The Second Chance free porn video

A Second Chance This story is a reboot of a storyline I had going on another site years ago, called "My Life. It was another story close to my heart, because most of the first part of it is autobiographical. The second part is how I wish it had gone. I am going to do it in one part, instead of multiple chapters last time, which I never finished. My name is Tanya. It wasn't always, and it almost never was, but sometimes life is funny. It can turn on the littlest moments. For me, it was some kind of miracle, which I'll never understand. I found out later in life that I was very similar to a lot of other trans- gendered people. I knew there was something wrong with me. I didn't automatically know I should have been a girl, like some of the stories, or that some shrinks say. I was more the type who spent a lot of time observing girls, and liking what they did and had. When I turned eight, I was already reading over my level. I read the Hardy Boys, like good boys were supposed to, but sometimes I would trade them for a friend's Nancy Drew books. I knew it was supposed to be weird that I wanted to be her, and not one of the Hardys, but that's the way it was. I don't remember the first time I tried on a piece of my mom's clothing. It was one of her bras. I had a weight problem, so I had man- boobs. I guess I was ten. My Mom had said something that was meant to be a joke, but had a profound effect on me. She told me when I was around 11, "You're boobs are getting big enough that soon enough, yours will bigger than mine. We'll have to get you a bra." It hurt me badly, but with all of the confusion I was feeling about the things like the books, I wound up being influenced by it enough to have the nerve to take the first step. A couple of months later, I was home alone. I went down to the basement to pick up my laundry, when I saw it. One of her white bras was sitting on top of a pile of still unwashed laundry. I took my laundry upstairs, and tried not to, but it was all I could think about. What would it feel like if I put it on? Finally, I just gave in, and went back down. I looked at it, and then picked it up. I had never really looked at one like this before, and it fascinated me. Finally, I took my shirt off, and although it took some work, I finally got it on by fastening it, and slipping it over my head (It was years later before I would figure out an easier way). Once I got it on, I couldn't believe how wonderful it felt. It felt natural. Then, I had to see how it looked. There wasn't a mirror down in the basement, so I went upstairs. I figured I may as well go to my room anyway, to look in my mirror. I loved the way I looked. I then wondered what it would look like with something on. I got a white t- shirt out from my dresser, and pulled it on. Oh, man, this was a dream. I looked just like some of the girls did up there, since the bra pulled tight across my man boobs. I thought, what about a pair of panties? What would they feel like? But, I wouldn't get that chance right then. I heard my Mom come home from work. She called hello, and I panicked. But, I heard her go into her room, apparently to change. I pulled off the t- shirt, and then realized I had a problem. I hadn't thought about how to take the thing off. In desperation, I pulled the straps off of my shoulders, turned the hooks to the front, and unhooked them, and got it off. Out of desperation, I took the bra and stashed it in a storage area off of my room. It was kind of like an attic, since I had an upstairs room. I would later find it very useful. I was happy with just the bra for a while, and was shocked that my Mom never brought it up. I guess I shouldn't have been- we were a fairly upper- middle class family, so she had plenty of clothes I wore it all the time when I was alone around the house, but then wanted to know what it would look like with a pair of panties. Unfortunately, when I tried a pair of my Mom's, they were too snug. But, I decided to look for a chance. Then, we were having dinner over at some friends' house, who had a daughter about my age. She was also overweight, like me. I remembered that the bathroom for guests was by her and her brother's room, and it had a laundry basket for them under the sink. I knew everyone was occupied, so I sat down on the toilet, and went through it. I found a few different pairs of panties. There was one that was a little different. They had a different, softer feel to them than the others. I looked at the label, and it said "nylon." I had seen that one on my bra. I took a leak, and then left the bathroom. I stuffed the panties in my pocket, and was scared the whole time that someone would notice. I would later learn to not be shocked out how little people notice. I didn't wait until everyone was gone to try on the panties. It was bedtime shortly after we got home. I put the panties on under my pajamas. I felt like I was in heaven. I've learned over the years that it's a sexual experience for some, that first time, but although I got a little bit of an erection, nothing else happened. All that I felt was a sense that this was natural, and comfortable. I slept very comfortably that night. In the morning, I felt happier than I had in memory. By now, I was 12, and in the 7th grade. I started watching for when Mom would be throwing away stuff into the trash, when she got new clothes. I found more bras, a couple of pullover blouses that would fit, and even a couple of skirts that had elastic