Sissyboy Conversion Therapy
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A Voyeur's Therapy free porn video
A Voyeur's Therapy
A short fiction by Carlsbad
"Look at the lights, Tim," my therapist intoned. This was some bullshit. I
had been caught installing hidden cameras in the girls' bathroom at
school, and now I had to see this head shrink every Wednesday afternoon.
It was either this or Juvy hall. Dad had to pull a lot of strings to keep
them from charging me as an adult sex offender. The law is apparently
pretty harsh on would-be bathroom voyeurs, and my shot at having a clean
record depended on this bitch's sign off.
I started into the light bar: red red red green. Red, red, red, green. It
was suuposed to put me into a "suggestible state" so she could get a look
inside my head. Fat chance of that. I'd say some bullshit about RED some
childhood RED trauma or something, make her RED write me a letter of GREEN
I wasn't in the office any more. I wasn't anywhere, in fact. "Hello? What
happened, where am I?"
"Hello Tim." It was her voice, the therapist, coming from nowhere and
everywhere all at once. "This is the inside of your mind. Your body is
still sitting on the couch in my office. You are perfectly safe, all you
need to do is trust me."
"Bullshit. Hypnosis doesn't work."
"Then tell me, where are you?"
I looked around me and realized that I wasn't nowhere. I was in the girls'
bathroom at school again. The stalls, the weird couch at the far end, the
tampon dispensers, the coral pink tile (the Boys' room was done in blue),
the lack of urinals.
"So you're in the girls' bathroom again? Interesting."
But I didn't say anything!
"Yes, you did. Your body is speaking your train of thought right now. I
know everything, you can't hide anything from me."
Shit. Shitshitshit. How was I going to get out of this one? I had always
been able to lie my way out of punishment, now here I was spilling my
thoughts out to this woman, who could with a stroke of her pen send me to
prison.
"I want you to know I am here to help you. My job isn't to get you in
trouble, but to keep you out of it. I won't make any recommendations one
way or the other until we've seen each other several times. Now, why do
you think you are in the bathroom?"
I had to pee, I realized. Made sense. But this was the girls' bathroom,
and I was a guy! I tried to leave the room, so I could use the more
appropriate facilities-
-and walked right back into the girls' bathroom. I only had a few minutes
to tinkle before I would be late to Algebra (God, Miss Sykes was a tyrant
about tardiness) and I really had to go! I picked an open stall and locked
the door behind me. I lifted my skirt, pulled down my panties, and sat on
the thankfully dribble-free seat, ready to let loose when I saw something.
Stuck to the door, just below the coat hook, was a little black dot. A
camera. Watching me, watching every other girl who had used this stall. My
breath caught in my chest - fight or flight, and I was frozen. I wanted
more than anything to get up, to leave, to be anywhere other than here,
but it was like I was stuck, like an insect in amber, paralyzed like that
wheelchair guy (what was his name? Mister Bacon in Physics would know) -
GREEN
I wasn't in the bathroom anymore. I was in class, and I needed to "go"
badly, but the teacher was talking. I desperately waved my hand, trying to
get his attention, but I was losing time quickly. I knew I should have
gone before class, but
(He'll see you! He'll see you!)
I hadn't for some reason. I squirmed in my seat, clenching my thighs
together, just a little longer -
Too late. A wet spot formed in my panties, then through my skirt. I let
out a sob as the puddle grew under me, which finally got the teacher's
attention. "Oh Tammy, I'm so sorry, take a hall pass and go to the Nurse's
office to get cleaned up." I felt the stares of the other students on me
like cold daggers. Tammy the high schooler, pissed her panties like a
little toddler. I was so humiliated and ashamed, I wanted to sink into the
floor and disappear -
GREEN
I woke up again to drenched sheets. The third time this week, I had wet
the bed. I glanced at my alarm clock, and saw its glowing digits: 3:13. If
I changed my sheets quickly, I could still get a decent amount of sleep
before school. With a sigh, I began to strip my soaked bedding. I pulled
off my sodden panties and tossed them in a pile with the others. It was
worth a try, I supposed, but I had to admit defeat. I opened the underwear
drawer of my dresser and pulled out one of the disposable Goodnites Mom
had bought me. Why couldn't I just be normal, and stop wetting the bed
like some little kid?
GREEN
Everyone could see them. There was nothing I could do about it. Thick,
bulky diapers under my plaid skirt. After my accident in class, the school
said that for sanitary reasons, I had to wear a diaper. Trauma-induced
stress incontinence, they called it. Even if nobody said anything, I knew
they were staring. Looking at the way the padding between my legs forced
me to waddle. How it crinkled with each step. Why wouldn't they stare? I
was a freak. Some asshole had glued a pacifier to my locker. Ha ha. What a
joke, Tammy, the full-sized infant. Tammy, who couldn't help wetting
herself or her bed. Who would want to be friends with, let alone date,
such a backwards freak? I climbed the stairs to the third floor, then past
it to the door marked "roof access". The smokers and stoners always kept
the door propped open so they could slip out and have a secret smoke. I
was going to end it and get away from this living hell. No more disgusted
stares of pity. No more taunts or jeers. No more-
RED
I was back in Dr. Ross's office, the school psychologist. "How are you
feeling, Tammy?" she asked.
"Tammy? No, wait, I'm... Tim?" I certainly thought I was Tim. But when I
said it aloud, my voice was neither certain, nor a boy's.
"We've been over this, Tammy. There is no Tim. Say it after me."
"There... is no Tim."
"Tim is a persona you created as a coping mechanism, in response to your
traumatic experiences. The school janitor was caught installing cameras in
the restrooms, one of which recorded you. Your mortification about being
seen in such a vulnerable state caused you to invent this 'Tim' character,
as a way of reclaiming power for yourself, becoming the voyeur instead of
his victim."
As she said it, I knew it was true. I was Tammy, and Dr. Ross was helping
me with my "condition", with the goal of getting me back into normal
underwear again. The blinking diode in front of me was a tool to help me
walk through my memories and process them.
"I think that's enough for today's session. We've made a lot of progress
untangling your memories. For your homework, I'd like you to keep a
journal of any dreams you have this week. And if you have any crises that
can't wait until next week, please call my direct line any time, day or
night. And remember, you are a strong, beautiful, exceptional young woman,
and your condition does not make you a freak. OK?" She smiled warmly at
me. I had been getting better, it was true. I hadn't wet the bed since
last Tuesday, and it was getting easier to keep my daytime diapers dry as
well. If I continued to progress, I might even be able to go to prom in
panties! (And a dress, of course).
I thought about "Tim" and the more I mulled it over, the less real he
seemed. Not a person so much as a caricature, a shallow reflection of some
pervy janitor who I never even met. Fuck that. I was Tammy, and this was
me taking my life back.
Makenna
- 22.10.2022
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