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...