Gender Choice Week
- 1 year ago
- 27
- 0
Gender Choice Week: The Test free porn video
Gender Choice Week: The Test
This story is set in the same universe as "Gender Choice Week," the very
first story I published on Fictionmania, in 2015. In this universe, all
children are born with male and female organs, and they choose their
gender (or it is chosen for them) at the start of puberty. I hope to
write more stories in this universe, exploring how different societies
handle Gender Choice.
This story is set in a country where a person's gender is chosen in "The
Test" - a week of examinations, interviews and challenges. It is the
story of one boy's experience of the test, and how her life unfolded
afterwards.
(This version just fixes a few typing errors in the original).
*****
Author's note: In fact this universe is very slightly different from
"Gender Choice Week." Perhaps one day I will go back and that change
story to match. But for the purposes of (hopefully) enjoying the story,
differences should not matter.
******
Gender Choice Week is a nervous moment in any young boy's life.
As you no doubt are aware, homo sapiens is unique among mammals, in that
all children are born with both male and female sex organs. But the penis
and scrotum cover the vagina, and the ovaries are inside the body, so
externally we are all born looking male. If the testes remain intact, the
testosterone produced at puberty kills the ovaries, and the boy grows
into a male adult.
But if the testes are removed before puberty, or in the early stages of
puberty, then the ovaries awaken, and the body produces estrogen instead
of testosterone. This causes the penis to retract into the body, and the
boy becomes a girl, and grows into an adult female.
This process of removing the testes is called feminisation.
This was an evolutionary advantage for our ancestors. It allowed tribes
of homo sapiens to more quickly adapt to changing conditions, giving us
an advantage over rival species such as the Neanderthals. It allowed a
tribe to produce mainly females when fast reproduction was needed, or
mainly males when strength was needed.
But for modern humans, it presents a lot of stress and trial. It sounds
great in theory that every person can choose their gender. But it's not
that simple, because these days in my country, only about 30-40% of boys
choose to be female. (In some countries, where women's rights are poor,
the number is even lower). So if you want to be female, great, you always
get your choice. But of those who want to be male, roughly only 3/4 get
their wish. The other 1/4 have to be forcibly feminised, in order to keep
the gender balance at 50-50.
*****
So that brings me to Gender Choice Week. In my country, Gender Choice
Week is in the week after your 13th birthday. (Though everyone has
regular medical examinations, and anyone undergoing early puberty has to
do Gender Choice Week as soon as puberty begins).
Of course, I wanted to stay male. It's not just that I liked having a
penis and I didn't want to lose it and spend my life sitting to pee. And
it also wasn't just that I didn't want a lifetime of being shorter and
weaker, of having periods, and being the one who had to get pregnant.
It was just as much, the whole male privilege in society thing. The
leaders are nearly all men. The great achievers are nearly all men. Men
earn a higher salary on average - partly because they're not the ones who
get pregnant and breast-feed the babies. And I wanted that. I didn't want
to be relegated to continually being out-achieved by people who were
taller, stronger, and didn't have to bear children.
For those who want to stay male, "Gender Choice Week" is a bit of a
misnomer. It would be better termed "Gender Selection Week." We get put
through a series of tests, so that the Department of Gender Choice can
decide whether to make us male or female.
*****
So when my time came, my parents drove me to the Gender Choice Clinic.
"Good luck son," my father said. He and I both knew that meant: "I hope
you get to stay male."
I handed in my Gender Request Form, which of course said that I wished to
stay male. "That means you'll be put through Gender Suitability Tests for
rest of the week," I was told. Of course I knew that's what would happen.
So I said goodbye to my parents and gave them a hug and a kiss. The next
time I would see them would be at the end of the week, when my fate would
be decided. Either I would be leaving so they could take me home as a
male; or I would already have had my testes removed, and they would be
paying a visit while I stayed at the clinic for two more weeks, as my
body changed to female.
The first day was for medical tests. This, the doctor explained, was to
ensure that I was in good health. They didn't want any illness or injury
unfairly hampering me during the tests. "But you're completely healthy,"
the doctor said, "So it's up to you!" He smiled.
The next day I sat a series of academic exams. I knew that my school
grades would also count, but still these exams were important.
At school, I'd done everything I could to give myself the best chance in
Gender Choice Week. I'd studied hard, and stayed out of trouble. I also
played lots of sport to stay fit, because physical attributes were
important - society wanted the strongest and fittest to be male. Finally,
I'd worked on leadership, because men took all important leadership roles
in society. An 11 or 12 year old can't do too much leadership, but I
tried to do my part, by helping to coach a junior soccer team, and
helping out as a swim teacher.
So, the exams went pretty well. In the maths and science, I answered very
confidently, and felt there was very little I didn't know. In the English
exam there was a creative writing exercise, which I applied myself to as
best I could. There were also a series of ethical questions, which I
thought I gave good answers to.
