Becoming Suzanne A Woman s Journey Part 3
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Becoming Suzanne - A Woman's Journey free porn video
Becoming Suzanne - A Woman's Journey
The third injection period was completely different than the first
two. There really wasn't much sensitivity then. But just the change
in my whole physical structure had felt so deliciously alien. It was
as though I was this mystically intimate voyeur. It went so, so far
beyond simply looking or watching. most mystical, mystical voyeur.
It went so, so far beyond simply looking or watching.
I had to wait much longer this time. I knew there were risks if I
took the third injection to soon. I threw myself into my life. I
kept busy with work. I even surprised my girlfriend with a new
passion for sex. I was entranced watching her now. I noticed the
subtle reactions she had to different ways I'd touch her, lick her,
fuck her.
But I kept thinking of 'her.' I kept thinking how it would be when I
took that third injection. I couldn't stop thinking of how my body
had changed. How my chromosomes had suddenly become those two X's.
It wasn't sudden really, that transformation had left me nearly
comatose for 27 hours. Afterward, in the first, short injection
period, I had felt completely detached, tired, drugged-out. The
serum had completely directed my body to respond to its new
choromsonal directive.
It was who I would've been if my mother had given birth to a girl,
instead of me. But actually it was just 'me'-- my ego, my memories,
experiences, remembrances ... all the things psychological,
behaviorial, and physical that had made me into that 30 year old man
I was. Except, I was female.
I should wait an entire year. That would be safe.
I acquired a suitcase and began to consider getting some things for
'her.' The first time she hadn't left her room at all. Although the
second period had lasted nine days, she'd hardly left then either.
This time I thought I'd help her with some articles that would enable
her to get out of that room and into the light of day. The more I
thought about it, the more difficult it became to not anticipate it.
Maybe I could wait eight months. That might be ok, I thought.
My hair now also made me think of her. Physically, I was the same
man I'd been before except for my hair. I'd told my girlfriend that
I'd taken rogaine. She was surprised how well it worked. As well
she should've been. The effects of the estrogen had strengthened and
lowered my hairline. My hair was thicker. I guess it was just one
aspect of me that had changed for some reason and not change back. I
hadn't cut my hair in six or seven months and each of the two
previous injections had created a burst of cellular activity that
accelerated my hair growth.
I was a little self-conscious of how long it had become. I parted
it in the middle and was able to sort of wrap it behind my ears to
keep it from hanging in my face. It had never been this long, even
when I was in school. It was just to my shoulders, definitely long
for a man. But it was now just that length when it starts to seem
long for a woman too.
I didn't want to cut it. But it only made me think about the next
period of change.
She smoked too. I didn't used to smoke. For some reason
I...she...whatever..had bought some cigarettes during that second
time. She had kept smoking the whole nine days. Now, I felt
compelled to sneak a cigarette. It was another powerful way that she
continued to make me think of her. But I felt that it wasn't me who
was addicted to smoking. It was her. It was another way that I
started to feel 'her' inhabiting me.
It had only been two months when a chance came up on a long project.
Immediately I decided it was time for that third injection. It was a
totally irrational decision. The project would get me away for a few
months. But if I took that third injection now, it could mean the
period could last for up to a year. It was too risky. Too long.
Far too long. Besides, I hadn't tried to work and live and be that
woman during those first two periods. I couldn't possibly do this.
Just focus. Do the project. Move on. Just wait eight more months, I
told myself. Next Tuesday get on the plane, don't even think about
bringing that serum.
The weekend before I was leaving, my girlfriend caught me smoking a
cigarette. She'd suspected I was smoking but didn't believe it.
"What an idiot. What's gotten into you?" she asked pointedly. I
felt uncomfortable. I had this huge secret.
I hoped I was distracting her with this fervent attention to her
pussy. I lapped her the best she'd ever had she said. I was
sneaking touches of it in the restaurant, when we sat in the cab. I
love your pussy, I told her.
