Femcorps 2 free porn video

FemCorps 2: the Diva By Sarah Barndt "Hear ye, hear ye! This meeting of the House Sub-committee for Population Stabilization is now in session. Mr. Secretary, bring the first witness." "The Managing Director of FemCorps will please be sworn in." "Now, tell me, sir, if FemCorps is such a damned success why are asking this committee to introduce some, shall we say, controversial legislation." "Mr. Chairman, the FemCorps has been a huge success since its inception 6 years ago. As of now, the population ratio has already gone from 71.2% male, 28.8% female, to 68.6% male and 30.4% female." "That sounds like a real success, sir. Where, may I ask, is the problem?" "Sir, the number of males volunteering has remained constant for the last 3 years. At that rate, it will be more than 100 years before the population returns to a nominal 50-50 ratio. You will find on your desks a report from several prominent sociologists describing the major disruption this will cause." "My staff has read it, sir. Five more generations living through the Great Imbalance, as you call it... somewhat theatrically I might add, will institutionalize the aberrant male pack behavior caused by this event. Is that the gist of it, sir?" "Yes, it is but..." "And your statisticians say you need to triple the annual number of transformees to reduce this to 20 to 30 years. Have you considered raising the financial incentives?" "We have, sir. The compensation was increased last year. The supply of volunteers increased by 12% but raising the incentives further had no measurable increase." "I see. So you want this Congress to institute a draft? You want us to compel men to become females? As a matter of national security? Is that what you're asking?" "Yes, sir. It is." "You don't ask for small stuff, do you?" Reuters/AP- Congress enacted the FemCorps draft. Each quarter, FemCorps will list its required recruitment quota. If these are not reached, the shortfall will be drafted in the following quarter. The selection process will be entirely random, based on driver's license numbers. Since the conversion process cures most illnesses, no medical deferments will be allowed. The only men ineligible are those already in, or veterans of, military service, and those who are married to women. Same sex marriages are not legally recognized. Draftees and volunteers will be paid the same and receive all benefits equally. FemCorps will draft men between the ages of 17 and 50, to ease some pressures on younger men, but men over 35 will be placed in the FemCorps auxiliary. They are not expected to bear children and will count as 25% towards the quarterly quota. Instead, since the conversion drugs are derived from human milk and to help FemCorps mothers with large families, they will provide assistance as wet nurses. Public reaction has been 'mixed'. End Part 1 I returned to my house exhausted. The skiing had been great this weekend. Sam had brought along two natural women. They were expensive but worth it. Good thing I have a well-paying job. It's nice to have sex with a real woman now and again. I wish I could afford it more often but, hey, you take what you can get. Right? The Great Imbalance never caused me any real trouble. I guess I was never meant for marriage. Too much responsibility. Especially now. Natural women free to bear sons are so in demand, each one is a whiny, ball-busting princess that thinks the whole world should revolve around her pussy. Not for me. Besides that, they all know what the FemCorps women get and they expect as much. I make a good living in sales, but I have no intention of spending all my money on some lazy, useless bitch just to pass on my family name. My brother's already took care of that, and I wouldn't trade places with him for anything. My sister-in-law is an award-winning shrew! Most of the time my robo-girl is a better lay than the real ones anyway, but I have to admit... Something is missing. Too late now anyway. At 42 I'm too set in my ways. I like my freedom. Let's check the mail. Hmmm Bill... bill...asking for a donation... You have already won! ... bill... shopping coupons ...OH SHIT!!!! I was on the phone to my lawyer while the draft notice was still fluttering to the floor. He was no help at all. Legally, I had no grounds to contest induction. He wished me luck. The bastard. He was probably planning to ask me out in a few months. I didn't want to become a woman! At least I didn't have to bear any kids... But I would have to nurse them!! I spent the rest of evening at the Wild Turkey Tavern, doing shots and beers. Originally I went there to check out some women, while I still could, but as the evening wore on, and I got drunker, I found myself checking out how the other men were checking out the women. Ugh. It was disgusting. Their dirty, smutty minds would be mentally undressing ME someday. The bartender wouldn't let me leave until I put my car on autopilot. I had NEVER done that before. What man