L I S S A C CH5 R and D Research and Development
- 4 years ago
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Thinking With My Dick - Ch5 - Crossing Lines free porn video
Somehow, I was keeping a relatively straight face at work. It had now
been weeks since I'd started dressing as a girl pretty constantly at
home, and I was almost done with half of Annie's leftover birth control
pills. Despite everything, I'd kept my painted toes and shaved legs
hidden, and hadn't accidentally walked into work with makeup on. But
even so, parts of my private little girlie kink were escaping from the
privacy of my apartment, and I wasn't sure how to get myself to stop.
Thankfully, if I was going to keep buying women's clothes, I'd started
buying more casual stuff as well, jeans (either skinny and tight, or
belly baring hip huggers that flared out at the ankles), tops (also
mostly tight, but at least some in only a form fitting rather than
provocative way), and flat shoes.
I'd also started collecting small bits of jewelry in addition to
clothes, mostly cheap costume stuff. I had a smattering of bracelets,
necklaces, and rings. I'd even bought a little jewelry box to keep it
all in, yet one more thing I'd never be able to explain if someone came
around to my apartment. Amongst the rest were a few pairs of earrings,
all of them obviously girly, hoops, chandeliers, dangly drop earrings,
and big chunky ones. Nothing a man would have ever dreamt of wearing,
even if I dreamt of it, but my claim to manhood was more tenuous now. I
bought them on a whim on my various online shopping binges, knowing
that without actually piercing my ears I'd never wear them. They'd
seemed safe enough in my jewelry box, but they'd gnawed at me.
Eventually, shortly after the incident with the pills (I still tried
not to think about it despite popping new ones into my mouth every
day), I broke down. Poking around online during downtime at work, I'd
realized there was a tattoo and piercing shop not far off my route
home. It shouldn't have been surprising, it was a university town, you
could probably find three just walking down the main drag if you
wanted, but knowing that it was almost exactly on my route home finally
lowered my resistance that last little bit.
I stopped there on the way home. In some ways it was both
intimidating, a small storefront in a off the beaten path shopping
strip with a neon sign in the window, but also weirdly anticlimactic,
as it was also next door to a dry-cleaners and the clean well kept
front room looked more like a alternative jewelers with display cases
of piercings rather than rings or bracelets. I felt slightly
inappropriate going to a piercing parlor just for my ears, like I was
shooting a fly with a bazooka. I mean, teenage girls just went to a
kiosk in the mall or something to get theirs done. But doing this was
embarrassing enough, it felt at least slightly more manly doing it at a
piercing studio. A small part of my mind laughed at the fact that I
was worried about appearing manly while getting my ears pierced for
lady's earrings, the manly thing to do would be to get back in the car
and drive home. I pulled open the door and walked in.
In the end it was much faster and easier than I could have ever
expected. I told them I was looking for a piercing in each earlobe,
and before I knew it I was in the back, with a nice girl with an array
of showy piercings who introduced herself as Kali (pronounced more like
the the short version of California than the Hindu deity). This was
obviously not Kali's first rodeo, and after confirming what I wanted
done, she set to work so fast she had a stud in my right ear while
before I even knew she was done prepping it. I was a little more on
the ball paying attention to what happened for the left ear, but all in
all, I'd probably spent more time waiting for Kali to be done with her
previous customer than I did actually getting pierced.
Kali gave me the obviously rote lecture on how to care for the
piercings, how much pain to expect, and when swelling would go down. I
was a little disappointed that I'd need to wait a month and a half
before I could change earrings and try some of the things in my jewelry
box, but I guess that's how it goes. It was surprising how
sophisticated this piercing stuff is when done by professionals. I'd
grown up with girls doing it to each other in middle school. I should
probably have taken that as a sign that I was moving way too fast with
all this stuff, and that maybe in the next six weeks I'd come to my
senses and throw out my girlie earrings along with everything else.
But as I drove home, trying to catch glimpses of my new adornments in
the rear-view mirror, that seemed like a vain hope.
I got a couple of questions the next day at work, but I passed the
piercings off as me being a little more alternative than I used to be.
I wasn't the first guy in the department to wear earrings (we worked at
a university after all), but I'd always been pretty straightlaced
before, and not really the type to go for tattoos or edgy piercings (if
earrings could even be called edgy). Nicole gave me some odd looks
when we grabbed lunch with some other folks from around campus, but she
didn't press it further, to my relief.
I was now running regularly in girl's running clothes as well.
