Nandita To Nandini
- 4 years ago
- 296
- 0
Don And The Shrink free porn video
Don and the Shrink
Last Friday I started wearing my sister's stuff and especially her silicone
enhancements. It felt good then, as if I were in control, charting the
course for a new voyage of exploration of my own self, seeing who I could
become.
Now it is Thursday and I feel completely powerless. I control nothing. I am
stuck in this role; I am on the police records as a sexual assault victim
named Dawn, not Don. Potential friends I have met this week, Zach and Maria
and Emily, all think of me as Dawn. Is it too late to turn back?
Besides, I spent hundreds of Mom's dollars at the mall to get the new look I
felt I so much wanted. To tell the truth, I still like this look. The girl I
see in the mirror is trim but shapely, with smartly styled hair, excellent
complexion, soft lips, lovely nails. She is my creation; I hate to say
goodbye to her.
But my new school will soon be getting the transcripts from my old school,
where I was scrawny little Don. Then the news will be out and everybody will
know. And I will have to testify in court against the pool guys who
assaulted me, and will identify myself by name. Even if I still use my new
name, their lawyers will probably figure out who I really am and then the
trial will be not about the bad guys but about me and what a pervert I am.
This morning I have to go to a psychiatrist, actually a counseling
psychologist, Mom set up an appointment for me so I could sort out my
issues. I trust her that she wants to be helpful but I have never gone to a
shrink before.
Emily is coming over for dinner and I never even found out what kinds of
food she likes. What if she has some kind of allergy or something? But she's
still in school so I can't talk to her until at least three thirty.
Zach invited me to this big concert dance extravaganza tomorrow night and I
turned him down because I was so upset about the assault but that was in no
way his fault so we've made up now; should I find out if he still wants me
to go with him? Part of me really wants to, it sounds like fun, he's a nice
guy, and I want to show off my new looks. Part of me says I am a boy going
out with a guy who has no clue what I really am, I am using false pretenses
to get what I want.
What do I really want? Friendship? Confidence? Maybe that is what the shrink
can help me discover. If I don't know what I really want, how can I ever
attain it?
My hair with its new extensions feels yucky. I am not supposed to get it wet
until Saturday, which is a pain. My chest really itches now where these
prosthetic breasts are attached. What if I am getting some nasty skin
disease there? I should take them off and clean them but I am afraid of
damaging them and besides I am sure I could not get them back on right and
then I would look lopsided and ridiculous when I go out to the shrink or
have dinner with Emily.
I tried calling the boutique where I bought the breast things but they
weren't open until ten. If I could just have them give me instructions. They
did give me a printout on how to care for them but I am not sure I
understand it.
I am not sure about anything.
Every morning I do some stretches and aerobics, then shower and do the skin
care routine, and make myself some breakfast. Today I skipped the exercise,
and I don't feel hungry either. I wish I could take back everything I have
done and said since a week ago, my whole "new life". No, I don't, I have
been glad for new friends and smiling looks from strangers and being
accepted as this likeable attractive person.
Yes I do. I want to be honest. I hate lying to people.
I sigh and begin preparing for my appointment. My makeup and outfit should
be tasteful, not overdone, I decide. I do not want him to think I am doing
this because I want to seem sexy or anything.
I choose some plum eye shadow with a smoky gray smudge at the lid line. I
always add the pink pencil inside my lower lids, it looks so warm and
friendly. Just a little transparent color on the apples of my cheeks, and a
little gloss on the lips.
I clean my ear posts first and then add little silver circlets for my
earrings today. If I decide to go out tomorrow night, I will wear something
with more sizzle and pop.
A lilac cami will serve as my top, covered with a gray shrug. I do not
always wear hose because they get hot in the summer and my legs are nice and
smooth without them, but today I want to look self-assured and pulled-
together, so I wriggle them on. An A-line skirt, above the knee, in a dark
gray check, should go well. I like the way this style shows off my "curves"
without being obvious.
I scratch my chest. After this consult I am definitely calling that boutique
so they can help me clean and reapply these things.
Ordinary black pumps, with a two inch stacked heel (I have not yet mastered
high heels, maybe I should start practicing). I like the ankle straps they
feature. A plain black bag and I am all set.
I have the address, and called the bus station to get information on what
lines and connections I would need in order to get there. So here I go!
