Dream Vacation free porn video

This story draws on a conversation 'driving home from the Cartwrights' I sketched several years ago, forgot, partly used in "Coupled," then forgot again. I'm embarrassed to see I used some of it here too. With a different POV and leading elsewhere, but still, if a few lines of dialogue early in this story seem a little familiar, that's why. That's not why, as some observe, my other stories also somewhat resemble each other. The reason for that is, I like them that way. Dream Vacation by Vickie Tern i. Karen surprised me. We were driving home from the Cartwrights, we'd met them at an art gallery opening and then stopped by their house with a few other people afterward for a drink. Nice people, we'd enjoyed the conversation and all. A sociable evening, like many. So I wasn't prepared for what happened next. Karen suddenly turned and said to me in an unexpectedly sprightly tone of voice, "Dan, you really do like pretending you're a girl, don't you?" "What?" I replied. I couldn't think of anything else to say. It was true, in a way. But how did she know? "Oh, sweetie, don't worry, I think it's sweet. I mean, feeling curved and pulchritudinous. Attractive in a feminine way, you know, imagining you have breasts and hips and can make attractive girlish moves and gestures and all." She paused. "Trying on my clothes to see if they help. Using my make-up. True?" If it weren't dark she would have seen my face go deep red. She knew! How had she found out? Had I slipped up anywhere? But our marriage was built on honesty. Neither of us felt bound to tell each other the whole truth about anything, that would be insensitive, tactless, sometimes risky. But we never lied or left wrong impressions uncorrected. I couldn't deny it. "I guess I do," I said, stalling. I was staring at the road ahead and driving very carefully. As if I expected the sky to fall in. "Like tonight. There were all those husbands talking about somebody or other top-seeded in the semi-finals of something or other, and meanwhile the wives are describing Helen's Versace and wondering whether sequins are coming back for formal wear, and when Beth will finally leave her husband. And who do you choose to be with?" "The wives." "Because?" "I like the way women talk. They share. Men can get pretty pompous when they aren't actually bullying each other." "And?" "OK, yes, I like what women talk about too." "Yes, you do. And it shows. You join right in with us. A few women congratulated me tonight for having a husband who's so knowledgeable about things we care about. About style, for example. 'He must be a great help when you're putting together an outfit,' that's what Maureen told me during when you went to refresh some of the women's drinks. I had to agree. I told her I'd intended to wear pearls tonight but you thought this silver choker was much more appropriate, and everyone agreed you were right. I'm sure they envied me." "So you surmise from that kind of conversation that I want to be a girl?" I tried to sound incredulous. "No, not exactly. That you like to imagine that's what you are. That you like getting dolled up and letting the mirror persuade you. Because it feels sexy to be inside a girl when that girl is you. Am I wrong?" I swallowed. No lies between us, ever. "No, Karen, you're not wrong." Then tried to swallow again. She nodded and looked triumphant. No, not triumphant, just pleased. I'd confirmed what she already knew, and honesty had triumphed. I cleared my throat, then asked, "How long have you suspected this?" "How long have I suspected? Oh, honey, for years and years! How long have I known for sure? Well, I'm ashamed to say I began setting little traps fairly early, leaving out certain items of clothing, certain shades of makeup I thought might appeal, and then later I'd always see they'd done just that. I've always thought it was a lovely hobby, and harmless enough, so I've done everything I could to try to help you without embarrassing you." "You've been helping me?" "Of course! Don't be such a silly! Do you think it's accidental that my dresses and undies and all fit you so well? Remember when we put ourselves on that crash diet and you lost forty pounds and me ten, and we ended up nearly the same size? The same dress size I mean? Well, after that I could buy skirts and blouses and bras and panties, all sorts of things for both of us to wear. I stowed yours up front in my drawers and my closet where you couldn't miss seeing them, and the ones I wanted for me alone way back. It was fun! Like buying for a daughter or for a really dear friend's birthday! We've been sharing our clothes for a long time now." She was right. I was certainly embarrassed now. Talk about "Busted!"? I couldn't say anything for a while. Then I managed to mutter, "That was considerate of you, Karen. I've loved wearing them. Though I've always felt guilty about it. Thank you." "You're very welcome, love. I have something else to confess, too. You remember all those weight-loss pills you've been on, how you lost weight but also started getting soft here and there, so you wanted to join a gym and do workouts? And I persuaded you not to worry, that I liked you soft, so I steered you to my Yoga class so you'd stretch your tendons instead of beef up your muscles?" "So instead of getting buff I got limber. Yes. But I stayed soft. Even got a little softer. I don't know why." "Yes. You're better than soft, you're actually curvy here and there. Distinctly, some places. I like it. You don't?" "I do notice that some parts of me look a little ... well, more like you than me." She glanced at me. "Well, I should hope so. When you try on your panty hose these days -- and I know you do -- aren't you impressed that your legs have gone glamorous?" I was silent. I had noticed. They were altogether satisfactory, my gams. I loved them looking that way. "My calves look like a woman's, that's true," I said finally. "The way they curve down to a narrow ankle." "And look like dynamite under a skirt, in high heels, right?" What could I say? Uncomfortably I confessed it. "Yes. Dynamite." "But only you ever get to see them, and that's a terrible pity. Then there are your breasts. You're a B cup now, aren't you?" Now that was really embarrassing. I glanced at Karen -- she was looking at me with the widest-eyed, most accepting expression I'd ever seen on her face. Waiting for a reply. "Well, all right, Karen, yes, I do borrow your bras. And the way my pectoral muscles sag these days I guess I do fill them. But even so, your breasts are way bigger than my pitiful excuses for ...." "Oh they aren't at all pitiful, they're darling! They're coming along beautifully! And I have news for you. I'm not a B cup, I'm a C cup, I have been ever since my teens. Those are your bras you've been borrowing from my undies drawer, not mine. I got them just for you. And it isn't just your pectoral muscles that are sagging. You've been wearing B cup bras for months now, because for months now you've had a lovely B cup chest. You may end up a C cup like me, but that we won't know for a while yet." "I have breasts?!" "Honeybun, calm down. You know you do, every time you lean forward and see then sagging straight down, and then catch them in your bra cups and hook up so they'll stand straight out the way a woman's should. You have a perfectly respectable figure, and perfectly appropriate boobs, even if they are still a bit small for your chest. Narrow hips, true, but a marvelous tush nowadays -- you never get to see those globes from the rear when you're naked and wiggle-waggling down the hallway, poor dear. But I do. Sooo seductive! Do you think I've never noticed?" I had nothing to say. "Moreover, you know your body's been changing, and I know you like those changes. Because they're making you look more and more like a girl, and that's what you've dreamed of. And that's satisfying even though you don't understand it. You may even be in denial that anything's happening. Did you