waistbands. I used the stash place in the storage space to hide it all. As for panties, I found that there was more than just one source. Other families that we would go to parties at their houses had daughters that were roughly my size, although maybe different ages. I got a fair collection of them, too, so that I was only wearing them at all, even to school, on non- gym days. I almost got caught by my parents a couple of times, but there was a thrill to it. This went on for a year or so, but while these good things were happening, the rest of my life was going to hell. I couldn't share any of this with anyone. Since this was long before the internet, I had heard that there were people who liked to dress up, but that everyone thought that they were freaks of some kind. I didn't know anything about boys like me, who by now was sure that I was really a girl on the inside. Everything I did was just too much in stereotype at the time. I cried very easily over things, and I wished that I wasn't like I was. I didn't know all of the biological differences, but I did know some of the problems they caused. The best I could do, in my circumstances, was look like a boy in girl's clothes. I couldn't grow my hair long, with how strict my parents were, without attracting problems. Things got so bad, that they hit on a solution that would ultimately give me some peace for a while. They told me, as I was getting ready to go into high school, that I would have to go to a private school. When I chose the Catholic school I did, I never imagined what was going to happen. It turned out that there was no kind of uniform for the guys. We just had to wear jackets with a shirt and tie, or with a turtleneck. It was the girls that got a hassle. They had to wear uniform skirts. The great thing about going here was that I discovered that having a loose jacket on would cover over wearing a bra. There were other ways to get caught like that, of course, but I was too dumb to think of them. I was lucky, though. I never wore a bra and panties on gym days, and so never got caught. Then, another incident away from school caused me to do my worst thing. The family of the girl whose panties I had originally taken was going out of town. Then, my parents had to go out of town because my Grandpa took sick. I had two brothers, but they were too young to stay home, so they went with Mom and Dad. The only thing was, we were supposed to take care of the other family's dog. That wasn't that big of a deal, because the dog and I loved each other. I could hang out there a lot while everyone was gone. My parents left on a Friday night, and I wanted to ride over right away, but I knew it was better to wait until the next day. I got up, did my chores at the house, and then rode my bike over to the other family's house. The girl (her name was Patty), had blossomed a little bit, but I noticed she had padded bras. They helped me fill out the bra a little more naturally looking. As I was rummaging through her laundry, I found another pair of her panties, of a type I hadn't seen before. They were definitely smaller, not so much in size, but by design. Although they felt snugger, I could see why the label said that the style was bikini. I wondered what she had that might fit me. I found a matching outfit that must be knew. I don't think I had ever seen her in it. It had a pink pullover blouse, and a matching skirt, that came up to my thighs. I found that there was one advantage of having really short hair. Her Mom wore wigs from time to time. She had a small head, and I managed to get a black wig on. It fell to just below my shoulders. I looked in the mirror, and started to cry. This was the closest I had ever gotten to looking like a girl, but still fell so far short. I knew I couldn't stay long enough to take a chance on playing with makeup, so I sat around, doing what I really wanted to do. I looked at Patty's copies of Teen magazine, spent some time walking around the house, and sitting watching TV like that. Finally, though, I knew I had to leave, and that I couldn't take anything with me. As I changed back, I started to cry again. The feeling of having the clothes of a girl my age on, instead of my Mom's, had made me feel worse, not better. If I'd had any sense, I would have stopped there, but I went back over every day that week, and tried on some variation of what she had clothes wise, this time not just in the hamper. I noticed that they all smelled a little, even after washing, of her soap, which turned out to be Caress, and a jasmine type scent I saw on her dresser. The last couple of days I was alone, I would take a shower with Caress in the kid's bathroom, and then spray on the Jasmine before I dressed in her clothing. I got lucky though, because I never showered again before I would ride home- no one noticed the smell, or at least they didn't say anything. I would keep it on all night. I even had borrowed one of her nightgowns to wear that had been in the laundry. The week in paradise had to end though. The other family came home, and I had to return everything at their house to normal. I had a few more days at my house of staying dressed all of the time, but then my parents and brothers returned. All of this just sent me into a deeper depression. I almost got caught at school wearing my bra and panties, when one of the kids who liked to bully me because I was so quiet hit me on the back. He said, "What the hell?," and went to check, but then a teacher who had seen him hit me dragged