I get off in a nondescript neighborhood with things like warehouses and
small factories, and change onto another line. I have to wait quite a while
for the second bus, and there is no bench or anything so I just stand there
waiting. I feel exposed. Are people looking at me? At least I left in plenty
of time, so I should not be late.
Finally I arrive at my destination. There are four office buildings
clustered around a green sort of campus, they have flowers and a fountain.
It should be reassuring, pleasant, I am sure it is meant to be, but
everything seems too austere, too precise and controlled. My guy is in
building D, okay, here it is. I see no receptionist, just a bronze plaque on
the wall with names and numbers for different offices. He is on floor three.
I try to sprint up the stairs but my shoes do not make it very easy.
At first I walked right past his place. I saw a big glassed-in reception
area at office 303 but he was in 350. I went past 343, and then came to 366.
Huh? I turned around and went back but still didn't find it, and there were
no directional signs.
Finally I noticed a dark shadowy hallway off to one side; it looked like the
entry to a utility closet. The hall was long, the door sat at the end with
just a number on it, no windows anywhere. I was still a little early, so I
took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. I could face this.
Just as I was about to go in, the door swung open right in my face! I jumped
back, and heard a familiar voice say "Oh! It's you!"
It was Maria. I did not know what to say, I just stood there rudely with my
mouth open.
"Ah, hi!" I finally stammered. "My mom wants me to talk to this guy."
"I cannot imagine why", said Maria. "He specializes in dysphoria but you do
not look like a candidate for his services."
"Nor do you, honestly", I replied. What exactly were his services? Maybe he
treated more than one kind of problem.
She smiled ruefully. "I may as well tell you. It was so refreshing to be
able to just talk to somebody who did not know my gruesome history, but
everybody in the neighborhood and the restaurant knows it so you would find
out anyway eventually. I was a good student, and a soccer star, but always
unhappy. I was supposed to one day take the restaurant over from my dad. But
after years of struggling with my problem and with my family we agreed I
should come here. Now there is no more Mario the restaurateur; just Maria
the waitress. But I am happier and more free this way."
This was difficult for her, I wished she had not felt she had to let me in
on her difficulties. A tear hung in the corner of her eye. Even though she
was taller than I was, I reached up and hugged her. "Thank you for trusting
me," I murmured. Then I had a bright thought. "Soccer players train by
running don't they?"
"Sometimes," she replied.
"Would you like to run with me? I like going out in the early morning before
it gets too hot, and you would not have to be at work yet."
"That's very nice of you, yes, I do not train any more now that I am out of
school but I still do like to run, so, yes I'd love to. If you don't mind my
asking, are you here because you are unhappy with your body? Because I see
nothing to be unhappy about. I know he sees people for body image dysphoria
as well as for what I have."
"Nope!" I said, with an uncertain smile. "I seem to be here for exactly the
same reason you are!"
Now it was her turn to gape with her mouth open, not knowing what to say.
Finally she gave a rueful chuckle. "I had no clue, obviously. Well, stick to
your guns, don't let him talk you out of what you need. He can be strict in
his approach, but once he sees you are not going to give in he can be very
helpful. That's probably all I'd better say."
So we hugged again, and a woman came out and scolded us. "Clients are not
supposed to fraternize! You know the rules; confidentiality is highly
important here. Usually appointments are not set close together, to avoid
just this sort of encounter. I trust this will not happen again."
We both said at the same time "We are friends. We're sorry." Maria gave me a
warm smile and went her way, and I walked in to the office.
"First I need you to fill out these forms and authorizations," the woman
told me. So I did. For name I wrote Dawn with "Don" in quotes beside it. I
could have done it the other way around but this way felt better. She led me
to an inner room and presented the man there with my file. He nodded and she
shut the door behind me.
"Please, have a chair," the man said. There were three cushioned chairs in
the room; I chose one and pulled it up to his impressive mahogany desk. He
sat in a large leather upholstered chair on the other side, looking very
precise with his gray pinstripe suit, silk tie, frameless glasses.
Certificates and diplomas were the only decorations on the walls.
He was a lean man, below average height. I might possibly grow up to look a
little like him. "I am obliged to your mother; I was engaged in an important
transaction and she saved it from falling through. (Mom is amazing, I
thought. She had not even been inside her own office here yet but she was
still taking care of business.) When she asked if I could help you, I was
glad to make the attempt. I am sorry you ran into another client; we try to
separate these appointments to avoid such episodes."
"Maria and I are friends; neither of us are upset."
