There's Nothing I Can Do About It Now free porn video

There's nothing I can do about it now. - Fiction by Elaine © 2010 * Patrick is watching me closely though I pretend not to notice. I wonder how he would react if he only knew what is going through my head. I'm standing in front of the bathroom mirror putting on my make-up for the night out we have planned in down town Helsinki. I'm standing in my newest 5" heels wearing just stay up stockings, a lacy black thong and a matching bra that supports and displays my ample recently surgically enhanced breasts. My black, thick, butt-length hair is held back from my face by a hair band as I undertake the necessary chore of painting up my face again to enhance its natural look. Much of it isn't really needed as I had some make up tattoos done to my lips and eyes. Applying black eyeliner can be tricky and messy but I can do it easily enough now after years of practice. The other colours the tattooist's needle gave me were to my very thin arched eyebrows and to my lips that were lined in dark red. So I go through my well rehearsed routine which despite my long nails I accomplish using my vast array of paints and polishes in front of the large bathroom mirror. It usually takes me 15 minutes to achieve the look both he and I both like. Standing in heels that long on the same spot can be a painful experience for most women but for me it's a way of life as I don't wear anything else these days. To be honest I can't wear anything else now as my calf muscles have shortened with the constant use of high heeled shoes. I've been advised by my doctor to wear lower heels or risk a rupture in my calf muscle but I've never been able to comply. Wearing heels is a must now I can't wear anything else even when walking in the house. Well Patrick predicated this situation as he actually threw out all my flat shoes and small heels and then we went on a buying spree where the smallest heel he allowed was 4" tall. They are all spike heels and some are over 5" tall when you add the platform sole boots I have. So my make up is the application of foundation and then powder, eye shadow and then two pairs of long thick false eyelashes glued to my eyelids before turning my attention to my lips. A bright dark red lip colour is used that often matches the colour on my fake nails and then I flash my brilliant white veneered teeth to check the smile. Not that I do much smiling these days outwardly though I am fairly content with my lot. It feels odd to me that it's my make up and not that used by my mother or some other woman. That it goes onto my face and not someone else but it does go on and will continue to go on as now I have no other choice but to be the prettiest woman I can be to please Patrick. Besides the reflection of my perfectly made up face in the mirror with my sultry eyelashes fluttering seductively at me that if I were a man I'd feel aroused I also reflect back on my life history since my life changed. * Quite simply life as a female hasn't been as easy as it seemed when it was decided by my therapists and doctors that I would transition. Although I'm generally happy with my life as Patrick's lover there isn't a day that goes by where I don't experience some small feelings of nostalgia and even regret for what I can't have any more, or even some annoyance at the things I'm stuck with now. When they said that I should live the rest of my life as a female I was delighted and shocked at the same time. I couldn't imagine that I'd make a convincing girl after so long as a convincing boy but within a few years it was clear that any fears I had about not passing were totally groundless. I had the hips and large breasts that any young girl would die to have which thrilled me and also made me realise that I couldn't return to be a boy very easily if at all. All the time I kept saying to myself that if I would just stop taking the hormones and anti androgens, I would just resume my boy life again but it was simply impossible. The reason was simple as it was just impossible to stop taking them as my mother oversaw that I took the correct dose every day. Of course correct was never correct except that it corrected my maleness and made it into a quasi female state. Each time I swallowed the pills each morning and night I'd have loved to go without taking them for a while but she prevented that from happening so my breasts soon sprouted. First I wore a small training bra but I couldn't believe it when they went to a size bigger than my mother and eventually to a huge 34D cup. At the same time the hormones widened my pelvis so I had female style hips so I had to wear female jeans and skirts. My body hair never developed more than a fine downy hair and of course I never needed to shave much as I would have liked to try it at least once. All the time I was taking my medicine like a good girl my penis and testicles would get erect at the thought of what was happening to me but at the same time I was horrified that there seemed no way to return to being a boy again. When I would come looking at myself in the mirror I'd feel very guilty at the thought that this was not going to be an end I would enjoy. I hoped and preyed that someone would see that this shouldn't happen to me but sadly no one did and it seemed to be taking a path that I couldn't stop. So my transition didn't go all that well with all sorts of emotional and practical problems and of course it was a huge problem of acceptance for my father and especially my mother. At first they didn't really want the transition to go ahead particularly when I had to change schools but they reluctantly went along with what the gender therapist said should happen and as I said my mother made sure it happened with the medication consumption. The gender therapist's