Apparently the new sneakers had just been the first chink in the dam.
Pretty quickly tiny girl's running shorts had followed, and after that,
form fitting tops. I hadn't been able to bring myself to try a girl's
tank top, but there were two waiting in my closet, and I worried that
it was only a heat wave away from having my excuse to wear them. I'd
even been out with an entirely pointless sports bra once or twice.
Thankfully, no one I knew ran for fun or athletics, and trails were
quickly transforming from my retreat from my increasingly feminine
apartment to a relatively risk free place to look girlier than ever in
public. The only thing that kept me looking androgynous was my short
hair and flat chest, and even that was at risk now that I had my ears
pierced.
When I was dressing at home, I really was starting to look pretty
androgynous. My hair was growing out, and my last haircut had ended up
somewhere between a boy's haircut and a girl's pixie cut. I'd been
getting better and better at the makeup, and I'd started thinning my
eyebrows slightly. I didn't really intend to, and I could do it too
much, or the jig would be up at work. But every now and again, while
doing my makeup a few errant hairs on my brow just drove ruined the
effect for me somehow, and I felt compelled to pluck them. It was
never that many at once, but it was starting to take a toll over time.
I was dropping a little weight too, between all the running I was doing
as an escape, and cutting back on how much I ate (though whether that
was nervousness, a desire to lose weight, or a desire to fit into
certain girlie clothes better was not something I wanted to
contemplate) I was almost ten pounds lighter than when Annie had dumped
me. In many ways it made me feel healthier, but I worried where my
weight loss, like everything else, would stop.
It especially didn't help that I'd begun trying out a more female
voice. First just a few words to see what I might sound like, and then
as a bit of a personal challenge to see if I could do it
conversationally. I ended up talking to myself alone in the apartment,
describing things, or having imaginary conversations in my girl voice.
It would never be particularly high pitched for a girl, but it didn't
sound much like a guy either. Eventually, I was using it whenever I
had my girl clothes on, which was starting to be a lot.
I'd started settling into a routine, if a bizarre one, of boyhood
during work hours, followed by a makeover and an evening of girlhood.
I continued to stay in on the weekend when I could, reveling in being
able to paint my fingernails for at least a couple of days. Regularly,
I'd masturbate over what I was doing to myself, and regularly I'd be
filled with regret on climaxing. But it never seemed to last long
enough, and before long I was horny and girlie again. However, just as
this status quo began to emerge, I ran out of the last of Annie's birth
control pills. I'd even taken the spacers, sugar pills that I knew
wouldn't do anything. I should have been happy, the pills were done,
and I hadn't had any side effects of self-medication. I was 'mostly'
sure that anything I suspected might be happening was just a placebo
effect. But I wasn't happy, or at least not all of me was. The part
of my mind that kept driving me towards the makeup and the clothes was
scared that this would be the end of all this, that the weird
equilibrium I'd reached with myself wouldn't survive the loss of
Annie's pills.
I tried to hold it together. I shook off some of my girlish
affectations, and spent a few nights as a guy again. But even as I did
this, some of my idle web browsing time at work was being devoted to
how I could replace the pills. The more I looked, the more it became
clear that I couldn't get more without a prescription, something I
didn't have, and even then I would have needed to show that I was Annie
to get the pills at a pharmacy, that or have my own prescription, but
guys don't get prescribed birth control pills. As I kept looking, a
thought occurred to me: guys don't get birth control prescriptions, but
they do get other hormones prescribed. A man could get HRT hormones
prescribed, and they'd work much better and safer than bootlegging
birth control pills. I recoiled at the idea, swallowing birth control
pills was stupid enough, but taking hormones meant for people
transitioning was stupid and dangerous. Think of what I'd be doing to
my body, think about what would happen if, or when, I was caught. I
was a straight guy, I wasn't a girl, and I wasn't a woman in a man's
body, even thinking about this was reckless. I put the thought out of
my mind, and tried to pretend it had never even occurred to me.
Unfortunately, like Pandora, I couldn't put the idea back in the box so
easily. It kept coming back to me. I looked up some information on
it, hoping to find that it would be hard to even come by, and so not
even worth considering. I'd imagined batteries of psychological tests
that I'd never hope to pass, I was only a guy getting off dressing as a
girl after all. But the more I looked, the more it didn't seem
impossible at all. Some doctors had an informed consent policy that
only required you to understand and acknowledge the risks of the
hormones, and several were nearby (go figure, I should have guessed
that would be the case in a University town in a liberal part of the
country). Even worse was discovering that it might even be covered by
my insurance.
