Honesty
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Honesty free porn video
Nicky Akers is asked by a psychiatrist to write a very personal biography.
Nicky details the slow loss of his masculinity to overwhelming feminine
thoughts and describes his inevitable transformation into a woman.
However, the exercise uncovers more than Nicky planned.
Honesty
by Dawna Tompson
Nov 2019
[email protected]
Rated X
First, I want to be honest and open about this essay. It wasn't my idea.
I have been seeing Dr. Retinar for some time now and she suggested,... no
encouraged,... no she really made it unambiguously clear: I must write an
honest personal biography centered on my thoughts and emotions. So here
goes.
My name is Nicky Akers and I was born almost 21 years ago. I grew up as a
boy but that's not what I am now. So I want to state for the record, and
for Dr. Retinar specifically, I was born a male.
I won't bother about all the stupid details about how I grew up: what a
great child I was, my wonderful parents, the mansion we lived in, the
family get togethers at holidays, how my mother and father doted on me, my
exceptional schooling at elite institutions, my sports and academic
scholarships, etc. etc. I find it all a little embarrassing and you'd
probably think it was boring anyway.
How do the lawyers say it? I'll stipulate it: I was a normal guy. I had
no confusion about my sex. I can safely say that until very recently I
never had any doubts about it. I had a man's body, I was raised as a man,
I thought of myself as a man, and my thoughts and feeling were fully
masculine. I was a normal guy who liked women. Plain and simple. I hope
that's clear.
So let's just skip to the crux of my story so I can be done with this and
make Dr. Retinar happy.
I don't know, maybe Dr. Retinar can tell me if this is what started me on
my slow transformation but it does seems to be a significant starting
point.
One day I was tossing a football around with one of my school buddies. I
caught the ball and he came toward me to try to tackle me. He was much
larger than me and he took me down easily. I squirmed to try to get away.
He ended up laying right on top of me, face-to-face. I became aware of
his weight pressing down on me, you know, down there. No, it was more like
it was all over me. I felt tingles everywhere. It was strange and
unusual.
Now I know what you are thinking Dr. Retinar, you think I am some kind of
latent homosexual and that this was my first awakening. But no, it wasn't
sexual at all, or at least I didn't take it that way at the time. And even
if it was sexual, it wasn't that I was queer. I wasn't attracted to him. I
told you I was a guy back then. A straight guy. I have never been a
faggot.
A couple of days later I was passing through a big box store on my way to
the electronics section. I cut through the women's underwear aisle. I
stopped in my tracks when I saw a pair of women's lacy silk panties on
display. The same tingles that I had experienced a few days before seemed
to just bubble up inside me.
I still can't say what exactly went through my mind but it went something
like this: "I need these panties. I need to put them on so I can make
these tingles last. I could buy them and check them through the self-scan
aisle without drawing any attention or causing any embarrassment."
Once at home I stripped naked and pulled on the silky, lace-trimmed
french-cut panties. Their softness was enticing and I soon had a huge
hard-on. Well, one thing led to another and...well, I was alone... so I
whacked off.
Now don't be judgmental about that, normal guys whack off all the time,
especially when they are in between girlfriends, as I was at the time.
Well, maybe that's not exactly true, I actually didn't have a girlfriend,
then or any time. But I always saw myself as finding the right girl
someday. It was just... well, it's complicated and I don't want to get
into it just now.
Besides, Dr. Retinar wants me to focus on the recent changes in my mental
state. I suppose that's in keeping with her profession, after all she's a
psychiatrist. But I keep telling her it's hard to remember what it was
like before. My brain operates so much differently now.
I do remember that pretty quickly I was using those panties, and a string
of new ones, as a crutch for what became a nearly continuous obsession
with masturbation. By obsession I mean I was slapping my salami four or
five, even six times a day, and pretty soon I couldn't even get a hard-on
without first pulling on a pair of girlie panties.
At first I felt guilty about this new compulsion, especially right after I
spilled my wad. I would pull off my panties and stuff them under my bed
and swear that I would never put them on again. Of course it was a hollow
promise. I put them on again.... and again, and again, and again. After
a while I just started wearing them all the time. It gave me an almost
continuous hard-on except for the few minutes right after I finished.
But in those afterglow moments my guilt was soon replaced by a sense of
calmness. I wanted to just curl up on the bed and cozy up with a cute
stuffed animal. But I was a guy and of course guys don't have any with
stuffed animals. A thought flittered through my head, "This is pretty
weird."