recommendation was based on what I had told her I felt inside after I'd mentioned it a few times to my mother that I wished I'd been born a girl. Many times I felt the same way as my parents in the beginning and wished it would all stop so I could be their boy again but it clearly wasn't possible or easy to backtrack on that decision. However I was always small and underweight as a boy with longish hair and so to the delight of my therapist within a short space of time I was able to easily pass as a convincing girl. I remember the time the therapist told me that I would start living as a girl full time and I was excited and also sick that it was all happening so fast. She would encourage me to try girlish mannerisms and movements such as those with my wrists and hair. After a while it became second nature to do them. The hormones also made me feel more compliant and lacking in energy. As time passed it became physically very difficult to revert back. I was going to be a woman whether I liked it or not and by not shouting out that a mistake was being made I just compounded the mistake. The different physical aspects of being a woman became clear even before my final gender change surgery. As my 18th birthday approached and my gender change surgery loomed the years of taking hormones had taken their toll on my body. I never would have expected the reaction from them that occurred. My breasts were full and I always had to wear a bra when I went out and about, my waist had narrowed and my hips incredibly widened further to give me an hourglass figure most women would die for. In the weeks before my 18th birthday I was very depressed as I really did have the figure of a curvy and sexy woman. From the time that they stopped growing with the hormones, I was never totally happy having the incredible breasts that formed on my rib cage and there have been times when they've been painful physically and mentally to have. Before the implant surgery Patrick wanted, even moderate exercise such as tennis could be distinctly uncomfortable at worst and a bother at best particularly when sleeping. They constantly reminded me of my situation and now I couldn't forget I had these distinct and highly visible signs of womanhood. Since that implant surgery I went through it's obviously a lot worse now and while wearing a lace or frilly bra makes me feel feminine most of the time, these large breasts are extremely uncomfortable particularly on a hot sticky day. However taking my bra off isn't a solution now either as it's much worse without one as I really do need the support of a good bra for my breasts. Sometimes I feel that they really aren't my breasts but something will happen to remind me that they are and sometimes I really wish I didn't have to but not wearing a bra isn't an option now. I really don't know why I went along with his crazy idea for breast implants but the thought of having them bigger turned me on a lot when he broached the subject a year or so after we started living together. At first I told him that I didn't want them and my chest was big enough thank you very much but he gently and continuously persuaded me that it was a good idea to go bigger. Breasts were always the physical things that for me physically defined a woman most. Perhaps I could learn to be more of a woman if I went along with his desires I thought as the pressure he exerted made me go along with his desires. If I had bigger breasts I reasoned perhaps I could learn to love being a woman more and they would have a therapeutic effect on my mind. Having them would also made me feel more stuck as a woman and that was my only arousal mechanism since my gender reassignment surgeries so I reasoned to myself that to make them larger would have the effect of being even more confining and stuck. On the one hand I was horrified at the thought of how I would cope with bigger breasts but on the other was terribly aroused at the thought that I would have an erotic feeling of being stuck in the body of a big breasted woman. I might look like a woman but deep inside my mind must surely be male. In the weeks beforehand the surgery I would imagine that the bigger my breasts were the more aroused I would become at the thought. I was going to be more stuck as a woman and that certainly helped me cope with the subsequent painful surgical procedures when the time came. At any rate it was a huge turn on until the moment I woke up after the surgery and felt the weight and pain spread across my ribcage. My breasts hurt for days afterwards with the skin stretched taut and while size 34 D cup breasts can hardly be disguised, having 34 H cup breasts were certainly impossible to conceal. For one thing I needed to have special bras made and these emphasised my shape in a spectacular fashion particularly when I wore the tight sweaters he liked. When I finally stood up to go home with him I remember looking down at the floor and was astonished at not seeing my heeled encased feet because of the breasts jutting out almost bizarrely. None of my existing clothes now fitted and it was an expense that Patrick agreed to bear to have them all altered or to have new clothes bought so that I could be presentable and fashionable. I did notice that I could conceal my breasts wearing large warm coats in the cold weather but working in the office, people couldn't stop staring at my new breasts particularly when I often wore the clothing he'd chosen that revealed my now generous cleavage. The extra weight of the implants has definitely put an increased strain on my back and legs. My breasts also affect how I walk which is already compromised with my continued wearing of high heels. Now they have healed and painless my breasts have generally just become his toys to play with when we make love. For a few