think you were imagining it all?" "Well, yes, in a way, I ...." "That's why we're talking about it now finally. Honey, your birthday is coming up soon. Your last birthday I was racking my brains to think of a really fabulous present for you, something to really express how much I love you and at the same time give you the greatest possible enjoyment. I decided then to get you a whole wardrobe of women's clothes of your very own, and a whole day's makeover at Sally's, Then finish up with a long weekend at a resort hotel in the mountains, so for a few days at least you'd feel free to go everywhere looking really fabulous. That was how I was going to let you know that I know all about your hobby and that I don't mind it, that in fact I find it flattering. That it's nothing for you to worry about ever again. That I want to help you with it!" I looked over at her. She looked back at me, loving and utterly reassuring. Smiled at me and reached over and began stroking the back of my neck. "My sweetie!" she said. "My darling Danny. Then she took a breath and continued. "But I knew you'd never accept a present like that! Not that you wouldn't love it, but you simply wouldn't allow yourself. That male shame thing would interfere. You'd think I was humiliating you, that I was condescending, humoring you, thinking the less of you. Sweetie, I don't think the less of you, I think all the more of you! Because after all, you want to know more about what it's like to be ... say ... me. And you're courageously trying to do just that, risking exposure and shame and everything. That's true, and I admire you for it!" I drove on. This was all welcome news, liberating in a way. But then she dropped the other shoe. "It's also true that I've had to think different thoughts about you ever since I found out for certain about your ... habit. Ever since I first noticed that you use my make-up sometimes -- that was my first clue. It's true that I no longer can think of you as a man. Oh, don't be terrified, I know you're still partly a man. But obviously there's also a girl inside you trying to get out, and that's so marvelous, to know that I'm partly married to a girl! I'd love to live with her too, do daily things with her -- have breakfast, shop, go to the movies, everything. You know. I've felt such sympathy for you, for both of you, because you've been so ... ashamed of her, so fearful she'll be found out. I felt so helpless sometimes." True enough. I did feel ashamed and fearful, both of those things, often. Especially now, now that I'd been found out. "So you know what I did last year just before your last birthday? I asked Dorrie what she thought about it all, she's had experience in these things, being a marriage counselor and everything." My hair rose and I cringed, horrified, though still looking straight ahead at the road. "You told Dorrie? Dorrie knows about me? My dressing up to look like ...? Karen, how could ...?" "No, listen, Dorrie told me how to solve your problem beautifully. Just listen. There's this private clinic or club she knows about, really sort of a resort hotel people can go to, or get sent, for a kind of mixed therapy and learning experience and luxury vacation. She thought it would be perfect for you. So I inquired, but it seems they don't accept anyone there until they've been properly prepared. All their guests need preliminary attention of a kind that takes about a year. So their stay can mostly put the finishing touches on what's already happening. Bring it into full bloom, so to speak. That's why instead of a women's wardrobe I gave you golf clubs. You remember? A whole set? You thought I was being so thoughtful and that they proved how much I love you and everything, you were so delighted?" There was a lump in my throat. "I remember," I said. "But I love you a lot more than that. That was the present you knew about. The one you didn't know about was much bigger, baby. This place, this kind of hotel, gave me some very specific instructions how to prepare you for your ... time there, and referred me to people who could help, apart from Dorrie I mean. Help locate and strengthen the girl in you, I mean, so she'll feel more comfortable when she emerges, if that's what she wants to do. I followed their directions exactly. You've been on full doses of female hormones for a whole year now! That's why your body's been changing so marvelously! There's a whole new you getting ready to be reborn!" She sat back, looking pleased. Her delicious secret was out at last. But I was stunned! Almost rigid! I'd fantasized about going on hormones now and then, of course, changing my body and developing tits and everything, what crossdresser hasn't? So my clothing -- all those bras and blouses and so on, they really are my clothing, that's what she said? -- all that stuff would fit me properly. But to do it? To have it done to me without my even knowing? My body transformed into ... a girl's? Made literally, physically ... effeminate? I couldn't think of anything to say! I began to feel a little sick. The car lurched, so I concentrated and drove it more carefully, a little slower. Thank God we were already most of the way home.. "That's what this vacation resort requires, honey, a full year on female hormones before they'll accept you as their ... guest. Dorrie told me she sent her husband to this place some time back, and she's absolutely convinced that it saved their marriage. He used to be a pompous bully, she said. And even though she's a marriage counselor and a psychologist and everything, and she's saved hundreds of marriages, she was getting ready to divorce him. But instead, she sent him there and now they couldn't be closer." I had to say something. I cleared my throat. "She sent him away and now they're closer? Dorrie lives with her ... that's her girlfriend, or her cousin or something, isn't she? Dorrie isn't married. I don't get it." "That's the way he came back to her." "Which was?" "As a complete woman. As her dearest girlfriend. Her one true love. You should see them nowadays, always together, they're inseparable in fact, forever consulting each other about everything. Touching and nibbling at each other all the time, practically plastered together. Wearing his and her dresses and his and her lipstick and shoes, and everything. They even go out on his and her dates!" "His and her dates? With each other?" "Of course with each other. Their guys pick them up at the same time and then they're two couples together for dinner and dancing and so on. They separate for a time toward the end of the evening of course. Each to his own, and her own, and so on. To have fun. They get adjoining hotel rooms for privacy for an hour or so, sometimes all night, and then when they get back home they have so much more that's new and wicked they can talk about with each other!" This sounded appalling. Frightening. "What did they do to Dorrie's husband in this ... vacation club?" I asked her gingerly. "They fulfilled his fondest dreams. Dorrie explained it to me. Some men would love to be women and live their lives as women, or anyhow live as women now and then, but they just ... can't get over the shame of it. They think silly thoughts like, 'It isn't manly.' Well, duh, but even so, that keeps them in denial. So some of them overcompensate and become bullies, they go way to the other extreme, they think that's being manly. That was Dorrie's husband. Others, instead of fessing up and acknowledging that they want to be girls, they sneak around in their wife's borrowed clothes and try to imagine they're the real thing, but never really live it. Never become the real thing quietly and proudly as their birthright. Guess who that sounds like!" I remained altogether unresponsive. "It is your birthright, you know, honey. Transvestites and transsexuals and so on, all transgendered people, you're all born that way, you know? You don't become what you are at first, no more than people who're born all girl or all boy. You start out as