College Education Part 2
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College Education - Part 4 free porn video
College Education - Part 4
Life changed quickly after my night at the club. Before the first
Monday back at classes, Stacy and I worked on my hair to make it look
less feminine. It wasn't that unusual for a guy to have highlights,
and upon returning to class, I actually got a few compliments on my new
hairstyle. I wore panties and a camisole under my boys clothes every
day, and I kept my legs and underarms shaved smooth. My toenails were
always polished bright red or frosted pink, and my fingernails grew as
long as I dared. The counter in my bathroom filled up quicky with
moisturizers, beauty soaps, and makeup. Most weekends, I would borrow
one of Stacy's dresses and we would go clubbing. "Joanne" was getting
to be known around town.
I started buying my own clothes, too. I would get dressed up and Stacy
and I would hit the malls. The first time we went shopping, I spent the
morning getting myself ready. Stacy came over and helped me with my
makeup, showing me the difference between makeup for daytime look and
nighttime. I was used to the dramatic, heavily shadowed look that Stacy
had taught me, but I really liked the fresh, innocent look of my face
when she gave me a daytime look. I looked at my pink frosted lips and
high cheekbones and got a little tingle when I thought, "If I lived as a
woman full time, this is would be my normal appearance."
It was thrilling to walk into a public place like a mall dressed as a
girl, with hundreds of people around, and browse through the Junior's
section, evaluating which of these pretty frocks I wanted to buy. I
became friends with a girl at the Nieman-Marcus makeup counter who
showed me some makeup techniques that even Stacy didn't know. After my
ear piecings healed, I was able to take advantage of the incredible
selection of earrings. That brought me to the jewelry counter and I
slowly leaned to accessorize. I even got my belly button pierced
(ouch!).
And then there was the lingerie. As a boy, I had always hurried past
the lingerie section, my eyes darting to the beautiful selection of
feminine panties, slips, bras, and nighties, terrified that someone
would notice me paying a little too much attention. Now, Stacy and I
would simply walk in and look. She would hold up a pretty camisole or a
naughty little sheer nightie and say, "You think Marco would like to see
you in this?" and we would laugh. We would always stop by the shoe
section, and before long, I had a half dozen pairs of womens pumps,
sandals, and even a silly little pair of maribou trimmed bedroom mules
sitting in my closet next to my clunky boys shoes.
As fun as all this shopping was, it was killing my budget! If I wanted
to keep up with my part time feminine lifestyle, I was going to need
some extra income. I thought more and more about what Helen, my manager
at the restaurant, had said. We were still short a waitress, and I had
been watching them work. Thanks to Stacy's big mouth, a couple of the
waitresses knew about "Joanne," and they encouraged me to join them.
The restarant where we worked was a steak place and the waitresses wore
elegant but simple uniforms consisting of a fitted white blouse, a
short, slim black skirt, and plain black pumps. Hosiery was to be worn
at all times, and necklaces and jewelry were allowed but not to be
overdone. The uniform was very businesslike, but it was, after all, a
skirt and blouse. The more I thought about it, the more I liked the
idea of making my livliehood dressed as a female. So after work one
night, I had a talk with Helen.
"I wondered when you'd come around," she said with a smile. "A cute
girl like you will make a lot of money on tips!" We talked about all
the new rules that would apply to me, how to take dinner orders, and
behavior in front of the guests. She gave me a handout describing my
new uniform and we set the next Tuesday, a slow day, as my "debut." Of
course, the few people who didn't know about my little hobby figured it
out quickly when Joe the kitchen help disappeared, only to be replaced
by Joanne, the new waitress. I was nervous about that (this was Texas,
after all), but was surprised that no one seemed particularly put off.
It was a college town, and in our little neighborhood, people were
pretty tolerant.
On my first night as a waitress, I had classes until 4:30 and had to
start work at 7:00. I raced home from campus and hopped into the tub
for a long bath. I shaved my legs and washed my face, then, dried off
and put on a garter belt, beige seamless stockings, panties, bra and
breast forms, and a camisole. Then I sat down at the bathroom counter
(now my makeup table.) I curled and fluffed my hair (easier now that I
had regular appointments at the salon). Then makeup: I applied
concealer, foundation, powder, blush, eye shadow (not too much!),
eyeliner, eyebrow pencil, mascara, lipstick, a couple of dabs of perfume
under my jawline, and I was done. I slipped into a white nylon, lace-
hemmed half slip, then a little black wool pencil skirt. After that, I
put on my white blouse and stepped into a pair of 2 1/2" heel plain
black pumps. I chose a thin gold necklace that Marco had given me and a
small gold bracelet, then finished with a quick spritz of hairspray.
"Professional" Joanne was looking back at me from the mirror, ready to
go to work. It had taken only forty five minutes from start to finish.
Not bad!