weeks they were just too tender to touch but now he is very rough with them when we do make love. They mostly just make me feel more feminine but there is always the physical discomfort of them jiggling and bouncing around all day unless I use a long line bra and even now I'm conscious of them in virtually everything I do. In my job I find that men don't talk to me so much as to my breasts but then Patrick likes to see my cleavage and often chooses open neck tops he selects for me are his favourite desire. Some women including some former friends have made snide comments about my breasts and they can be even worse than the men. It's been Patrick's intention to have my nipples pierced at some stage but if he massages them they get erect and quite hard and easily show through the material of my clothes. Often he'll just play with them when we are out and about so the nipples always stand out. As I said earlier one thing I do miss is being able to go around without a bra. With D cups it could be done when I was at home but now it's simply impossible. When I was a boy I could go around in shorts and no shirt in the summer but now it's a freedom of dress I miss now. It's just not an option any more. Putting on a bra just reminds me of my situation. It's obviously not Patrick's fault that I'm a post-op girl but having learned and reluctantly accepted that I was a transsexual and an attractive one at that he really made sure that I would always be a very convincing and sexy woman if our relationship was to continue. Of course all the time I was wondering whether it was a good idea to accept his financial assistance to be even more of a girl than I already was. He's bankrolled all the changes in me since we started living together arguing that no one should know that I was ever born a boy as he didn't want anyone to know or guess my past history. I can understand his reasons for that but these days people only ever see a sexy girl and that meant that my previous androgynous clothing that I wore in the early days of our partnership had to go to goodwill. Not that people could guess my past before this you understand as the hormones had done their job irreversibly. Although I had to wait until my 18th birthday to have my final feminising surgery I already was a convincing girl well before that time with long straight hair and was very proficient with make-up and knew the current fashions. But no matter how well you prepare for it actually having the sex change surgery is a huge shock that even now makes me feel that I've mutilated my body much more than the hormones ever did. Although I've spent more years in my life since then without my penis, I did have one for 18 years and it was a lot easier to deal with including the simple act of urination. Immediately after the surgery which was a great success as far as the surgeon was concerned, I was feeling totally depressed for having gone through with it. When the physical pain had gone, I was left with the emotional pain of having lost the last part of my masculinity and that had the biggest impact on my soul. Before the surgery and despite the hormones I could still get my penis feebly erect and got some satisfaction that I could still masturbate but after the surgery sadly even that was gone. There was nothing to get a hold off any more and the boy I was only existed inside my head. Outwardly he'd been successfully eradicated. As far as everyone knew he was dead and Jenny was the result. While everyone accepted Jenny as a pretty girl, I really had trouble reconciling the void between my legs that resulted from the surgery. The sensitivity of what they left of my penis from the gender surgery then became a lot frustratingly less following my labiaplasty which covered my neo clitoris with a layer of skin. No matter what I tried I just couldn't get the same feelings as I did when I had a penis. There was nothing to get aroused any more. I felt bereft and I felt inwardly for a long time that I'd mutilated myself while at the same time I was giving this show to my parents that I was outwardly delighted that my manhood was gone and I was now the girl I'd always wanted to be. Before the surgery I was could get visibly aroused at the thought of losing my penis and now it was actually gone there was nothing to get aroused with or about. This struck me even more after a few months once I'd learnt how to urinate sitting down without making a mess around the bowl. At first my urine would splash everywhere and I quickly realised that my original male equipment was a lot more efficient. I soon learnt to press my vagina in a certain way to direct the flow. Ironically I would get aroused at the thought that after my surgery I'd have no alternative but to sit down every time I went to the toilet and despite the splashing it still confirmed in my mind that I was female in every physical respect and it wouldn't be so bad when I got the hang of it. I mean it seemed so feminine, putting the seat down and squatting down on it like any other woman would knowing I couldn't pee standing up any more unless I did it in the shower. However it didn't take very long before the novelty of it all wore off and now it's just a chore that has to be done like any other woman. Now it's lift up my skirt, pull down my panty girdle, then sheer pantyhose and then lower my thong panties down to my ankles, sit down and then let my bladder empty. Then I'd stand up, grab a tissue and wipe my neo vagina before pulling everything back up again carefully without laddering my pantyhose with my long nails. It's so much more time consuming now and not something that I derive any real pleasure from. I can still remember just before my surgery how convenient it was to just stand and direct my stream into the bowl, pull up my knickers