Good Riddance free porn video

Good Riddance by Gingerfred Man Chapter One - Ambiguity I was always conflicted about my gender. I mean I knew almost everyone in the world saw me as a male, despite my bob of blond hair, doe-like eyes and long lashes. But I didn't. I saw myself as a female. A female with a little cock and some pretty little testicles. At least they were pink and mostly smooth. So it was me against the world. Most of the world, anyway. The mirror was undecided. Naked, with one hand covering my "parts" and the other arm covering my nipples, the mirror said it could go either way. Especially since, at almost 19, I had passed the part of my life where many "girls" like me had lost "it." By 19, many would-be girls have heavy beards, hairy bodies [Ick], manly muscles and deep voices. Not me, on all three counts. I was ambiguous, not to mention androgynous. My whole life seemed like a Fred Astaire - Ginger Rogers dance. Part of me was "Fred" and part of me was "Ginger." Well, a really, really large part of me was "Ginger." But that pesky "Fred" was always lurking in the background. Not that I was "bi-sexual" or anything silly like that. And I most certainly wasn't one of those gay "pantyboy" characters! I liked girls. But I also liked being a girl. After all, sometimes a "man's" gotta do what a man's gotta do - even if it's becoming a woman. That made perfect sense to me. But it didn't seem to make sense to anyone else. My parents named me Anthony. Anthony Della Femina. Most people called me Tony. I have great parents. Loving and supportive. When this all the stuff in this story started, I hadn't found the limits of that support. I was about to see just where those love boundaries were. I mean how many parents would you think would help a son with his own, voluntary emasculation? I don't mean surgical emasculation! Ick! I'm talking about ridding myself of all my masculine feelings and traits. Willingly and eagerly. And permanently. Some people are able to do that on their own. I needed help. And I got it. From the professionals at Emasculation Station. You've seen their ads on television. The beautiful, feminine, transgendered babe who chases off her masculine demons. That's the glamorous side of it all. The real process is hard work. Very hard. With large dollops of humiliation. But [blush] fun too. I guess, like most of you girls, I knew early on that I was different in lots of ways. Though quite ordinary for a part-time, hide-in-shame, deep-in-the-closet crossdresser. "Borrowing" panties from my two older sisters and Mom. Being almost caught dozens of times. Where I guess I differ from many of you is that I was never caught. Or even suspected. One reason, I guess is that I didn't do "nasty things" in the panties I borrowed. I was too scared or na?ve or something. In fact, I didn't ever wank my willie as a child. Didn't have an orgasm until I was in college. Which is a story in itself. In high school, I hung out with the audio-visual-club and chess-club crowds. If they had a competitive femininity team like many high schools do today, I'd like to think I would have been one of their star athletes. Probably not, though. I was very conflicted. And in the far reaches of the closet - where even moth balls feared to tread. In my dreams, my real dreams, I was a full-time woman. Lovely and sexy. With an extensive wardrobe of the girliest, sissiest things. Big heels and sheer stockings every day. Lots of makeup and powder and perfume. Pretty jewelry given to me by admirers. Another issue - in my dreams, I couldn't get it straight who the admirers were - men or women. They were all just androgynous admirers. Did I mention that I really, really liked admirers, androgynous or otherwise? These days, of course, I know that I wanted the admirers to be handsome men. But my pesky little masculinity wouldn't even allow me the clarity of my dream. It also wouldn't let me suffer the inevitable indignities and conflicts that a true transformation would require. So, get rid of the masculinity and the dreams come true, right? Intellectually, I understood that perfectly. Emotionally, it terrified me. What would everyone think? How would they treat me when - if ever - I "crossed the river?" What would my new life be like? Would I lose all my friends and all chances for employment? Would I be cast adrift on a raft with three days rations and a cyanide tablet? What about the sense of loss I would feel when the masculine traits I had had all my life were gone forever? Myra Breckenridge sang, "I'll Be Seeing You" when they cut off her boy things during her sexual reassignment surgery. Could I be so cavalier about mere personality traits? Not until I met Abby. Chapter Two - College Days I arrived at college an 18-year-old virgin, which was fine with me. I didn't know which side of the plate I was hitting from, so I didn't even dare grab a bat. And did I want to bat anyway? Catching always seemed much more interesting. I stuck to studying and playing Dungeons and Dragons with my fellow socially-challenged student-nerds. By a happy coincidence, early in my freshman year, something wonderful happened in my college town. A Panty Pride opened. You may have heard of Panty Pride. Founded by the great Miss Barbara, Panty Pride is a sanctuary for pantyists the world over. It's a place where we pantyists can wear our panties openly, for our own enjoyment and for the visual enjoyment of our fellow pantyists. It's a place that saved my sanity, since at college and living in the dormitory, I never had the privacy I needed to wear my pretties and satisfy my burning needs. Of course, had I been properly emasculated at the time, that would not have been a problem. I would have "just done it," no matter what anyone thought See what I mean about masculinity being troubling? Of course it took me about six months to muster up the gumption to attend a Panty Pride meeting. It was in March of my freshman year that, blushing fiercely as I clutched my carefully sequestered frilly white panties, matching garter belt, lace stockings and heels, I gathered the courage to sign up for a trial membership. Standing there in the lobby I was very nervous when I filled out the forms the big, hunky security guard gave me. Publicly, sort of, acknowledging my passion for the first time. The guard was awfully nice, which put me at ease a bit, but then I had a terrible thought - was he flirting with me? Was I flirting with him? Well, he was kinda cute... Oh no, I didn't want "that." After all, I was so not "that way." My anxieties began their usual full-scale assault and I probably would have left right then had I not heard, "Hi, you're new here. Welcome. My name is Gerald, but at Panty Pride I go by Abby." I turned to see a young man about my age. He had the sweetest face - not handsome, more like "cute." And the friendliest smile. His ease was contagious. I smiled back and said, "My name's Tony. I don't really have a girl name. I'm really nervous about this." Gerald, I mean Abby, was terrific. "Everyone is like that at the beginning, Tony. Stick with me tonight and I'll show you how things work. Are you a student at the university?" I nodded shyly. Didn't want to disclose too much about my identity to a stranger. Abby said, "I'm not probing, Tony. Just being friendly. I'm a student there too. A sophomore. I'm 19 and I've been coming to Panty Pride since they opened in September. This is a very nice chapter and it has something for everyone. Let me show you the locker rooms." I relaxed a bit as Abby led me into a very nice room with benches and about 100 lockers. There were maybe 20 men in there - of all ages, but mostly college boys like us. They were all undressing, then putting on girlish things. "No need to be shy in this bunch, Tony," Abby said as he quickly removed his male outer garments. Oh my. He was wearing a sheer pretty pink camisole