The second day began with an interview. I was interviewed by a team of 5
people, which was a little daunting. They asked me various questions like
why I wanted to be male, what sort of career I wanted (scientist,
engineer or programmer, I said); whether I intended to marry and have
kids (yes, I said); and my opinions on the roles and rights of men and
women and society (I said women deserved equal rights). I answered them
as best I could and I think I impressed them.
That afternoon was rest time. But we were informed that there was a one
way glass window, and our behaviour would be observed.
The third day was given to various fitness tests and challenges: running,
jumping, swimming, weights, gymnastics, and a cross country race. I think
I did pretty well. I certainly seemed to be outperforming most of the
boys near me, except perhaps when doing weights and sprinting.
The fourth morning was another interview. This was with a single
interviewer, but again there was a one way glass window so that I could
be observed. This interview was a little trickier. I was posed various
moral questions and dilemmas. I thought hard before each answer, and I
think my answers were good.
That afternoon, we were told to make ourselves look as good as possible,
and present one last speech to the decision panel. So I showered and
dressed, put on a suit and tie, to make myself as neat and presentable as
I could. I gave what I hoped was a good talk on what I could contribute
to society, what a good citizen I was, and why I deserved to be male.
*****
And so that brought me to Friday. I knew that Friday was Gender Decision
Day. There was no need to dress up, so I got into comfortable clothes and
waited. I knew that my appointment was 11.00.
I wasn't allowed to see any other boys after their decision. But
wandering the corridors to go to the toilet, I had a pretty good idea
what was happening. The first time I went, I heard a lot of laughing and
happy talking. I don't know who was in there, but he'd obviously got his
wish to stay male.
A second time I went out, it was very different. It was chilling. "No!" a
voice wailed. "No, it can't be! I don't want to be a girl! No!"
I stayed in the corridor as long as I dared, trying to pick up what was
being said. Someone was saying something, but I've no idea what. Then the
poor boy began screaming in response.
"No, you can't do this! Please, I'll do anything. My family has good
money, I'm sure they'll pay! Please! Please, let go! No..."
A door slammed and noises were becoming far more muffled. Obviously he
was being taken down to the feminisation wing.
"I hope I don't react like that" I thought. Then I realised what that
thought meant. "No, to be precise, I hope I don't have to react like
that!" I corrected myself. I shuddered and went back to my room. And
waited.
11 o'clock passed, but no one came.
11.10. Still no one had come. What was going on? I just wanted this to be
over with.
Finally, at 11.20, a nurse came. "Mark Richardson?"
"Yes?"
"It's time for your Gender Decision Meeting. Please follow me."
I followed her to a room. I sat down in front of a panel of three: two
men and a woman. Ominously, I noted the two well built men at the door.
They were dressed casually, but they were obviously there for security,
in the case of outbursts like I had heard before.
The man in the middle spoke, and indeed he did most of the talking.
"Mark Richardson?"
"Yes," I replied.
"Can you confirm for me your date of birth and address."
I gave them to him.
"OK Mark. I will try to get to the point quickly."
"You did very well in almost every test. Indeed some of your results were
exceptional."
I smiled nervously.
"Science... good. English skills... good. Maths skills.... excellent."
I smiled a little more. Nearly the great people in maths and science were
men.
"And your physical results: strong and fit. Hand-eye co-ordination is
good but not great. But very good flexibility in the gymnastics test. And
extremely impressive stamina. It looks like you're the sort of person who
can endure a lot and won't give up."
"But perhaps most impressive of all, some of the answers you gave for the
ethics questions and interviews. You really are a thoughtful and
compassionate young man."
"Not only are you strong, intelligent and resourceful, and with great
inner strength; but you are very caring and thoughtful towards other
people."
Again I smiled sheepishly.
"... which is why the panel unanimously agrees: you will make an
excellent woman."
"What?" I said. I paused for a few seconds and tears began to well up "A
woman?"
"But of course." said the woman next to him. "Your scores for compassion
and empathy are almost off the charts. You're exactly the sort of person
society wants as a woman and as a mother."
"But..."
"I can understand your disappointment, Mark," said the man in the centre
again. "But the results are clear."
"But... I performed well in everything, you said."
"That's right, Mark. But you performed better in some than others. You
excel in the feminine qualities."
"Why is compassion a feminine quality?" I asked in desperation.
"Because women are the nurturers. The carers of our children. We don't
want mothers and carers without compassion."
"But what about leaders? What about the direction society takes? Don't we
want men with compassion? Leaders with compassion?"
The other man spoke, "Mark, haven't you been following elections world
wide? Brexit in the UK. The Coalition in Australia. Trump in America.
Society doesn't want compassionate leaders. It wants strong leaders.