---------------------------------------------------
I kept on, determinedly ignoring the possibilities even as all my
firebreaks against the idea began to crumble, and I tried to hold to
the more masculine tack my clothing and habits had taken. I still was
dressing and jerking off occasionally, but I'd at least cut down the
frequency. However, the longer I stayed away from my feminine wardrobe
at a time, the hornier I was when I eventually relented, dressing up in
my sluttiest outfits with my most obvious makeup, and jerking myself to
climax at record speed. It was during one of these moments that my
impulse decision making finally betrayed me. I'd come home from work
desperate to get try on my girlie clothes as I'd kept away for several
days. I kept it together for about half an hour, but I'd made the
mistake of having a beer, and it had lowered my inhibitions just
enough. Once I'd decided to give in and get dressed, I was changed in
record time, quickly donning stockings, panties, and a bright pink
dress that was very tight and very short on me. I was just finishing
up my makeup, and pulling the dress higher on my chest when it occurred
to me. I kept having to hike it up because it didn't have any boobs to
hold the top up for me. I could do something about that right now.
Without really thinking about it, I'd found my found and opened my
laptop, looking for some search results from days ago. I found it, and
dialed before I could reconsider. It rang, and for a moment I thought
I'd had a reprieve, that the office would be closed for the night
already. Then a female voice answered, "Dr. Hillard's office. How can
I help you?"
I licked my lips without thinking, and tasted the pink lipstick I'd
just applied. For some reason that galvanized me to plunge onward, and
said, "Hi, I'm looking to make an appointment with Dr. Hillard, I'm a
new patient." Without thinking, I'd used my fem voice.
"Sure thing. Can I have your name first please?"
"Jamie Black" Not James, not Jim, Jamie seemed to be in control again.
The receptionist dutifully took down, name, phone number, birthdate,
and my insurance information to make sure they took my plan. She gave
me a range of appointment times, and I took one of the first, for early
the next week. Finally, she asked me if there was anything specific I
wanted to see the doctor about.
I couldn't stop myself, "I want to discuss options for HRT with the
doctor."
The receptionist was, thankfully, a thorough professional, and merely
said, "Ok, I'll make a note of that in your chart. Did you have any
other questions, Miss Black?"
"No." I was trembling slightly. I was a Miss to someone. Oh my god,
what had I done.
"Ok, we'll see you next week. You should get an automated call
confirming the appointment one to two days beforehand. Have a good
evening."
"Thank you." And I hung up. Then, unlike the receptionist, I proceeded
to be completely unprofessional as I went to my bedroom, lifted my
dress and jerked off. As usual, all my male shame and terror at what I
was doing to myself came flooding back the moment I came, but this time
the magnitude of what I'd just done, the adrenaline of the act, and the
slight buzz of my earlier drink drove me on. I licked my hand clean,
and then scooped up and ate the rest of the cum splattered on my belly.
The furthest I'd ever gone before was to touch a drop or two of my cum
to my tongue, but with a looming appointment for hormones, with a
doctor, as Miss Black pushed me to greater excesses, after all, if I
was to be a girl, slutty girls ate cum, and that seemed to be the kind
of girl I was turning myself into.
-------------------------------------------------------
I spent the weekend as a boy. I wore jeans and t-shirts. I removed
all my nail polish, and didn't touch my makeup. I even packed some of
my girl clothes into the very back of a closet that now looked, at
best, as if a man and a woman shared it. I couldn't believe what I'd
done, making at appointment to get hormones. This crossed a line, this
was getting dangerous. Hormones weren't something I could just take
off when I was done and go back to work, they'd have consequences.
But the closer the date came, the more excited I got. It was
dangerous, I'd be risking changes, permanent changes. The idea of
permanently locking myself into a feminine body terrified me, but also
got me hard as I thought about it more. Finally the day came. It was
a late appointment, after work, and I rushed home, skipping out early
from work. Part of me gibbered in terror, telling me I could turn
back, had to turn back, but it was no use. I'd already concluded that
if I was going, I should go as a girl, and at least try to pass.
Otherwise they'd surely see through my stupid attempt to get hormones
to satisfy my erotic desires. Even if I wasn't able to pass as a girl,
the attempt would lend veracity to my request. I didn't have a ton of
time even with an usually late appointment, and needed to work fast. I
showered, shaving everywhere, and did all of my nails in a maroon that
was sober, but would be impossible to miss. As soon as they were dry I
dived into my wardrobe, pulling on a matching black thong and bra. I
grabbed a scoop neck long sleeve top, and wiggled into my jeggings.