with the cutest possible lace trim and matching sheer stockings, lace garter belt and panties. He looked even better when he slipped into pink satin five-inch stiletto heels that made his legs look like a runway model's. Pretty in pink taken to the brink! Darn, why didn't I bring a cami? I even had a cute, matching one in my "stash." The garter belt and heels had been a stretch when I packed, but now I felt, well, "under-dressed." I blushed when he noticed that I was staring at him. "That's OK, Honey," he said. "We come here so we can dress, but also so we can see each other. What do you think?" I thought a lot. First, why did he call me "honey?" I guessed that was all right, since we were playing at being girls. That settled, I said, "You look wonderful. Do you wear those things all the time under your boy clothes" "Thanks," he said with a killer girlie smile. "I do wear my ?pretties' all the time. Couldn't imagine being without them. I have my own apartment off campus, away from the ?nosies.' If I could get completely rid of the rest of my masculinity, I'd wear femmy things all over - all the time - pretty short dresses, big heels, styled hair, jewelry, earrings, proper make-up. I just need to get over a few more hurdles." Wow. Abby was pretty far across the "Unknown Sea" and didn't show any signs of trimming his sails. Did he really intend to keep sailing? What if there were dragons or he sailed off the edge of the world? He snapped me out of it a bit by saying, "I'm going to put my make-up on now. Maybe you'll want to get dressed." Oh. Yes. Dressed. In the panties and stockings I brought. That would involve stripping nude in front of all those men. And Abby. What makes the Hottentots so hot? What puts the ape in apricot? Courage. I sighed deeply and began to undress. Sheepishly looking to see if anyone was looking at me. They weren't. Everyone was either chatting or giving their attention to their own finery. That was a little disappointing. Abby had gone over to a row of well-lighted large mirrors behind a long table on the far wall of the locker room. He was sitting and applying lipstick and eye makeup, with his back to me. I removed my trousers. My willie was stiff and had even wormed its way out of the flap of my boxers. I stood naked pondering one of The Panty Life's truly basic questions. How was I going to get my frilly silk panties on over a stiff peenie? "I see your problem, Tony," Abby said. He startled me. "That's a very pretty pink package you have, Honey. You have four options. Try to stuff ten pounds of boy-joy into five pounds of panties. Slip your pretties on and leave Little Miss Tickles' head sticking out, which is against house rules by the way. Deflate your peener unpleasantly - a good snap of the fingers on the head ought to do it [I winced at the thought]. Or, and this is what I recommend, deflate it pleasantly." I looked at Abby. Did he mean?? I couldn't. Not in that place. I hadn't even done that in private. Wait. Was Abby offering to?? I couldn't!!!!!! Abby saw the terror on my face and just smiled sweetly. Leaving things up to me. Despite my panic, I couldn't help admiring the results of Abby's recent cosmetology. Very nice! Very, very nice! He looked like a pretty girl. A very pretty girl. From the neck up at least. And from the neck down if you ignored his lack of breasts and the big tentpole in his panties. In fact, though my eyes were downcast with fear and shame, little stolen glances around the room told me that every pantyist there was stiff and drippy. Being in panties is VERY exciting to a pantyist. Especially when other pantyists are sneaking peeks. Abby saw that I was torn and he gave me a graceful exit. "How about if you just sit there and I'll help you do your make-up. If you concentrate on something else, your willie will wilt. OK?" I nodded. But the makeup thing was a problem. "I don't have any makeup, Abby," I said. "I've never used it?but I'd like to." Abby looked at me as if he had just met the Forrest Gump of pantyboys. But he had real class and grace. I wasn't sure about the box of chocolates though. "Sure, Honey," he said. "Our coloring is close. Let me just use some of my stuff here. Maybe some foundation and blush. And lip gloss, of course. And maybe a little eyeliner and shadow." That was a lot. I sat there with my panties at my knees and my willie erect as Abby gave me my first makeup lesson. Watching him work and paying attention to the details made my pole sag enough that I could, with a struggle, "cage the beast" within the little white [virginal?] bikinis I had brought for my "debut." Of course, when I saw the results of what Abby had done, I was tenting the dainties yet again. Thank goodness they had a full cut in front and were only gathered at my sides with cute satin bows I looked good. Really good. Equal to Abby good. And he admitted as much. "You have great potential, Tony," he said. "But the Dark Side (the masculine Force) is strong within you. We must vanquish it!" "Thank you, Miss Yoda," I said. And I heard Abby laugh for the first time. It was an excellent sound. I wanted to hear it again and again. "Get your stockings and heels on. We'll go in and I'll introduce you to everyone I know. And don't worry about being stiff and drippy. Everyone will be when they see you, you little fox." Abby thought I was a "little fox?" Wow. I liked Abby. As we neared the door, Abby said, "Oh, and keep your panties on. It's a rule violation and a week suspension if you take them off until after the program." I stammered, "But why would I take my panties off, Abby? I came here to wear panties, not take them off." Looking back on it, I was a nitwit. But Abby was very patient. "After the Panty Pledge and a short program, usually involving ?testimony,' anyone who wants to remove his panties, exposing all his naughty bits, is free to do so. And anyone wishing to fondle, caress, kiss or otherwise honor anyone else's pink bits is free to do so, if the fondlee gives permission, of course. I see you're shocked. Don't be. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You can leave if you wish. Or just sit over in a corner with all the couches. The club calls it the ?No-Fly Zone' and no one will bother you." Scarier and scarier. It was a good thing I had Abby with me. I would have been a mess when the panties came off! But then my panties were rapidly becoming a mess. The tug of my garter belt's suspenders and clicking of my white four-inch satin pumps was driving me batty. We entered the room and the most interesting thing about the scene was its banality. OK, not totally banal. Sure, there were guys in all sorts of female lingerie with not a limp cock or stiff wrist in the lot, but everyone was acting as if they were at a cocktail party. Just standing around with a drink munching on petit canap?s. Talking to friends. Some were watching a baseball game on a big-screen TV that displayed the buns on the players to perfection. Still, when Abby and I walked by a small group of guys, I heard a wolf- whistle. Was that for me? Oh please no! Oh, please yes. I turned to see where it came from. It was a nice-looking man in his early-40s. He was wearing a pink negligee, with matching panties, garters, stockings and four-inch-stiletto pumps. "Who's your friend, Abby?" the man asked. "Tony, let me introduce you to Denise, one of the randiest members of any Panty Pride anywhere in the world. Of course he's all bark and no bite. Though I did try not to get close enough to feel his teeth." Denise laughed. It was obviously a sketch they had acted out before. "Pleased to meet you, Tony. Is that with a ?Y' or an ?I?'" "A ?Y,'" I offered quickly, then realized that I was already an oddity, since I didn't have a girl name. "Either way, it's a pretty name for a pretty girl. It's good to see that Abby is finally hanging out with a better class of people." What did