what you seem to be, what seems to fit your body even though it doesn't exactly fit your mind. Then you find out what you'd rather be and try to fill in along the way." She paused. "That's you. You sneak around in my clothes too, don't you? Except that what you think are my clothes are really yours." It was long past time to break in on Karen's ... well-meaning intentions! She was making far too much of this! I had to end it! Hormones or no hormones! My God, tits or no tits! "Honey, I don't want to be a woman!" I said it as emphatically as I could without turning to face her. "Of course not, baby. But you love imagining it so you can live it as if you did want to be one. Not just now and then but as often as you can, and you know that's true. The problem is, it doesn't seem natural to you, it all seems so very exotic and different and strange as well as shameful. So this place Dorrie recommended makes it all seem easy, perfectly natural, no big deal, and no shame attached to it at all. They make changing your gender so easy that her husband decided for himself that he wanted to live as a woman full time, not change back again ever. Most of their guests decide the same thing, she says." "Most?" Now I was really fearful. What did Karen have in mind for me? "Has it occurred to you that this private vacation club of Dorrie's must really be some kind of brainwashing laboratory, if most of the men who go there return as women full time? What drugs do they use? What hypnotherapies? What kind of conditioning do these men go through that they all end thinking they want to be women?" Karen began to sound a little impatient. As if I was being impolite, ungrateful. "Dear, they don't all think they want to be women! I mean, a lot of them do go ahead and get themselves castrated and get their genitals changed into vaginas and so on. The way they make vaginas these days you can't tell what's born from what's made, Dorrie tells me. Her husband's for instance ... the first time a man actually put his finger onto the mini-clit they left him, and stroked it, and then slipped it into the slit there, it actually started to lubricate, would you believe it? Just like any woman's. And his first visit to his gynecologist ...? But even those men ... well, my point is, most men who vacation there don't end up as women, they only end up living like women. They still think they're men in some ways, but men who are living the full lives they've only dreamed of living before." "That's reassuring," I said with a certain irony. Karen didn't seem to notice. "A few really stubborn cases actually return as men. Sort of. Not many. It's true that after the treatment they've received they don't have much talent for masculinity any more, nor desire for it either. It isn't easy once you've changed your looks and your body and your voice and your desires and habits and so on. But some do insist, so that's how they end up. What's the word they use these days for men who carry purses and use makeup and have arched eyebrows and beautiful grooming, but still like to call themselves men? Oh yes, they're 'metrosexual,' that's how they end up." "Hmmmp!" was all I could say. What I was thinking was, that's how men emerge from this so-called vacation? As women or as faggots? I suppressed a gleam of envy and hunkered down into all the manhood I could muster. Not for me! Karen got serious. "Honey, listen! The thing is, the doctors there tell me that men who sometimes dress up like women are one thing, and men like you who dress up at every opportunity and prefer being with women, not men, they're something else. They're really different. They may actually really be women underneath, but afraid to let it out even to themselves. I've suspected for some time that's you, honey. If it is, then as they say, you should let it out and be yourself!" Now I was seriously worried. What was Karen cooking up for me? There was a teeny submissive streak in me that loved being overwhelmed by my own femininity, that gloried in it, that even loved hearing what she was saying. I knew that. But that wasn't most of me! "There are ways to tell in advance what a man will choose, they told me. The easiest comes during their year of hormone therapy. As their bodies change slowly, those who will choose to be women gradually feel more authentic, more feminine. More whole. So the rule for wives and girlfriends -- sometimes sisters and mothers -- is, don't tell them they're on the same hormones that flow through you. Just do it. When a man would rather live as a woman but feels ashamed of it, he'll notice the changes but won't acknowledge them, not to themselves nor to anyone else. He'll like what's happening and be grateful that it's happening and he'll enjoy it secretly as a kind of miraculous gift. Like you." "Like me?" I was afraid I understood what she meant. "I mean, look at you, sweetie. It's nearly a year since I started you on those womanizing hormones, and now you have B cup breasts and protruding nipples -- don't deny it, I've seen them! -- and curvy legs. And that simply gorgeous tush -- you really must get a peek at it some time, honey, you'll be so pleased with it. I'm really envious, it's crying out to be seen in a bikini! Anyhow, you've been enjoying it all, feeling grateful that your clothes fit better and you look more feminine and so on, and yet you haven't said a word about it. Not a word. Certainly not to me. Danny, for real now! Isn't that true?" It was. I hesitated, then came out with it. "I ... Karen, I was ashamed. I thought you'd be repelled that I was losing my ... masculine shape. That my chest wasn't a six pack wall any more, but instead I had ... pointy nipples and was beginning to sag. That I filled your bras pretty full. My bras. I kept hoping that with a little exercise ...." "You see? Was I right? You like looking more womanly, but at the same time you're afraid to look less manly. So you're ashamed of your own body. Talk about hangups? That's what we have to break through. Honey, I love what's been happening to your body! That's why I've been encouraging it! Down underneath I know you love it too! And exercise isn't what matters, the kind of exercise is what matters. You've been getting a lot at our Yoga sessions, that's why you've been developing a svelte, toned body, why you look more like a ballerina than a body builder! Do you think I haven't been noticing? I have been! And I love it!" I didn't know what to say. Karen has her enthusiasms, and when she fixes her mind on something, that's that, she doesn't ever let up. And in fact she was half right. I did like ... pretending that I have a woman's body, and I have been pleased that lately it's been seeming ... more so. And I've always loved dressing as a girl, looking like one, ever since I was a teenager. Even doing those jazzercises at the Y with a roomful of housewives, the class peppered with a few gays and a few teenage kids there to stare, I've loved noticing that my figure had gotten more feminine than many of the others. I've been ashamed to see it, but I loved it anyhow, I couldn't help but. I was always a pleased when other women in the class noticed and said something, even though it mostly embarrassed me. I mean, I think girls are great! I admire them, their looks, the way they move, their ... appeal. Everything about them! I do love girly things. That's why I fell in love with Karen to begin with, and that's why I just had to live with her, to care for her, to marry her. Because she is herself so very feminine. "Honey, give up. Don't deny it. You want to be more of a girl and that's what I want for you too. It'll probably mean a few adjustments when our lives when you get back. Different friends maybe, maybe even a different kind of job, though I've talked with both your bosses, with Cathy and with her boss, that Ms. Carstairs, and neither of them see a problem." "You told people at work that I'm a crossdresser? You actually ...?" I was shocked. How humiliating! How could I ever