would? Shit. My appointment at the Transformation Center was for 10am the following day. I decided not to go. At 10:15 three constables entered my bedroom, ordered me to get dressed and drove me to the Transformation Center. They turned me over to two medical assistants and wished me luck. FemCorps wants you to think that there was no difference between volunteers and draftees. I have to disagree. We were treated like prisoners, watched every minute, ordered around, examined in groups while the volunteers were examined in private and generally treated like the princesses we ALL were about to become. It wasn't fair. When it came time for my conversion I wish I could say I 'took it like a man' but I didn't. The three converts before me all went in screaming and begging to be let go. It was really sad and I guess it eroded what machismo I had built up. As I approached "the chair" I started to tremble. Then it got worse as my knees buckled. When the medtechs lifted me up I just felt so helpless I lost it and started to sob. "Please don't make me a woman," I begged. I could see they felt sorry for me but this was their duty. I was strapped in, given the spinal block and then... The syringes entered my balls. It was done. I was about to become a woman and nothing could save me now. All I could say was a steady mantra of 'no, no, please no'. It did no good whatsoever. Over the next few hours my balls turned into ovaries and my once 8" dick shriveled, then inverted, into a vagina, labia and clitoris. I was female now. Completely female. My first morning with a vagina was a nightmare. I couldn't figure out how to piss! I lowered myself gingerly onto the seat, as if my butt contained explosives, and just sat for the longest time, totally at a loss for what to do next. I must have been making funny facial gestures as I tried to will previously unknown muscle groups into action. Eventually I learned how to relieve myself (good baby! Clap hands) and I was thankful I had paid attention during the hygiene lectures (no direct eye contact, but eyes open) and knew how to wipe myself. The draftees were 4 to a room, while the volunteer princesses had private rooms. No doubt, while I was struggling with my new plumbing all alone, some volunteer princess, in the same situation, was receiving instruction from a certified gynecologist (While blue birds chirped merrily as they put ribbons in her hair). No, I'm not bitter. There were instructions posted on the bathroom. First, we were required to shave our legs, underarms and any 'non-regulation' body hair. Whatever that was. I showered and shaved as instructed. Smooth legs and underarms felt really weird, and my chest hadn't been this smooth since I was 17. Next, we were expected to dress in 'under garments and external attire appropriate for females'. Can't bureaucrats talk like the rest of us? I found plain panties, a sports bra with such small cups it looked like a training bra, and pumps with a low heel. Over this went a loose knee length coatdress with a sailor collar and pleated skirt. The bra felt like a harness, though the very shallow cups still sagged for wont of something to do. I hated it, and if one more person said 'you'll get used to it' I was going to scream. I doubted I would ever get used to them, but did not doubt I would need them... in due time. We were also instructed to 'apply a modest amount of lipstick'. I was never able to keep crayons between the lines either. I was still struggling with it when breakfast was announced. In the last few days I had watched other new transformees showing up en femme for the first time. It fascinated and revolted me. I would soon be joining them and wanted to learn all I could, yet the whole thought of wearing dresses and heels, panties and bras, for the rest of my like disgusted me... And terrified me. I knew exactly how I treated women, what I thought and felt as a man. Now the table was turned. I was the guy (yes guy. Look at me!) in the dress and new pussy. Halfway through my life I had to start all over, in the most profound way possible. After breakfast I stood on line to receive my hormone implant. Naturally the volunteers, walking serenely as rose petals were cast at their feet, didn't get them. No, that wasn't fair. Only FemCorps auxiliary, we old broads, got the implants. In theory a man could volunteer for the auxiliary if he were over 35, it's just no one ever did. The rules for draftees were different from volunteers after the transformation, too. Draftees didn't get to pick their new names and they had to dress 'fully female' right from the start. They pierced my ears with gold hoops and had me wear make-up right away, including nail extensions. I left there in a calf length floral print trimmed with old lace, what had once been called a 'granny dress', and medium heel, patent leather pumps. I had changed from a trim man named Rod Watson, into a skinny drag queen named Mildred Eloise Watson. NO! I wasn't just going to be a woman; I