We'd been together a long time. I'd never acted this way except
maybe when we first met. I think that made her suspicious too. She
loved the attention there. But she realized it was more than I'd
shown before.
See, I thought a lot of sex would help me focus. But I was
fascinated, thrilled, intoxicated with my girlfriend's body. How it
worked, how it looked, how it felt. I had to take this injection.
Tuesday we said goodbye. Early evening, I landed in NYC with the
serum and 'her' suitcase of things.
I checked into my room. It was more an apartment for business people
and long-term travelers. I sat down on the bed to give myself a
chance to reconsider. It occurred to me to have a cigarette. I
looked at the suitcase.
At 6:45 pm I rubbed alcohol on my inner thigh, stuck the hypodermic
into my vein and plunged the serum into my system. I woke up briefly
sometime early Thursday morning. I passed out again until just
before 11 a.m. The sun was strong in the room as I propped myself up
an elbow. I needed water.
I got up still groggy but aware that I was now her. I drank from the
faucet, not noticing my hair had fallen into the sink, getting wet.
I walked to the mirror. It was her. I was her now.
She looked for her cigarettes.
I don't really remember everything too clear at first. I really was
out of it. But at some point the "internal me" had written a note:
'send email' and taped it to the alarm clock set for 3:30 p.m. I
know I'd taken a long, long shower. I know I'd opened the suitcase.
When the alarm went off, she put on a robe. Her hair had dried
unbrushed. With a cigarette between her fingers she opened the
laptop and immediately set up a new email address. She composed an
email:
"Due to unforeseen problems, my sister will be handling this project
for me. She's much better than I am anyway. She'll be there
Wednesday at 10. Please don't send any emails to me without copying
her. Her name is Suzanne. "
I felt such a strange energy this time. I could feel her in control,
asserting herself. She wrote several more emails and closed the
laptop.
I took a second shower, this time more carefully. I used the new
shampoo and conditioner I had in my suitcase. I used the razor on my
legs and my armpits. My body still wasn't nearly as sensitive as it
would eventually become. Perhaps the part of my brain that responded
to touch was simply unable to work properly.
But I was conscious of this different sense of balance and
proportions. I was conscious of the weight and the bounce of my
breasts. I ran my hand over my soapy crotch. I wasn't anywhere
close to realizing how my vagina, my pussy would feel, eventually.
But I felt my round contour, penis-less, so new and foreign and
promising.
I don't know where the name 'Suzanne' came from. I wasn't
questioning it though. My mind was so clouded. I was Suzanne now.
But I really had no idea who Suzanne was yet.
I stood naked in front of the mirror as I dried my hair. She looked
so confident. She had beautiful full breasts and large round
aerolas. There was a delicious curve to her hips and heavy, bouncy
buttocks. She looked physically tired but directed. Her elegant
hands and long graceful arms brushed out her hair as she worked the
hairdryer.
She stepped away to get another cigarette.
I walked back to the mirror as I saw her take a deep drag. I felt
the rich hit of the nicotine. I watched her blow out the smoke.
I noticed my hair. Exaggertedly blown out and teased, it was so
full.
This was me. I was tired, hungry, confused. I am Suzanne. But I was
still me.
It was more significant this third time because it all felt so much
more familiar now. Besides, I had no choice now. In spite of all
responsible, rational considerations, I was committed to her for
probably a year. She seemed to take strength from that fact. And I
took some assurance from her presence, her assertiveness.
I knew that if I didn't let her flourish that it would only be
disaster.
I realized inside that I needed her to assume the life that she
needed to assume. If I couldn't behave as a credible woman, I
couldn't conduct the project. I needed to be in control. I needed
to be self-aware...even if I wasn't yet sure as to who that 'self'
was.
I woke up late, still in that bathrobe. My second day. I had things
I had to do I told myself. But when I went to the bathroom and peed
I was overwhelmed again by how remarkable it felt -- something so
terribly mundane as just peeing. Sit on the toilet and pee. I can't
even explain how that was those first few times. For a long time,
really.