hold up my head there ever again? "Karen, that was absolutely ...!" "Oh, pooh! Stop it! To begin with, you don't need to work -- we have your inheritance and my salary, and that's enough for us. Besides, Honey, I told them a year ago, when we first started you on those hormones and you started blossoming out so beautifully! I've heard lots of comments, and they're all favorable. Did you think women don't notice changes in a man's complexion when it begins looking like a woman's? Or in the line under his chin? Don't notice smudged make-up on days when you couldn't resist and tried some on before leaving the house in the morning, then forgot you were wearing it? That's why I've been preparing you all year for this year's wonderful birthday present, your vacation at this place Dorrie recommends. That's why I've been planning it for so long! So when you emerge you can be completely yourself whenever you wish, all the time if that's what you wish. So you'll never feel ashamed of yourself again! That's guaranteed, the doctors are quite certain of it. Moreover, they guarantee that we'll be as intimate and loving as ever when you come back. Not in all the same ways, but even more so in some. Because we'll be sharing so many more things, and understanding each other's desires so much more completely.. "I see." I didn't know what I saw, but I had to say something. Karen was on a roll and I hadn't yet found a way to slow her down. "As I say, there may be a few changes in our relationship, depending on how you ... adjust to yourself. If so, then, well, we'll see then what we need to do. We'll deal with it." We arrived home. I pulled into the driveway, turned off the engine, and now, finally, at last, I was free to turn and face Karen. This was serious. Time to return her to reality. "Karen, listen," I said. "If you think ...." She didn't listen. Nor pause to think. She just ran right on. "Oh, honey, I just want you to live your dream. Of course you feel ambivalent about it right now, that's part of the problem, isn't it? But when you return you'll find you don't mind what's happened at all, that in fact you love it, that it's wonderful. I guarantee you that. You'll fulfill yourself and come back to me a new man, partly a woman, maybe even completely a woman, a new woman. That'll be entirely up to you. What matters is that you'll be happy and you'll feel that you're completely yourself. And that's all I want. I'll want you and love you and be happy for you any which way." There was no stopping her. "We'll talk more about this when we're in the house," I said, trying to force a gentle tone into my voice. I sounded gruff anyhow, even severe. But I knew I had better take charge and right now, or this whole thing would run its course like a runaway train. "I appreciate that you have my best interests at heart, Karen, my supposed best interests, but what you.... There are .... I ...." I couldn't go on. Talk about feeling torn between all sorts of cross-purposes? I sat for a moment, then opened the car door and got out. And glimpsed shadows moving swiftly, though I couldn't discern what they were. Suddenly I felt myself gripped firmly, half-lifted off the ground. And my sleeve slid up, and a wet chill on my arm, and then a pinprick. "Ah," someone said. A man's voice. "Lovely! I was afraid we'd gotten here too early, or too late, or something. But here you are, right on time, sitting in the car and waiting for us just as your wife told us we'd find you." I heard another, a more gentle voice, a woman's voice, tell Karen, "It's best if you don't follow us back to the clinic, ma'am. He'll be fine. She'll be fine soon enough. Trust us. Dr. Matthews will call you in the morning to set up a visitation schedule. I suggest you say goodbye to him now. It may be some time before you next ...." My mind heard, but I couldn't make myself move. I felt lips press against mine. Soft lips. Karen's. I heard her soft voice, "Goodbye, sweetheart, and hello my new sweetheart! Happy birthday, my sweet love!" Then nothing. I didn't mind, I felt warm. At peace. ii. The first thing I noticed when I came to consciousness was the smell of flowers everywhere -- no, not of flowers exactly, if they were flowers my old allergies would have been triggered and my nose would have crinkled into a sneeze. It was a pale, sweet, flowery perfume, so seductive, so sumptuously provocative, promising ... what? Coming from where? My eyes were still shut, and as I stretched out I realized I wasn't on a bed but some sort of padded floor. Soft, warm, and satiny, lying against pillows here and there. Firm warm pillows. That I was wrapped, surrounded, plumped up and supported by pillows. Swathed in smooth, soft ... no, satin and nylon never felt this smooth, not even Karen's panties and slips, the undergarments I loved, though her pussy lips did. Everything felt more softly compliant, more yielding and supple, warm, puffy with only a hint of solidity underneath. It was skin. I was lying against smooth, satiny ... skin. My head rested on someone's soft ... tummy! My mouth was filled with -- my God was it a breast? My tongue flicked it to be sure -- yes, a nipple! A woman's skin and breast and ...! What woman...? Women! My hand rested on what felt, had to be, a smooth, soft, satiny derriere, and another seemed to be snugged into my hip, all warm and comfy, as if it were a part of me. I reached down to be sure and ran my palm over a curve in the body pressed against me. Yes, there it was, that marvelous familiar curve women have from their waists and then up over their hips to their languorous thighs! No, this wasn't Karen's hip, the curve was longer! Where am I? Karen will kill me if she ever finds me with this other woman! Music? Yes, I hear strings and woodwinds somewhere, new age chords, sounds that seem to go on forever, extending and never developing. Do I? Where am I? How did I get here? I opened my eyes and saw salmon colored satin wall hangings. A huge vase of flowers a little distance away, near what might be an opening to a corridor. I was in a wide, silken conversation pit, sort of, filled with bodies. There was white and pink flesh everywhere. And breasts, and pussies both hairy and clean as a baby's. And twats and thighs and legs and bellies, red-dotted here and there with toenails and fingernails and lips. And darkened, smudged eyes. One girl's dark eyes looking down on me mildly -- her red lips blew me a reassuring kiss when she saw my eyes open and looking at her. Joanna, my special girlfriend. She was leaning over me, hers was the breast in my mouth. Another breast ripe in my hand, the one near my hip. Soft buttocks pressed were against my back, another girl's. And mouths were nursing on each of my own breasts. My wonderfully opulent breasts. Two long-haired blonde women nursing on me, their faces pressed against me, their hair sprawled everywhere over me, covering my smooth skin like a blanket. "What the..." But my mouth was filled to overflowing by that breast, no room for my tongue to move. A soft body was lying on me as I lay face up on those others. Smooth, creamed, silky ... Another girl came into my field of vision and spoke softly to me. Her eyes held mine and never left them. "Sweetheart, Diana, if you don't mind, would you sit up and brush out my hair for me? Then I'll brush out yours." She thinks I'm ... Is that who ... I'm ... Diana? Isn't 'Diana' a girl's ... I'm her sweetheart? No, she's just being affectionate, it's only a manner of speaking. She's handing me ... a hairbrush. I better sit up. "Yes, of course, Marnie." Was that flute-like voice mine? Yes, the words had come out of my mouth. I knew her? I knew her name, certainly. "Afterward if you'll help me with these rollers I'll help you with yours. Your hair does look so much nicer with those highlights in it, Diana. I told you it would and it does. We were so right to insist!" I felt a surge of pride, of helpless satisfaction. So sweet! "I can't wait to see," my flute voice