he mean? Was Abby in a rough crowd? Then I realized. Denise was kidding. Yes. I was thick. Abby moved me here and there, introducing me to Kelly, Maria, Ginnie, Marilyn and a whole bunch of other pantyists. They were all very friendly and nice. And every single one of them flirted with me. Was I that attractive? Or were they that randy? After a very nice hour of meet and greet, a bell sounded and the program began. Denise, who was the "hostess" for the evening led us in the Panty Pledge. "I am a panty enthusiast! I love the constant caress of silky teasers on my girlish testicles. I love to rub my stockinged thighs together as my pretty penis shoots its sissy cream all over me and my companion of choice! I may be a 'girls-only' manly sissyboy, a 'male lesbian' who favors the pleasures of my fellow pantyists, or a cock-sucking little slut, who adores men and welcomes their big pricks into my tiny pussy. But whatever I am, I am who I am - without shame or guilt - and without judging my fellow pantyists. I am pantied and proud!" Everyone except me knew it by heart. And they all recited it enthusiastically. It was a little too sexual for my taste. After all, it wasn't as if I was gay or even bi. But I liked the parts about pride and not being judgmental. After the pledge, Kelly, a 30-something, married pantyist gave testimony. He said he cherishes his evenings at Panty Pride. His wife does volunteer work on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so he can only show up then, since he's deeply closeted. "But here, among you, my sisters, I am free." It was all very sweet and nice and everyone was congratulating Kelly on a good talk. I was having a really nice time. But then the evening changed. About 15 of the 50 pantyists in the room moved to the corner Abby had called the No-Fly Zone. The rest started a mating dance. They began easing their stiff, drippy cocks out of their panties!! Exposing themselves to the lustful stares of other men. Oh my! Oh no! How gay! I scurried to the No-Fly Zone and hoped the wall of couches around it held off the testosterone-crazed pantyists beyond. They were all flirting and teasing each other. Some were kissing and even [gasp] stroking each other's cocks! Many were fondling their partner's nipples - even kissing them. Now that looked interesting. Hum, I'd have to think about that more. Where was Abby? I certainly didn't see him among the Saved. Then I spotted him. That little tramp Denise was on his knees. Abby had his panties down to mid-thigh and Denise was sucking Abby's mid-sized cock. Quite well, apparently, if Abby's grunts and moans were any indication of customer satisfaction. I had chosen a first friend poorly. It appeared Abby was gay. And shamelessly so. Maybe all the nice things he did and said were just gay tricks. Oh my! Abby's stomach was clenching. Was he?? Abby was cumming! Right into Denise's lipsticked, hungry, obviously-gay mouth. Denise was swallowing it with great relish. How horrible! I should have looked away. Should have sped to the locker room, dressed en homme, and fled the Panty Pride facility, never to return. But I looked. And saw Denise stand on his big heels and Abby, panties still down and cock lewdly drooping and drooling, get onto his stockinged knees in front of Denise. Was Abby going to?? More horror! Denise slid his panties down to expose his stiff cock and pendulous balls. Abby looked at that disgusting package as if it were a tasty treat. He held the shaft in his soft, right hand, then moved his fingers up to Denise's thick foreskin. Abby eased the skin hood back to expose Denise's pink knoblet! Abby opened his mouth to swallow Denise's popsie pride. But just as he was to commit that terrible act, he locked eyes with me across the room. And waved to me. Involuntarily, I waved back. Why did I do that? And why did I continue to watch as Abby slurped and sucked and licked and kissed Denise's swollen goods. I didn't want to watch as Abby expertly sucked Denise to a creamy conclusion. But I did. And. I'm ashamed to admit, I was not only disturbed, I was aroused. Stiff and droolingly aroused. I wanted to worry that someone would notice my stiffie and the gayness it implied, but all I could do was watch Denise's pump go into hyperdrive and Abby smack his lips as he swallowed it all. Then someone behind me said, "Are you all right?" I spun around, blushing fiercely at having been discovered. And saw a very cute young pantyist in black pretties - panties with little pink bows, silky, seamed stockings with reinforced heels and toes, bra with ruffled pink piping, four-inch patent stiletto pumps, and a pink-with- black-lace-trim garter belt. The sight of him was not helping my stiff condition. He saw my discomfort and seemed to understand. "I'm Megan. You're new here. Don't worry. All those ?explorers' won't be able to penetrate our force-field of couches here in the No-Fly Zone. You can't blame them really. There's something awfully exciting about being dressed as we like and seeing others like us. Sometimes I join them over there. Sometimes I just talk to my less adventurous pantied friends over here. But I'm always excited. I see you're excited too. It's OK. Perfectly normal." Megan was very sweet. And very cute. A freshman at my university, I guessed. I didn't know what to say so I just looked down shyly. Megan smiled. "Honey, I think you need relief very badly. If you don't relieve the pressure in those balls you'll be injured. Come on. Let's just step over there and I'll help you." Was that cute, sweet pantyist offering to masturbate me? Or even that other naughty thing that Denise and Abby were doing? Time to run again. Feet, don't fail me now! They did. All I could do was place my hand in Megan's and follow him into the Wild West outside the No-Fly Zone. Well he was a major, major cutie. And that sexy black lingerie was "killer" hot. Megan said, "You just close your eyes, Honey, and relax. I'll stand behind you, reach around, ease your panties down and give you a little relief before you faint, OK" I whimpered. Megan took that as assent. I closed my eyes and imagined Megan was a girl and we were on a date together - both of us girls. I gasped when he eased my panty hem up and over my stiffie, then down to mid-thigh. I was terrified to open my eyes and see other pantyists looking at my exposed popsie! No one had seen me in panties at half mast and bare-cocked in my life. Who knew how many gay pantyists were looking? Megan smelled nice, which made it a lot easier to pretend he was a girl. And he handled my peenie very nicely. Rubbing it with his soft right hand while his left gently caressed my tight silk purse. The way I did sometimes when I was being just a little naughty. Telling me how sweet and pretty and femmie I was. He knew just how to rub the head and? Oh. What was that funny feeling in my stomach? Throughout my entire body? Why did my nipples feel so stiff and odd? As if on cue, his left hand came up and began to gently roll my hard nipple between his thumb and forefinger. I felt a sweet agony and began the sweetest girlish squeal. Then, quite helplessly, I started releasing almost 19 years of girlish cream. In thick gobs as my squeals became lust riddled moans. It was almost as if it were coming from someone else, not me. It was wonderful! But within a minute after the last spurt, I was assaulted by shame and guilt. I was a man, not a sissy faggot pervert! I was a man. I shouldn't be in a place like Panty Pride. Letting some other sissy faggot pervert jerk me off. I could actually feel the shame pressing on my shoulders - not to mention the Megan's prickette pushing on my fanny. Megan looked at me as if he understood. He may have had good intentions, but he was a sissy faggot pervert, and I had to get away from him and Panty Pride immediately. Without even pulling my panties up or saying good bye, I ran