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I Want... free porn video
I want...
By Tanya H.
"I want to be a woman!"
I'm screaming that, but only inside where nobody can hear. I've said it
before, screamed it, whimpered it, but still I'm a man - over 6 foot
tall, muscular and hairy, and wishing the way I have wished since I was
old enough to know the difference. I want to be a woman.
I may as well wish for the moon.
Sometimes the difference between what I am and what I wish to be fades
to a background noise I can almost ignore. Today is not one of those
days. Today, everywhere I look I'm stabbed by images of womanhood that
provoke this desperate jealousy. It's a late summer Sunday, the town
centre bustling with shoppers and people out enjoying a stroll in the
sunshine. I'm trapped by the window display for a ladies wear chain
store, intent on the latest collection of dresses I long for, but will
never wear. I stare at my watch, tap my foot and look impatient, as
though I am waiting for some fickle female inside to decide what she
wants. I live alone though, I always have. I was too tied up inside to
settle down with a woman I would always have seen as a god.
A group of teenage girls clutching plastic bags giggle their way out and
envy each one of them; their bad skin and poor make up, their plump
thighs and over-dyed hair, their unconscious feminine grace and beauty,
their lives I will never know.
I start screaming again - I want to be a woman, I want to have breasts
and stretch marks, I want to worry about equal pay and sexual
harassment, I want to have bad hair days and visible panty lines, I want
spread my legs for a man, to find out whether I like the taste of cum, I
want to have periods and split ends, I want to agonise about what to
wear, about the make up to buy, I want to ladder my tights, to choose to
wear stockings to work, to learn to walk in high heels and a narrow
skirt, I want to wax my legs and worry about manicures, to wear earrings
and bras,. I want to be a woman.
"Excuse me," says a soft voice, just to my left. I turn, startled, to
see a woman standing there with a look of warm compassion across her
face. She looks to be my age, her face still beautiful but lined, the
first grey showing in the hair drawn back into a long, dark pony tail.
She's tall and slender, elegant in a bolero jacket, a long flared,
floral skirt and high heeled, suede boots. I must have said something
out loud, and confessed my dilemma.
She smiles. "Would you like to be my daughter?"
My mouth drops and everything around me fades while I concentrate on
this stranger and what she's just said.
"I felt your pain," she says, touching the back of my hand with her
fingertips. "You were very loud. I can help."
I shake my head, I'd never told soul about the way I felt or what I
wanted to be. "Nobody can help."
"Look again, in the window."
Some trick of light must have made the shop window more reflective, for
there I am, superimposed over the plastic dummies and their lovely
clothes, in my shirt and jeans, my beard and cropped hair.
I blink, I had gone. A young woman stares back at me, her pretty face a
caricature of surprise and increasing bewilderment. She wears a clinging
black dress covering her from neck line to ankles and flowing across the
curves of her breasts and hips, her vivid scarlet hair is bound into a
thick braid draped across her left shoulder, there's a black beaded
necklace dipping towards her breasts, long, jet earrings frame her
lovely face.
"Do you see?" the woman asks, breaking the wonder wrapping me up.
"How?" I murmur, managing to pull my gaze from the shop window. I look
down into the scoop necked dress to see breasts beneath it, not large,
not small, but breasts of the kind I had only ever dreamed to see
gracing my chest. I could feel them! Their shape, the weight of them, I
felt the soft lace cups of the bra supporting them.
I look at the woman. "How?"
"Does it matter?" she asks, smiling again, blue eyes glittering - she
seems delighted with her work. "Would you like a coffee?" She inclines
her head to a coffee shop next door. I was a regular in there, but never
like this.
I become aware of the gentle breeze swirling the long dress around my
legs, the weight of the plait across my shoulder, the motion of those
earrings dangling from my ear lobes and I'm dazed enough to let her slip
her hand inside mine and lead me towards the coffee shop. Each time my
foot strikes the floor there's a firm, feminine tap and I know my feet
are being arched out of shape by some high heeled shoes, but when I
glance down, the dress swishing abut my legs was so long, all I see of
my shoes are pointed red toes. A thrill runs through this borrowed,
dream body, goosebumps spread over my skin and a delightful tingling
amongst the slight movement, of what must be very firm breasts, tell me
of nipples crinkling erect and showing clearly through the dress"
clinging material.
"You haven't told me your name," I say, with a smile spreading across my
face. I'd had dreams like this, or dreams where I'd been dressed as a
woman in public. This felt too vivid for a dream, but how else could
this be happening?