Waitressing is HARD. As I walked out into the dining room before my
first shift, I was all tingly thinking about how I would be working as a
female and making my living wearing a skirt, but all the glamour
vanished after I messed up the orders at my first two tables. I had to
be cheerful, friendly, and professional even when the guests weren't.
And I hate to say this, considering that I was still (sort of) a man,
but...men are pigs. Even in a nice restaurant like ours, I got my butt
grabbed, my legs fondled, and my boobs ogled (and they weren't even real
BOOBS!) Okay, most guests weren't like that, but the ones that were
were enough to ruin your day. I had a long talk with Helen after work
that first night, telling her that maybe I wasn't cut out for this, but
she just smiled and said that for a first-timer, I had actually done
rather well. That made me feel better, and I noticed that I HAD gotten
better at taking orders as the night went on. I finished with what I
thought were some pretty impressive tips, but Helen said that they would
only get better as I improved.
I persevered. And I did get better, as did the tips. Before too long,
it became natural. I still had the occasional creep grab my butt, which
made me want to lift up my skirt, drop my panties, and show him just
whose butt he has been drooling over, but I was pretty sure that
someting like that would be bad for business. Stacy and I discussed it,
and I asked her how to gracefully deflect unwanted male attention. She
cocked her head and without missing beat, said, "You know, all you need
is to have a couple of periods and you really will know everything there
is to know about being a woman!"
Waitressing became a routine after a time, and it became sort of fun.
And every once in awhile, I would be walking away from a table with an
order, swinging my hips in a relaxed feminine gait, and I would get that
tingle as I realized that I really WAS successfully making my livliehood
as a female!
Stacy and I stayed close, and she and I would go out with Marco and her
boyfriend Dave on those rare occasions when we all had the night off.
One night, Stacy and I were alone at my apartment talking, and she
wondered if I wanted to take my femininity even further. I noted that I
spent most of my non-class time as a girl, including working as a
waitress, and that I was being humped almost nightly by my boyfriend,
and asked her what in the heck more was there?
"Lots more. Hormones, for starters," she replied matter-of-factly.
"You make a great looking girl, but regular doses of female hormones
would round out your figure and give you a nice little cleavage." It
sounded ridiculous at first, but the more I thought about it, the more I
liked the idea. I did some soul-searching and realized that I loved
acting like a female and probably always would. The idea of going back
to a full-time male existence held no appeal at all to me. I did a lot
of research at the college library, and decided that it was something I
could try, at least on a trial basis. I told Stacy, and that was all it
took. The next thing you know, we were in her convertible, speeding
down the highway through the wilds of southwest Texas on a warm spring
day, heading south for Mexico. We went to Juarez and saw the
bullfights, drank margaritas, ate chiles rellenos with Dos Equiis
cerveza, and crossed back into the Land of the Free with a three month
supply of Estrace and Spironolactone.
When I first started on hormones, I didn't notice any difference. After
a couple of days, I felt a little queasy, but that soon passed. I kept
expecting boobs to magically appear, but things went along pretty much
normally for a long time. I noticed that I wasn't getting much in the
way of erections anymore, but that didn't bother me since, in my current
sexual role, I didn't have much use for erections anyway. I did notice
an interesting mental change. It's hard to describe, but I became more
"receptive" physically and emotionally. It was something so ingrained
that I didn't notice it until it changed, but instead of feeling
aggressive or competitive, I began to feel more relaxed and passive.
I had been sexually "receptive" to Marco now for months, but I became
even more so. Having him inside me seemed to fill some basic mental
need in me. I didn't think I could ever enjoy his cock more than I
already did, but that guilty little male voice went away entirely. It
felt completely natural to kneel in front of him and worship his cock,
or to get down on all fours, letting him have his way with me from
behind. I felt strangely "complete" when Marco was inside me. Feeling
him thrust in and out of my bottom, over and over, began to fill a need
in me that I didn't know I had. Was all that just due some different
chemicals? I didn't know, but I liked it.
That's when I realized that I needed a man around the house. I invited
Marco to move in, and knowing that he had a good thing going, he moved
in the next weekend. His clothes were on one side of the closet, my
dresses, pumps, and few remaining boy clothes were on the other. I got
into being a little Suzie Homemaker and learned to cook. We split the
rent, so I had more money to spend.
I reached another milestone one night when I was going down on Marco and
as always, trying to get as much of him into my mouth as I could. That
night, I didn't think of his cock as an invader. I felt like it
belonged there in my mouth. I relaxed my throat, held my breath, and
lowered my head, feeling his cock slip past the back of my throat and
inside me. My lips went slowly down, down his shaft until my lips
finally touched the little thatch of pubic hair at the base of his cock.
