Batwoman meets Catwoman Part One
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Hard To Be A Woman (Parts 1-3) free porn video
"Hard to Be a Woman" by Horseless Norsemen
Parts 1-3
Chapter 0: Foreword
I've been a reader of Nifty for several years now and Fictionmania for a
bit over a year. Being a person on the trans spectrum, gender
transformation is my favorite category. It's always bothered me that not
only are there more stories about M2F transformations, the
transformations themselves are treated as if they are better than FTM
ones. The basic MTF story has a person turning their back on their fake
male flesh only to fall into the arms of her supportive
wife/spouse/partner. The FTM, on the other hand, is rejected by his
husband/boyfriend/partner who can't imagine ever being with another male
bodied person because that would be gay. In this kind of story, all women
are closet lesbians but all men are homophobic. My goal with this story
and others that I have percolating is to introduce stories to the
community that counter this stereotype.
In the wonderful story, "It's Hard to Be a Man," an unsuspecting office
worker is cursed to become a woman any time that he does not concentrate
on remaining a man. He eventually comes to accept his dual nature and
falls in love with someone who accepts him in both of his forms. I
thought that someone should do a follow up and why not me?
Chapter 1: Day One
The first time it happened, I was sitting in a restaurant waiting for my
husband. We both worked in the same city and liked to meet up for lunch
so we could eat together and talk about our days. I was walking to the
restaurant when it happened. I started to feel strange. It wasn't
necessarily a good or bad feeling, rather it was more like I had
dissociated myself from my body and was watching myself on TV.
Once the feeling passed, I kept walking, and arrived at the restaurant.
Walking to the restaurant, I noticed that many of the women were checking
me out, which kind of freaked me out. Of course I'd met lesbians every
now and then but they didn't usually travel in those numbers or pay that
much attention to me. I mean I was no troll but i also wasn't "Sports
Illustrated" material or anything.
Anyway, I was waiting for my husband and wondering why all of the women
were looking at me when I saw him finally walk in. I waved and he looked
at me then kept going. I yelled "Kim!" (his name) and he finally looked
at me and said, "Look man, I'm waiting for my wife, you've got me confused
with someone else."
I was pondering that when I caught movement out of the corner of my eye.
It was one of those mirror walls and was especially interesting because I
didn't see myself in it. I could see people to the left and right of me
but no me. I got up and walked towards the mirror. I still didn't see
myself. Instead of seeing my usual reflection, a 5'6" height black chick
that looks like a cross between Michelle Obama and Jasika Fox from
"Fringe," I saw a guy who could only be described as a "Golden God." He
was tall, well over six feet, with a lean muscular build, a chiseled face,
short curly blond hair, and bright blue eyes (sort of like Mark Valley
from "Fringe" - I'm a nerd, so sue me). He was the polar opposite of me
and yet he put his hand up to his face when I did and was wearing the male
equivalent of the black dress suit and purple shell - black suit pants and
a purple blazer over a white collared shirt and tie - that I was wearing
that day. I looked at my hand and saw a large male one instead of my
small female nod with purple nail polish.
After a minute or so of looking at myself, I started feeling faint and
headed towards the bathroom. Since I was pretty sure that I was going to
puke and didn't want an audience, I headed to the back area of the
building where the "family" restrooms were. As I was walking into the one
holer, I started to feel faint again. I started feeling very
claustrophobic and walked right back out of the room - where I heard my
husband say, "There you are! I thought that you had a meeting run long
and needed a pit stop or something and waited by the bathroom in case you
came out."
I mumbled something about that being the case and walked with him to the
counter where we both ordered salads. We then sat down at a table and
talked about our days. We're both techies - we actually met in a computer
programming class - and work at two tech companies. He's more of a
gearhead and works on the hardware installation side of things while I
work on actual coding.
It doesn't change the outcome of this story at all but I figure I may as
well describe him. He's Korean and looks it but he's actually more
Americanized than I am. He's just under 6 feet, and built like a tank.