"Isobel," she says. "And you haven't told me yours."
The name, David dies upon my tongue, a frown creeps across my brow. "I
don't know."
She holds the door open for me, ushers me into the warm scented air
inside the coffee shop. Some men sitting inside the door glance up, one
of them holds his look and boldly stares at my breasts and I look away
with warmth colouring my cheeks. How can I be dreaming this? I'm
suddenly conscious of the way my hips roll as I walk, how the dress must
be outlining my figure for his hungry eyes.
"I'll chose one for you shall I?" says Isobel smoothly, leading me to
the counter. She orders a latte for herself, I like my coffee black. I
can't make eye contact with the girl behind the counter, in case she
starts pointing and shouting, "man in a dress!"
Thankfully Isobel chooses a dim corner, right at the back and invites me
to sit with my back to the wall. Without thinking, I smooth the dress
under my bum as I sit then cross my legs, I feel them, slippery with
sheer nylon, as they slide over each other, but when I look the hosiery
is nude and almost invisible. I can see my shoes though, as red as my
hair with finely tapered stiletto heels that must be at least 3" tall.
They make my feet look wonderfully curved and elegant. Another miracle -
how I had managed to walk in them?
"Elizabeth," says Isobel and I look up from my shoes. Her eyes are fixed
on mine. "I think that's a lovely name, and it has so many options.
Lizzy, Liz, Beth, Bessie, Liza, Eliza. Do you like it?"
"I don't understand."
There's a fine gold chain about my left ankle, I've just noticed it. I
have very slim ankles. I stroke my hand along my thigh, feeling, through
the dress, a fine, lace band that suggests I'm wearing hold up
stockings. I try to concentrate on what she's saying.
"Do you want to be my daughter?" she says again.
"It's a bit sudden. Am I dreaming this? How can you just... I mean... You've
made me into a woman!"
She cocks her head on one side. "Isn't that what you wanted?"
"No, yes. Of course, but..."
"Maybe you need more time to get used to the idea of being a woman,
Beth. To look forward to those things that turn a girl into a woman?"
The texture of my thigh feels suddenly different, I look and see my legs
bared for all to see by a pair of very high cut, stonewashed denim
shorts, I'm wearing opaque, black tights and flat brown ankle boots, the
shape of my smaller breasts is shown off by a tight, white t shirt. My
fingernails are short and painted black.
My mouth must have dropped open again. Isobel smiles. She looks younger
now, her hair's glossy brown without those grey streaks.
"I don't understand," I whisper. I have a furtive glance around the
shop, anybody who might have been eying up a red haired woman enough to
see her transformed has politely looked away. A bracelet, heavy with
tiny charms, jingles as I move, my earlobes feel stretched by weighty
earrings. That scarlet plait has vanished, a chestnut curtain of hair
creeps into my vision and I push it behind my ear so I can see Isobel.
It feels like satin through my fingers.
"You're a girl now, on the cusp of womanhood," she says. "It's all ahead
of you. Your first kiss, your first prom dress and learning to wear high
heels. You do want this, to be my daughter, don't you?"
"It's too quick. I'm..." I shook my head, hair fell across my eyes again.
"I'm a girl?"
"And very pretty too."
"I don't think I can do this."
Isobel nods, she smiles warmly and reaches across the table to take my
hand. "I understand completely. You need more time. Come and sit beside
me."
I can't refuse her, I slip around the table to the seat beside her and
she puts her arm around my shoulders.
"As soon as you've finished your apple juice, darling, there's one more
shop to go in, then we'll go to the park."
I look up at her, she seems much taller now, and much younger. She's
quite the loveliest woman in the world and when I grow up I want to be
just like her. I swing my legs, my feet don't reach the floor and my
chin seems close to the table. I like the short, pleated denim skirt and
the pastel pink, stripy tights I'm wearing. I have the sensation of some
weight lifted from my shoulders, as though my troubles are over.
"Which shop, mummy?" I ask.
She smiles and kisses my forehead. "We need a uniform, remember? It's
your first day at school tomorrow. Had you forgotten?"
For some reason the words, "Oh no, not again," run through my mind, but
I don't know why and I swing my legs happily. I'm sure I'll get a smart
uniform, and then everyone will know what a big girl I am now.
She dabs at some juice that must have dribbled down my chin. "Yes, it's
a big day tomorrow Bessie, and you've got so much to look forward to."
Avriella
- 28.09.2021
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