was going to be a woman named MILLIE! Fortunately my sedan qualified as a 'woman's car' and I could keep it, though it now displayed FemCorps license plates. My first paycheck was in my - my purse. That was the one bright spot. Wow! I walked back into my house more than a week after I was taken away, dressed as the female I was and carrying my 'starter wardrobe' in a small suitcase. It somehow didn't feel like my house anymore. All around me I saw things that told the whole world this was a man's house. But I wasn't a man anymore. The emptiness between my legs felt like a chasm. It was only matched by the emptiness in my heart. I hated being a woman already. The spot on my ass where they put the hormone implant that would start me lactating still was sore. I felt awful; I looked ridiculous and I had nothing to do anymore... At least not until my milk came in. I was benched; no, out of the game. No, I had to face it. I was off the team. I hurried to the 1st floor powder room to throw up. The hormones were already effecting me. I went to bed in just my old jockey shorts, like I had always done. What I wore in my own house was my business. They had given me three nightgowns, all lavender and lace. I'd use them to wash the car. I spent the night, as I had the previous night, re-acquainting myself with my uuuuu sexuality. The next day I cleaned the decaying food from my refrigerator, possibly the first time I ever did that. I cleaned the house, not because I felt it was woman's work, but because I wanted to get the guy smell out. It only reminded me of what I had given up. I had never noticed there was a guy smell before, or if I did, it didn't bother me. Now it almost turned my stomach. I threw out all my old clothes, too. Well; most of them. I hung onto a few things to wear around the house. What FemCorps doesn't know won't hurt it. Short of re-decorating, that was all I could do today. It was almost noon. I called Sam Peters. Sam Peters was a person I worked with- used to work with. He was about my age and a salesman, too. He had shared my views on family and marriage. He was, in short, my best friend, though he was one of those 'drinking buddy' type friends that you never really got close to. What can I say? I was a true loner. To a single man his career and hangouts are his 'neighborhood'. I wondered what single women did. I'd have to figure that out soon or be very bored. Maybe Sam had some ideas. I decided to invite him over to watch the game and have some brews. PART 2: I answered the door in my old familiar sweat suit. Sam came in looking a little uneasy. Of course, I was a female now and he wasn't sure of how to act. I offered him a beer and we went into the den to watch the game. He hadn't said anything about my change all through the first period. I decided to break the ice. "Sam. It's OK to talk about ... where I've been. I've got to learn to live with it." He looked at me funny. "I know. I figured you didn't want to talk about it." I had made a mistake. NOW he was uncomfortable. I decided to change the subject and got us more beers. I also made some salsa. When I set the platter down Sam said, "hey. They taught you to cook, too." I was slightly offended at that comment. He was talking to me like a woman. Just because I made snacks? It then occurred to me. I had never done that. I had always pointed to the kitchen- and I had tried to talk to him about my change, something personal. I had never done that before either. Why now? I squeezed my thighs together. Of course... I was a woman. Had something happened to my brain? After only 3 days? After that I made it a point to be as casual and inhospitable as I had always been. But this was getting hard for me. Most evenings Sam came over and we had beers and watched sports, like always. Things were changing somehow. I definitely offered to get him fresh beers more often, and I just couldn't enjoy the game anymore until I was sure he had something good to nibble. After a week he actually began to ask me to get him things! And I did! I was turning into a - a- hostess! It got worse. I was starting to find him attractive! At least I think that is what it was. Back then I was so unsure of just what I was feeling or thinking at any moment. All I know was that I was starting to like having him near me. I liked the way he smelled! Can you believe that? One night he came over after working out. He hadn't showered yet and the aroma was not offensive at all. It was intoxicating! No, arousing! There. I said it. My pussy got damp that night. The next night my box started to lube-up as soon as he sat down. My labia was swollen, too! Damn. My body wanted sex! I began to worry that he could smell ME now! The crotch of my panties was soaked. I began to feel small and weak, dickless, when he was around. I resisted these new urges, but every morning my fingers smelled of sex. Up to now, I had been focusing my concern on what I didn't have anymore. In other words, the loss of my