I had done it! I had deep throated my boyfriend! His big cock felt
funny in my throat as I came back up, but I took another breath, and
went down again. Marco was in heaven, and I was insufferably proud of
myself for doing something that even Stacy couldn't do. For the next
three days, I didn't let Marco fuck me at all. I was too busy going
down on him in the kitchen, in the shower, on the couch, in his car,
sometimes even in bed!
After a few weeks, my nipples became really itchy and sensitive. I told
Marco about it, and he started paying more attention to them. A couple
of times, he grapped or squeezed them too hard and it really hurt, but
when he sucked on them, it felt heavenly. I loved him to kiss and flick
his tongue over my nipples, then suck them hard between his lips.
I dressed as a girl full time now, except when I went to class, and even
then, there were days when all my jeans were dirty and I would just put
on a pair of girl's slacks and wear those to class. I hadn't cut my
hair in months, and it hung down past my shoulders in thick, luxurious
waves that Carolyn at the salon kept well maintained. As time went by,
it was getting much harder to present any kind of male facade to the
world. My nipples became distended, pressing out from my chest about an
inch, which became very noticeable when I wore boy's shirts. My nipples
were so itchy that it was necessary to wear a bra all the time just to
keep them from gettng irritated. The flesh behind my nipples firmed up
and expanded until I had a real pair of shapely little A-cup titties.
Without a bra, I felt them jiggle on my chest when I ran or when Marco
fucked me. My penis shrank until it was just a little nub, and my balls
became smaller.
Over time, most people that I knew found out about me and my lifestyle.
It was hard to keep it a secret, anyway. I lost a couple of friends
over it, but I decided that they weren't friends worth keeping anyway.
Most people that found out were either accepting or simply too busy with
their own lives to pass judgement on me. I had always been close to my
parents and had had a long heart to heart with my Mom months ago. She
was very loving and accepting. Dad less so, but he was coming around.
(Okay, so I hadn't told them about Marco - so sue me...)
I threw away the last of my boy's clothes and began life as a full-time
female. Strangely, this had an unexpected effect; I lost one of my
favorite thrills. The act of putting on a pair of panties
became...mundane. Well, maybe "mundane" isn't the right word. Putting
on lingerie would always be fun, but instead of being an exciting,
forbidden act, dressing up as a girl was now just part of my everyday
life. There was something else new, though. I walked outside into the
world as a female every day, looking a the world through pretty, heavily
lashed eyes, feeling the hem of my dress swirl around my nyloned thighs,
hearing the click-click of my heels as I walked through campus, and it
was like someone had turned up the color intensity in my life. In
short, I traded the guilty pleasure of secret crossdressing for the
simple fact that I was happier than I had ever been.
After a year of self-medication, I did what I should have done in the
first place and went to see a doctor. Dr. Kent was a lovely woman in
her mid-thirties who spoke to me very sternly about practicing medicine
on myself without a license and immediately referred me to a
psychiatrist specializing in gender dysphoria. I told the psychiatist
my story, and in short order, he wrote out a recommendation and it was
back to Dr. Kent for a prescription. Now I could get my hormones
legally, and that was great, except that I was going to miss the
bullfights.
Upon recommendation of the psychiatrist, I was able to get my gender
changed from "M" to "F" and had my name legally changed to Joanne, which
made clubbing with Stacy a lot easier, among other things. A couple of
weeks after visiting the driver's license office, I received my new
license in the mail. A pretty girl with makeup and long hair looked at
me from the picture on the license. I never thought that a mere letter
could mean so much, but seeing an "F" under "Sex" on my license was a
bigger deal than any pair of panties or any dress that I had ever worn.
Regardless of what was between my legs, I was officially a female now.
Legally, I could only be a wife, not a husband. Society "expected" me
to wear pretty dresses, make up, and a pretty, feminine hairstyle.
My breasts eventually measured a nice, modest B-cup. They were shapely
and perky. With a WonderBra, I had a dynamite cleavage and my tips at
the restarant went way up. (Like I said, men are pigs...) My bottom
and hips got wider, and I took up jogging just to maintain my shape.
Marco and I settled into a nice domestic routine, and I couldn't deny
any more that I was in love with him. Dr. Kent and I talked about sex-
reassignment surgery but for some reason, I was reluctant to take that
final step. I still sort of liked my tiny little penis down there, and
Marco was certainly happy with all my available openings.
One thing I did decide to do was to have my testicles removed. Much
more than my penis, they seemed to just get in the way. It was a
surprisingly simple procedure. I went to see Dr. Kent one afternoon,
put my feet into some stirrups, felt the prick of a local anesthetic,
and listened to some nice music on headphones for awhile. In twenty
minutes, Dr. Kent's face appeared and she smiled and told me that she
was done. Marco drove me home, and I spent the next three days sitting
on a sack of Bird's Eye Frozen Green Peas. A week later, the bruising
was gone, and there was almost nothing to see of what used to be my
scrotum. The skin eventually tightened up against my body, and my penis
got even smaller, poking out as a little nub from the smooth, girlish
vee between my legs.