from that pit of gay iniquity to the locker room. .I dressed hurriedly. Cleaning off the cummy mess with tissues. Stuffing my girlie things into my backpack. Mistake. Should have tossed it all right then. Ran past the flirty security guard - did he look disappointed? Well, too bad! Got back to the dorm and went to sleep. Whew! That was a close call. Was I ever glad to be away from there! I was going to go back to the dorm and try to forget about what had just happened. Burn all my girlie things. Live the manly life. Ever get those feelings, girls? Well, I had them, and I was acting on them! I was going to be a man forever! For the next week, I was the manliest guy on campus. Well, one of the manliest. OK, more manly than normal. Then fate stepped in. Actually, it was Abby. I was walking across campus and heard my name called. I turned around to see who it was. It was Abby. Only he looked like a Gerald. Which was his boy name. Even in boy clothes, he made my cock hard. I had been thinking all week about how Abby had sucked Denise's cock. And Megan had tickled mine. "Tony, I'm glad I ran into you. What happened last week? Why haven't you been back to Panty Pride? Megan and Denise have been asking for you?" I blushed fiercely. This girlish man knew my dark secret. My former dark secret, now that I was a reformed pantyist. I stammered, "I just?I mean?I don't do that anymore. It was a mistake." Gerald/Abby looked at me with kind eyes. "We all think that now and then, Tony. But the need never goes away. If we can just be fully emasculated, we won't have that problem any more. I'm doing something about it. And I'd love to talk to you about what I'm doing. Can we talk? Can you come over to my apartment on Friday around seven? I'll get a pizza and I'll tell you what I'm doing. Please come." The male part of me ("Fred") said "NO!!!!!!!! Danger! Gayness alert!" But it wasn't the dominant voice in my head. "OK," the feminine part ("Ginger") said. "Ginger" is such a little slut. "Fred" can be a real pain. I was a wreck all week in anticipation of Friday. Would Abby try any funny stuff? Did I want him to try funny stuff? At seven that day, I knocked on Abby's door. It opened and there Abby was. He was wearing incredibly feminine things - all pink lingerie: a lacy brassiere; ruffled garter belt; tiny, severely-tented panties that matched the bra; deliciously decadent, sheer white fully-fashioned stockings; and four-inch pink silk stiletto pumps; all covered by a gossamer-thin, pink peignoir with the cutest ruffles imaginable about its openings. His make-up was perfect - his lips were a lush, moist red and looked enormous, as did his black lined and frosted blue-shadowed eyes. He was even wearing a high-end, blonde, curly wig with a pink satin bow at its crown and strands of pearls about his neck, wrists and even one ankle. I almost came in my boy briefs, which I had worn so that there wouldn't be any funny gay business. Abby hustled me in, then hugged me warmly. He gave me a sweet kiss on the mouth, then said, "I'm so happy you came. I knew you would. We girls need each other. Did you bring girl clothes? No? No matter. I have things you can wear. You do want to dress tonight, don't you? "Fred" was screaming, "NO!" "Ginger" won again, "Very much," I admitted. Abby squealed happily, then took me to his extremely girlie bedroom. Even his room was pretty in pink. He helped me get undressed (no funny business yet) then made my face up to match his. That little slut even painted my nails to match our lip-licking red lipstick. Watching my wet nails, he then dressed me in the world's prettiest sheer white babydoll nightie with tiny pink-ribbon trim. Its bodice was actually a built-in lacy bra that did wonders for my tiny tingly titties. From the bra the top opened up in front to reveal matching tiny lace panties (tented just like his) and a white ruffled garter belt like Abby's about my slim, girlish waist. Both garter belt and panties had matching pink trim and little bows. Fully-fashioned stockings like Abby's, high-heeled white satin mules and identical sexy pearly strands to his completed my emasculating ensemble. The strands rolling over my throbbing nipples were heaven on earth. With a not-so-little spritz of slutty Shalimar perfume "Ginger" had won, at least for the evening. It seemed odd when we sat in Abby's kitchen, dressed like that, eating pizza with our delicate varnished nails. But Abby said that to be a girl, you have to be girlie in all kinds of situations - even the most banal. "You should have seen the pizza-delivery man's eyes when he saw me," Abby giggled. "He probably thought it was his lucky day." I knew that most pizza-delivery men were getting all the sex they could handle, so I didn't feel sorry for him. Abby didn't take long to get to the point. "I can't do this anymore, Tony. This dual life. I'm going full-time girl, right after the school year ends in three weeks." Full-time? I was astounded. "What do you mean by full-time, Abby?" I asked. Abby smiled sweetly. "You're such a sweet, innocent kid. So feminine and, at times painfully na?ve. And so inhibited by your masculine side it's a wonder you can get up in the morning. I'm going to put away manly things completely. I'm going to live as a woman. Wear only women's clothes. Change my name. Change my driver's license and birth certificate. Bury Gerald. Date men. Take their big cocks in my backpussy. Marry a man and raise our adopted children. But I can't do it alone. I stared in horrified astonishment. How was Abby going to do any, let alone all, of that? It was impossible. It was against nature. It was unmanly. Even gay! And did he expect ME to help? How? "I see you're skeptical," Abby said. "I don't blame you. Six months ago, I would have lacked the courage to do something like that too. But I've taken the first big step. I've convinced my father to finance my program at Emasculation Station. They guarantee success. And they achieve it 90% of the time." Skeptical? I was terrified for Abby. What about the other 10%? Finally, I managed to choke out, "You told your father that you're a pantyist? How did he react?" I was absolutely certain that I would never have the courage to tell my Dad that I was a little nancyboy. Did I admire Abby for being honest or pity him? Abby said, "Not well, at first. But it had to be done. In fact it's step one on the Emasculation Station program. Once I told him my feelings and my plans, he softened a lot. I sat on his lap and cried too. And his love for me took precedence over his disdain for the Panty Life. It always does with a good person. And my Daddy is a good person." I just sat for a minute and decided. I didn't pity Abby. I admired him. Or "her," now that she was going to get off the fence and fully embrace the Panty Life. I gave her a big hug and said, "I'm very proud of you, Abby. I wish you all the best." We hugged and cried a little. Like girls. Then Abby said, "Thanks, Sweetheart. When I reach the other side, I'm coming back for you. That's a promise." Huh? What did she mean by that? Was it bye-bye for "Fred"? But she didn't explain. What she did say was, "My agenda is shaping up and tonight, you're the whole page. Tonight, you're going to take my anal virginity. Tomorrow, I start dating men, beginning with Dr. Sodoma, my English teacher. I dressed as girlie and as pretty as I could because I know you're ?not gay.' But I'll bet you would like to make love to a girl like me, wouldn't you? Especially one that's all sweetly douched for you." Douched? "You don't have to suck my cock or do any gayish things. Just kiss me and hug me and put your cute little popsie in my tight, hot pootie. Open it up for all the men it'll welcome for the rest of my life." Was Abby mentally stable? What kind of plan was? Oh. Abby was lying on her bed, on her back. She had the peignoir open, exposing her flat tummy and