dick. But it had now been 2 weeks since my change. I felt odd- inside. I felt warm, a little, and had some sharp pains in my abdomen. I checked my manual. Yikes! I was ovulating! I sat on the edge of my bed with my hands on my tummy. (tummy?) Yes, my dick was gone, and my balls. But there was new stuff- inside me. Ovaries, fallopian tubes and a uterus. My uterus, my - womb. I could bear children in it. I had just ovulated. That meant in about 2 more weeks... shit. I lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling as my -egg- began migrating to my uterus. I was fertile; a fertile - woman. Going out in public, like to the store, was very uncomfortable for me. I had to dress as a woman in public. That meant dresses, skirts, heels and make-up. Anyone could see I had been drafted into FemCorps. That was what I hated, too. They were so darn - nice. Men held doors for me, women offered advice- unsolicited advice, when I was shopping for cosmetics or pantyhose. (They can change a man into a woman, why can't they come up with pantyhose that last more than a few days?) I go through them like Kleenex. At least I didn't have to breed. No, I just had to suckle the little rugrats. I saw a young woman in her twenties, at most, very pregnant, pushing her cart and struggling with a toddler. Melinda Zaleskie had married the guy two doors down and all the neighbors said she was in FemCorps. She had actually volunteered to give up her dick and become some swollen breeder. I found that incomprehensible. I couldn't take my eyes off her, however. What would MY breasts feel like? Would they get that droopy? Would my arms get that jiggly flab on top, too? Would my ass get that - that- wide! I felt the firm buns I had worked on these last 42 years. Hmm... Were they softer? Crap. I couldn't dress like a man either. My car had FemCorps plates now. My credit cards and ATM card had all been re-coded to identify me as a female. If I wore male clothing in public I'd be tagged the moment I tried to do anything. But that was before my first - ovulation. Up until now I felt like this was costume, the ultimate initiation prank or something. I guess it was like this would end someday. I'd be lead into a room blindfolded and then it would be removed and everyone would laugh at me in a dress; then it would be over and I could go back to being a man again. My cramps were making realize it wouldn't end. It had barely begun. I wasn't a guy in a dress, even though that is exactly how I looked. I was a real female, with a slit between my legs and, apparently, able to make babies. What could I do? I was totally female now, but there wasn't a thing feminine about me... except my uterus and ovaries, that is. They said my new hormones would affect my brain, in time, and I would be more adjusted to my new life. The manual said that a woman my age was at the PEAK of her sexuality. I recalled how I was in high school, at my male peak, and shuddered. Could I really get that horny again? Sam was looking sooo good lately. I guess I could. Did I want that? Could I change things if I didn't? Not likely. My first egg had been released and in a couple of weeks I'd have my first period. I knew that would be a nightmare, but letting go of my past, and accepting it as part of who I was now would make it OK. Would it? It would make life so much easier to just go with the flow. (Why did I put it THAT way!) I really didn't know what I wanted. I was just sad and scared all the time and wished I wasn't. I felt so useless, too. Sam went to his job everyday and I just sat around the house doing nothing. Doing nothing at all isn't all it's cracked up to be. The day gets REAL long. And if you don't like what you're doing that's not a good thing. I absolutely refused to start watching soap operas and doing my nails to pass the time. But what could I do? Nothing, of course. My body began to change. Over the next two weeks I grew a fatty pad over my lower abdomen. It extended down to my pussy lips, creating a soft mound between my legs. Maybe I had been drinking too much beer. No, though the outer layer was soft, I felt something firm underneath. My uterus. It was enlarging and distending in preparation for ... Oh Yuck! My nipples had enlarged, too. My areolas were nearly twice their former size and my nipples had grown to the size of a raisin. They were darker and slightly sore. Worse of all, they crinkled up and tingled when Sam came over! The dreams were starting. Dreams where Sam was doing me! Most of the time I woke up trembling, like I was having a nightmare, but not always. Sometimes I woke up feeling all warm and cozy. That really scared me. I had heard that some women get horny when they have their period. I didn't believe that until I had my first period. In spite of the headaches, nausea, and surgery-without-drugs-like pain of the cramps, I was hornier than I had been in years! I asked Sam to stay away while I struggled with my first bout of 'lady troubles', but I spent a