"Friends? She did not, I hope, in any way influence your behaviors or your
decision to come to see me?"
"Oh no, it was a total shock to both of us when we met here this morning. My
decisions are entirely my own." And I looked him square in the eye, to let
him know that I was standing on my own two feet and would not let him push
me around.
"Very well then." He looked down at some notes in the file. "No prior cross
dressing until last Friday? Any other experiments along that line?"
"No, it all happened very suddenly."
"So, tell me a little about your childhood, your friends, your favorite
toys, activities, that sort of thing."
So I told him first about my cat, Pickles. We spent every day together. I
started to sniffle, and got a tissue out of my purse.
"I always liked to run, just for fun. When we were little we would just race
each other around the block. When we were older I set up competitions for us
neighborhood kids. We had track and field meets. I set up a high jump pit.
We did the long jump. We measured off the distance around the block and had
three middle distance events, roughly 800 meters, 1500 meters, and 3000
meters, plus sprints.
"I liked to shoot hoops but I've always been too short to be any good. I
could still win a game of 'horse' though, where you have to match shots
against each other.
"Movies I remember are The Order of the Phoenix, that was Harry Potter; and
The Bridge to Terabithia, which had cool creatures but was sad, and Cars. "
"So you liked cars?" he asked.
"Sure, the movie but also Nascar. I had toy cars that were real replicas,
with the same numbers and colors as the real ones. I still have a Nascar
poster that we brought with us but it doesn't go with the walls of my new
room."
"Any trucks?"
"No, but Sarah always let us play with hers. Her dad was an over-the-road
trucker and he always liked to bring her a new kind of toy truck when he
came home, so she had tons of different kinds."
"Your new room is different? The old poster matched the old room better?"
"Yes, my old room was red white and blue, and this one is I guess you call
it lavender or lilac, I'm not sure, and white. It's relaxing though, I like
it just fine."
"Did you choose this color scheme then?"
"Not really. Nobody wanted the pink room, and I let the others have what
they wanted most because it didn't really matter that much to me, and this
one was left over."
"You do not like pink? Why is that?"
"None of us like pink. For one thing, it's too bright. My old room had
bright colors but you could sleep there, and I could never sleep in a pink
room, it's like a flashing light in your eyes. And if you had any kind of
poster, it would never look any good on a pink wall. I mean a movie poster
or anything."
"Can you describe a day in your typical routine?"
"Well, we have not settled in yet so there is no routine here, but back in
our old home I would get up at sunrise, do some stretching and flexibility
exercises, brush my teeth, and go run. Sprints and longer stretches, I would
mix them up. When I got sweaty I would come home and shower and get dressed.
Then I would start coffee and make breakfast. We have something different
every morning of the week, to keep things interesting. When I have time I
like to make fancy eggs, like poached, especially Benedict style. Pickles
gets half a can of food. We have a weather radio, so I listen to it for a
while to see if I can bike to school or if I have to beg a ride from Mom. I
also like to know if it's going to rain that night, since I might want to
run or play basketball. School, it's just school. You meet up with a few
friends and talk about anything, whatever has been happening with them, get
your morning books and go to home room. You meet up again at lunch.
Sometimes you share notes, if somebody had to miss a class. Same thing in
the afternoon. Clubs meet last period, and sometimes after school. I was in
a running club, that's how I got invited to compete in the marathons.
Cooking club too, you get to eat your own projects. Everybody likes my
brownies. I use pecans, not walnuts, that way they are less bitter. Bike
home usually, check phone messages for Mom and write them down, have some
juice, do my homework. Usually Pickles wants to play, or to be scratched.
Mom always tries to have a sit down dinner for all of us no matter how busy
she is. I usually cleaned up after dinner, washed things, put them away.
After dinner I would go around the neighborhood and see who was outside, and
we would walk around or shoot hoops, whatever. Pickles gets a handful of dry
food, I make sure there is water, and clean up the litter box. That's about
it."
"Sounds like your sister did not help out very much, hm?"
"She dusts and sweeps. We share outdoor chores too; I mow, but she edges and
prunes and weeds. We both shovel snow."
"Is her life appealing? Do you admire her?"
"Sis is just Sis. She teases me. We play around. I don't admire her, not
like I admire Mom. Yes her life is appealing because everybody always smiles
at her, all the teachers, anybody she meets. She seems to be instantly
likeable. That is appealing."
"And you wish you could be instantly likeable?"