her pretty pink lingerie. And the pretty party tent in her panties. "Please kiss me," she said. My male hormones ignited. If fact ALL my hormones went berserk. My poor peener stood and saluted Abby's feminine allure. She looked so girlie. She was a girl. And I was a man. Sort of. In a pretty nightie. Wearing makeup. But a man. You go Fred! And certainly not a gay one. Nope, not me. A man receiving a carnal invitation. The kind men don't refuse. I got on top of Abby, lifted my nightie and melted into her soft arms. Inexpertly, but enthusiastically, I kissed her swollen lips. And rubbed my pantied stiffie against Abby's swollen panty pouch. It was heavenly! Lipstick on lipstick. Girlish fragrance mingled with complementary girlish fragrance. Gasps. Pants. Little sissyish moans. Abby let me be the man. Mostly. She eased her own panties down and over her heels, baring her peenie and peanuts to my rubbing woodette. When we were completely hot and totally bothered, Abby moaned for me to reach into the nightstand drawer for a tube of lubrication. "Put some on your fingers, Darling, and ?prepare' my pussy. Please. I need it!" Even "na?ve little Tony" knew what that meant. I was a little "icked out" by putting my fingers in her pooper, but the payoff promised to be worth it. Even "Fred" approved. "Ginger" was yet to be heard from. Oh my. One and then two lubed fingers slid in there quite easily. It was very warm in there. And Abby was clenching my fingers very sluttily. It felt kind of nice in there. Especially when I saw and heard Abby's gasps and little squeals of appreciation from my efforts. I got my fingers in there nice and deep, twisting and lubing and rubbing sweetly. I discovered a little walnut-sized place in there that seemed awfully sensitive. Abby seemed to tense when I touched it. So I concentrated on tormenting it. Abby squirmed and squealed. Then she tried to speak, but could only grunt and moan. Then she sat up abruptly, cried out, and began to pump thick globs of her girlish juices all over her pretty tummy, garter belt and bra. That walnut was the key to something. And it was something good. "Ginger" was quietly taking notes. When Abby drained her testicles and her breathing returned to normal, she lay back and looked at me. "Very nice, Tony. Now fuck me, please. Pull aside your cute panties and put some of that lube on that naughty little boy-joy and stick it in me. Just ease that pillow under my bottom?that's it?like that. Put that stuff on?lots of it?Good. Now let me just put my stockinged calves on your shoulders, like that." Abby drew a breath, preparing herself for her deflowering. By me! Of all people. And my well-below-average, foreskinned-but-pink-and-bare- at-the-moment penis. I was going to fuck a girl! Well, almost a girl. Prettier than most. More feminine than all but a few. And she was extremely eager to be fucked. I lined up my stiff stick with Abby's cute little pucker. My fingers got in there just fine. I knew my cockette would slip in. But it didn't. Not at first. Anal sex is a challenge. Especially in the missionary position. With a virgin. Two virgins, actually. I couldn't line it up just right. Poke?miss. Poke?miss. Abby saw my difficulty and helped. She grabbed my cockette and gently guided it to the correct position and wriggled perfectly as I eased it in. In. I was fucking. It was wonderful. My cock knew where it was, even if I wasn't sure. It wanted to spurt within seconds of arrival in heaven. I resisted. Unsuccessfully. In about 20 seconds, I pumped a good quart of cum into Abby's perfect "pussy." I was humiliated. Abby was delighted. But "she" was not only sympathetic. She knew how to fix things. "Scoot up and feed me your cock, Baby," she said. "I'll get you hard and you can fuck me properly. Without cumming right away. No big deal. Please." Should I? Heck, yes. I straddled Abby's shoulders and fed her my limp, cum-drenched, anally- tainted ticklepole. Oh. That was nice. My first fuck followed by my first blowjob. It was the best day of my life so far and getting better every minute. Was this gay? Who cared! Abby licked and sucked very nicely - she was quite experienced at cocksucking other pantyists. She did just enough to excite me and stiffen me. When she sensed I was ready, she said, "Now we'll really do it, my sissyboy stud. Put it back where it belongs." I got back in place and found the right location all on my own that time. Losing my first load had calmed me down, so that I was able to fuck properly. And kiss Abby's luscious lips and perky little nipples as we groaned and pushed. I gave my "best girl" 20 minutes in paradise. Proud to say that she came twice to my one big stunner of a ball draining. And that was just the beginning of a night of the best fun I had ever had. Until it ended. Abby and I fell asleep. Fucked out. We woke up at eight that Saturday morning and fucked again. I wanted to do that every day of my life. But no. "I'll make you breakfast now, Tony, my sissy studmuffin," Abby said. "And then you'll have to go. The next time I see you, I'll be rid of all my masculinity and I'll be able to help you lose yours." Bummer. I wanted to lose a little more of my liquid masculinity in her pussy a few more times that day. We ate our Cheerios in a sad silence. I kissed her, showered, dressed in my boy things, kissed her, and left. Would Abby keep her promises to me? Would I want her to? When would I see her again? When would I get laid again? Read on. Chapter Three - My true beginning begins So there was my sex life so far. A shame-laden jackoff from one pantyist, Megan, and a night of golden memories from another, Abby. And that was it for quite some time. After "Abby Night," I was more confused than ever. Was I a studly guy (who liked to wear girlie things) or a submissive little simpering sissy pansy who would lie on his back to receive cock? Increasingly, I found myself wondering more about how Abby had acted that night. Was I really like her? That really frightened me. However, I chose my usual action when confused - let alone afraid. I did nothing. I took and passed my school exams. Won a Dungeons and Dragons tournament. And kept myself away from Panty Pride. School ended and I went back to my home town. Dad had arranged for a cushy indoor intern job for me. My high school nerdy friends were back in town. I was bored out of my mind. And I needed to dress. I decided to visit the Panty Pride chapter in my town - just once. "Once" was three nights a week. Then four. Then five. I expanded my feminine wardrobe. And I made friends. All of whom were fellow denizens of the No-Fly Zone. We were there to wear our pretties. Not for that disgusting disgustingness that went on outside the Zone. Though it did make my balls ache to watch it. And remember Abby. One Wednesday, early in July, I showed up at Panty Pride, as usual. Said hello to the security guards in the lobby, as usual. Wondered whether they were flirting with me, as usual. And I was about to leave the lobby when there was a commotion. "Excuse me, Madam," I heard, Butch, the security guard say. "No women are allowed in this private club." I started to turn around to look when I heard a very feminine, vaguely familiar voice say, "I, sir, am in fact a woman. Fully feminine. However, I am, as you can see, eligible for your private club." Was that?? I looked and saw only the raised skirts of a very pretty pastel summer dress. Under the skirts were light petticoats with the prettiest frilly lace hems and fine legs, which were graced by Hanes Silk Reflections stockings held up by pretty garters and ending in very high-heeled, stiletto pumps that matched her cute, frilly dress. A brief examination of the lady's gossamer-thin pink panties saw that "she" was packing a nicely stiff peenie underscored by the finest of fine pink purses - a purse that, I might add, seemed plump full of creamie