Three weeks after the surgery, Marco and I were able to have sex again,
and it was awesome! I could lay on my back, wrap my legs around him,
and he could press against me harder than ever before as he pushed his
big cock all the way into me. His abdomen rubbed against my little nub,
giving me a nice tickly feeling to compliment the deeper, fuller,
grinding feeling in my bottom. I ground my pelvis against him, trying
to get the maximum penetration, and I think Marco had his best orgasm
ever. Dr. Kent changed my prescription as a result of the procedure,
and I began to fill out my clothes even better. I went from a "modest"
to a "generous" B-cup. My panties fit perfectly. I had a nice, shapely
woman's bottom and hips. My skin seemed softer and smoother, and my
voice, which had never been deep enough to give me away, got higher.
Marco graduated a year ahead of me and got a great job in Vancouver,
1,700 miles away and in a whole other country! I was stuck with 20 more
credit hours before graduation. I helped him move into a condo on a
hillside surrounded by trees in North Vancouver, and we had a tearful
last night together before I came back home. Marco and I had an
understanding. I didn't expect him to be a monk for a whole year, and
he thought it would be good for me to kick up my heels a little. I
dated a few guys that last year. I even fooled around a little with a
tall, sandy blonde haired guy named Steve, who was on the swim team. He
was a nice guy, but he wasn't Marco.
The time dragged by until finally, I was enrolled in my last semester.
Stacy and I were promoted to assistant managers at the restaurant, which
meant more money and more elegant dresses to wear for work. With
graduation approaching, I started sending out resumes. Strangely
enough, all my resumes seemed to want to go to British Columbia. In
April, I lined up some interviews and flew to Vancouver. Marco met me
at the airport. We had a wonderful time and my interviews went well.
The interviewers all commented on the confidence that I showed. That
was another unexpected result of my change in gender. As a boy, I had
always been shy and more than a little withdrawn.
As a girl, it was different. I suppose it was because I worked so hard
to look pretty. Why waste all that effort by being shy? I liked the
way I looked and the way people looked at me. That made me feel
friendlier, more outgoing, and strangely, more maternal. I really had
become a different person, and not just physically. In May, I got a
graduation gown and two great job offers. I memorized the lyrics to "O,
Canada," applied for a work visa, and developed a taste for tailored
suits and silk blouses with cowl necks and french cuffs. I also
developed a dangerous addiction to Manolo Blahnik open toed slingback
pumps. And sandals with ankle straps. And heavenly taupe suede boots
with 2 1/2" spike heels that came to mid calf and made my legs look
awesome when I wore them with a short wool skirt. And these fabulous
tiny little cocktail slippers that...well...you get the idea.
Six months later, I donned a vintage snow white garter belt and slid
brand new white silk stockings up my legs. I put on a white, lacy push
up bra that gave me an impressive decolletage. A white satin half slip
borrowed from Stacy came next. I smiled as I put my silk encased, red
polished toes and into the leg openings of a lovely pair of lacy silk
panties and slid them up to my waist. The panties were a gift from
Stacy. They were a pale pastel blue and in keeping with Stacy's
perverse sense of humor, had the words "Sissy Boy" embroidered across
the back. What little was left of my penis made not the slightest bulge
in front of my panties. Carolyn had spent two hours working my long
blonde hair into a lovely upsweep style. My attendants carefully helped
me slip into my snow white gown with sheer sleeves, antique lace, and
faux pearl accents. Then I made the last touches to my makeup, admiring
the happy, successful, and lovely young woman looking back at me from
the mirror.
That nagging little voice of male guilt in the back of my mind had
developed a sense of humor. I almost laughed out loud to think that I,
who had been born a male and who still had a penis between my legs, was
wearing a gorgeous wedding gown and was about to be led down the aisle
by my father to be given away to another male to be his wife. After
those first furtive, guilt-ridden encounters with Rich back in high
school, what a delightful joke it was on me and the rest of the world
that I had found happiness in the role of a woman!
I walked into the foyer of the church, keenly aware of the feel of my
panties, stockings, and wedding gown as undeniable reminders of my
effiminacy. I stood behind Stacy and watched her walk down the aisle
bside the Best Man to take her place next to the altar as Maid of Honor.
The music paused. I slipped my arm into Daddy's, and the organist began
playing the Bridal Chorus. Marco was standing at the altar, looking
nervous. Everyone turned to look at me. I took a deep breath, smiled,
and began my walk down the aisle.
The End
Many thanks to everyone for the kind reviews. I hope you enjoyed
reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Hugs and kisses,
Joanne
copyright 2010 Aunt Joanne
Barbie
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