He builds cell towers on his spare time and keeps his fitness up to be
able to do that. He was adopted as a baby from South Korea and was raised
on hot dish, apple pie, and baseball. He loved playing with Legos and
tools when he was younger and his parents, much to their credit, got him
into robotics and shop when he started conducting autopsies on their
electronics.
After lunch, we went back to our respective jobs. I was, understandably,
a bit shaken up and spent much of the remainder of my shift willing myself
to not change. I actually started to relax a bit on the way home and
focused on the road and the radio. About halfway there, I banged my knee
on the steering wheel while pressing the breaks, something that is
normally impossible for me. Confused, I looked down at my legs where I
saw men's dress pants where I had worn a skirt and pantyhose before. I
looked in the visor mirror and saw the same man looking back at me as
before. Somehow, I managed to make it home like that. I tried to stay as
out of sight as possible walking up to my apartment in case someone saw me
walk in and thought I was robbing the place.
Once I got into the apartment, I walked over to the bathroom mirror and
looked at myself. I brought my hand up to my face and felt skin that was
hard and rough with stubble, a huge contrast from the soft and smooth skin
that I was used to. Looking in the mirror, I ran my hands over my clothed
body, feeling soft wavy hair, an Adam's apple, hard biceps, a flat and
hard chest, long legs, and a bulge between my legs that could only be one
thing.
I looked in the mirror and said to myself in a voice that was low and
rough instead of its usual high and musical, "What the hell is going on?"
Okay, Amber, you can do this. Concentrate and turn back." I pictured my
normal body and noticed that I could feel it, sort of like when you have
something on the tip of your tongue but just can't recall it. I pictured
my current form shifting into my normal one and after a couple seconds, I
felt and saw my body make the change, too. It wasn't so much as a
morphing as much as a blending. Pretty much my whole body went out of
focus at once and after a second or so, I was myself again.
"Okay, cool! I can control it," I said to myself, "Let's see if I can go
the other way." I pictured the golden god body again and myself
transforming into it. Just like before, my body blurred until I was in my
male form again.
"Now let's see if I can limit it to body parts." I thought to myself. I
pictured just my hand transforming to its original state and sure enough,
my hand was the only part to transform, leaving me with a very interesting
arm that darkened from my new pale white to my original chocolate brown. I
thought that looked a bit weird so I changed my hand back.
"Now lets see what happens with clothes," I said while removing cardigan,
untying my tie, and unbuttoning my shirt. I then kicked my men's loafers
off, undid my belt and pants, then slid off my pants. It occurred to me
that I was then a man standing in his underwear and an undershirt in
another man's bathroom - a scenario that does not usually go well for
anyone involved.
Of course, Mr. Murphy being who he is, it was at that moment that I heard
the lock on the apartment door open. I quickly shut and locked the door
to the bathroom and then focused on becoming myself. A couple seconds
later, I was myself again but was clothed only in my underwear -
surrounded by the men's clothes that I'd been wearing.
"So how was the rest of your day?" my husband asked, "The meeting that I
was supposed to be at was cancelled, so I didn't leave much after you did.
We could have carpooled."
I was understandably a bit distracted trying to figure out what to do with
my men's clothes and how to explain my being in my underwear so I didn't
answer him right away, which only led him to start looking for me.
"Is everything okay?" he asked, trying to open the locked door.
"Yeah, everything is fine," I said as I stuffed my male clothes in the
bottom of the waste basket and then put the bag into it. "I was just
getting ready to take a shower. It was a very strange day and I wanted to
clear my head"
"Oh really?" he said. "Want company?"
I walked over and opened the door and the two of us started a very
enjoyable evening of showering, cuddling on the couch, and eating cereal
for dinner.
Chapter 2: Day Two
It was such a great evening that I almost forgot about the strange thing
that had happened to me. The next morning, I woke up, checked to make
sure all body parts were mine, and carpooled to breakfast and work with my
husband. I almost thought whatever had happened to me in a dream until I
heard one of my colleagues say, "Excuse me sir, do you have an
appointment?" I looked down at my hand and saw a pale male hand instead
of my usual chocolate one.