goodies. Butch said, "Sorry, Miss. It's just that you're so feminine. No one who ever came in here was so?." She lowered her dress showing her classically beautiful face and cupid- shaped lips. Then leaned over and with full red lips, kissed the guard's cheek. I stood there with my mouth open. It was Abby. She was back, with a capital ?S.' Back to retrieve me. To lead me forward. Moi? Ginger?" Oh my. Oh no! And when she noticed, by happy coincidence that I was right there in the lobby with her, she smiled broadly. Kinda like a fox to a hen. But, it was a gorgeous, dick-stiffening smile. "Tony, my sweet boy," my dear Abby said. "I'm back. And I'm going to keep all my promises. Take my hand and follow me." Say goodnight "Freddie!" Hellooo "Ginger." Why do these things happen to me? I took her hand and followed her. Right out the door of Panty Pride. A place Abby later called "a mere halfway house on the way to true femininity." Abby and I walked in silence to her car, which she had parked a block away. Then she said, "Well, do you want to kiss me and tell me how beautiful I am?" I did both. In that order. Again and again. I may have been the ?man,' but Abby was the conductor on my life train. "Let's go to my new apartment, Tony. I've been thinking about you making love to me ever since I completed my program at Emasculation Station." Good offer. I took it. Somehow the whole ?emasculation' thing was trumped by my throbbing wonder weenie. My "Fred/Ginger" conflict was gonzo, at least for the moment. We tumbled through the apartment door in a feverish clinch. Kissing and sucking tongues. Oh, how I had missed Abby. Oh how I had missed sex! But was I really the pitcher or the catcher? The passer or the tight end? It was all too much for my long deprived and creamie-drooly popsie. Who cared? Abby whispered to me that she had already lubricated and dilated her "pussy" with a pink plug. She muttered something about the Pantyboy creed of LDP, but it was all lost on me as I - manly Moi - was the designated buttpounder of the evening. All I would need to do was remove the plug and replace it with my capable cockette. Talk about ?prepackaged!' The only thing I was waiting for was the TV pitch, "But wait, there's more if you fuck this strumpet in the next five seconds." Finally, Ron Popeil's secret life! Double my order! I managed to bend her over her bed, lift her petticoated skirts, pull down her panties, remove the plug, drop my own drawers and fill her with my cock - all in about ten nanoseconds. But who was counting? We fucked like wild beasts, each cumming twice before we calmed down enough to withdraw and regroup. We kissed and cooed until Abby suggested that she strip to her heels, stockings and garter belt, and I could wear whatever I had taken to Panty Pride for that evening's ?fashion show.' I didn't want to leave her, even for that. But I did want to show her how my wardrobe and makeup skills had improved. I stripped naked, then put on a lavender lace trimmed teddy with matching, stayup stockings and 5-inch serious fuck-me-pumps. Fuck me? Now that didn't make sense. Let alone the ?serious' idea. But I had other priorities this evening... My stiffening cock and pretty plentiful pink purse were perfectly displayed through the sheer snapped bottom, just waiting to be undone by the little poppet. Then I carefully applied foundation, lilac lip gloss, eyeliner, purple eye shadow, mascara and a bit of blush. I turned around to show Abby and I could tell she was impressed. Her cock stiffened. That's how I knew. Mine stiffened even more when I saw Abby in her white Reflections stockings and white garter belt. For the first time I noticed that there was no wig - her hair was midlength, but all her own. Beautifully colored, managed and curled. But that wasn't the big surprise. Abby was sprouting titties! And with the most perfect pert petite nipples I'd ever seen! "Your breasts?" I said. "Do you like them? I started taking hormones a while before I met you. They've been sprouting lately. You look fabulous too! I love how you're doing your face. I'm glad you like my titties. They're so sensitive. I cum whenever I touch them. And spurt if someone else kisses them." If that wasn't an invitation? I joined Abby on the bed and began to adore her titties. The bad girl was right. My licking and sucking went south before I even knew what I was doing. Well, it just seemed like the thing to do! Not really gay, mind you, just the natural thing to do! Polite and proper, I guessed. Taking her little ?thingie' into my mouth certainly was not gay - just ?natural,' if you know what I mean, which I'm sure you do! In short - too short - order I had her cumming hard in my way too-accepting mouth. Oh, my! Now that was ?gay,' but "Fred" was nowhere to be found. Anyway, it tasted kinda sweet and the feel of her little peenie-popper was divine. When she returned the favor, unsnapping my bottom [with her teeth no less - now that's a trick I liked!] and easing back the teddy's top to suck my nipples, I was stunned by how much I enjoyed it. And by the super tanker load of semen it produced even more. Without bragging, I can tell you that I kept Abby very happy until about 10:00 p.m. Since I had to go to work the next day, I told her I would have to go home - my parents' house. She could have made fun of me, but she didn't. Instead Abby said, "You can see how much I've changed. I don't wear boy clothes any more. Gerald is dead. And I'm going back to college as Abby. I'm living my life as Abby. I know you want that too, and I'm going to help you get there." Abby was very brave. And she gave me credit for being a lot braver than I was. Yes, I would have loved to be a full-time woman. But it scared me to death. And I couldn't let go of that fear. Silly me! Abby read my mind. "It's not the fear that's keeping you from your heart's desire, Tony. It's your masculinity. Mine is gone, and I'm happy. When you discard your masculinity, you'll lose the fear and gain the happiness. Here's what I want you to do. On Saturday morning, meet me at this address at 10:00 a.m. Wear boy clothes if you wish. You'll spend all day. I want you to meet the lady in charge, Miss Crushman. She runs the local Emasculation Station. They helped me. They'll help you. Promise me you'll be there." You don't turn down a request from someone who's giving you great pussy. I promised. But I was scared poopless. As promised, I met Abby a little before 10:00 in the lobby of the nondescript building that housed Emasculation Station. She looked fabulous! Where did she find those old-school dresses that required fluffy, frilly petticoats under the skirts? And those fully-fashioned, seamed, silk stockings? But in how many schools did girls wear 5-inch FMP's? I kissed her softly, to preserve her makeup. She was as excited for me as I was terrified of what was to come. At precisely 10:00, a stunning, middle-aged woman appeared. She was at least six inches taller than my pathetic five-six. Her black-stocking- encased legs would put the average 20-year-old babe to shame. Her face was elegantly, if not haughtily, beautiful. The rest of her was a schoolboy's wet dream: six inch pointed-toe black patent stilettos, black satin pencil skin and severe Victorian starched white blouse with a high, tight collar. I thought she would be a stern taskmistress. But she wasn't. She spoke and acted kindly toward me, whom she didn't know, and Abby, whom she seemed to know extremely well. We went to her well-appointed office, where we took seats, and Miss Crushman began to talk business. "Abby recommends you most highly as a potential client, Tony. That's a point in your favor. Abby is one of our finest success stories. But Abby's endorsement is only the beginning. We'll need to do extensive psychological and personality testing to be sure that full emasculation is both what you want and what