and jeans and get on with my life. It often annoys me when there are long queues for the ladies toilet at stores and the movie theatres. At those times I often wish I could go back to being a guy again so I could skip the queue but of course, that's completely impossible and pointless now. ** So with my make up completed I brushed out my long black hair thinking about what happened nearly 20 years earlier and realise that I've been female longer than I was ever a male. It's simply impossible now that I could go back to being a man again that's for sure and even if I could, I wouldn't know how to act like a man. ** Of course I tried to have sex with a woman before I had my penis inverted but that was impossible as I didn't look like a man and what woman would want me to stick my small cock into her vagina even if I could manage to get it a little hard. My doctors were pleased that their carefully calculated hormone regimen had given me a feminine body but it also succeeded in destroying my sex drive. The result was that when I managed to cum which wasn't often, it was just a watery liquid that emerged to show that I'd been chemically castrated and nothing like the thick white stuff Patrick produces. Of course I can say now that penetrative sex as a woman with a man is completely different to what I ever expected. Rather than trying to jerk off in the shower while massaging my breasts before my surgery, the new sensations of Patrick penetrating me are often difficult to comprehend and deal with. Although he's a man and I love him dearly I don't exactly like the fact that I am the one being penetrated rather than the penetrator. Often I'll go on top so it feels like I am the one doing the penetrating but often he is in charge of that and I don't have the strength to stop him. When he is on top thrusting into me it wasn't something I imagined or I get that much pleasure from. For a start there is nothing physically obvious about me being aroused. With him it's very clear as he is so hard and erect so he can push into me easily but with me it's definitely a passive experience as even if I could get aroused most of the erectile tissue was surgically removed and so there is nothing to get erect any more. It's more like it's something that just happens to me and something that I feel, rather than something that that I can actually do anything to achieve. *** So finally my make-up complete, I can walk confidently into the bedroom and he hands me the dress he's selected for the night. It's a short mid thigh cocktail dress which will reveal my stocking tops while the bodice reveals my pierced belly button and it has a built in under wired bra to support my breasts. I gingerly and carefully step into the dress and turn to have him zip me into it. It's a figure hugging dress and I have to keep myself in check weight wise by dieting and exercising when I can. *** I can't obviously play football like him now but I'm expected to work out using the gym equipment he bought for me and that's installed in our spare bedroom. When he's out with his friends I'll often explore what's possible with my female anatomy. Before I would jerk off imagining what life would be like as a woman but that isn't an option any more but I have found other pleasurable methods of self-stimulation. A vibrator inserted deep into my vagina can feel really nice but even with that it's really strange not being able to have an orgasm again. Now I pretty much just insert the vibrator, turn it on, and lie back to enjoy the ride. I remembered how strange it was when I first looked down and put my hand down to my crotch, and there was nothing there to get hold of except the end of the vibrator that was sticking almost obscenely out of my body. I'd like to have an orgasm without having a penis but then I didn't have good ones when I had a penis so not having an orgasm now is can be very frustrating. However when I take the vibrator out unsatisfied as usual it makes me realise that I'm not a man any more and I'm a woman even if I don't exactly think like one. I regret that I've never had sex with a woman as a man and I often wonder what it would be like. I've been close to a few women friends but not one has realised my past history as a boy as a possible explanation for my lack of empathy with them. I particularly get turned on by boyish looking girls but now I'm a feminine looking girl myself I know there isn't anything I can do about pleasing them so that can feel frustrating. Of course it's easier to make female friends than before my transition but that is as far as it ever goes. I do enjoy the physical contact of hugs with other women but often wish we could dwell these hugs for longer. So as far as other girls are concerned, I'm just another shy big breasted girl. I've never met any gay ladies but I would love to do some experimenting. There's a part of me, deep down inside, that still feels like a guy, and often being with a girl at lunch or out shopping brings that out. Before my breast surgery that used to happen when I went to step aerobics at the gym. My problem in my mind is I'm not equipped to do anything about a relationship with a woman it and wont change in the future so there is no point in worrying about it. When I decided to go ahead with the change, I sure didn't expect it to feel like this, but there's nothing I can do about it now. As I said the sad part is that I've found that I don't really enjoy sex with men either. This is even more the case when it's just the old fashioned style. It is still a whole new experience for me having him erect inside me and pinning me to the bed under his strong bulk while I am weak and unable to resist. So I just open up my thighs, sometimes I wrap my legs around him and let him bang away until he comes. I get around