Did wearing girl's panties and then feeling soft and cozy inside affect me
at all? I certainly didn't think so, at least not at first. Perhaps I was
in denial since it felt so good. It seemed to take me away from the
boring humdrum my life had become. I didn't think of any of this as
unmanly either, although that little voice that everyone has inside their
head started saying things like, "You know, this is unmanly."
I bought a nighty from one of those online lingerie stores. It was the
kind of nightwear that women purchase to cater to their man's basest
caveman desires. When I tried to open the tight fitting box it didn't come
apart easily. That just increased my excitement. By the time I pulled
apart the box, gingerly opened the pink scented tissue paper, and exposed
the carefully folded gown, I could feel my heart thumping in my chest.
I lifted it up to reveal its sweetheart neckline. The plisse bodice was
lace trimmed with a small pink bow sewn to the lowest part of the
neckline. Pink ribbons streamed from it down to the narrow waistline of
the delicate silk garment which was finished with soft pink froufrou
around its hem. I pulled the gown out and let its full length cascade
along my naked body. The soft fabric against my skin further excited me.
I stood before a full-length mirror and let its sheer pleats swish around
my legs. I gathered the gown up and pulled it over my head. The tight
garment embraced my body in sensual femininity. I squirmed on the bed as
the bodice clung tightly to my torso and the soft pleats gingerly caressed
my thighs.
Can you see why I wanted this? It was exciting, it was thrilling. It was
forbidden! It was necessary.
Things progressed pretty quickly. Before long I was dressing fully in
woman's clothes. It seemed like I had to now in order to get fully erect.
That voice inside my head warned me. "These obsessive thoughts have got to
stop." But I didn't listen.
At this stage my mental state was pretty simple: I wanted to whack off
pretty much all the time, and the only way I could seem to keep doing it
anymore was to dress up as a girl. Was that bad? Was it doing any long-
term damage? I didn't know. But I had to somehow come to grips with this
weird yet fascinating obsession. So I kept telling myself I was okay. I
figured, "A little crossdressing is good for the soul," or something like
that. Surely it was harmless.
Oh, I'm sure some of you will judge me. Go ahead, call me a sissy or a
faggot. I know I wasn't one. After all, I liked women. I liked them so
much I wanted to dress up as one. Doesn't that make some sort of sense?
Besides, what's the harm in having a little fun in private?
I asked myself, "How normal is it for a man to feel this way?" To tell the
truth, I really didn't know if this was normal or not. I mean, maybe it
was. For all I knew maybe all guys did it, or wished they could.
My inside voice was more direct. "Normal guys don't dress up in women's
clothes."
"Shut up," I responded.
To tell the truth, I wasn't all that bad looking when I dressed up. I
would pirouette in the mirror, change clothes often, and practice walking
like a woman in my new high heels. The more I did it the more I started
looking and feeling like a girl. It was fascinating. It was fun.
Besides, it was starting to become difficult to pleasure myself without
first dressing in sexy woman's clothes. Maybe difficult is not the right
word. It became impossible.
One night just after I had a huge orgasm while I was dressed in my
favorite nightgown I felt something odd. I can't really describe it all
that well. I felt like my brain had opened up a door into a new
previously unknown room or something. I was amazed to discover this new
place that I didn't know existed. I felt, how can I express this? I felt
very different once I entered that room. I felt all cuddly, like
someone's Teddy Bear. I asked myself, "Is this how a woman feels?"
That seemed to have been a turning point for me. I was still whacking off
pretty regularly. But it wasn't always easy. For one thing, Mr. Salami
was starting to act like Mr. Vienna Sausage. He still felt wonderful but
he seemed less interested in standing tall, if you get my drift. With a
little extra work I could get a good climax but I couldn't seem to squirt
any manly fluid anymore.
Okay, I admit this was all a little bit frightening and odd. But I
figured, no one had to know. On the outside, I was still a normal guy.
Inside, I was really getting annoyed at that little voice. Now he was
calling me, "Sissy! Faggot! Queer!" I suppose he was trying to shame me.
It didn't work.
But things kept getting weirder. I started to feel that wave of feminine
softness pass over me after every attempt at masturbation. I say attempt
because it was getting a lot more difficult to get to completion. I used
to rise up on a moment's notice and then quickly explode. And I could do
it six or seven times a day.
But now it was different. Part of it was that I kept getting distracted
by intrusive thoughts. Like I would find myself walking through fields of
colorful sweet-smelling flowers. Or I would suddenly visualize a cute
puppy with big brown eyes looking up at me. I wanted to stop, pick him
up, and cuddle him.
Now how can a guy stay on track when something like that pops into his
head? So instead of beating my meat I sometimes just imagined I was
cuddling a puppy. A couple of times the puppy seemed to turn into a cute
baby. "What the fuck was that about?" I wondered.