lot of time skimming through the sports channels looking for wrestlers or weight lifters or body-builders. I just couldn't stop looking at big, muscular men, with their rippling muscles and hard sweaty ... Uuuu (excuse me, reader. Here I go again. UUUUoooAAAAA. Yum, that was a good one) BAAHHDEES. I had to accept it. I was into guys now! Big time! They really turned me on! It was like someone took a 55-gallon drum of estrogen - and hit me over the head with it! After I was off the rag I must have douched twice a day before I felt really clean again. But I had to admit, I felt much better now. The physical changes had begun. My hairline was getting lower as new hair sprouted all over my scalp, and the thin spots on my head were filling in, though the new hair was much silkier than my old hair. My Adam's apple was shrinking but didn't look it. It just felt tight, like I was coming down with something. My skin felt softer, too. I found a use for those nighties FemCorps had given me. I wore them. Sam came over to watch Monday Night Football, as we had done for years, but this time was different. I met him at the door in a skirt, sweater and heels. He hadn't seen me in women's clothes since my change. At least I never wore any in front of him. I wore some lipstick and had my hair brushed back. I had used a conditioner to give it body. The dress was very modest, below the knee, and the sweater was bulky knit. I certainly wasn't dressed sexily, but I was dressed as a female. There was an implied sexiness. The clothes defined what was between my legs. That was sexy enough for now. I noticed he had a chubby as he took off his coat. Good, but I was also getting 'damp'. I excused myself and put in a panty liner. Wow! I was dripping already. My pubes had thinned out to a downy triangle, replacing the rusty brillo pad I had before, but what was there was wet and clinging to my puffy cunt lips. Had I known 'old broads' get this horny, a few years ago, I could have saved a fortune. The evening progressed slowly, but steadily. He had several beers but I was pacing myself. Beer affected me a lot quicker now so I had to cut back. I sat closer and closer to him. I found excuses to touch him; rubbing his shoulders, putting my hands on his arms, things like that. He didn't seem to mind. In fact, I got a definite 'good vibe' from him. Of course, this was awkward. I really didn't look too differently from the way I used to, except for the clothes, but I knew that men were always ready for some sex if it was offered. I just had to be sure he recognized my new femininity. He adjusted his crotch enough to convince me he did. I made my move. I went to get him a beer. While in the kitchen I removed my sweater and skirt. I hadn't worn pantyhose so I was just in panties, a bra (stuffed with socks), and heels. I sat down beside him and handed him the beer. He turned to take it and his eyes grew wide. Calmly, I placed the beer on the coffee table, placed my arms around his neck and kissed him full on the mouth. There was only an instant of tension, then acceptance. His tongue entered my mouth. My hand made its way to his crotch and began to massage it gently. He moved his hand to my crotch. I purred. After an eternity, I stood up, took his hand and lead him to my bedroom. He followed, as I knew he would. I didn't turn on the lights, but I helped his undress after I had. I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him down on top of me. He fingers entered my wet pussy. We were both breathing heavily. I massaged his huge cock until it felt hot and steely. Instinctively, I spread my legs and whispered, 'I want you inside me." Gently he slid into me. OOOO I get wet just thinking about that night. I gasped slightly as my hymen tore, but that was nothing. I was getting fucked- as a woman- and I loved every minute of it. Part 3: Sam lucked out, and so did I. We began dating during my 'growth spurt'. Having him by my side made the months when my breasts, hips, ass and thighs swelled from male leanness to female fullness a pleasant rather than frightening experience. Each day I became softer, rounder, wider and weaker. During the first few days of my new life, this scared me. I feared going through life with my body so diminished. But in Sam's eyes I saw it as a blossoming. Each new curve and bulge being a cause for delight in him, and eventually, his delight filled me, too. I came to welcome the shrinkage and softening of my muscles as better to hug him with, rather than too weak to lift a full trash can, which Sam took to doing for me. The new pounds and inches that were widening my figure daily were not merely fatty tissue, they were the womanly curves that made my man smile lustily, and lust smilingly I should add. It was not totally without problems. My 42 years as man did not prepare me in the least for the dramatic change to my hips and ass. No man can imagine how a big, soft butt changes you in more than appearance. It changes how you walk