the fact that I am in the wrong position by feeling stuck and that I can make him hard just by looking at me. He always finds me desirable and sexy so him getting an erection is never a problem. In fact he doesn't need any encouragement in that department. The part that's strangest and saddest is always after he's cum inside me. He always does cum but I still get the weirdest feeling inside me when he pulls out and gets up off me. Often I see him standing by the bed with his still huge cock dripping cum hanging in front of him, while I'm left with this empty space and his cum dripping out between my legs. It's not that I really want to have my small cock again as it was never like his monster weapon but I just feel totally weird inside. Perhaps I'm even a little jealous that he's had a massive orgasm and I am left wondering what the fuss was all about. His life goes on as it always did while I am left alone to get on with being his woman. Then I'll have to get up and clean out his cum before getting off to sleep and usually when I return from douching he's snoring in bed. I'd never really felt any desire for another man inside me before the operation. I'd always wanted to be with a woman and it just feels very strange to touch a man's cock with my hands. Wrapping my fingers around his dick and making him hard is something that I never expected I'd have to do. I can still remember when I had a cock but as time passes it gets harder and harder for me to remember what it actually felt like as I have nothing to compare with it now. Once I used a double dildo and it was really disorienting and weird. Despite the pink plastic cover it looked half real to me and when I grabbed it with my hand, the gesture felt so familiar except for the false look and false nails on fingers wrapped around it of course. There was no sensation from the appendage itself or from my man made vagina but deep down inside it was an important milestone. That kind of thing really hit me square in the eyes that I was a girl and those sensations, and those old experiences were something I'd never have again. Still, when I get him erect, with my hand or even reluctantly with my mouth, part of me is always trying to imagine what he feels, trying to imagine what it's like to have a cock again. I'm sure he enjoys my fascination with his equipment when I'm in the mood, but I wonder what he'd think if he knew what was going through my mind while I'm so busy getting him off. **** The last job I need to do before we go out is to change the colour of my long false nails and he usually chooses that and does this job himself. We sit down at my dressing table in the bedroom and he carefully wipes off the previous French polish I'd carefully applied earlier. Then he opens up a small bag and takes out two bottles of red Dior polish he'd bought and asks me what I think of the colour. I reply that the colour is the same as always until he applies it and I find it's a very deep frosted red that will draw everyone's attention to the extreme impossible length of my talons. He's always disregarding my preference to have my nails shorter as it makes everything either impossible or difficult to do. Simple things such as picking up a knife or fork or my door keys are made very awkward. On the one hand I like the feeling the nails engender and on another they make me feel quite helpless. He prefers my nails to be long and red and he's become expert at applying the polish. As my right hand dries he works on the left and then like a professional he uses a clear top coat that provides added shine to them. When he's satisfied that he's finished I check my nails carefully to make sure they are dry and then allow him to help me on with my short fur jacket. I grab my purse and make sure that it has the usual items inside before I go out. I don't smoke normally but I have a packet of his cigarettes in case he needs one along with touch up make-up and my hair brush. I put on my thin slim leather gloves and then stand beside him as he opens the door. My mind flashes back to the first time when I went outside dressed as a girl and the thrill it was that I was not going to be able to run away from my parents when we went shopping for clothes for me. The cold air shocks me back into the present and I always resent the fact that I cant feel warm on such nights. That my female fashions prevent me being comfortable like him. He is complaining of the cold wearing his thick jacket and slacks and so I am clearly a lot worse wearing this flimsy nylon on my legs. This always elicits the same response that I wish I could wear trousers like him. However trousers and shorts are forbidden and it must always be skirts and dresses. **** So being a woman is definitely a lot more work than being the boy I once was. As a woman I spend a lot more time, money and effort on my appearance than I ever did before. There clearly isn't much choice if I want to keep him in my life and as the years pass, I feel it would be really easy for him to stray into another woman's bed. So I know I must make the extra effort of looking good to keep him interested. So I must also be careful with my diet so that I can always wear the right clothes and styles he likes me to wear. I like wearing them too mostly but sometimes the effort can be tiring and it would be great to just wear something easier and comfortable. The worst time is at meal times when after I prepare dinner, his plate is piled high and mine contains less than half his. He can eat it all and I know he is happy when I don't eat all mine. I never realized that I was going to have to spend most of my life being significantly hungrier than before. We all need human contact, and it's natural to want others to think highly of us so I like to be perfect every time I go