you need. The testing will also be the foundation of the emasculation program we design specifically for you." Reasonable. I guess I could at least go through the testing. See what they say. Full emasculation is a big step. Miss Crushman continued. "Let me caution you. Our program is very intense and very expensive. Abby has been a very good friend to you by paying your testing fees." Wow. What a kindness. I was going to show Abby some serious appreciation the next time we got in the sack. Miss Crushman went on, "Of course the actual program fees will be considerably more - at least $40,000 plus expenses." Well. That was that. No way I could afford that. I felt relieved. And yet, a bit sad. Maybe I did want full emasculation. But wait. There was more. "Of course," she continued, "candidates for full emasculation never pay their own fees or expenses. Getting the money is their first emasculating act." Huh? Was I supposed to give blowjobs in a public toilet or something to get the money? Worse. "Tony, you must ask your father to pay your emasculation fees and expenses. Not your banker. Not a boyfriend. Not a lecherous uncle. Your father." Abby told me later that she wished she had a camera to catch my expression. It looked like the kid in "Home Alone." Oh the horror. Miss Crushman played rough. "Take the tests," she said. "Be sure that full emasculation is what you want. If you do, then you'll know that asking Daddy is the only logical approach. You know you won't be able to hide your new and permanent femininity from Daddy. And you won't want to lose your family. You can't afford your own proper emasculation. And you'll need to jump a big hurdle to get your therapy started." It made sense. In a sick way. But logic was the last thing on my mind. Though sex still figured prominently. Abby took me home with her to "discuss my future," And let me fuck her hot ass off until it let off sparks. She was very convincing about me taking the tests. So I took them. Over the next two weeks. With lots of "encouragement" from Abby. When Miss Crushman brought Abby, who was my sponsor, and me in for an evaluation of my tests that Saturday morning, I was out of sperm and open to suggestion. "Tony," Miss Crushman said, "Your tests show us that you are the most ideal candidate this branch of Emasculation Station has ever evaluated. We have developed a personalized program that we are virtually certain will succeed. Will you ask your Dad for the money?" I looked at Miss Crushman, then at Abby. Suddenly I realized that full emasculation was my fondest wish. Whatever it took. "Yes," I said. "I will." Chapter Four - Emasculation Phase One - Mom, Dad and Daddy Definitely easier said than done. The plan was that Abby would drive me home, and I would tell Mom and Dad that I was a nancyboy, panty-loving pansy who wanted them to spend a small fortune to strip away the wisps of masculinity I still clung to. Then I would get Dad to sign a contract, and I would get back in the car with Abby and drive to a place where my real training would begin. Right. As we left Miss Crushman's office, I didn't feel very good. I sped to the men's room (would it be for one of the last times?) and puked up my breakfast. Left the men's room. Saw Abby. Ran back and recycled at least three more meals. The Road to Emasculation was already a messy one. Abby calmed me down, got me into the car and drove me to my parents' house. My fear was boundless. Should I sneak in the kitchen door and hide all the sharp knives before I told them? Should I have worn a Kevlar vest? Maybe a Kevlar jock strap? Abby kissed me deeply, handed me the contract and said, "I'll be right here. It won't be as bad as you think. It was easier for me than I thought. Trust me." I trusted her, but I was so scared, I didn't even want to fuck her at that moment. Imagine that. The Death March to the front door began. I entered the only home I had known. And there they were. Mom and Dad. On the couch. Were they waiting for me? "Hello, Dear," Mom said. "Hi, Champ," Dad said. I croaked out a hello. Took a deep breath. And moved to a chair facing them. "Mom, Dad, "I have something to tell you and something to ask you. First, let me tell you that I'm not really the masculine son you think I am." "Of course not, Sweetheart," Mom said. "You're a pantyboy. You have been for some years. Actually, ever since you were a toddler and had tantrums when I wouldn't put you in frilly little outfits." Shock. Terror. They knew! But how? I was always so careful. Dad answered my unspoken question. "You've left quite a trail, son. Mom and your sisters are women. They notice things. Like when their intimate things have been handled. And worn. Thank goodness you never did naughty things in them. And let's face it. You've been out after work every night this summer, and the last few weeks you've been coming home smelling of some vigorous sex. And frankly, we didn't think you had a girlfriend. We're not stupid, Tony." Was I dreaming? Mom went on. "And Doris Fletcher saw you going into that Panty Pride place several times a week earlier in the summer. Doris and I went to high school together and she lives across the street from Panty Pride. She told me you haven't been there for a while, though. Since you met Abby." They knew about Abby? If there had been anything left in my stomach, I would have lost it then. "It's all right, Tony," Dad said. "We are who we are. I told Abby exactly that when she was here for lunch on Tuesday when you were working. She explained everything and of course we approve. She's quite a dish, Tony, you little about-to-be-former studmuffin." Huh? "Of course we'll sign the contract, dear," Mom said. It's clear to us that you not only want full emasculation, you need it." Dumbly, I handed Dad the contract. He read it a moment, then signed it. "Those fees are pretty stiff," he said. "But so is a lot of stuff that goes on there, I'll bet." Did Dad just make a joke about erections? Dad handed me the contract and continued. "I'm not worried about the money. You won't be going back to college for the fall semester, so we're saving there. Plus, I'm sure when your rich boyfriends give you things you'll remember how we financed your emasculation." Rich boyfriends? I sat there staring. And staring. Mom and Dad stood. Reflexively, I stood. They both hugged me, then Dad said, "Make us proud, Sweetheart. We want you to be the sexiest, prettiest nancyboy on the planet." I managed to hug back and croak out a thank you. Then I left. Somehow I ended up in Abby's car. And we were driving. Abby was talking. "Wonderful people, your parents," she said. "I'm glad I could reduce the pressure on you a bit. It was still very emasculating for you to ask them for the money. All I did was reduce the pain for you." Abby was wonderful! For a flash, I wanted to just forget about the emasculation and marry Abby. As a man. But that wouldn't work. I wanted to be emasculated. Right away. If not sooner. I didn't have long to wait. We drove back to Emasculation Station and delivered the signed contract to Miss Crushman. She congratulated me and hugged me. Then Abby hugged me and said, "See you on the other side, Honey. I'll be back at college in a few weeks. Call me when you're finished with your program." Abby was leaving me? My eyes filled with tears as we kissed goodbye. The she left. I was alone with Miss Crushman. She spoke. "Tony, your program will begin with an introduction to the man who will take you through the first two phases of your program. You will call him, "Daddy" and you will obey his requests in every way. Do not fear. Your Daddy is a sweet and gentle man who is very experienced in emasculation techniques. He will not harm you in any way. You will, I'm sure, come to admire your Daddy very much." As Miss Crushman pressed a bell on her desk to summon "Daddy," another jolt of fear grabbed me. A