and sit, how you stand, how you think about your body in every way. Each time I went shopping I needed to get larger panties. My breasts, of course, dominated my attention because they had begun to get sore and change color after my period. That is, until the first time I sat down and felt myself 'spread out'. I jumped up to see what I was sitting on - hoped I was sitting on- unable to accept this change to my physiology, and shocked at how much flesh had, literally, snuck up behind me. Sam just kept copping feels and making me feel sexy and desirable in spite of what the mirror showed. He was such a dear. He rubbed my belly when I ovulated and brought chocolate when I had my period. He, as much as my ovaries, are what made a woman out of me. But it did take time and patience. My time, his patience. It was the second month after my change, and a week after my period, when Sam and I became lovers. It was extremely awkward sometimes, and sometimes very nice. Our old relationship would intrude occasionally, but I wasn't the first changee he had ever seen, nor slept with for that matter, so he adjusted more quickly than I. I guess that was because I was becoming MORE of what he was used to, as time passed, more womanly. He, on the other hand, was becoming less of what I was used to, less of a friend, no 'buddy', and more of an attractive man. I had no experience with finding men attractive, so it still made me feel odd when I noticed his muscles, or how attentive he was. It was also when my nipples started to enlarge and send me into middle-age puberty. It began by a darkening of my nipples and aureole from a pale pink to a deeper red. This was followed by a noticeable enlargement and the appearance of breast buds. My mammary glands were growing into their adult size after 40+ years of dormancy. They started to hurt when touched, and throbbed from time to time. Darn. That meant it was only a matter of time before I would start to give milk! According to the manual, I was supposed to begin using a breast pump for 10 minutes a day on each boob. I didn't really have boobs yet but the book explained it would stimulate their growth. Yippee. It hurt at first, but in time I got used to it, I guess, or my nipples toughened up or something. It didn't hurt anymore, and eventually caused me to leave a damp spot on my panties. Was my whole body turning into a giant erogenous zone? Apparently so. Sam was looking better and better anyway. I took to wearing a well-padded training bra to protect my achy tits, and also get me used to wearing a 'boob harness', seeing as I would soon be needing one - for the rest of my life. It was after my second period that my tits first gave milk. I wasn't expecting anything, though they had been sore for the first time in weeks. Suddenly I had something like an orgasm and a thick, yellowish fluid, colostrums, had filled the breast pump. I had to do it again a few hours later, except this time milk came out. I called FemCorps with the 'good' news, and I was placed on the schedule for milk collection. I finally understood what Melinda Zaleskie meant when she would comment, at those times she didn't think anyone could hear her, "girlier and girlier". She was absolutely right. Femininity was growing on me like behavioral fur. Shaving just made it grew longer and thicker. I was now scheduled for regular milking- an undeniably female condition. Of course, that is what I was- a female. I'll never forget the first time the 'milkman' showed up at my door. I expected another woman to help me, but instead they sent a Greek God. Drake Ramoray was tall and swarthy, with wavy black hair and bedroom eyes above a killer smile. He was thickly muscled, too. If it weren't for the fact he was young enough to be my son, he would have been perfect. Regardless, my pussy swelled and moistened as he set up the new electric milking machine, with refrigerated storage tanks, in my bedroom. "How you doin'?" he said as he brought in the medieval looking contraption. "Ya wan' it in da beh droom? Mosta yoo ladies like it dare." I nodded vacantly and pointed to the beh-droom. He plugged it in, checked some settings and said, "Ya wanna give id a try, sweet cheeks?" Sweet cheeks? Was he coming on to me? Oh come on, Millie, not too in love with ourselves, are we? "Hey, sweet cheeks, I know youse in nervous, bein' ya first time and all. Don' worry aboudit. Everybody gotta starts someplace. Am I right? Come on. Off with da blouse. You'll be fine." I was actually giggling as I sat down into the automilker and the cups settled over my tiny breasts. At first nothing happened then...oooo That felt nice. I think I smiled and closed my eyes. "Feels priddy good, don' it? I'll be back tamarrah." I probably waved as he left, I forget now. I was really getting hot. Part 4: When Sam showed up that evening for dinner I threw my arms around him and starting kissing him in the front hall. That session in the milking chair really got me sexed up. He didn't