out. As a young boy I could step in the shower and be out the front door nearly ten minutes later. Now it can take me an hour or more to get ready from the moment I start, what with removing any body hair I spot, fixing my hair, and putting on my makeup before finding the "right" clothes and shoes to wear. I knew it would be like this from the years before my surgery and it was usually fun and arousing to get dressed up in my feminine clothing and create this wonderful illusion for everyone that would see me. At a minimum, it was an essential part of becoming used to being a woman but now it's just stuff that I have to do to be presentable. I don't get any real feelings of arousal wearing women's clothes except when I get feedback from Patrick or some other man. Women's clothing can be uncomfortable, sometimes painful and often completely impractical too. I work in a fairly conservative office as Patrick's assistant so I'm expected to dress appropriately with knee length pencil skirts, pantyhose, blouses, high heels, and presentable makeup. Clothing was so much easier before I met Patrick as I could at least lounge in jeans and even male check shirts but even at weekends I have to make an effort to look good for him with full make-up and sexier clothes. One item that does excite me these days is the pleasure I get of putting on sheer pantyhose. It can be quite an erotic experience when panty hugs my vulva tightly but usually it's just one more hassle particularly when you put a long nail through the hose pulling them up my legs. That means having to get another pair out of my drawer. When it comes to clothes, guys really do have it easier. Of course my nails are a particular fetish for both of us. I have to get them filled in every couple of weeks and they are quite long now at about 2cm beyond my fingertips. They never used to be that long but constant use of false nails at Patrick's insistence has made them that way. As I said having long nails does make even the most mundane things very difficult including typing this article. I often wish that I didn't have them this long but it isn't an option really. ***** So after he locks up the front door to our warm apartment and he leads me by the hand as we walk down the path to his car. My sharp spike heels click loudly on the hard frosty concrete path and the steps near the gate are slippery so it's good that he's there to support me. I can feel that the air is bitterly cold as we reach the passenger door of the car. Being the man he always opens the passenger door for me and I know how to get into the car reasonably gracefully. He even does up my seatbelt for me to save me chipping or breaking my newly polished nails. So I sit there strapped in and wait for him to get into the driver's seat. It feels that he is the driver in my life and has all the important jobs while I am left with dealing with the less important such as whether I look good or whether my nail polish is hard. The seatbelt diagonal strap shows off my cleavage as I check and blow on my nails so that they become truly hard. After he gets into the driver's seat we kiss affectionately for a few minutes until the windscreen has been cleared of ice using the heated windscreen on the car. I'm also grateful he bought a car with heated seats as the warmth starts to permeate through my thin dress into my body. After the kiss I automatically repair my lipstick and smile at him as he puts on his own seatbelt before moving off. We chat as he drives to the Club where we will go to meet his huge bunch of friends. I find them all shallow and superficial but he likes being with them so I try to accommodate his desires with these displays at the club for his benefit. Display because I am scantily clad and suffering under the spotlight and gaze of men who come into the club. Socially, being a woman has its drawbacks as I never realized how obnoxious men can be. Society does treat women as sexual objects and of course I have to dress to play the part. So I am always a sex object as I'm considered attractive and sexy by most of the regulars at the club. It gets so bad that I get touched and felt constantly when dancing. After a few dances we sit and chat to his friends. They are mixed but I find it hard to socialise with the women as I can't relate to talk of babysitters, kids and being a good wife while the men just want to get inside my panties and some come close to succeeding. ***** Now that I'm a woman, it feels like I've resigned my status as a normal member of society. People are condescending, act superior, and often they don't take me seriously. Then how can they take me seriously when I dress the way I do and look the way I do? Sure, I experienced a lot of this during my transition but back then, I was living my fantasy of becoming a woman. Now that I can't change back to being a man and I'm stuck as a female it is all that I have left to keep my motivation going. If I didn't have that I'd probably want to end my life and the transition hasn't been nearly as good I had expected. After all there is nothing I can do to change it. The other big change is psychological. This has many dimensions. The hormones have had a tremendous effect on my personality and emotions. Before my change, I thought I was as masculine as any other guy. I liked ice hockey and tried to play it while now like most largely male pursuits and interests it is an irrelevance now. I have too many other things that have to be considered. With no male hormones in my system now I find myself crying or getting upset at the silliest things. It's like I'm on an emotional roller-coaster. I'm a damned sexy woman, I'm treated like a sexy woman, and like it or not, there's not a damn thing I can do about it. Comments or criticisms can be made to [email protected]