him off to the principal's office. As for me, I ran to the boy's bathroom, into a stall, and pulled my jacket and turtleneck off. I took off the bra, and stuffed it in the trash beneath a lot of paper. As I went out into the hall, the principal was coming towards me. He took me back to his office, and told me that "This isn't the first time that I've actually heard someone say something about you possibly wearing a bra. People think that it looks like you have the lines in your clothing when you bend over, but just don't want to believe it. Is there something that you want to tell me"? I looked down, and said, "No sir, you can check, but I'm not wearing one. I don't know what they're talking about. I'm not some kind of freak." He made me look at him, and said, "Listen! I know that most people think that a boy who would wear girl's clothes is a freak, but there are different reasons for it. Both the guidance counselor and I have experience in dealing with this. Please tell me if it's true!" I denied it again, and then even let him touch my back through the jacket, to show I wasn't wearing one. After that, he let me go. I was tempted to go and try to retrieve the bra, as it was my favorite, but didn't risk it. I went home, and fell into a deeper depression. Obviously, the principal hadn't said anything to my parents, but I was getting more and more paranoid, and that affected everything else in my life. I almost stopped dressing altogether, and was ready to throw my meager stash of clothes away, when the worst thing that could possibly happen, happened. Some time had passed by now. I was excelling in band and chorus classes, and a couple of others I liked, but the ones I hated, I barely got my grades up at the end of each quarter to pass. I still dressed once in a while, but only when my parents were gone overnight. Even then, now, my one brother was old enough to stay home, too. I was drinking when I could, but the same carefulness that had helped me with taking clothes helped me here- I only took a little out of each bottle in my parent's bar and not more than one at a time. When the chance to try pot came, I jumped at it. I don't know if all of this led to some kind of slip, but when I came home from school one day, the world landed on top of me. My Mom was sitting in the living room. I knew she had the day off from work for a Doctor's appointment, and apparently she had decided to go through the old storage upstairs, because next to her on the couch was my box of clothes. I could tell she was furious. She said, "I thought that the stuff in here that was mine was thrown out a long time ago. But, the panties in here aren't mine. Did you somehow buy them at a store, or did you somehow steal them? I recognize the scent of jasmine on a couple of them that Patty wears- did you steal them from her? What are you, some kind of freak! Never mind, we'll figure this out when your Dad gets home. Go to your room, and think about this." I was crying before I even got to my room. I knew I could never tell them the truth, and that I couldn't think of another excuse. My Dad came home, and I heard them yelling back and forth downstairs, and then he came upstairs. When he came into my room, he was madder than I had ever seen him. He was my step dad, who had married my mom and adopted my brothers and me when I was seven. I knew he loved us, and he was usually a very gentle man. But now, he looked as if he wanted to break something. He told me, quietly at first, that I needed to tell him what was going on. I told him I couldn't. He said, "Please, tell us what's happening. Whatever it is, we can work it out. We can't do anything if you won't tell." I wanted to believe him, but was convinced that if I told the truth, I would go to jail, or to a nut house. I just continued to say that I couldn't say what was wrong. Finally, he did something I could never imagined he would do. He hit me. Not a strong punch, more of a slap. I hid in my room, so I never saw the result of that. But, I swore I would never tell. I would try to be as normal as possible, and get through High School. And then, when I graduated, I would get out. My parents threw my clothes away. For obvious reasons, they didn't try to return the panties to Patty, or demand to know who the other pairs belonged to. They did send me to a shrink for a while, to try to figure out what was wrong, but all he did was come to the conclusions he wanted (they were so confusing, that even I don't remember what they were to this day). I continued to struggle through school, but managed to get to the end. Unfortunately, I also sunk deeper into drinking and pot smoking to bury who I had just begun to realize who I really was. I barely graduated from high school, and spent the summer exploring options, all of which involved getting a job and getting the hell out of here. School was out, due to my lousy grades. I wouldn't have been able to do anything anyway, really, because of the drinking. One thing kept coming home for me though. I had met some other kids that I drank and smoked pot with that had been left with the same options. They had taken off on the road. The era where that was normal was over, but it seemed like they had a good idea. There had to be something better out there somewhere. It was shortly after Labor Day, 1997, that I went to the interstate exit at the edge of my home town, and stuck out my thumb. I was just about to turn 19. Like a lot of kids, I had bought into the idea that there had to be