"No but I'm looking for Terry," I said, "I'm supposed to go over some
language with him." Terry was our firm's legal guy and often had
unannounced visitors drop in, only to leave and never be seen again.
Terry was also on vacation, a fact that had not been shared beyond the
firm at his request. Bottom line, looking for him was a good cover story.
"Sorry, he's not in today," my coworker said. "Want to leave a note?"'
"Sure," I said, turning to leave, "let him know that Jeremy Nichols
stopped by."
Once I was sure I was out of eyesight and camera range, I walked into a
men's bathroom and looked in the mirror. Where there should have stood
my familiar reflection wearing a cute blue top, a black blazer, and khakis
stood the same blond haired, blue eyed stranger wearing, you guessed it,
khaki pants, a black blazer, and a blue polo.
"That was a close one," I said to myself. "I might be in real trouble
here. But first, I need to get to work." I pictured my normal form and
sure enough, my reflection blurred until I was myself again. Unlike the
first couple times, I actually felt winded after the change, as if I had
been working out.
I made it through the whole day without any incidents. I did have a close
call when I started to fall asleep at my computer and noticed that my hand
started to lighten. I focused on what my hand was supposed to look like
and it went back to normal, leaving me with a feeling like I'd just done
20 bicep curls with that arm.
My husband and I ate lunch together before going back to work. At the end
of the day, we drove home and cooked homemade ravioli together. After
that, my husband sat down to play sports center and I decided to take a
bath. I'd been concentrating on holding my shape all day and needed time
to relax.
Since the door was locked and my husband was occupied, I shrugged my
clothes off and mentally shrugged as let my body shift into that of the
blond man. I saw that while he was a natural blond, he was not a blond
all the way down. He was also not afraid of a little hair as he had a
moderate coating of hair from his strong arms to his broad shoulders to
his broad chest to washboard abs to his strong legs. He even had a light
coating of hair on both sets of knuckles.
In fact, he - I - had hair from the top of my head to the tips of my toes,
which was a far cry from the body that I was born with. Like many black
women, I had waxed, plucked, and shaved my hair to a point that much of it
no longer grew back. It made it easier to take care of but it was also
reminder of society's mandated selfmutilation.
After running my hand over every other inch of my (since it clearly was)
other form, I finally paid attention to the part that showed that I was
definitely no longer female. It was uncircumcised, of respectable size
considering I was over 6 feet tall, and inexplicably attached to me. I
felt every inch of that too and it, as was the case with my husband's when
I did that kind of thing, started to get hard.
Although I knew that being a man masturbating in another man's bathroom
was not the safest thing to be, I also knew that if I didn't see what it
felt like, I'd never stop wondering. I duplicated the moves that my
husband liked and worked myself up to my first male orgasm. It felt good,
as did the general feeling of well being that followed it. I folded
myself into the bathtub (since I was a lot taller) and soaked for a bit.
After a day of being afraid to transform, it felt great to just let it
happen.
Once my skin started to get wrinkled, I got out of the bath, toweled off,
and transformed back into myself. I felt more refreshed than I'd been
since this whole thing had started and cuddled up next to my husband on
the couch. We watched TV for a bit before going to the bed. After a
gentle session of lovemaking, we snuggled in for the night.
Chapter 3: Day Three
The next morning, I woke up disoriented and realized that I'd changed at
some point in the night as my very male arm was wrapped around my husband.
He obviously hasn't noticed, so I concentrated on myself and changed back
before getting out of bed. About five minutes later, our bedside alarm
went off, ringing in another workday.
I was more than a bit shaken up by the fact that I'd changed during the
night but I wasn't sure how to broach the topic with my husband so I let
it be for the moment. I did notice that holding my female form was
easier. It seemed that my ability to avoid transforming involuntarily was
contingent on how much time I spent as a man before that. Additionally,
turning into a man was starting to be easier than turning back, which was
not a happy realization.