informed her. "You were such a dear to help me persuade them! I'm so grateful!" What was this talk? These pleasantries! Who was she? Who am I? I sat up. The heads nursing at my breasts disappeared, and momentarily I felt their loss. Then Marnie wriggled her way closer -- how did I know her? -- and I began removing large rollers from her hair, my fingertips with their elongated red nails -- red nails? -- deftly undoing the clips and unspooling each roller from her head. I'd done this before, and often. When the last one was gone I smiled at her and turned my back and she undid the rollers in my hair. I'd told them I wanted to try a bouffant style even though they were no longer fashionable, and that was just what the rollers would confer one on me. For now, anyhow. Call it play time -- tomorrow I'd get a more sensible style, gracefully long and flattering and still quite feminine but more easily cared for. More presentable. She brushed and brushed and there, at last, a cloud of hair crowned my head! It was ... well, I'd wanted it bouffant back when they were still fashionable, I recalled, when I was still a boy looking enviously at all the girls who had them. But back then I still thought I was masculine, had to be masculine. I even got a crew-cut once back then. Now, no chance of that happening ever, I loved my long, full hair! This was the very last of my heart's desires I'd be granted, that's what they'd told me. My lovely wife Karen was soon coming to take me home with her. I'd slept with all my girlfriends for the last time, and we'd played with each other as girls will for the last time, our fingers and noses and bumps and clits and lips and tongues all into and onto each other's bodies everywhere they could go. We'd given each other pleasure and we'd fingered and caressed each other's orifices for the last time. It was sort of sad. That dark-eyed girl Joanna and all the other girls I'd been sleeping with, among, on, all around, all the feminine flesh I'd tumbled with in sensuous disarray until I couldn't tell where they ended and I began, we'd all -- well, they'd all move on to help some other disoriented girl find herself at last. They were staff. I was their guest. Special, but only a visitor, and the time had come for me to leave them, to try to live as if I were one of them but with only one other woman, with my beloved wife. The woman who'd sent me here. We all appreciated each other and we were all were fond of each other, but my wife and I, well, we loved each other, and that made us special. I didn't feel I was any different from any of the other women in the room. We were always naked and eager for sex with each other, to rub against and into each other's folds and wet places. They always made sure I felt like one of them, because I was one of them. For weeks and months we'd tumbled all over each other like puppies, never out of each other's sight or touch and feel. We'd helped each other dress and make up our faces every morning, and then we'd go down together for breakfast giggling and telling each other silly stories. I'd miss them, my girlfriends, my dear, lovely companions. But I'd always known I was a little bit different from them. My dearest, special, dark-eyed darling Joanna set down her own hair brush and came around in front of me. I looked at her lovingly. "Diana," she said to me. "Think of the many months you've been here as something you did when you were a little girl. A long pajama party maybe, one that's gone on and on. You needed to know what kind of person you were so they put you in with us, and we've had such good fun, all of us. We've all been wonderfully happy being girls together. We've licked and sucked and pushed into each other everywhere we could with whatever we had, all over, our lips on each other everywhere all the time, until you couldn't begin to imagine you weren't one more of us." She was right. I was one more of them, it would be silly to think I wasn't! "So that's what you've become. One of us. Like all of us. And believing that's what you are, you now behave just as if you were. You now look as lovely as any of us, and you keep yourself that way, and you're as graceful and delicate in your motions and thoughts as any of us. You'll be a marvelous lover and friend and helper for your dearly beloved wife Karen. She's coming today to take you home with her so the two of you can resume your marriage, so you can be one flesh with her. But this time you'll know who you are and what you've always known you wanted to be. We all wish you a long, happy life with her." And she kissed me. Her pearl pink lips pressed against mine. So sweet. And once again as so often before she reached down and clasped my breasts, one in each hand, and cupped them and held them and felt for my nipples with her thumbs and fondled them. And once again I melted into a small puddle and moaned, then swooned. She felt for my cock and without hesitation it grew softly larger. Pump after pump inside her soft fist and I came and came, throbbing over and over into her beautiful hand. Then she lifted that soft palm of hers and fed me the whole puddle of ejaculate. All of it. Yum! So sweetly salty and so creamy yet clear! "You love the flavor now, don't you," she commented as she watched me lick her palm, then my own lips. "The way we all do." "Oh yes!" I said. Because there was nothing else to say. It was true. Mine and any man's. "Men taste like that," Joanna'd reminded me. "Other men maybe a little stronger, because it's more cloudy, because there are still lots of teeny sperms swimming around in theirs." "I know." I did know. Mike and Pete and Kevin had all tasted almost the same, pretty much the same, anyhow, though a little stronger, when they'd put their tubes into my mouth. Their cum had been my reward for sliding my lips up and down them just the right way, the way a girl should. I'd gotten really good at it with whichever of their tubes because I loved the flavor and craved the feel of those sperms in my mouth. The other girls had long ago showed me how to do it. There was especially that slab of a man who'd spent the whole night with me, oh yes, Burke! God, I'd tasted Burke's tube three different times that night, and then toward morning while I was mostly asleep he'd pushed it all the way up into my bottom and just pumped away into me the same way the girls would push their dildos into me sometimes. He'd left me dripping so much juice I'd had to borrow a tampon from one of the other girls and push that into me too, after everything else! I loved that feeling, so much so that I've used tampons regularly once a month ever since. Like the other girls. I always kept some in my purse, even though I never went anywhere. Until today. But even though it felt wonderful I shouldn't tell anyone, Burke had told me, because he'd forgotten that I wasn't written up for getting fucked by men. For cocksucking yes, of course, but not for getting fucked. Even so, he'd seen the round globes of my bottom, he'd said, and then he'd been unable to resist sinking himself into them. I thought he was just trying to make me feel good by saying that. As if his cock in my butt hadn't felt simply terrific all by itself! Better than any of the other girls' dildos. "You know who you are now, Diana," Joanna was still telling me. "And you'll never know anything else. Enjoy a beautiful life!" "I will," I whispered. It was so sad, yet so joyous an occasion. "Thank you so much for everything, Joanna! I love you!" "You love Karen," she reminded me. "Because Karen made all this possible for you. She gave you this because she loves you too!" "Yes," I said. It was true. I remembered now. We'd talked about it while we were driving back home from that party, why did I prefer being with woman at parties. That was when Karen had told me that my birthday was coming up so she'd arranged this present for me because she wanted me to feel fulfilled and she loves me. I felt so grateful!" And that explained why I was feeling so