something better over the hill. But, instead, I found a lot of bad things. I did some bad things over the next 8 years to survive. Although I didn't ever do it regularly, I would occasionally allow myself to be hired for sex. Mostly it was gay men who would pick you up to let them give you a blow job, or to be on top. I would pretty much do a lot for drinking money. Pot was secondary, but I would do it when I had the money. I did a lot of day labor, when I could stay sober enough to work. The only thing that kept me from harder stuff was a marked fear of needles. Then, I landed in Albuquerque. I had been there before, but it had been several years. The main place to stay was a religious homeless shelter. I got kicked out of there for the night a couple of times, but chose to be non- violent, so that I was allowed back in. During this time, I had this older guy that was on the program talking to me about it. I had learned early on whom to listen to on the streets, and I could tell he was one of those guys. After I got kicked out for a week, and went on a really bad drunk, I got thrown into detox. My caseworker there called the Shelter for me. I was ready to try their program. I was admitted, and had a tough time early on. I had lived for too many years without rules, and now, after 10 years on the streets, and at almost 30, I was sure I knew it all anyway. But, they were patient with me. I didn't completely buy into the religious stuff, but I worked my program, and after 5 months (a month early) I moved into the phase where I could go find a job. I knew this was going to be the hard part. I had been on the streets for 10 years, and the only successful job I had was a couple of years I spent helping to run a drug business. I had been pretty much second in command, and it had been very successful. I never got busted- I just had enough of it and quit. But, unfortunately, that wasn't the kind of thing that you put on your resume. One thing I had done, though, was that I had tried a couple of programs before. I always had a knack for some reason for working the night desk, which was a lot of security type stuff. That also included being on the program now. So, since I had also managed to avoid any felonies during my years on the streets, I got a job with a security company. They put me working after hours at a local office building, at the entrance. I showed a knack for it, and the shelter I was staying at let me stay there until a spot in another shelter's program opened up. They had a bunch of apartments for their program- two or three bedroom ones to share for those who weren't ready to live on their own, and a bunch of one- bedroom full apartments for people like me, who were clean, and working. There was one thing in all this that stirred old memories, though. There are a number of trans- gendered people on the streets. There were some in the program where I was now, too. It stirred up things that I had only thought about a little for years, but I wasn't ready for trying to deal with those feelings yet. I was encouraged by how a couple of them had told me that they had been in touch with their families, and they were supporting them going through the program, as they had a place to live, and were getting counseling. I wondered, had there been stuff like that back in 1995? Had I been a fool not to talk to my parents, and given them a chance. They did love me. I had no way of knowing. It was way too late to find out. I would never know. I saved up my money, and when I moved out, I had enough to buy a laptop. I moved into a studio apartment, which was reasonably priced and clean. I also got on Section 8, which paid a fair share of my rent. I settled in to a regular routine of work, home, and going to movies. I also went to meetings, and an AA club that wasn't too far from my apartment. But, my life was boring. There was something missing, and I pretty quickly realized what it was. Without all of the alcohol and pot to hide behind, the desire to explore whether I was a woman or not was becoming strong again. Then, something happened that pushed me over the edge. I went into the laundry room, which was right around the corner from my apartment, and found some clothes left on the sorting table. I left them alone, thinking their owner would be back for them. But, the next day, while I was going out the entrance to the complex by the room, I saw them still there. Again, I was tempted, but left them alone. The next morning, I found myself checking to see if they were still there. They were. By this time, I had enough for another load of laundry, so I went in and did it. When I was sure no one was looking, I dropped my clean clothes on top of it, and took them back to my apartment. I quickly put my clothes away, and started to look at the pile. The first thing I looked at was a pair of panties. I didn't even know what size I was anymore- I had lost a lot of weight in the years on the streets, although for some reason, I still had man- boobs. Not really large, but they were there. The panties were size 6, bikini style. They were a little snug, but fit. I tried on a t- shirt, and a skirt, but the skirt was too small. There wasn't a bra, though. I called my trans- gendered friend, Grace, and asked her if she would like to come over for dinner. I changed back into my clothes, and made simple lasagna. That was a good memory from my family. When she got there, we sat down to eat. She was somewhere between a man and a woman- living as a woman, taking