We ate breakfast together but drove to work separately because my husband
had a volleyball game with friends that night and I was having dinner with
my parents. Work wasn't very eventful but by the end of the day, I was
starting to a bit tired from holding my shape.
"I have to get some help," I told myself. Since I was going to my
parents' house that night, I resolved to tell them. To make sure I didn't
unintentionally change, I phased (seemed as good of a term as any) into my
male form for the drive over to my parents', not becoming myself until
turning into their neighborhood.
One thing that you need to know about my family is I'm an only child but
also have numerous former foster siblings who lived with us for a time and
later remained part our lives. My father, who is 60, white, and looks a
lot like Victor Garber, had testicular cancer 40 years ago and was made
sterile as a result. My mother, who is white, also 60, looks a lot like
Susan Sullivan, and was my dad's high school sweetheart. She was with him
through the cancer and they have been together since.
Since they couldn't have children of their own, they served as foster
parents. They only have a modest 3 bedroom 130 year old one story home
that my dad and his dad were actually born in. My parents like to say
they don't have much but what they do have is full of love. In that one
extra bedroom, they gave more than 30 children a safe and secure home to
escape the turmoil that enveloped their lives.
I came into their lives when I was 17. My parents had died when I was 10
and I spent the next 6 years going from one foster home to another.
Shortly after I turned 17, I was sent to live with them. It was the child
welfare system's last chance to "raise me right." Considering I'd been on
my own for 7 years, I wasn't really interested in a family and didn't pay
much attention to them or their rules. I was a fairly good student but
since I moved around so much, my transcript was a mess and I had
difficulty making relationships. I usually hung out with the stoners
because they didn't care who I was as long as I warned them about the
police coming.
One day after school during my 17th year, I was playing lookout for my
friends while they smoked. I saw a cop come and ran to warn my friends
about the approaching danger. The cop apparently saw me do this as he and
his colleagues arrested my friends for drug possession and me as an
accessory. Since I was underage, my foster parents had to come bail me
out of jail. My foster mother bailed me out. During the ride home, I
could tell that she was angry. Since I knew she was already pissed at me,
I decided to force the issue once we were in the kitchen
"What?" I said.
"I just don't get it," she replied angrily.
"Get what?" I asked.
"Why you waste your gifts like this." She paused again. "And why you
were wasted like this."
"What do you mean?"
She held up a piece of paper. "This is your ACT score. You got a 36 on
your ACT. That's as high as is possible to get." She held up another
sheet of paper. "This is your SAT score. You got a 2200 on it."
I replied, "And?"
"With these scores, you can go to any college in the country, but because
you've moved around so much, you may never be able to graduate high
school."
"I can't go to college," I replied, "I'd need a home and family for that.
And besides, once I turn 18, I'm dropping out. I'm finally out of the
system."
She frowned and looked at me. "And what would you say if we changed
that?"
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"What would you think about having us adopt you?"
I was speechless. Although I really, really liked my foster family, they
were white and I was black. I went to bed wishing that I had been their
daughter but I knew that we had so little in common that it would never
work. "That would be wonderful," I replied, "but we have nothing in
common, I don't know if it would work."
She looked me in the eyes and said, "If you're willing, we would love to
make it work."
From that day on, I was their daughter. They filed adoption papers the
next day and two months before I turned 18, I became legally their child.
Since my transcripts were so messed up, I took and passed the GED. Buoyed
by the strength of my test scores, I went to MIT on a full scholarship
where I majored in computer programming. I always think to myself about
what might have happened if I hadn't been arrested.
I stayed at MIT for six years and earned my Bachelors, Masters, and
Doctorate. I also met the man who would become my husband. We met when
my computer crashed. He was working for campus IT to pay for his school
and responded to my call. We hit it off and have been loving and laughing
ever since. When we were both done with school, we got married and
settled in a city where both of us could find work. That happened to be
in the Twin Cities, the same place my parents lived in. We haven't had
kids yet but that was always something on our radar screen.