good when I woke up this morning, my last morning in this wonderful place. Woke up singing a silly song in my pretty new voice. Or did I only dream I was singing? My voice really did sound like a flute, and I loved hearing it. All the previous days seemed hazy, hundreds of them. Today I seemed especially to be waking up. I dressed myself in my best Spring dress, a pink organza, and I slipped into moderate pink pastel heels, not an exact match but I'd go shopping later for outfits that did match. That prospect really pleased me. Then I spritzed my nicest perfume on me -- I did so want Karen to like it! Bouffant had been fun, but now I brushed my hair straight back neatly so it barely touched my bare shoulders. This was a flattering style I could easily maintain, they'd told me, and I found it was true. I was wearing only a simple gold necklace I'd selected to match the thin gold wedding band I'd found on my night stand when I woke up this morning. They'd taken away my broad man's wedding band that first day, so I wouldn't be reminded of my other life. The new one was the very same ring, they assured me, but cut back into a woman's style. Like my life now, and all my desires. It would keep me reminded that I'm a woman, and a married woman at that. Now that I was wearing a wedding band again, I felt as happy as when Karen had first slipped it onto my finger in token of my promises to her. And hers to me. Whatever those had been. I swallowed my pills as every morning, my mood marvelous, just perfect. And as every morning, feeling both smart and chipper, I left the room. Usually I'd be wearing only a robe or a peignoir and my favorite fuzzy bedroom slippers as I headed down the hall toward the Fleshpit, that was what we all called the padded sunken room where I spent all my days and many nights, with a half-dozen naked women already lying there, eager to rub their nakedness up against my own, to smooth and soothe away any uneasiness, to reassure me that I was one of them, with them, indistinguishable from them and content to be among them. They might give me as many as three orgasms as we just lay there breathless, woman on woman, and I'd try one more time to reciprocate with my mouth and fingers and tongue. I ejaculated only clear fluid with no sperm, and not much of that any more, so cleanup was never a problem. Heavy daily doses of hormones had completed my physical transformation by shrinking my testicles to the size of beans. It was wonderful, such a relief, because now my tightest shorts and slacks wrapped my crotch into a naked 'V', with no hint of anything else underneath! Even so, when I orgasmed I could feel ecstatic pulsing squeezes down there nevertheless, beginning at the base of my penis and radiating from there through my whole body, even through to my fingertips. When we'd all had enough, we'd smile and return to various rooms to dress properly, and go down together to breakfast. I loved those mornings. This time though I turned the other way down the hall to the left, toward the executive wing, where I'd been asked to sit in on Karen's final chat with Dr. Matthews before we returned home together. I didn't glance back toward at my Fleshpit companions -- we'd already said goodbye with one last round of sliding hugs, wistfully but gratefully pressed against each other, acknowledging the pleasure we'd shared yet recognizing that after all, everyone needs to move on. I was so very much looking forward to my new life with Karen! Dr., Matthews greeted me delightedly when I entered her office, the way she always did, and I reciprocated with a smile and toss of my head. She praised my shoulder-length bob -- "It's not quite a page boy, is it, Diana? But it's perfect for your face! Just lovely! Very becoming!" That made me feel even more marvelous. Girls love compliments. Then she motioned me to a deep, wing backed upholstered chair set back a bit from her desk. Karen would enter from behind me and then sit immediately alongside that desk. "She might not even notice you at first," Dr. Matthews explained. "So the sight of you -- you really are stunning, dear, a credit to this place and yourself too -- so your beauty won't distract her from the few things that remain for us to discuss." That was how she explained it. Filled with anticipation, I sat where I'd been told and perched my purse in my lap and waited silently. A few minutes later Karen entered. I turned to see her and my heart reached out to her. I was overwhelmed -- she was so wonderful to look at. She looked so much like ... home! She'd redone her hair too, I saw -- it was shorter and more -- amine? Mischievous? As instructed I only sat and beamed at her. She glanced at me, apparently didn't recognize me, then moved to sit where Dr. Matthews motioned her. "But shouldn't you greet your husband first?" Dr. Matthews said to her while her eyes twinkled at me? "He's right here," and she gestured in my direction. Karen turned and looked at me for a moment with the conspiratorial smile women reserve for other women when they're impressed by their appearance. Then glanced elsewhere to see where her husband might be. She inspected each corner of the room, but there was no one else anyhere. So her eyes returned to me. Then slowly, a wide smile broke out on her face. It became exuberant! She began to look as though she could eat me up! "Sweetheart!" she exulted. "Oh, my one true love! You are just gorgeous! Aren't you happy that you're now so beautiful?" She glanced down at my hand. "I love your new wededing ring! It's just like mine now! Exactly! Signifying a new relationship between us!" "Yes, Karen," I told her in my new sweet voice. "My darling Karen. I am happy. I'm so glad you did whatever you did to get me here." I remembered the actual event, what she'd done, the last I'd seen of her after I'd parked the car in our driveway. Sort of. And mock-pouted. "Even though it was a little underhanded, having me carried off that way. I've thought about it now and then. You were right, it's true, I guess I never would have gone off so blissfully in this direction on my own. I had to learn first how much nicer it is to be what I am than to be what I was, to stop wishing I could become what I now am. If you know what I mean. So I forgive you. These past months have been so incredible! I've loved every minute! In the end you were so right about me!" I lifted my face to be kissed. She came back toward me immediately and bent over and we pressed our lips together. She tasted so very sweet. We held ourselves together for the longest time. My heart went out and joined with hers. Again. "Ladies," Dr. Matthew said. "We have things to go over. Then you can spend the rest of your lives kissing and so on, if that's how you decide to spend the rest of your lives." "Oh, we do, we will," we both said in unison. Then grinned at each other. We sounded as if we'd rehearsed! Karen smiled lovingly at me, reassuringly for some reason, then turned, went back to her seat, and sat down. While Dr. Matthews was seating herself and arranging her file on me on her desk for easy reference, Karen said in a quiet voice, almost as if I weren't there, "Doctor, I have a few questions I've meant to ask for some time, but there's been so little opportunity. I suppose the biggest one is, do all of your patients ... ahh, I mean guests, do they always choose to commit themselves to their ... feminine side? I mean, Dan here now seems so completely to be, now ... Diana. I was never sure that he'd ... she'd ... is he a woman now?" "To answer your question briefly, Karen, yes. It's almost in the nature of things. As you know, this treatment is designed to relieve bigendered men of their stress, the guilt and shame they feel when they betray either part of their nature. Their feminine part is the most shameful for them, since as males they've been raised to protect women as the weaker sex. As protected women rather than protecting men they seem to be violating their most solemn duty. They