Arrogant leaders. Ruthless leaders."
"And Mark," the man in the centre began, "there's barely a shred of
arrogance or ruthlessness in you."
"You mean... I'm being penalised for being kind? Penalised for being a
good person?"
"You might think of it as being penalised, but I've got to be blunt Mark,
it's not about you?"
"What?"
"It's about what's best for society. We don't want mothers who don't care
for children. We want the caring people to be the mothers. The arrogant
and ruthless people - we want them to be the men. The fighters and the
leaders in society."
"And see, you're crying Mark," said the woman. "We saw you get close to
tears in some of the tests. Men don't cry. It's we women, who care more
deeply. We're the ones who cry."
"So-so there's no appealing this?" I stammered.
"None, sorry. Your numbers are so high on the feminine side, it's not
even close."
"You might not like it. But remember, Gender Choice Week is, most of all,
about choosing what's best for our country."
The nurse spoke up. "Mark, would you like to come with me?"
I looked at her. I looked at the people on the panel. And I looked at the
two security guards on the door. I knew there was no way out of this.
"OK," I sobbed.
*****
The nurse led me to an operating theatre. "It'll be alright," she said. I
smiled weakly.
A doctor came in. "This needle contains anaesthetic. This will put you to
sleep for the operation. We will remove your testes while you are asleep,
and you will wake up in the recovery room."
Again, there was nothing I could do but nod and agree.
Looking back, I wonder if I should have felt my balls one last time. But
I didn't, and watched as he injected, and I drifted off to sleep.
*****
How can I describe my next two weeks at the Gender Choice Clinic?
Helpless, would be the best word.
Once I woke up, with my testes removed, I knew what was coming was
inevitable; there was nothing I could do about it. With no testes, my
body produced no male hormones. My ovaries took over, and the female
hormones did their work.
Every morning when I woke up and look down, my penis was a little
smaller.
By the fifth day, the "pee hole" was beginning to open up and get longer,
extending partway down the length of my half-sized penis. Urine came out
there as well as the tip, so I could no longer pee standing without
making a mess on the floor. My days at the urinal were over.
By the seventh day, you could hardly call it a penis, it was just a
little nub jutting out of my scrotum, with an opening partway down for
the pee.
On the eighth day, I saw that my scrotum was beginning to split in two,
with a vertical opening between the two halves.
By the next morning the vertical opening went all the way down, and it
could no longer be called a scrotum. It was now my outer labia, and the
entrance to my vagina.
By the 11th morning, my penis had retracted completely inside my labia.
The tip of my penis was now my clitoris, while the rest of my penis had
reformed into my inner labia.
Meanwhile, from about day 6, I had also started to get a swelling in my
breasts.
By the time I was discharged after two weeks, I was completely a girl.
Down below there was no trace of masculinity: I had outer labia, inner
labia, a vagina, and a clitoris. On my chest, I had small but well
defined breasts, which would continue to grow over the next few years.
*****
When I got home, my family was really good about it. As is traditional
for boys called Mark, my name was changed to Marcia. My younger brothers
never teased me about my new name, perhaps because they knew the same
thing could well happen to them in a few years' time.
I had the traditional "Welcome to Womanhood" party, where I was given a
host of female clothes and other feminine gifts. My room was redecorated
in purples and pinks, suitable for a teenage girl rather than a pre-teen
boy.
My hair was cut in a more feminine style, and I was given clips to put
in, even though I didn't need them until my hair grew out a bit. Every
new girl is encouraged to have feminine hair and feminine clothes, so
that people know they are a girl without having to ask awkward questions.
Speaking of clothes... nearly all my old clothes had to be binned, and my
mother took me shopping to get a whole new wardrobe. It was tough having
to buy all those skirts, blouses and dresses, but my mother was really
gentle about it. She also showed me how to put on a bra. With a bra
highlighting my small breasts, I had to admit I looked pretty cute in a
dress.
One thing I did not like though, was swimsuits. Whether it was a one-
piece or a two-piece, I could not handle how it hugged my crotch so
closely, making it unmistakable that I did not have a penis anymore. I
mean, everyone knows I am a girl, but do swimsuits have to show my shape
and highlight it so blatantly?
The swimsuits were the reason I gave up teaching swimming. I did teach
for a few more weeks, wearing a one-piece swimsuit, but it was too
humiliating. I felt that my very obviously female body was on display too
much. Many of the younger boys couldn't help looking at me, perhaps
because they had never a teenage girl's figure before, and were seeing
how their bodies might look if they were feminised. But the older boys
were looking too, no doubt basking in the fact that they had kept their
penis while I had not, and perhaps dreaming about what they could do with
me if they had the chance. So I have up teaching swimming, and avoided
swimming entirely, except with my family.