hormones, but she looked a lot like a man. She hadn't had any surgery yet. But, I had always been respectful to her, even before we became friends. She had to be tough to live on the streets as long as she did until recently, but she was loyal, and kind towards friends. I told her I was going to trust her with my deepest secret, because she would understand. I then told her everything, my whole story, right up until finding the clothes today. I showed her that I was wearing the panties, so she would believe me. She only expressed sympathy, and I wound up crying on her shoulder. She said, "First thing we need to do, we need to check out this website. There is a lot of help for people like us. It's called, 'Transgender New Mexico'." I went online on my laptop, and looked it up. I never imagined that sites like this existed. It talked about a support group on Friday nights, one of my nights off. Grace said that she went to that one. There were stores listed that were trans- friendly. Grace told me that there were a couple close by that wouldn't be helpful, but wouldn't harass you either. I told her, "I'm not ready for the group, or people I don't know, but I've never been shopping like that in my life. We have to go!" She said, "Girl, I'm ready if you are (wow, she called me 'girl! Probably just did it to make me feel good, but it did!)." She said, "Now what can I call you in private, until you're ready to see other people? Tom doesn't seem appropriate." I said, "I don't know why, but the name Tanya has always been in my mind." "Tanya it is! Now let's get you measured, so we can go shopping!" We started out by going to a "Big Lots" store. I had gotten a lot of my furniture and household goods there, and had noticed they had lingerie there. We didn't have to spend too much time there, because we had my measurements. I liked that the matching bra and panty sizes were how my fleshy breasts filled out a 36B, and a 6 panty. We got a few of those, in nylon, which I remembered really liking. We got two short nightgowns with matching thongs- Grace told me that I would like how they felt, even though I had never worn a thong before. It would make me feel sexy, even though I was still a man. The clerk didn't blink an eye as she rang up the purchases. It was obvious that the stuff wouldn't fit Grace, but was for me. When I paid, she smiled, and said, "Come again when I'm on shift. I don't mind helping trans- gendered people. I have a brother now, that used to be my sister." We went outside, and I asked Grace, "You did that on purpose, didn't you"? She smiled and said, "I know her brother. He is really cool. When you're ready to really meet other people, I'll introduce you to him first." We then walked over to the other store. It was a discount outlet store, one of those you see everywhere, that had just opened. I went into the first door of two, and on the inner door, a sign said, "We are LGBT friendly." Grace said, "The owner is a member of the Church where the Trans group is held. He is a big supporter. It's just that the store is too new to be on the site." It was near closing time, so the store was nearly empty. We saw that we would have a half hour or so. A clerk walked up to us and said with a smile, "Hi Grace, is this a friend of yours?" Grace said, "Yes, this is Tanya. She has just come out to me tonight, so she needs a really safe place to shop." The girl looked at me and said, "You don't have to worry about that here. Everybody here is part of the community. My girlfriend also works here, but is off tonight. I'll introduce you when she is here some night. Now, what kind of style do you think you would like"? I looked at her, and thought about it, and said, "I hope this doesn't make me sound like a freak, but I was just a teenager when it all went bad. Although I'll want some adult outfits for when I go out for real, I want to get back into this for a little while wearing some, what do you call it, Junior's stuff?" She said, "That happens sometimes. We have quite a selection'. I bought a few dresses and a few blouses and skirts. She insisted I try them on, but didn't get mad when I wouldn't come out and let them see. I said, "I can see the day coming, but right now, I will take these, because they fit. Thank you so much." I gave her a hug as we left after paying. By the time we got to my apartment, it was late, so Grace gave me a hug and left. I changed right away into one of the nightgowns. When I looked in the mirror, I saw right away that Grace had been right. The thong would take some getting used to, but suddenly, even with being a guy, I felt sexy. I went to bed, and for the first time since I was 16, I remember that I dreamed of being a girl. I got up in the morning, and had to go to work. I decided it was worth the risk of putting on panties under my uniform. It was slow, like a Saturday usually is, but I don't think anyone would have noticed anyway. I went home that night, and called Grace, but she was busy. I went back to the Big Lots, and the same girl was behind the counter. She smiled, and said hello. This time, I went back to the toiletries section. I bought a few bars of Caress, which I remembered how I loved as soon as I smelled it, and found a cheap Jasmine scent. Talk about sense- memory, this was definitely it. I also got lady's razors. I tried smelling some different deodorants, and decided I liked a Speed Stick with a kind of baby powder scent to it. I also found some pantyhose. I had to look at the chart, but finally found