"I suppose so. It was the strangest thing, as soon as I went out looking
like her, people treated me just like they treated her, all smiles, super
friendly. It felt nice."
"So people were mean to you before?"
"Honestly no, they were not mean. I didn't get beaten by the bullies. I
always had friends to eat lunch with, and to call on the phone. But teachers
and strangers did not often smile at me. They did not frown or sneer, but
they did not smile, either."
"To what do you attribute this difference?"
"I'm not totally sure, but I think maybe people look friendlier when their
eyes look wide open and bright, which you can do with makeup. And if you put
a line of pink pencil inside your lower lid you look warmer and friendlier.
And blusher, not to look like giant red circles on your cheeks but just as
if you are warm and happy. Then people who look at you feel happy too."
"So you think the difference is makeup? What about other boys, do people not
smile at them?"
"Actually no they usually do not. Maybe a couple star athletes get smiles,
or a student council officer. Otherwise no. But I wonder whether knowing
that you look warm and friendly makes a person actually act that way, which
of course would encourage other people to treat you that way? It's a
possibility."
"Yes, a very real possibility. Do you think you could try doing that as a
boy?"
"I usually try to be nice to people anyway but it doesn't seem to help."
"This may sound superficial, but do you also try to look warm and friendly,
as well as acting that way?"
"How would I do that?"
"How did you manage your appearance before last week?"
"I didn't. I just wore whatever was comfortable , which was usually old
baggy jeans and a large hoodie."
"How did this look to others, so you suppose? Not your friends, but, as you
said, teachers and strangers?"
"I don't think they even noticed me. I think I just blended into the
background."
"Could there be some reason why you might want to merge with the shadows?"
"I never thought much about it, it just was something that happened I
guess."
"What sort of things did those people you mentioned, the athletes and
student council officers, what did they wear?"
"The athletes wore jeans too, but usually nice ones, the newest thing. For
shirts they might wear a team jersey, or a tee with the school name. Student
council did that too, but they might also wear dressier shirts and
sweaters."
"And you chose not to wear these things, why?"
"Did I choose? It did not seem like choosing."
"When did you start wearing your typical outfit?"
"When I started first grade."
"And before that?"
"I wore little kid stuff, overalls, cartoon character shirts."
"Which was no good for school."
"Right."
"Did you decide right from day one what you would wear now that you were in
school?"
"Probably not. No, Mom bought me some things at first. Button-up shirts.
Cords. "
"Were people friendly to you then?"
"You mean teachers and strangers? Yes, I suppose they were. They used to
come up to me and ask me if I was Don Symond's boy, did I want to grow up
like him. He was a hero."
"Your dad was a hero?"
"Yes, he was a firefighter, he died saving people. I was named for him."
"But when people started noticing you and comparing you to him, you withdrew
into the shadows, hiding in baggy nondescript clothes, fading into the
background?"
I felt like I was choking, like the air was too thick to breathe.
"Maybe I did. I never really knew him, I was only two when he died. It was a
lot to handle when they would ask me about him. But anyway, now I am not
hiding in the shadows any more."
He tapped the end of his pencil against his front teeth. "What do you think
about mirrors?"
"I am not sure I think anything about them at all."
"Do you notice where they are? Could you tell me where they are located in
your home? Do you notice where mirrors are when you enter a new building?"
"I guess so, I guess the answer is yes to all those things."
"So you always liked to look in mirrors?"
"No, I always knew where they were just so I would not have to look in them.
I did not like seeing my reflection. I did not like seeing my image in a
store window as I walked past. But now, yes, I do like to see myself. It is
a completely different feeling."
"Can you imagine liking to see your image if you did not look like a pretty
young girl? (At least he acknowledged that I was pretty.) As the old Donny
that you used to be, could you find a way to be happy to see your image?"
"I wondered that myself, not in those words, but I imagined myself as a body
builder with huge muscles. I hate looking so scrawny. But the image was
ridiculous, I could not want to be like that, no way. When I was little I
had a Spiderman? outfit that was padded with artificial muscles; I did not
look like a superhero, I just looked like a little kid with fake muscles.
That's how I imagined I would look as a body builder. So I tried to imagine
myself as a suave and dapper Euro style man of the world, but that seemed
foolish too. So I do not see a way to be happy with my old body."
"You have been very candid with me; thank you. I appreciate that. We will
need to take more time later to talk together. Your mother did want me to
start our sessions as soon as possible and this was the best I could manage
on short notice. I have a few thoughts for you to ponder until our next
meeting. Will you agree to do that? Just think about a couple things."