think they're betraying a responsibility every time they pull on a pair of panties or pick up a lipstick. Then too, if they've been reared to repress all physical affection for other men -- and everyone is born to some degree bisexual -- they'll detest their identifiably feminine feelings all the more. So to relieve their guilt and self-contempt we emphasize development of their feminine side. Being a woman is what we try to make seem most desirable, accustomed, pleasurable, and instinctual for them, as normal and natural as breathing and a lot more enjoyable. The fact is, we find that anyone who experiences their femininity this way prefers it. Even men with no tendencies that way whatever, we've found. It's nicer. It's more fun." Karen heard her out quietly. Then leaned forward and began speaking to Dr. Matthews in a low voice, confidentially. "Dr. Matthews, my dearest friend Dorrie told me that much about this establishment. She told me that was your official explanation, and that it satisfies nearly everyone. But I want to be frank with you. Everything you've said seems credible enough. But you do imply is that feeling feminine is a default condition of our species, that all men would want to be feminine if they weren't deliberately bred to make extra efforts to be masculine and to feel shame at any implication of femininity. You imply that it's human nature to be soft and yielding, and that it's only cultural conditioning that turns half of us into tough, unyielding brutes, supposedly the protectors of the other half. Well, that may be true for many of us, women and men. But there are also many tough women who take care of themselves, and many compliant men who yield utterly to women and each other. Yet I've been told that all men emerge from here with their feminine traits reinforced and no masculinity whatever." She leaned even further forward, and I could barely hear her. Maybe I wasn't supposed to hear her? "Dorrie told me the official story, but she mentioned that there's more. I've entrusted my husband to you for many months now because she assured me that there was more. I've always thought he'd be happier as a woman, and I wanted him to feel persuaded of that too. Apparently, you've done that. So now, tell me what you do here, really!" She sat back. Dr., Matthews hesitated a moment, then leaned forward toward Karen and also spoke quietly, also I suspect in a louder voice than she intended. "Karen, you're right. We are not quite what we seem, and many women know this, including your friend Dorrie. As a marriage counselor, Dorrie has referred many guests to us since we first treated her own husband so successfully. I suspect you've known from the beginning that your husband never really had a choice. Our ... behavior modification procedures require that every one of our male guests emerge as women. There's no element of choice in it for them at all. They're bribed and acculturated into womanhood, conditioned to it, made to want it despite whatever they think they want. We believe they're all the better for it afterward, and they all come to believe that too. None ever complain, and many later send us contributions to support our charitable work. For example, at no charge we take men who beat their wives and then prepare them for marriage to other men, sometimes to other men who beat their wives. And impossible teenage boys, street toughs, they'll often leave here as delightful girls physically well equipped to cope with other such teenage boys and eager to do so." Karen nodded as if to say she'd suspected so all along, in fact she'd counted on it. Dr. Matthews leaned back. Her dark secret out, she could relax and expatiate. "You see, my predecessor didn't invent this treatment as a way to relieve stress in transgendered men, though that's how we nowadays advertise ourselves. She didn't intend this place to be a treatment facility at all. It was designed originally as an expensive holding tank for a wealthy husband whose wife was conducting a wild and wonderful affair with her dress designer. She wanted to park him someplace out of the way, where he could be sensuously glutted, mindlessly saturated in sex so completely that he'd become incapable of feeling jealousy or rage, not the least interested in her whereabouts. She asked us to create an erotic daydream for him, in effect to drown him in decadent femininity laced with tranquilizers." "How nice for him," Karen commented. "So my predecessor hired skilled professional escorts -- prostitutes and show girls -- to set the scene and create the impression that he was in a harem of sorts, a harem without a Sultan, with only beautiful women indulging themselves with each other and with him, forever. Well, after she tired of her dress designer his wife lost herself in a succession of other ... interests, but eventually she did recall that she'd stashed her husband here. By the time she got here to reclaim him she found that living in a harem for so long, soaking so unrelievedly in its luxuries, had changed him. He'd become what he'd been seeing and feeling. He couldn't discriminate himself from the women who were surrounding and pleasuring him. Everyone seemed to be part of one wallowing flesh, and he thought he was only one more of them. In short, he'd become one more woman." Dr. Matthews smiled. "A woman like all the others, one who loved pole dancing and also sex with men." I couldn't quite see how Karen was taking this information, but she didn't seem surprised or upset. "Thereafter his wife had no problem taking control of his fortune and selling his share in the business, and this particular industrial magnate spend his last decades happily serving her fancies and satisfying his own. First as a maid, then as a call girl and stripper, even for a time as a street whore. Loving every minute of it, I should add." "That's unbelievable, Doctor!" I heard Karen say. "He wasn't hypnotized or anything?" "No, nothing like that, though nowadays we do keep all our new girls tranquilized heavily when they first arrive, and lightly the whole time they're in residence -- Diana here is coming to full consciousness of herself only now, for the first time since she arrived. No, at first he was simply content to be a man among the girls, though that soon began to bore him. How often can you fuck or suck or be sucked, after all? So he occupied his mind with whatever occupied theirs, with hair styles and nail polish applications, and all the arts of teasing and tempting other men. He took to imagining he was actually one of them, and that began to affect his own sense of identity. Which amused the other girls of course, so they encouraged him. During the first week, one wicked girl, Tanya I believe was her name, she had marvelously flowing hair I hear, Tanya sucked his cock and rubbed her breasts on him and then lay down on his body and as she fed him his own sperm she slipped in his first hi-test estrogen pill. That got to be fun for all of them. After that he was never without at least three women with soft mouths feeding him hormones and attending to his body. Everywhere he looked or felt there were breasts, mouths, eyes, or hands stroking him and nourishing him, and now and then cocks invited from the neighborhood. Between multiple doses of estrogen and tranquilizers and penises and all those other women's bodies he felt no pain whatever, and began to grow his own woman's body. Also, he came to climax so often he was no longer aware of his own orgasms -- they became his usual state of mind and feeling, and needless to say, that state of mind blots out all others. Which is why he chose to be a street whore until his wife rescued him. Eventually his balls dried out completely -- I've always suspected it was the hormones and not the excessive sex that did that." "Well, jump ahead twenty years and here we are. That's basically what we still do, but we've refined our techniques to the well-tested procedures just administered to your husband. Who, like everyone