Then I pulled out a pair of cute ballet flats modeled after Converse
All-Stars with canvas material and the little rubber toecap.
Then I went into the bathroom and made myself up. Full foundation and
makeup, going for tasteful, but also to make it utterly obvious I was
wearing lipstick and eyeshadow. As a final touch, I pulled on some
jewelry, a small pendant, a bracelet, and for the first time, since it
was close enough to six weeks, I pulled studs out of my ears and
replaced them with medium size silver hoops.
I stepped back and looked at myself in the mirror. There was some
mannish attributes there if you looked, the narrow hips, flat chest, a
little too firm a jaw. I wasn't a beauty queen, but the full effect
was shockingly feminine. I should have looked like a guy in makeup,
but I didn't. I was slim enough, and everything I wore was chosen to
be casual, but unmistakably girl's clothes, combined with the jewelry
and the makeup, and I looked like a boyish girl, a little on the tall
side, with slightly daring short hair. I looked like I'd been dressing
this way for years, not months.
Girls clothes didn't seem to go in for pockets, I'm not sure pants this
tight could have fit them even if the designers had tried. So I dug
out a medium sized purse I'd bought a few weeks ago and dumped walled,
keys, and phone in it, and headed for the door, it was going to be
tight timing even if I hurried. I locked my front door behind me and
froze. Dark nailed fingers holding my key, poised where I'd pulled it
from the lock in my door. I was outside. I was in public dressed
obviously as a girl. It was just my apartment hallway, yeah, but
anyone could walk by and see me, and I was planning out going out, like
this, like a girl. I'd been trending to girlie clothes on my runs, but
that was running gear, it was practically unisex, what I was wearing
now was the polar opposite of unisex.
I couldn't stay here, one of my neighbors might come by, and I don't
know how I'd ever explain all this. I should just get back into the
apartment. Instead I walked quickly to the elevator, and then down to
the parking garage. Getting in my car, I slung my purse into the
passenger seat, turned the ignition over, and settled my hands on the
steering wheel. Was I really going to do this? I looked at my dark
nails against steering wheel, and my cock, tucked firmly back in my
skin tight pants twitched. Yes, I was.
The drive and the doctor's office was anticlimactic, but I was alert to
every new thing that resulted from going out dressed as a woman.
Everything from the weight of my purse, to the cool air on the tops of
my feet that my ballet flats left bare seemed wrong and tantalizing all
at once. I checked in with the receptionist and sitting in the waiting
room felt odd in it's normality. I kept expecting someone to notice
that I was a man, to call me out, but the receptionist and two other
patients in the practice were utterly uninterested in me. Similarly
when I went into the examination room it all felt too normal.
Dr. Hillard was a nice enough middle aged guy. He asked me some
questions, some of which I was honest about: that I wanted to appear
more feminine, that passing as a woman made me happy; some I was less
than honest with: I said I felt like a woman in a man's body, that I
wanted fewer unwanted erections (though, in the dark of my heart, the
idea of making my penis less than it was excited me terribly). I
couldn't quite believe that he seemed to accept all my answers, surely
he'd see through my puerile motivations. Instead he examined me, which
was terribly strange once I realized that we weren't entirely the same
gender anymore, not with the steps I was taking, and he drew some
blood. Then he simply handed me some paperwork, "Here's the informed
consent form. You should make sure to read through all of the attached
information, it contains information about the various effects of
treatment, and some will not be reversible after you've been in
treatment past a certain point. Once we have your signature and your
bloodwork comes back ok, we should be good to start treatment." Then
he left to take my blood to get sent for testing, leaving me alone with
the paperwork.
Reading through it, it scared and excited me. If I went forward with
this, I'd grow boobs, I'd lose muscle tone, I might even sterilize
myself. This would start turning me into a girl. I couldn't do this,
I should tell them I've changed my mind, and leave. Instead I signed
my name, and waited for Dr. Hillard to come back. After that, it was
all over but the waiting. The doctor came back, took my paperwork,
thanked me for coming in, and assured me they'd contact me the moment
the bloodwork came back, as he "knew I'd want to get started with the
treatment as soon as possible." I went home, scared and excited, and
began de-girling so I could go back to being a guy at work. Though I
had no idea how long that would last at this rate.
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