out of my mouth. To get him out of my memory, I bared my ass and injected a double dose of estrogen, and popped a couple of Valium. Then, to further boost my morale, I changed out of my jockeys and put on some flowered cotton panties and a matching training bra. I looked in the spotted and swaying mirror, and realized I looked frazzled and ashen. I put on a little mascara and eye shadow, and some lip gloss, and felt much better. I covered up with my Ray-Bans and a baseball cap, returned to my seat by my Mexican madre. The estrogen/Valium combo, together with the rumble of the bus through the desert worked their magic and my troubles slipped away into sleep. I must have slept through a stop or two because when I woke up "Mother Mexico" was gone and replaced by a uniformed, six-foot tall soldier. I was startled and thrilled: he was gorgeous, but sound asleep. I climbed gingerly over his massive thighs, to take a pee and make some preparations for some serious conversation after he awoke. He would be the perfect antidote to old Greasybeard. I asked the driver our next stop: six hours non-stop to Denver, where I had a layover. Plenty of time to get acquainted and to make plans for a very special "lay" over. In the bathroom, I prepared myself for "whatever" by douching my ass. No matter how little I eat, traveling always constipates me. How gross! I held it as long as I could as it swirled like a wild tide with the sway of the bus over the mountainous highway. I squeezed it in, imagining I was pregnant and in labor with the soldier's baby. I brushed out my hair, applied foundation, spritzed with a subtle Eau de Toilet, interrupted occasionally by urgent feelings and expulsions from my gut. I changed from my bulky sweatshirt to a tight, rolled-neck T, and draped a simple gold chain around my neck. For inspiration, I popped a Black Cadillac and attached a couple of estrogen patches to the undersides of my nubile breasts. By the time I was done, I heard urgent knocking and angry Spanish through the door, but my tush was squeaky clean, empty and lightly lubed, and I looked really cute. I stepped over the sleeping soldier again, this time gently brushing his thigh with my butt as I settled in my seat. He stirred in the mid-morning glare, squinted, turned to me, squinted again, and rumbled, "Whoa, excuse you, Miss, errr?.?.?. Good morning!" He was befuddled by sleep and by the vision of me. I flipped back my baseball cap, raised my Ray-Bans, and batted my eyelashes at him. "Good morning to you, soldier." Well, it emerged he was not really a soldier, Air Force Reserve, whatever that was, but what the hell. I wasn't really a miss, either. But I would explain that later. His name was Jake, he had gone straight into the service out of high school, gone to college on government grants, and now he had to re-up for another year of active duty and three more in the Reserves. The problem was, he didn't really like it any more. After college (he had gone to Minnesota for two years!) the Air Force guys all seemed so rah-rah! He was sick of it and was glad he had only six months left. I listened attentively, nodding, flirting, and agreeing with everything. Then I told him I was on my way to start college at Minnesota. He was so excited, telling me all about the wonderful people and experiences. "You make it sound like Athens in the tundra," I said. He agreed completely, like a modern day Greece set down in the midwest. I told him how glad I was to be escaping L.A.. He wondered why. It seemed so tolerant, hedonistic, and creative. Not my high school, I said. "Well, nobody's high school is! Anyhow, you're gonna love Minnesota." But first, I thought, I am going to love you. "But enough about me," I cooed. "What's next for you?" "I have a couple of days leave in Denver, then I report to an airbase in Colorado Springs, which sucks!" he said. I smiled inwardly as I thought, "Soldier, you're gonna have a leave in Denver that both sucks and fucks." I mentally rearranged my travel plans to defer my arrival in Minnesota a few days. By the time we pulled into Denver, we had made plans to get together for dinner and a night out exploring the city. We split up to get our hotels, but I was so sure of myself that I changed in the ladies room at the bus station and saved my hotel money. I hadn't eaten since L.A., but I still wasn't hungry, so I popped another Black Cad and couple of Premarin. My estrogen level felt high, and my nipples and breasts ached with sensation when I pulled off the patches, but they never looked bigger. They quivered and jiggled as I sponge-bathed in one of the ladies room toilet stalls. I felt better after I had cleaned my ass and cockette with a damp towel, and spritzed more eau de cologne all over. It felt cool and shriveled my balls nicely. Then I moisturized and lubed myself lightly. It felt good to get out of my dirty-kneed Levi's and into a pair of capri's and my mules. None of the ladies batted an eye as I preened in the mirror, adding lipstick to my gloss, and color to my cheeks. I popped some dainty gold hoops in my ears to match the necklace. The woman next to me noticed my self-inspection and commented, "Don't worry, Honey, you look great!" I was so thrilled I thanked her, but I wondered how I would tell Jake about my special problem. We had agreed to meet at one of those beer and burger places, and I arrived first and ordered a Diet Coke. Like clockwork, one of the local losers sidled up. Blowing cigarette smoke toward my face, he began pestering me. "Where r'you from? What's your name? What's your sign? I'm Cancer." "Right," I agreed. "You do remind me of a cancer: lung cancer," I replied haughtily. He stupidly mumbled, "Fuck you, cunt" and walked back to his lonely table. I was thrilled at my bitchy brilliance, and delighted that he had thought I was a girl. Jake arrived moments after I brushed off the pick-up guy, and told the bartender we needed a table. We ordered but I was so cranked that I ate little. I noticed he ate heartily but had good manners. I asked him a lot of questions about himself and let him ramble on. I knew that guys liked that. After all, I had been one. And that kept the conversation off the delicate question of my background. After dinner, we took a walk in the cool evening. He held my little hand tenderly in his, and when we paused to view a pretty vista, he put his muscular arm around my narrow shoulders. I turned my head, looked into his eyes and said, "I'm cold". With that he gathered me in his arms and gave me the first real romantic kiss of my life as a girl, as he gently stoked my upper arms and back. He was built like a marble statue, and I melted. After an eternity, his lips broke contact with my trembling mouth, and he asked, "Did that warm you up?" I replied, "I'm boiling now," and he laughed. We were near his hotel, so he suggested that we go back there and get an extra sweatshirt for me. I readily agreed. It would be ridiculously big on me, but I wasn't planning on going back outside that night anyhow. We went to his room and I went to the bathroom to freshen up my cologne and tush. I hadn't eaten for days, and my ass felt clean and fresh when I probed it with a finger full of KY. Tingling all over from my self- inspection, I resolved to confront the issue that I had been ducking and dreading. Jake was sitting on the bed. I sat down beside him, and began my confession, my head hanging, and my eyes staring at my pretty little feet. "Jake, I'm different from the other girls you have met." "What do you mean?" Tears streamed down my face, and emotion choked my throat. This was it, the moment of devastating rejection or acceptance as a special kind of girl. In a hoarse and halting voice, I admitted, "I have been a girl as long as