"Sure, I agree."
He nodded, and smiled. That was the first time I had seen him smile.
"Good. At first, I suspected you were jealous of your sister. She was older,
popular, had a life you envied. But no, you have friends, your mother told
me you had won some ribbons for your running, your grades are good, you have
accomplishments. You have a solid life of your own, you do not need to envy
your sister or claim her life for your own."
I nodded, waiting for him to continue.
"You have shown no particular attachment to the female gender role before
now. You may not have been overwhelmingly masculine either, but that can be
healthy. We do not want rigid stereotypes these days. You play with cars and
have a Nascar poster, but like to cook. That's all fine, it means nothing
and it means everything."
"Huh?"
"It means you present as a reasonably well balanced young person without any
prior demonstrable dysphoria. Except perhaps in one regard. When made to
compare yourself with your hero father, you withdrew into clothing which hid
you and made you anonymous. Tired of anonymity, your only way out is through
a body image which could never be mistaken for that of your father."
I felt weak. My head was too heavy to hold up, I leaned it on his desk.
Looking up at him, I asked in a small voice: "What should I do?"
"You should do what makes you happy, but you should know why you are doing
it. I believe you have body image dysphoria disguised as gender dysphoria.
You truly do not like or accept the image of your male body, is that true?
Even if you were to become well muscled, you could not accept that image?"
"That is true."
"The key to happiness is accepting reality, but it may be that your way of
accepting reality must involve this change you have adapted. Accepting does
not mean acquiescing, in other words. It is possible that you have stumbled
upon your own coping mechanism. I need more time with you before we can work
out a plan, but until next time I would like you to write out a letter to
your father explaining your feelings and why you have done what you have
done. I believe that your whole family still has some grief work to do, but
especially you. After that, we can move on to Phase Two."
"Will Phase Two involve me living as a girl? Can I get my name changed? The
school will soon get a transcript with my old name, and I would like to
prevent that if I could. And the police will need to be able to use my
"true" name, so I hope that name can be Dawn."
"This is awkward. I believe I can arrange to have an altered version of your
transcripts sent here, but only on a temporary basis until we decide who you
really need to be. I do not want to lock you into something you may discover
you no longer want."
"Thank you, I appreciate all your help, heavy though it has been. Will you
need a special authorization in order to talk to my old school?"
"Yes, especially if it means altering the records, and I will need specific
authorization from your mother as well."
He rose, and I did too. I heard him whisper to his assistant that he wished
more of his clients were as candid and helpful as I had been. "We'll have to
call you about setting up the next appointment, since I am booked full. But
we will work something out."
As he opened the door, he took me gently by the hand. "I am glad to have met
you...Dawn" he said, deliberately drawing out the word to show that he was
using my new name and not my old one.
I felt dizzy and light headed as I left. Whew! What a ride I had been on.
But it seemed like he was going to be on my side and help us out.
I got out the paper on which I had written the bus information, and made my
connection home okay.
The first thing I did was run to the john, I really had to pee! That was a
problem with my clothing; the skirt was rather close fitting, I did not want
to tear the pantyhose, and the silicone panties were like gummy bears stuck
to me.
.....The second thing I did was, I wrote a letter to my dad.
"Dear Dad. I have loved you for Mom's sake because we know how much you
meant to her. But I never knew you well enough to love you for your own
sake. I am sorry for that. I am sorry for the times we missed having
together. I am not ashamed of you or of your name, I want you to know that.
I was never going to look like you anyway. We would have been Big Don and
Little Don, and all my life I would still be Little Don. But that would have
been okay, except that I can no longer stand living in this body, and I do
not want to die. I have found a way to have a new better body and not die. I
hope it does not make you unhappy because I feel it is already starting to
make me very happy indeed. I want to be happy, and the doctor says I can be
happy by accepting reality, but sometimes accepting it needs to mean
changing it as well. So what has happened is not what anybody expected, but
I hope I can still make you proud and pleased that I am your child.
Love, Dawn."
I walked around the house aimlessly, hugging myself, head down.
I wish Pickles was here.
Tamera
- 18.02.2021
- 20
- 0
Gunther The Reindeer Handler Does Candy Claus
- 2 years ago
- 163
- 0
Andersonville 12 The Day Linda Anderson Came To Town
- 3 years ago
- 240
- 0