I couldn't escape the overwhelming reality of my situation. There
was no way that I would not project some unique characteristic about
who I was now. Even if I am to be Suzanne, I can't detach myself
from this extraordinarily mystical situation. I can't escape how
overwhelmingly, erotic, powerful, thrilling and stupefying this whole
opportunity feels. This opportunity to delve into the life of a
woman -- to be this woman, without any past, with only promise and
anticipation. Clearly, somehow this would have to be a facet of who
Suzanne was.
But in less than 24 hours I would have to present myself as this
woman. There were so many uncertainties still as to who I was. How
do I laugh? What do I like? What do I hate? All my material
possessions were in that one suitcase. What do I do, how do I act,
what should I know? What sort of person am I now?
Lists helped me focus. I made a list of things I needed by tomorrow.
It was time for Suzanne to go out into the world. I took the
suitcase and put it up on the bed. There were shoes, a skirt and a
plain white shirt that I'd stolen from my girlfriend. There was a
tube of mascara. A ladies windbreaker. One last pack of cigarettes.
And there was a white lycra bra and panties.
If my clitoris, or the rest of my body for that matter, was at all
sexually sensitive at this point, I probably wouldn't have been able
to complete my tasks. But there was that odd detachment from my body
and how it worked and felt and responded. Fortunately, for now. It
would've been too overwhelming to deal with all that now too.
Nevertheless, when I walked out the door, I felt such a delicious
expectation. I felt intoxicated by the fact that I was stepping out
into the world and the knowledge of what I had to do.
It was early evening when I returned. It had been the most sublime
afternoon and I managed somehow to keep myself calm and determined.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I told myself. I needed to maintain some sense of
sanity.
I dropped my bags on the couch. I couldn't help from walking over to
the big mirror.
My god. Look at yourself Suzanne.
I'd left my old skirt and blouse in one of the dressing rooms. The
first thing I'd done earlier was to buy a pair of jeans and a black
stretch top. I'd just wanted a clean start, something easy,
something that truly fit me. They were jeans designed for a woman,
designed for my hips, my waist, my ass. They'd given me a certain
confidence when I sat down and had my ears pierced after. The two
gold earrings gave me added confidence when I went to the
hairstylist's . In spite of all that, I still felt tentative, like a
trespasser afraid they'll be caught.
I bought three new bras. For me, my breasts. I bought panties. I
bought more mascara, eyeliner, powder, lipsticks, nail files, polish.
There was a new shoulder bag I'd use for my purse and my work things.
I bought black slacks for work and three contured, button blouses in
three muted colors. I had no idea what sort of clothes I wanted to
wear. But for now I figured it'd be best to look professional,
officious. Feminine, but not too feminine.
But I can't begin to tell you the feeling that came over me when I
finally looked in that mirror. I cant tell you how pleased Suzanne
felt.
I could say it was the hair that had the most dramatic effect. It
was full with a wave and a curl to it now. There were subtle shades
of brown highlights. I wrapped the left side behind my ear and saw
the shiney gold of the stud in my ear lobe.
But maybe it was the sight of my cleavage. I saw that exquisite line
that marked the boundary between my two breasts. But it was also the
rise of my hips. It was the crotch, smooth, rounded like a woman's,
no penis, just that vulva, that hidden vagina.
Suzanne posed. I could only watch. Look at my face. My cheeks, my
brow. My lips. She sucked on her cigarette. Her nails were clear,
polished. Her fingers were delicate and long. She inhaled deeper to
emphasize her presence. She knew I was melting. She knew my legs
would buckle and I'd gently fall into a soft, languid pool on the
carpet.
The meeting the next day went surprisingly well. I started making
good progress. And with each meeting, each day, Suzanne's
personality began to emerge. There were lots of things that affected
her, shaped her. New things each day. New situations, new awareness
and a new sensitivity she had in her body.
It was that first weekend when she had her first true orgasm. It was
only the beginning yet she didn't think it could ever be as intense
as that first time. She'd been buying more clothes early that
Saturday afternoon. It was a beautiful day and she felt alive and
adventurous. So far, her clothes had been subtle, conservative in
muted colors.