else who's ever been through this regimen, now loves being a woman and would want it no other way." "So there was never really any likelihood that he -- she -- wouldn't emerge as she is? As the lovely woman sitting here?" "Not really. Don't mistake me, we do relieve transgendered men of various anxieties as claimed, by releasing them from their double identities and settling them into just one, as single women, so to speak. But in the beginning this place was where wives could bring husbands to keep them busy and uncomplaining while they did ... whatever they chose to do. Their conversion to womanhood were an unanticipated side effect that eventually became our main purpose. Nowadays, for that very reason, some women will send us overly macho husbands and ask us to reform them, make them into more ingratiating companions for their leisure moments, someone to occupy them perhaps in between their other men. We're always able and happy to oblige." Dr. Matthews smiled. "There are problems, but they'll be more yours than ours at this stage I'm afraid. The women who leave here often don't know much about the practical lives women lead. They're often quite helpless. They don't know how to dress for different occasions, how to behave in different social situations, when men hit on them for example, or what to ask from their lives and how to deal with their frustrations when they find they can't have those things because... well, because they're only women. So we don't like to see them leave here without mentors to look after them for a time. As a loving wife -- and it's obvious that's what you are -- you're certainly suitable. But if you don't mind, we like to assure ourselves of that. That's why I've reserved this little talk for now rather than troubled you with it when we first accepted your husband as a suitable candidate for treatment. We've always known what he'd be like when we returned him to you." "Of course," Karen said. "But I've known too. Dorrie's husband became what I was hoping my husband would become -- I should say what he now seems to be. He can always guide Diana through the appropriate kinds of social behavior, the parts that can be learned. I'm sure Diana will enjoy using her feminine attributes, in varying degrees, just as she'll enjoy learning to flirt. And as far as how to dress goes -- I suppose Diana is a 'she' to the world now, but he'll always be 'Dan' to me, a feminized man -- he always did have a better eye for women's wear than any of my friends. He'll have no problem that way. But Dr. Matthew, there's another issue." Karen got up and closed the door to Dr. Matthew's outer office, even though it was occupied only by her secretary. Then came back in, glanced at the window to make certain it too was closed, and sat down again. "My husband's figure and its implications. Well, my 'former' husband's figure, I guess I should be calling it. Before I brought him here his body was well on its way. His face had softened, his breasts had arrived at a B-cup, and his rear end was ... well, scrumptious! Now I see that his waistline is narrower still, that my dear has lost a lot of weight except on his chest and in his rump, where he's even more ... generously endowed. He reminds me of that song from 'A Chorus Line.' What is it they celebrate? 'Tits and ass' I believe. "Yes," Dr., Matthews replied. "He's gifted in both places. His breasts stabilized as a generous D cup, a bit more full than we'd expected. Fortunately, they're proportional with his shoulders. And quite erogenous by the way-- you'll find that if you stroke them he'll invariably have an orgasm. So of course he'll love you for it, he'll feel grateful to anyone who strokes him, willing to do anything in return for them -- he can't help it." She paused. "I see," Karen replied. She turned and looked at me. Smiled at me, and I smiled back. Then turned again to Dr. Matthews. "Dr. Matthews, look at that face and figure! He's a man-trap! I'll need to spend my days beating men away from him!" Dr. Matthews' eyebrows shot way up. "Why bother? It's true, we did thin him way down for the sake of his figure -- we wanted him to have the same hollow tummy and protruding hip bones as our other girls, as all the women he was attempting to emulate because he wanted to be more like them. You can see how his narrowed chest now shows off his breasts as if they were enormous. As with any thin, well-endowed woman, they're features you can't take your eyes off. And his sensitive nipples are a further asset. He's spent so much time here sucking breasts as well as cocks that it's now a need for him, and he'll expect his lovers to feel the same way. Wasn't that your original intention for him?" "One of them. Are you saying that Dan -- my Diana -- feels the same delicious anticipatory delight real women feel when we're making ourselves attractive to men? That he desires men." "Of course. Though mainly, he makes himself beautiful the same way he sleeps or feeds or bathes or sucks cock, without strong desire, because that's what one does, scarcely aware that one does these things mainly because one wants to. He's been living without desire because all the pleasures he can imagine have been immediately available. And nothing changes here. It's a silken paradise where nothing grows or fades, appears or disappears, except perhaps an occasional orgasm. And even those can seem pretty similar after a while. In fact he has no idea how long he's been here. Tell him it's been less than a month or over a year and either will sound reasonable." "I've lost track myself. Let me see, I sent him here for his birthday early last Fall. I'd broken up with Barry by then and had taken up with Scott -- yes, it was Scott who came over the next day to help me get over missing him. Then when the weather turned chilly it was with Scott I spent a week in Acapulco, and it was still Scott when we went skiing in Vail. Then Ben kept me busy most of the rest of the winter -- the poor dear wanted to marry me, and simply couldn't understand that I have no intention of ever getting a divorce from Dan now that he's Diana, even though he's now Diana -- Ben never did understand true love. So we broke up. Came spring there were a few other men, no one man in particular. And now it's getting toward summer again -- and good heavens, I'll be buying Dan a bikini after all, it's the better part of a year since I mentioned to him that his ass would be well-advantaged by one. I assume it's still as delectable. I had no idea his conversion would take this long." "He has no idea either. Not only don't things change here, but his tranquilizers diminish his sense of time passing by reducing his curiosity about things as they happen. As far as he's concerned, they just happen. He can't tell. Why bother, when everything is always the same hour by hour and day by day?" Karen sighed, and checked her watch. "We'll need to move on soon, Dr., Matthews. So let me be clear about the one big thing you've been saying. Does he think he's a girl now? That he's no different from any of the other girls he's been with? "He knows he was once a man, but the idea lacks interest. He knows his clit is a little bigger than the other girls,' but he thinks it's a soft dildo. He knows that girls' use stiff dildos on each other, though they need to enter his particular pussy a little further back. And he knows about men's penises of course. We've provided him with lots of penises to suck on so he wouldn't feel deprived. So he's feel he's as authentic a girl as any. And there are always men attached to those penises of course. So unlike many girls he sucks cock routinely these days, without it seeming to be that big a deal. Oh yes, he's mostly still a virgin as far as real men go. His special friend here Joanna told us that a man named Burke did once take him to bed and fuck him -- he loved it I hear, but he wasn't sure what had happened, and the sperm pouring out of his ass afterward seemed more an inconvenience than a memento.