mind too much. I went braless that night. Not that I had anything to hold up and what I had was like 90% nipple, but I thought he might enjoy a special after- dinner drink. He did. I asked him to spend the night. According to the manual, a morning fuck might improve my milk production. Contented cows? Did Sam make me content? Why was that important to me? Besides, I liked having him around. Girlier and girlier. Over the next two months I menstruated for the second, third and fourth time, hating it more each time. I also became Sam's woman. I don't know what else I could call myself. We now spent 4 or 5 nights a week in bed together, on the average. I made him breakfast almost every day. I took to cleaning his house! I was his woman. I was also getting more of a figure as my breasts began to fulfill their genetic destiny. My ultra large nipples soon topped jiggly little girl boobies. The boobies expanded into firm, pointed teenager tits. The pointy tits fattened into an adult breast. The adult breasts bulged into lactating jugs; headlights; funbags, knockers; hooters; whatever. Not that they got really big. I was only a B cup, but they were full and heavy with a network of pale veins visible beneath the skin and my huge nipples were a deep red and dripping most of the time. No girl had breasts like these. Only a grown woman - like me. In fact, I was becoming too grown. It was wonderful that my hair was growing back thicker than ever, but it was gray! I never had gray hair before. And my skin was as smooth as ever, softer, too, without the slightest trace of beard, but I was getting laugh lines and crow's feet already. I had only been a female for 3 months! The doctor had explained there is a difference between your chronological age and your physiological age. Prior to my transformation my chronological age was 42, but my physiological age was 36. Now my chronological age was still 42, but my physiological age was 47! In fact, he said once I stopped lactating in 5 years... I'd probably enter menopause!! That should have made me happy, knowing my awful cramps and PMS would end in a few years, but it didn't. Did I want a child now? Was I afraid of becoming an old lady? I remembered what they had told me right after my change, "You'll look years younger, for a few months. You'll have the skin, tits and ass of a 25 year old. Enjoy it while you can." While you can. That meant it would pass and I would look my real age. Darn. It was starting already. They should have mentioned it only lasted a month or so. There was other stuff, too. I was getting cellulite and my thighs and upper arms were getting flabby. Not too much, just the usual for a woman MY AGE. Of my PHYSICAL age- 47! Almost 50! WAAAA!! It was now February. The holidays had passed, that goodness. Thanksgiving was a nightmare. I went to my brother's house. I still looked like me, except I was wearing a dress. My nephews kept asking me "why I was dressed like a lady?" I tried to explain but my brother and his wife told them I was 'sick' and they needed to do that to save my life. I knew my sister-in-law was looking down her nose at me. Her opinions of FemCorps were well known to me. She hated the whole idea. To be honest, I had always agreed with her. I probably still do. What hurt was my brother's attitude. He was ashamed of me! Like I had asked for this! It was the luck of the draw, buddy. I left earlier than usual. I spent Christmas with Sam and just sent gifts to my brother and his family. They probably decontaminated them before they opened them. Wouldn't want any FemCorps germs in the house. It wasn't too bad really. I got along OK with my brother but we didn't have much in common. I never liked his wife and his kids were brats. He and I spent more time on the vidphone when his wife wasn't around. I was getting attached to the Zaleskie girls. I had been assigned to wet nurse for Melinda Zaleskie, the FemCorps lady down the block. She was pregnant with her fourth child! I guess it was a 'surprise' as they call it (in my opinion, the only truly surprise birth occurred over 2000 years ago) so her third was still nursing. I grew very fond of Lilly as she suckled from me. Her other daughters, Rose and Daisy was sweet girls, too. I had wondered why her older daughter, Danielle, didn't help. She was in FemCorps, and she certainly had enough chest on her, but she was pregnant, too, with her second child. In time I became known as Aunt Millie to Melinda and her daughters. In fact, I had become more of an extra grandmother than aunt, because I was slightly older than Melinda's mother. I began to look like one. My hair was turning grayer all the time and the dietary supplements they had me on because I was nursing were putting weight on me. Before long I was thick-thighed, big bottomed and heavy in the hips, like the plump, middle-aged matron I had become. Nursing the girls, plus Drake milking me every day had inflated my breasts to a C cup, but they were soft and droopy