All of this was going through my head while I was eating dinner with my
parents. My pleasant reverie was interrupted by my mother screaming and my
father yelling "What's happening to you?!"
You guessed it: I'd phased. Right in front of my parents. "Oh well," I
thought, "At least they'll believe me."
"Don't panic guys," I said in my now male voice, "It's still me." I
phased back, "See?"
"What...?" my dad stuttered.
"How is this even possible?" my mom asked.
"I don't know," I said sadly, "all I know is that when I left for lunch on
Wednesday, I got there as someone else."
"What does it feel like?" my dad asked.
"It's hard to describe," I said, "it's sort of a cross between a pinched
nerve and the feeling you get when you wake up disoriented. All I know is
that I feel it and then," I phased, "I'm someone else."
"Wow! Your clothes changed too!" my dad said. "Is that all that changed
or does it go all the way down?"
"It's my whole body. Lets just say that it's a real boy. My clothes seem
to turn into the opposite sex version of what I'm wearing."
"Does it hurt?"' Mom asked.
"Not really, it's sort of a numb feeling if you get what I'm saying."
"Did you tell your husband?"
"Not yet, no. There's really no good way to say, 'Honey, guess what:
I've been turning into a man.' I haven't really thought of it much. I've
been pretty much focused on not transforming in public."
"What do you mean?" My dad asked.
"I can't exactly control when I change," I explained, "I can prevent it if
focus but if I don't, I may transform involuntarily. This time, I was
daydreaming about my life with you and lost concentration."
"So you have to focus just to stay you and changing comes automatically?
That doesn't sound good," my mom mused.
"It's worse than that, too. The more time I spend as myself, the harder
it is to hold that shape. In contrast, the longer I spend as a man, the
easier it is for me to turn and stay female. It's almost like this is
becoming my new form."
"What do you know about him?" my dad asked. "Does he have an identity or
is this the only version of him?"
"I don't really know anything other than what you see. I know that my
clothes change with me when I'm wearing them but stay in whatever shape
they're in if I take them off. Which is really awkward, by the way. The
second time I changed, I was in the middle of stripping for a shower so I
suddenly had male clothes to get rid of. Plus, being a man in another
man's bathroom is not a good thing to be."
"Have you seen what happens when you change?" my dad asked.
"No."
"Would you like to?"
"You sure that's a good idea? If the wrong people found out, it could be
serious trouble for me."
"How about I record one transformation so you can see it and then delete
it right away? I'll even give you the memory card and let you delete it."
"Okay," I replied, "I want to start as me first." I phased back to
female.
My dad grabbed his camera and pointed to an open stretch of wall. "Stand
over there so we can see you and wait to change until I say."
"Okay," I said and mentally started preparing myself.
"Change." I changed. "Wow, that's cool! What does it feel like?"
"A bit like my foot falling asleep but it's my whole body," I replied -
for the third time-, "and my vision blurs a bit from getting taller, sort
of like when you're on an elevator. But the first few times, I didn't
even notice I'd changed until people I knew couldn't recognize me."
"And you have no idea at all why this form?" my mom asked.
"None," I replied. "Not that it's something I do often but I always
pictured myself as more like a Will Smith than a Brad Pitt."
"All right, why don't you change back so we can stop the tape?" My dad
said.
I did and then he stopped recording. He walked over to his laptop (we're
Mac people), connected it to his computer and downloaded it.
He looked at me and said solemnly, "I want you to know that no matter what
happens, I'll make sure that no one sees this and uses it against you. I
also want you to know that your mother and I feel the same about you no
matter what you look like."
"Yes we do," my mom replied.
"Thanks," I said. "I never really doubted it but it's great to hear,
especially now. I feel like I have no idea who I am anymore and I'm
really worried about what might happen when Kim finds out about this. I
can't see him taking it very well."
"You never know, he could surprise you," replied my dad. "Now let's watch
this video."