I told myself this was insane. I needed to stop. I spoke into the mirror,
"I am not a girlie man. I am a normal guy!" But there didn't seem to be
a lot of conviction to my words. I threw away all my girl clothes but then
broke down and fetched them from the trash just before the garbage truck
pulled to the curb.
By now I had to resort to extreme measures to get myself excited.
Sometimes I tried to imagine what it would be like to not have a penis. I
tried tucking my penis between my legs and then looking in the mirror. I
liked what I saw. I thought, "Gee, I look pretty good without a big bulge
down there." Or maybe, if I'm as truthful as Dr. Retinar wants me to be,
the thought was more like, "Maybe I don't really need a penis."
The fact of the matter was that I was starting to get excited not by
pulling and stroking my tool, but by imagining that I didn't have one to
stroke. Weird thoughts just floated into my head. "Maybe I don't really
want a penis."
By now I could get a sexual high by just thinking these new thoughts while
pulling on my nipples or running my fingers over my thighs and between my
legs. These "orgasms" were less intense but they spread throughout my body
and the sensation lasted much longer. I told myself it was a welcome
distraction. My inner voice nagged, "It's not distraction, it's
perversion!"
Very soon, my most exciting thought had transformed into something like,
"I wish I had a cunt." But if you start to imagine having a vagina down
there don't you also have to imagine a proper tool to excite it? I
sidestepped the issue by focussing just on disembodied penises. I didn't
want to visualize the rest. I told myself, "Playing with just an
imaginary penis, and maybe even kissing and sucking on it a little, was
NOT a homosexual thought." I mean, I wasn't attracted to men, was I? I
ignored the voice yelling at me, "Sucking another man's penis IS a
homosexual thought!" But he seemed so wrong.
Still, I was very ashamed that I needed to fantasize about men in order to
get to where I needed to go. It was pretty gross too, at least at first,
but it was gross in an exciting way. And, after a while those cute cuddly
puppy fantasies started to change too. By change I mean the puppies
started to morph into guys. Big hairy naked guys with nice tushes and
rippling muscles. I should have been frightened by this sudden intrusion.
I tried to shut out such thoughts but instead I found myself imagining
pressing my flesh against their hard bodies.
Ugh! It was shameful. It was gross. It was exciting. But what straight
guy wants to admit, even to himself, that they are getting their rocks off
thinking about naked men? "You didn't just think that, did you? I can't
believe it," my tiresome voice complained.
As my obsession grew and morphed it seemed to start affecting my outward
appearance as well. I thought that my skin seemed smoother. Most of my
body hair seemed to have thinned or disappeared but I couldn't be sure how
much it had receded.
"Look at yourself. Can't you see what this is doing to you?" That annoying
inner voice screamed as I was filing my now long fingernails. I held them
up before me and imagined what they'd look like with a pink, no maybe a
dark red color carefully painted on them.
I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. Somehow I got the impression
that I had developed a more feminine, curvier shape. But I wasn't sure if
it was just my imagination. I could have been wrong, but when I stood in
front of a full length mirror it really did look like my waist was smaller
and my hips a bit wider. My nipples seemed to stick out a little too. I
really was getting girlish. Inside and out.
"You are going to go crazy if you don't stop this." But the voice now
seemed far away, like someone outside of myself. When I tried to picture
this guy what popped into my mind was a man sitting in a closet with his
legs pulled to his chest. He was bound hand and foot with tightly knotted
ropes. I stuffed my cum-filled panties into his mouth. After that, he
wasn't able to do more than issue a muted gurgle.
"It feels so good, so natural," said a new voice inside my head. She had
a much more comforting and less alarming voice.
So I took the easy way out. I turned away from the voice of caution. I
closed the closet door and adopted the more comforting viewpoint of the
other voice. "It feels natural and good to be feminine," she declared.
I tried walking like a woman and found it easy to do, especially with my
growing hips and long hairless legs. I could step into a short skirt, and
stand erect in my four-inch heels and then sashay around like a girl. It
amazed me at how easy it was to do this. I felt girlie, and, how can I
put this? It started to feel wonderfully normal.
One day as I was changing my bra I noticed that my breasts were bigger.
Or it seemed like they were. I could cup them in my hand now and my
nipples and areola appeared more swollen and darker than before. It felt
wonderful to stroke and play with them. I thought, "Is this really
happening? How is this possible?" I told myself, "If this is real then I
am okay with it." I WAS okay. No, I was better than just okay. "I
wanted it to be real!"