But this Saturday was different. And she felt different. She first
felt it, almost imperceptibly, when the attractive saleswoman, back
in the sanctity of that dressing room, admired the way that floral
print dress showed off her body. It was like a flash of sensation,
just for a moment, but clearly in her new clitty.
Emboldened, she stopped at the makeup counter. But that was a
mistake.
Wearing that new dress, she sat on the stool and told the clinician
she wanted something new, something different. It wouldn't take
much.
The clinician, in her white Estee Lauder coat, was exquisitely
beautiful tall and dark. As she gently held Suzanne's chin, she
began applying eyeliner thickly across the top of her eyelids,
explaining the look. There was that flash again. And then again.
But it didn't subside. Suzanne crossed her legs. The clinician
continued talking and applying the make-up. People were bustling by.
She could smell the woman's warmth . Another woman stopped to ask a
question. She looked at Suzanne. Oh that's pretty she said. I love
that look. It was all too much.
I really better get going. Ok?
One more thing, said the clinician.
Suzanne tried to think of something. Something ordinary.
Ok. What do you think? You have gorgeous cheekbones and a soft
brow. This is more for evening but see how it brings out your
features?
When Suzanne looked, and her clittie pulsed, she gasped. I have to
come back.
She didn't even look at herself in the mirror when she made it back
to her apartment. She sat on the couch, pulled up her skirt, and
traced her finger softly over her panties. She pulled them tighter
against her and could see the tiny little bump of her clitoris erect.
When she pulled her light blue, cotton panties aside, she saw her
labia for the first time in that bloom that signals arousal. She
traced them so gently. She pressed near her clit. For minutes she sat
there, her legs spread wide open. That eventual orgasm changed her.
It was as though it seared through her body, fusing that awareness to
her mind. She was conscious now of the exquisite pleasure of her new
genitalia. And at that point she hardly knew anything.
She felt naughty and restless, but only went out once more that
weekend, late Sunday afternoon. She just went downstairs and across
to the opposite corner for two packs of cigarettes.
Her new dress had lied strewed over the couch that weekend and was a
little bit wrinkled, but she put it on anyway. She was wearing no
panties or bra. Her cleavage had been a tight line from the press of
her bra. Now it was just the natural distance between her weighty big
breasts. Her cunt, she said that word to herself, was completely
hairless as of a few hours ago. She wanted it to grow back so she
could slowly shave it all again. She made a half-hearted attempt to
remove the make up from yesterday, brushed her hair and left with her
keys, her wallet, and her mobile, for some reason.
It was just getting dark and when she walked into the bright
fluorescents of the corner store, the young Korean looked up
attentively. She had the radiance, and the dishevelment, of a
beautiful woman who'd just been fucked all night -- and day. And she
felt sensual. She almost asked for the same cigarettes but stopped.
She wanted something stronger. Her addiction was becoming a presence
inside her and part of her. She could feel it growing stronger. She
loved the feeling of smoke and of smoking. She loved that she needed
it.
She bought two more packs of those long Marlboros the next day at
lunch. This was the Monday of the big shoot on her project. There
were cameramen, writers, other project managers, and helpers, all at
the big studio down near the Bowery. She felt on top of things and
her part of the project was all set to go. But there other unrelated
delays. Lots of people were standing around. The smokers were going
out the back exit door.
There were people here today who'd known her from before. Or,
rather, who she'd known before. Who 'he' had known before. It was
all very strange. But she didn't care today. They wouldn't know.
It was one of the other producers I used to know pretty well who
first came up to me. He said he didn't realize that "my former self"
even had a sister. He could see the family resemblance so strikingly,
but said I was much prettier, to be funny or friendly or just to
passively hit on me. If I hadn't known him from before, I'm not sure
that last option would have even occurred to me. But it did now.
Yet, still my mind didn't follow that suggestion to its possible
conclusion - exactly what happens when a man successfully hits on a
woman.