a pair that looked like the right size. I went home, after getting takeout at Wendy's, and watched some TV from my new DVD set of Highlander. I had loved that show when it was on. Then I thought, "Wow, aren't all of my tastes supposed to be feminine? Isn't this a guy show? Is there something wrong with me?" I crawled into bed, wearing the nightgown again. The thong was already more comfortable when I got used to it. I wondered if I should wear them all the time. Common, girl, one thing at a time, I thought to myself. I again dreamed that night of being a girl. The next day, Sunday, was a work day, too. I had actually thought of visiting that LGBT friendly Church, but I would have to give the guy who worked the swing shift more warning. It felt good to wear panties, again. When the guy relieved me, I asked him about it, and he said he would check and call me. After I got home, I took a long bath. I had also bought some scented bubble bath last night, and it was supposed to help soften your skin, as was the Caress. After soaking a little while, I made my first attempt ever at shaving my legs. I got it done, but with some nicks. Having the more maneuverable women's razor helped, I'm sure. I was going to be up late, as I switched over to the swing shift for Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. So, I decided to dress up for the first time, where I didn't have to hide. I first put on my deodorant, and then sprayed on some of the jasmine scent. Then, after putting on panties, I put on a bra for the first time in years. It still felt wonderful. I was hoping this was all going on okay, since I wasn't looking in the mirror- I was afraid too. I then tried to put on the pantyhose. They were a black color, which was the one I had seen first. By some miracle, I didn't tear them, and it turned out I had put on the right size. I can't begin to tell you how they felt on my shaved legs. I chose my most obviously feminine outfit- a pink tank top, over a black and pink skirt. I had gone into the main room of my studio to dress- the bathroom had a floor length mirror, and I didn't want to see myself. I closed my eyes and walked into the bathroom, and faced the mirror. I knew that I would look like a man in the face, but if I didn't get anything else right, I was going to probably die. I opened my eyes, and immediately started to cry. The look wasn't perfect by any means, but it was a good start. The bra gave me some bust, but the rest of me kind of looked like I hadn't developed yet. But, it was still me. It was Tanya. I sat down in the main room, and cried with happiness. I knew it was too late for her to come over, but I called Grace anyway, and told her. She started crying with me. She promised to see me on Thursday, on my day off. I sat there, and watched TV for a few hours, and then got undressed. I got up late morning or so, and put on a t- shirt and shorts, but with another bra and panty set beneath. I cleaned up around the house, took a shower, and went to work. Even though this was the busier day, no one noticed that I was wearing panties. The only thing that bothered me was that I thought about how much I had enjoyed last night. For some reason, it really bothered me that even with all of that new- found freedom at home, I had very little space. Oh well, I guess I would have to live with that until I got the courage up to go to a meeting of the group. I dressed up on Tuesday and Wednesday away from work. Thursday morning, I called Grace. I didn't get an answer, so I left a message. I didn't hear back from her by Thursday night, and called again, and left a message. On Friday morning, at about 4AM, I was wakened by a phone call. A woman asked me who I was. My caller ID said that it was Grace, but it definitely wasn't her. The woman finally identified herself as a Detective. She asked if the police could come by and interview me. About 30 minutes later, there was a knock on my door. I opened it to find a lady dressed in a suit, and a younger man. They both showed my ID, to show that they were detectives. They asked if they could come in, and I allowed them to. They told me that Grace had been murdered on Tuesday night. They were wondering if I could help them with her recent movements. I was suspicious of them, until they saved me the trouble of telling them that I was at work at the time they said it happened, by saying they had already checked. I could tell in their talking that the detective was more sympathetic to who Grace was. I told them I would talk to him. I said I knew they would share the information, but he would be easier to talk to. When the lady detective had left, I told the male everything. He listened, and since I wasn't a suspect, he told me about the crime. She had been killed in a robbery at the convenience store she worked at. After all that she had been through, drugs, turning tricks- she gets killed by some punk. The detective gave me his card, after shaking my hand, and told me to call him if I needed to talk. For the next month, I went to work, then home, and hardly anywhere else. I even started ordering what clothes I got online. I also wanted to get into some destructive behavior. I was tempted to go back to drugs. But, I started taking risks instead. The security company had a light suit jacket available if we wanted to wear it. I got one, and started wearing it, but once the crowds were gone in the evening, and while it was quiet on the weekend, I would wear a bra under it. I had also had other