now. But Sam kept sexing me night after night. I guess he was horny. I found myself flirting with Drake more and more. Like usual, I got very hot during my period. I called to tell him I had trouble with the auto-milker so he would come over. "I'm sorry to be so much trouble, Drake. I hope it's not an inconvenience," I cooed while batting my eyes. "Nah. I like workin' wit you old broads. It makes me feel good ta help youse wit ya noo lives. Ya needs some attention from a guy, to make youse feel like real broads, ya know wuddeye mean? Sure, some a dem comes onta me, but fuhgeddabouddit, it ood be like doin' my mutha or sumpthin." I stopped batting my eyes. He fixed the machine, left, and I had a good cry. Part 5: Sam arrived while my eyes were still red. He knew I had been crying. I didn't want to talk about but he pressed me. Before I knew it I was sobbing on his shoulder about how I hated being a woman, an old woman. Then he said, "It's OK to be a woman, but stop acting like such a girl." I stared at him, confused by that comment, as I am sure the readers are. "Sure, you're a female now. But why are you simply accepting everything? You never did as a man. You don't like your gray hair? Color it. Think your butt is too big? Join a gym. Don't like crow's feet? Wear make-up. You're a woman now. It's allowed. What's the problem?" It was like a light went on in my head. He was right. I could color my gray, and hide the wrinkles. Women did all sorts of things to change their looks that a man would never dream of doing, but I wasn't a man anymore and I didn't have to accept what Nature gave me. I had been in shape as a man, and I could be as a woman. Did I still have the determination? I certainly hoped so. Time to be a little bit girlier. "Sam, will you help me? You know, watch my diet and help me with my exercise program?" "Sure, Millie. Anything for you." He was such a doll. The next morning I made Sam breakfast, but I had a grapefruit half, one cup of cereal with 2% milk, juice and coffee. Instead of a bathrobe and curlers, as had been my habit, I had on make-up. I had colored my hair last night, and added red highlights to my medium blond locks. I wore a leotard and tights. I went down to the basement and dusted off my lifecycle. I had a new determination, but I wasn't quite ready to display this body in front of a bunch of catty women. Not yet, anyway. I wasn't expecting to lose much weight, but I definitely wanted to firm up and re-arrange my new voluptuousness more advantageously. I began to get results. My clothes got looser and the new things I bought were getting more glamorous. Maybe I had to be an old lady, but I was going to be the sexiest old lady on the block. When Sam and I went out I found the virtue, and discomfort, of foundation garments. You can spot ladies that wear girdles, support bras or body shapers if you know what to look for. We always look like we're taking a deep breath and sticking our ass out- or in my case, way out. Sam laughed when I took him shopping with me and asked him "Does this make me look fat?" I was a real gal now. I had found the power of being female. I looked good now and was looking better all the time. I practiced make-up for hours. I started going for the real high fashion look. I was a size 12 and probably wouldn't get much slimmer, but I was very firm now. I was determined to be a hotty. Sam seemed bothered for some reason. I asked him what was wrong and was surprised by his answer. "Millie, you have gone totally Gifford. Look at yourself. Your make-up must be applied with a spray gun, you're always over dressed and all you talk about is your hair, your nails, what you wore, what you're wearing, or what you plan to wear. What happened to you?" "You don't understand what it's like to be a woman- my age. I had been a fairly handsome guy and maturity looked good on me. The gray around my temples looked pretty sexy. But now I'm just an old lady addicted to Clairol, trying to look the best I can. Look at yourself. You're older than me and you don't have crow's feet or wrinkles. I do, and I didn't until they changed me. You don't have little veins popping up on your thighs, or cellulite- and you never will. Your ass is nice and firm. Your tits certainly don't sag. It's... it's... h-h-hard (sniff) Why are you being so mean to me! I'm just trying to look good... f... for you." "You're not doing it for me and you know it." Sam said rather gruffly. "You've been a woman for months now but you're still a guy in so many ways. You're middle aged but you still want the young, hot ones, even if your attentions have changed from girls to boys. Older men can date younger women, but younger men don't usually date older women. That Drake guy got your panties wet so now you're trying to shave off 20 or so years. It doesn't work. And all the more tragic... I love you just as you are... but... I guess I'm too old for you. You're not attracted to me." He turned and left. What had I done! End Part 1