But instead we chatted and he had no idea. I'm here, only 5'6 now,
nearly 60 pounds lighter now, he has no idea. I looked him right in
the face. He had no idea. I need a cigarette, I told him, and went
out to the back.
I liked this ritual. I loved that cigarette. Others were out there
too. Some different people from the last time I was out there. Some
of the same ones too. I'd smoked alone before until another woman
had come out by herself and immediately walked over toward me.
Love this weather, she said, as she lit her cigarette.
Me too, I lit up a second. What an odd phenomenon I'd thought, how
women feel safer with women. I took comfort in her acceptance of me.
I pulled deeply on my cigarette. I'm Suzanne, I said.
We talked about nothing as we smoked our cigarettes, at least I
didn't really focus on our conversation. I noticed people noticing
us. I noticed how pretty she was. I remembered how beautiful my
pussy feels.
When I came out again there was a man who I'd noticed noticing me
from before. I stood by myself, put the cigarette in my mouth and
cupped my hands to light it. I could feel him watching me as the
wind kept blowing out the flame. I turned around from him, away from
the wind and tried it again and again.
Must be dead, he said, from just back of my shoulder.
I turned around to face him. "I'm sorry?," I said.
Your lighter. It must be dead. He held has hands and his lighter up
in offer of help.
I leaned toward him, eager to have my cigarette let. The flame came
up and my hand reflexively cupped around his. I pulled once, then
again until the end glowed.
Thank you, I said as I gratefully felt it inside me.
I had no idea whatsoever that he had an erection right then. He had
only told me after.
He started to say one thing but stopped himself. "Nothing like a
cigarette huh". He also told me later that he couldn't believe he
said that, but he couldn't think of anything that wouldnt scare me
off. That was how he put it.
I do like them I said.
I can tell, he said. Then he purposely changed the subject. I
didn't know if he was trying to be rude or what he really meant. But
he seemed sincere, and something else.
He asked about the production and I told him what I did. He was
fixated on my lips as I drew on my cigarette, as the end glowed, as I
effortlessly breathed in that puff. He watched the wisps from my
nostrils.
Someone came out to get me. "I gotta go," I said as I leaned down to
ground out my cigarette, though taking one last puff. He looked down
into my shirt, but I didn't know that.
I did know how I felt when I held out my hand to him and said "I'm
Suzanne. Nice to meet you. Bye."
I got Chinese on the way home and stayed in that night, masturbating
again. That day had been filled with so much.
The next day I stayed in my apartment for re-writes, and long baths,
and touching and climaxes, again. At 4 p.m. I decided I wanted more.
I wanted my first sexual toy. It excited me to think of it. I
didn't want one of those 42nd street-like places. I wanted some
place more intimate, somewhere for women. I found one in the book,
put on a denim skirt and white top and got in a cab.
I didn't know what I wanted really. And I didn't realize there were
so many options. The woman asked if I was looking for clitoral or
vaginal stimulation. I said 'both.'
I couldn't wait to get home. I didn't even look in my bag til I was.
Mine, I thought, as I emptied them onto the table. For me. The
vibrator was amazing. Amazing, amazing, amazing. But the dildo,
that was surreal. I'd picked it because she said it was popular, but
it wasn't until I held it that I saw how truly phallic it was. It
was jelly, bright red, and big. But now I saw its ridge at the end,
its gentle bumps and its bulges.
My pussy was so wet and so squishy as I lied on the floor next to the
mirror. I watched myself swirl it around and around, near my hole,
just inside of my lips. I moved myself to see better and then
watched intently as I pushed it inside me. I watched as I pulled it
out, ever so slowly, feeling its tug on the walls of my vagina. And
in again. And out. I got lost in the feeling. In and out. Again and
again. Faster and harder. Again and again until my back arched and
the most powerful climax escaped from my body draining its wetness
down my perineum and into my ass.
I fucked myself every way I could with that. Every day. It was
changing me.
Cathalina
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