The changes with the most impact weren't physical. It became easier to
identify with other people's feelings. Here is an example: One day I saw
a small girl sitting on a swing in the park. I could feel her frustration
at not being able to get the swing started. So I went over and talked to
her until her tears had dried and then I pushed her for a while. It
really made me feel warm inside that I could make someone else feel so
good. It also made me feel a little ashamed that my male self would have
simply ignored her.
I started going out dressed as a woman. It wasn't as big a deal as it
sounds. By this time I could fit comfortably in tight woman's jeans. If
I put on a little makeup, brushed my hair, and pulled on a loose pink
sweatshirt, I found that I could reliably get store clerks to call me
ma'm and men to open doors for me.
Isn't this wonderful?" Asked my new feminine inner voice. Gosh, it was so
good to be done with that annoying bastard. This voice was so much more
tender, warm, and supportive.
In my previous incarnation I immediately identified any man who preened
his hair with a flick of his hand, walked with an exaggerated swing in his
hips, and dangled a limp wrist, as most certainly a queer. I mean it's a
natural part of all straight men to have an active 'gaydar' isn't it?
Yet no one ever accused me of being queer and no queer guys ever made a
pass at me. In fact, the opposite was true. Straight guys began checking
me out. And I confess, I started to enjoy it. In fact, I started to
return them sideway's glances.
I was going to leave out this part but I might as well tell it. One day,
when I was dressed up more or less like a slut, I ran into a guy I sort of
knew from school. He recognized me but he pretended that I was a girl.
Kind of funny huh? Each of us pretending. Anyway, we started to talk and
then next thing I knew I was in his car getting high with him. He made a
move and I didn't resist. He slipped me the tongue and I was like,
"Alright, that was pretty good, I think."
I was struggling though. A part of me was still trying to hang onto the
small shred of masculinity I still had. But I was having a lot of trouble
feeling and acting like a man any more. I wanted to resist but it seemed
so overwhelming. I fought with myself. "I must fight. I won't. I
should resist. I can't."
I tried to visualize this epic battle. I saw a tall, radiant, Amazon-like
woman. Her dark hair was piled high on her head. She was dressed in skin-
tight red-sequined leotards that clung to the outlines of her goddess-like
figure. She wore shiny thigh-high leather boots with elevated soles and
six-inch heels. Her muscular arms wielded a razor-sharp battle sword. She
was tall, immense, and strong.
Prostrated before her was a bound, naked, quivering little man. He
lowered his head and crept forward enough to reach out and grasp her
leather-clad foot. He tried to kiss it. She responded with disgust.
Shaking her foot free she tipped her steel battle instrument so that it's
sharp point just touched the base of his neck.
She applied a little pressure to the blade. He managed to push out the
cum-soaked panties that had been stuffed into his mouth. He blurted,
"Your highness. Please! I beg you, don't kill me." He collapsed beneath
this towering female edifice and whimpered.
She lifted the blade and then quickly placed it under his chin. She
lifted his head with the blade until he was gazing directly into her
smokey eyes. She looked deep into his soul. "You aren't worth the effort
it would take to do it."
She turned and addressed me directly, "He's a man. Is this what you want
to be? He is so weak and inconsequential. I am strong. Wouldn't you
rather be like me? You can be." Her message sounded so sensible. "It's
time to give it up."
I nodded.
With that she pulled on an immense wooden lever. A trap door opened
beneath the man's crumpled body. I watched his silhouette shrink as he
fell away down a long dark shaft.
Some epic battle, wasn't it?
Something was turning me a girl and I was powerless to stop it. Feminine
thoughts and emotions had crushed my manhood. I couldn't fight it any
longer. I didn't want to fight it. Embracing femininity seemed like the
right path. Embrace it I did.
So I texted the guy and went over to his place about a week after that
first time we kissed. This time things went much further. He didn't seen
to care that I was a boy. We started to make out heavy and pretty soon he
had pulled down his pants a little and placed my hand on his erect tool. I
didn't resist.
Very quickly I was stroking the pubic hair on his balls and playing with
his engorged dick. But I couldn't stop there, I just couldn't. I slid
down his torso and grabbed at his open belt. I pulled his pants the rest
of the way down his legs, fully exposing his stiff tool to my gaze. I
eagerly pulled the pulsating organ into my mouth and clamped my lips
around it. It felt exactly like I had imagined it. No, better, because
now there was a real man attached to it.
Then he took me from behind. Once he got fully inside me it was an
exciting and wonderful feeling. I mean his pelvis was pressed against my
backside, his tool was deep inside me, and his strong arms wrapped around
my torso as his hands played with my little titties. My inner voice cried
out, "Ohhhh... .Yes!" My outer voice whimpered, "Ohhhh....Yes!"