He clicked the play button and I watched transfixed as the body that I had
seen every day for 32 years blurred into that of someone who was not only
not female but white as well. "That is so cool!" I said, "If it wasn't
happening to me, it would be the coolest thing ever. But even this way,
it's still pretty cool."
At that moment, the kitchen timer went off signifying that dinner was
served While we were eating, dad noticed me clenching my fists and asked
me why I was doing that. I replied that I was having trouble holding my
shape because I'd been female all day and most of the night. It was then
that mom said something that changed the course of my life.
"Well don't."
"What?" I replied.
"Don't fight to hold this form because of us. If you need to be male to
avoid physical pain, then I think you need to do it. You're our daughter
and we love you regardless."
"You're sure?" I asked them. When they both nodded, I replied, "Okay,"
and changed.
The rest of dinner didn't go that differently than it otherwise would
have. We ate, talked about the Twins (our hometown baseball team) and
just enjoyed each others' company. After a while, I even forgot that
there was anything different. At one point, I noticed my mom looking from
me to dad and back again. "What?" I asked her.
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were his biological son. Your
chins even look the same."
"Oh really?" my dad asked.
"Look for yourself."
We walked to the bathroom and looked at a mirror. I was flabbergasted.
We did look extremely similar, right down to our chins.
"Huh," I grunted.
"What?" Mom asked.
"Nothing, it's just interesting." What I didn't tell them was that seeing
how much we looked alike made me remember a personal tradition I had. My
dad's kidneys were damaged as a part of his illness. He'd been able to
live relatively freely for much of his adult life but over the last few
years, his weakened kidneys had gradually failed. He was able to limp
along with dialysis but to be truly alive, he'd need a new kidney.
Unfortunately, due to him having a very rare blood type, finding a donor
was extremely unlikely, especially considering that due to other health
issues, he'd probably need a transplant from a close male relative. My
father was an only child and was unable to have children so he had no one
to donate. He'd been waiting for two years and although he was still
alive, he could no longer thrive.
For those two years, every time I'd had the chance to make a wish
(birthday, fountain, shooting star), I'd simply wished that there was
something that I could do to save my father's life. When I looked at my
reflection in the mirror, I had to wonder if this was the universe's way
of granting my wish.
"Either way," my mom said, "I think we need to figure out what's going on
and who this guy is. Maybe you should go in and see a doctor. Maybe they
can figure out a way to stop the transformations."
"You maybe should see a lawyer, too," my dad added, "As far as we know,
this guy doesn't legally exist. That puts you in serious trouble if you
ever need legal services while you're like this."
"If I go to a doctor, how do I know I won't end up being examined on some
doctor's operating table?!" I asked.
"We might have to take that risk," my mom answered, "It may even be
possible to stop these transformations all together."
"And if you can't stop them, you could end up as a 32 year old man with no
job, money, or even identity," my dad continued, "it's obvious your life
is going to change, why not do what you can to make sure that you still
have a life?"
Faced with that logic, I had to agree with them. We spent a few minutes
talking about who to talk to. Although they aren't wealthy people (mom's
a teacher and dad is a driver for UPS), they are both social butterflies
and have friends and former fosters in most sectors of the economy - in
contrast to me who spends most of the day coding.
After a while, it started to get late. "I should get going," I said,
standing up. "I'm going hit the restroom first."
"Don't forget to put the toilet seat down," my mom said.
"I've got it covered," I said, while changing back.
I did my business and walked toward the udoor where my parents were
waiting.
"What are you going to tell your husband?" my dad asked.
"I don't know," I said, "I should probably decide pretty quick because I'm
going to have a hell of a time keeping this from him this weekend. I had
trouble making it through the day even though I spent my commute as a man.
I'm going to have trouble lasting 72 hours."
The rest of the night was uneventful. My husband and I read for a bit
before settling in to bed. We snuggled up together until...
TO BE CONTINUED...
Annalisa
- 15.06.2021
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Batwoman meets Catwoman Part One
- 3 years ago
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Batwoman meets Catwoman Part Two
- 3 years ago
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