*****
I was one of the youngest in my year level at school, so I had seen many
boys disappear for Gender Choice Week, and return as girls. And now it
was my turn, trying to fit into school as a new girl, literally.
The other girls, to their credit, were very welcoming to me. It was kind
of hard, because I had not been good friends with most of them - most of
my friends had stayed male. But now, us girls all had something in
common. Whether they had chosen it, or like me it was chosen for us, we
were all getting used to being female for the first time.
There was another reason I tended to avoid my old friends who had stayed
male: the sexism. I noticed that most of the boys thought they were in
some way superior, because they had been selected to be male.
The worst thing was: most of the girls seemed to agree! They thought that
because they were not selected as male, or had chosen not to be male,
they were inferior to the boys. It showed in how much bigger and stronger
the boys were, far outperforming us in every sport.
And it seemed to show up academically too, where the boys mostly did
better. Now I am convinced that girls are no less smart or academic than
boys. But I think many of the girls just gave up in school. Their morale
took such a blow when they were feminised, that they were resigned to
having second-class careers, or not working at all and simply being
mothers. (Not there is anything wrong with being a mother! But that
shouldn't stop a woman from having a good career too, if she wants it).
I resisted this. Of course there was no way I could compete with the boys
in physical activities such as sports. I actually tried for a short time,
playing soccer with the boys during lunch break, but I quickly gave up,
because they kept muscling me out with their larger, stronger bodies.
Looking back, I suspect they targeted me and any other girl who tried to
play, to assert their dominance.
But I would not be a second class student just because I was a girl. I
continued to study hard, topping the class most times. The Department of
Gender Choice might have taken my manhood, but it was not keeping me out
of a scientific career.
*****
I went on to gain entry to a prestigious university, where I was one of
the few women in the engineering course. Competition was tougher than at
school, but I still got good grades and came close to the top of the
class.
When I went looking for a job, I could tell that some companies thought I
was less able because I was a woman. Not only by the way talked during
interviews, but because every single engineer and manager on staff was a
man. But eventually I got a job at a more open-minded technology company.
*****
And it was there I met Ted: a man who respected me completely as an
equal, as well as treating my like a princess on every date we went on.
We fell in love, and got engaged to be married.
We waited until our wedding night to have sex. I was nervous, but I need
not have been. When we first saw each other naked, his reaction was
everything I had hoped for. The look in his eyes - not to mention the
reaction of his penis - made it clear how sexy he thought I was. It was a
little strange: here was this female body that I did not really want, yet
Ted clearly thought it was the most wondrous and beautiful thing he had
ever seen.
As for me, initially I had trouble getting aroused. Then I looked at his
erect penis, and I realised something: I still wished I had one. Even
more than 10 years after being feminised, I wished that was me with the
penis. I wished I was the one getting ready to enter my wife, instead of
lying back and waiting for my husband to enter me.
And, paradoxically, that is what did it for me. The thought that I was
helpless to do this, because my penis had been reduced to a tiny clitoris
which could only wait for my husband's touch, was incredibly arousing. I
could almost feel myself gushing as I got wet and turned on as never
before, as I realised how weak and feminine I was, and wished for the
penis that wasn't there. I was at the mercy of Ted, because he was the
one with the penis, taking me and entering me.
I got so aroused, and so wet, that first time sex was almost easy. After
he entered me I quickly came to the most intense orgasm of my life.
And so finally, after wedding night sex, I began to accept my female
body. But still, much as I accepted it, much as I enjoyed sex, I still
had that secret wish that I was the man.
*****
A couple of years later I became pregnant, and 9 months later gave birth
to our first baby, Charles. Of course like all babies he is a boy, at
least for now.
And I am writing my story in between times of breastfeeding Charles.
Because, as I breastfeed him, I realise this is something I never would
have experienced if I had not been feminised all those years ago.
Of course sex as a woman is something I would not have experienced
either, but that is kind of different, because I missed out on something
else (sex as a man) in order to experience it.
But breastfeeding... that is something completely different, something
only a woman experiences. As I see him suck on my full breast, I realise
I am nurturing and feeding him as only a woman can.
And for the first time since I was feminised, I feel fulfilled. I am
proud of my female body, and what it can do. I am grateful for my
breasts, and grateful I am a mother.
All those years ago, when I was selected for feminisation, I was told I
excelled in the feminine qualities of nurturing and compassion. And now,
as I nurse my baby son, I finally see what they mean.
When I was going through school, I succeeded in spite of being a woman.
When I had sex with Ted, I came to accept I was a woman. But now, as my
breasts nurture and feed Charles, I love being a woman.
It has taken me 15 years to say it, but the Department of Gender Choice
got it right. I am thankful that I was turned into a woman, and I
wouldn't have it any other way.
The End
(As always, any feedback is most welcome!)
Louise
- 22.09.2020
- 22
- 0