He gasped then groaned as he unloaded his wad, covering my insides with
his sticky seed. It was thrilling to think that I could satisfy a man
that way. Oh, it was so wonderful. It was the best sex I had ever had.
Well, okay, a little truth here: this was actually the first time I ever
had sex with anyone. But that didn't make it any less wonderful.
Afterward I put my head on his bare chest and he stroked my hair and face.
It made me feel wonderfully feminine inside and out. At that point I
couldn't imagine ever going back. Sweet surrender!
I began to realize that every time I fantasized about being a woman, and
especially when pictured myself making love to a man, I suddenly became
aware of some new change in my physical body. I pictured having female
organs inside and I became convinced that, indeed, I now had ovaries and a
uterus.
I have no idea how this worked. I heard once that there are swami's or
Tibetan monks who can create physical things out of thin air just by
meditating. I didn't know anything about meditation but maybe somehow I
was unconsciously doing something like that. I just didn't know. But once
I figured it out I made a every effort to visualize myself going all the
way. I lived the thought, "I am a woman inside and out now!"
Well, I might as well cut to the chase. The more I thought about becoming
a woman the more I seemed to change into one. Each day brought something
new, each day brought me closer to what I knew I had to become. I
succumbed to full femininity. My male self disappeared, he had slipped
down a sewer without a whimper. And I was glad to be rid of him. I
became a woman in every sense: physical, emotional, and mental. I am a
woman now. I am the woman I want to be. Perhaps I became the woman I
needed to be.
- - - - -
"Wake up Nicky." Dr. Retinar's tone was sharp.
Nicky's head had slumped on the small writing table Retinar had cleared
for the essay.
Nicky woke up slowly as Dr. Retinar picked up a legal pad that had fallen
on the floor, then flipped through the scribbles.
"What's this?" She thumbed through a couple more pages. "I'll tell you
what this is, it's nonsense." She waved the pad in Nicky's face. "Total
bullshit. You have to take this exercise seriously. This is important."
Nicky rubbed sleepy eyes. "Sorry, I must have fallen asleep."
Dr. Retinar looked directly at Nicky. "Now listen to me. You think you
are going to get out of here next month on your twenty-first birthday,
don't you? You think the state can't hold you past the age of twenty-one.
But you are wrong. To get out of here you need a clearance from a
certified psychiatrist or we can keep you here indefinitely."
"Is that so?" Nicky asked incredulously.
"Yes, and at the moment I am not inclined to sign off on your release.
Look at this." She waved the pad in Nicky's face. "I told you I needed
an honest emotional biography and you produced what? A sordid account of
your fantasy sex life?"
"I told you it's not a fantasy. It's the truth. Every word of it is
true," Nicky pleaded.
"Look, I thought we made a lot of progress these last couple months. I
thought you were coming to terms with...." She interrupted herself in
mid-sentence as another thought formed in her mind. She pointed a sharp
finger. "No, apparently you've been faking it all along."
"But, but, let me...." Nicky pleaded.
"Stop it Nicky. This is sheer perverted transgendered fantasy. You have
to quit pulling shit like this on me. I've been around here a long time
and I've seen a lot of kids try to pull the wool over my eyes. But I've
never seen the likes of you. You know what I think? Anyone who writes
crap like this must be sick. You are too sick in the head to be released,
aren't you?"
Her words landed on Nicky like a granite block unleashed from a rocky
precipice.
"You've got me wrong. Can't you see what I've become? I'm a girl now. A
very good girl. I'm very different. Oh god, why can't anyone see who I
really am?"
"I see exactly who you are."
Tears welled up in Nicky's eyes.
"Crocodile tears! Cut the crap. Acting like that isn't going to get you
anywhere.
"Now I want you to write your biography for me. I want you to address
everything: your impoverished childhood, your appalling incompetent
parents, the foster homes, the years of sexual abuse, the cutting, the
drugs, the lies, and the crimes you've committed. You have to lay it all
out for me. It's the only way you'll ever get out of here."
Nicky turned back toward the writing table and muttered, "Fucking bitch."
- - - -
First, I want to be honest and open about this essay. It wasn't my idea.
I have been seeing Dr. Retinar for some time now and she suggested,... no
encouraged,... no she really made it unambiguously clear: I must write an
honest personal biography centered on my thoughts and emotions. So here
goes.
My name is Nicky Akers and I was born almost 21 years ago. My very first
memory is of me huddled between the wall and my bed while clinging to
Tata, my security blanket. I was hiding because I was scared. My father
was beating my mother senseless and she was crying out for him to stop.
And I remember thinking, "I don't want to be a girl anymore. Girls get
hurt. I'd rather be a man."
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