problems. I think I had regressed emotionally a little. I started getting stuff that looked like a High School girl might wear. I even got a Cheerleader's outfit- the one that colleges sell for fans. Of course, it was my favorite team. Finally, Thanksgiving was coming up. I was going to be filling in for the other guard, and the building was always empty. I went to work that morning with a special set of clothes in my bag. I had worn pantyhose under my uniform when I worked during cold months, so I wasn't worried. I had practiced quick changing back into my uniform from outfits like this. I had on a short skirt and tight top. I was also wearing a gaffe I had bought, so that I wouldn't show. I went up to a vacant floor, and hung out up there all day. I didn't have to practice my quick change, as no one came to the door. At close to 7, when I was to be relieved, I hated to change back, but did. When my relief came, he didn't notice a thing. Over the next couple of weeks, I improved on the look, and took some more clothes to keep down there. If I had been thinking straight, I wouldn't have done it, but I chose to not seek help to deal with things. Christmas came around, and I got to work a 16 hour shift. I knew that no one ever came in on Christmas, so I felt comfortable. This time, I wanted to know what it felt like to wear the Cheerleader uniform. I loved it. I had the gaffe on, so it looked good. I had been learning makeup, and was pretty good at it. I figured I would have time to take it off before my relief arrived. I had also gotten a wig. It fell straight, with bangs. The hair came to just below my shoulders. The empty office I had been using took up a whole floor. I had done my rounds before I got dressed, to make sure the building was empty. I came back from patrol, and went to check my makeup. Suddenly, I heard and saw a flash behind me that I saw in the mirror. I whirled around and saw the building maintenance man, holding a camera. He said, "When I found your stash, I had to know who it was. I thought it was you, by the size of the clothes, but I wasn't sure until I mounted a little corner up by the light in this room." He pointed it out to me. "You weren't wearing makeup or a wig until today, so I had no idea. You are pretty. With a little work, you will be very pretty." I realized I was crying. My makeup had to be running. I finally seemed to have found some happiness, and now this bastard was going to take it away. He said, "In case you're thinking of hurting me, I have the recordings of you stashed. They will come out if something happens to me, or if you don't do whatever I say." He patted the front of his pants and said, "I wonder if you're a little whore. Crawl over here, take me out of my pants, and suck me." I had slipped to my knees when he showed up. What was I going to do? I knew exposure would at least cost me my job. I couldn't try to hurt him- he would still get the recordings out. What do I do? Suddenly, I was back in my bedroom in my childhood home. My Dad was holding my head in his lap, with an icepack to a bump on it. He was crying, and said, "I am so sorry, Tom. I was just so frustrated. I didn't hit you that hard, but you fell, and hit your head." I knew he was telling the truth. If I had to go to the hospital, I would gladly tell them I fell. I knew that somehow I had been given a view of one possible future. It was too real not to be. I looked over as my Mom came into the room. She asked, "Does he need to go to the hospital?" I looked at her, sat up a little woozily, and said, "I think I'm okay. And Dad is right. It really was an accident. It wouldn't have been anything except like a spanking to me, except for the fall." She said, "Okay, but you still have a lot of explaining to do, young man. My clothes, the panties from the other girls- you had better have an explanation." My Dad picked me up and put me on the bed and said, "I really am sorry, but your Mother's right. After some rest, you'll need to explain yourself. We'll get you at supper to see if you can eat, and make sure you're alright." He then went downstairs. I lay there and thought about what to do now. Was what happened some kind of warning to come clean? Would they be understanding, or try to fix me like in that other place, or worse yet, send me to some nuthouse? What should I do? To be continued? Thank God, large portions of this story are altered, and the ending isn't true, although I wish it had turned out differently at that age. I was addicted to alcohol, pot, and hallucinogenic (although they're not mentioned in the story). I have been reunited with my family, although as a much older adult. They don't know that I am trans- gendered, though, since I am doing it with the help of some friends, but have to live as a man for now. I have also altered the exact years, and my age, partly for convenience, and partly to conceal my real identity. As to Grace, if youTGead TG fiction, you know who you are. This is a slightly idealized version of you, but it's who you can become. It isn't enough to tell you who I am, but know that someone is inspired by you in as far as you have come. And, finally, if this story takes place in any particular universe, it's the Twilight Zone. I am a huge Rod Serling fan, and he definitely inspired this story. As to the "To be Continued?"- I meant to answer the question at the end, but this is by far the longest story I have ever written in one part. And, I love cliffhangers. This will be marked "SIBC," so let me know.