man!?!? But I didn't want a man. Did I? What if he? Oh. A tall, 40-something, extraordinarily handsome and well-built man entered the room. Miss Crushman was right. Despite his Alpha Male mass, he looked and acted very gentle and loving. "Hello, Tony," he said as he held (not shook) my hand. "I'm proud that I'll be your Daddy. I've read your file carefully and I know we'll get along just fine. Miss Crushman, I'm going to take Tony to my apartment now and move him in. Tony, I'm sure you're hungry and exhausted after your ordeal this morning. Let me get you home and I'll take care of you." A man was going to take care of me? What did that mean? And why was my cock so hard? So much for being gay. But somehow this was different. Very different. Daddy took my hand and led me out of the office to the parking lot. He held my hand all the way, as if I were his little boy or something. People were staring. It was very embarrassing! But kind of nice. I felt "taken care of." In the car, as we drove, Daddy asked me all kinds of questions about myself. What I liked. What I didn't like. He was a very good listener. We arrived at a nice apartment complex in the better part of town and Daddy held my hand again all the way to the door. We went in to see a very masculine-looking, three-bedroom apartment with a nice view of downtown and the river. "Come into the kitchen and I'll make you a sandwich," Daddy said. "Do you like peanut butter and jelly?" I did. "Yes, Daddy," I heard myself say. The first time I called him that. Was my voice in a higher register as well? He made me a nice PB&J sandwich on sourdough bread, cutting off the crusts, just the way I like. He made himself a thick roast beef sandwich and sat with me as we ate. "You're a very nice boy, Tony," he said suddenly. "I know we'll do well together. How did you feel when I held your hand outside?" I thought a moment and said, "Embarrassed. But, kind of cared-for too." He smiled broadly. "Perfect. You've just described the beginnings of your training. You'll be embarrassed a lot. Humiliated, even. But you'll be better cared-for and happier than you've ever been in your life." Wow. That sounded thrilling. And it proved to be just that. Daddy and I talked about me and my life all afternoon. Then he made me a nice macaroni and cheese dinner as I watched a DVD of "An Affair to Remember." We ate in a growing sense of companionship, then cleaned up the dishes. It was 8 o'clock. "Time for maintenance and bed, Sweetheart, Daddy said. Omigosh. He called me sweetheart. Was he going to try and kiss me or something? What was maintenance? I found out. Daddy took my hand and led me to the smallest bedroom. "This is your room, Sweetheart." It was a nice room - gender neutral - with old-fashioned maple furniture. "Take off your clothes and I'll get you ready for bed." I had to be naked in front of a man?!?! Daddy saw my hesitation and waited patiently. It was no big deal, I decided. My guess was that far worse emasculations were to follow. I stripped. Daddy watched. I blushed nuclearly and tried to cover my titties and peenie in the most girlish way as Daddy looked over my naked form. "You have a very nice body, Tony. You'll make a terrific girl. Now follow me to the bathroom." I did. Daddy began to fill the tub with scented, bubbly warm water. "Why don't you have a seat on the toilet and take care of your ?needs' while I get your bath ready?" he asked. Well, I did have to go - both number one and number two. And I would. Then I would bathe myself. Just as soon as Daddy left. Daddy saw my thought process and said, "I'm not going anywhere, Honey. I'm bathing you, right after you pee and poop." More humiliation. He certainly knew how to dish it out. I sighed and did as he asked. Then flushed the toilet. How embarrassing! Daddy then took my hand and helped me into the tub. It was warm and comforting. It was my first bath after many years of showers. It felt wonderful. Especially when Daddy soaped a wash cloth and washed my whole body. He cleaned my ears and then shampooed and conditioned my longish hair with his strong fingers. . I was mortified as my cockette was at full stand the whole time. He had me stand so he could clean my "heinie" carefully with a soft, fine wash cloth. That was really mortifying. Then, to my ultimate horror, I spurted my creamies into the washcloth as he cleansed my privates. Daddy smiled when he saw that. "That's perfectly normal for a sissy boy of your age, Sweetie," he said. "Now we're going to shave your legs and bottom." Oh my. I stood naked in the tub before Daddy as he carefully and gently soaped and shaved my legs for the first time in my life. He shaved my armpits too. Then he had me turn around as he shaved the hair from my bottom cheeks and even [blush] around my anus. He first used his thumb and forefinger to hold my cheeks apart as he shaved me there, and then, carefully holding my peenie and peanuts began shaving the peach fuzz off my privates - all of them and everything around them. The sheer, utter humiliation of it all! My popsie returned to full hardness. Finished shaving, he rinsed my body with a hand-held shower head, helped me out of the tub and patted me dry with big, fluffy pink towels. He was so big and strong and gentle and manly I almost spurted again from sheer excitement of it all - and HIM. Bath chores completed, Daddy took me by my hand back to my bedroom. He lightly blow dried and combed my hair, putting a little baby-blue barrette into it to hold back the unruly part, making a nice wave in the process. Then Daddy gently, slowly rubbed baby powder all over my legs, chest, bottom [oh], and privates. Slowly. Gently. I didn't mean to squirt again, but I did. In thick globs. Daddy ducked or it would have hit him right in the face. He didn't seem to mind. "Perfectly natural," he repeated. Then Daddy gave me my nightshirt. It was white, cotton and boyish. Early 20th-Century boyish. But boyish. He pulled down the covers of the perfectly made bed and said, "Hop in, Honey. You've had a long, hard day and you need your sleep. I'll wake you at seven for breakfast, then church." Church? I got in bed, feeling very loved and cared for. And VERY sexually aroused by the big lump I saw in Daddy's pants. Taking care of me seemed to excite Daddy. A lot. My nightshirt must have been severely tented too because Daddy said, "Oops. Can't let you go to bed in that condition." What condition? What was Daddy going to do? Daddy reached into the nightstand drawer and extracted a tube of cream. He squeezed an ample amount onto the fingers of his right hand and said, "Lift your nightshirt, Baby. Daddy will help you." Oh, girls. That was a moment, let me tell you. I lifted my shirt, exposing my smooth pink parts to Daddy and his slippery fingers. He sat on the side of the bed and, with his thumb and forefinger, skinned back the hood to expose my weeping peehole and pink glans. I arched my back slightly at his touch, then calmed down, allowing Daddy to do his very good work. Daddy knew how to masturbate a sissyboy. He teased and pleased. Tickling and stroking. Rubbing and caressing. I was gasping and panting and then I arched my back yet again, but this time it was to expel the last of that lovely day's sperm production all over my tummy and Daddy's loving hand. "Good boy, Tony," Daddy said. "You needed that. Any time you need that, you let Daddy know, OK, Honey?" I nodded dumbly. I could see where I would need that a lot. Daddy went into the bathroom to retrieve a wet washcloth and a towel. He cleaned me up, dried me off, added a little more powder, and then tucked me in. "Good night, my Darling," Daddy said. Then he leaned over to kiss me. First on the forehead and then briefly, on the lips. It was a very good ending to my first day of training. The next morning I awoke to Daddy opening the curtains and letting all the sun in. "Good morning,