The Wayit is now Ch9
- 2 years ago
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Thinking With My Dick - Ch9 - A Change Of Scene free porn video
Yes, this update has been monstrously long in coming. So long in fact
that AlsoAshley's Alex to Alina, the story whose beginning and missing
end inspired this one(You mean 'was shamelessly ripped off'? -ed Shut up
-Gemma), has now, itself, finished (You should read it). Sadly, this is,
what I think of as, the boring pipelaying part of my plot. No major new
steps in girlying up Jamie, and not yet at the fun smutty stuff I want to
write later. And so, as life has intervened, this story ends up at the
bottom of my to do list more often than not. That said, I do know where
it's going, the in media res opening has hove into view on the horizon,
and that's probably about the end of the first third or so of the plot.
So thanks for bearing with me, my slowness, and my imaginary
conversations with my utterly fictional editor (Fuck you too bitch -ed).
In the meantime, I'd also suggest Madalynn Avery's Hot for Teacher, also
sadly incomplete, but with many more chapters than TWMD. Kisses and
cummies -Gemma
=================================================================
Despite my fears, my flight was an unexpected oasis of normality. Maybe
it was being out in such a public space, maybe it was getting away from
home. Whatever it was, I felt more normal, more like me, real me, boy
me, sitting on that plane than I had in weeks. Other than a brief flash
of panic about what the agents might see while scanning my carry-on
luggage, I didn't think once about girl clothes, or growing boobs, or the
tramp stamp my shirt was hiding. It was great, this trip might work out
after all.
The dry Arizona heat felt cleansing as I wheeled my suitcase out of the
airport towards the taxi rank. It was a wall of heat, like opening the
door to an oven, and it felt like it was burning all the crazy out of me.
The sun was bright, the day was young, and I felt like I could do
anything, surely simply being a boy would be easy.
The conference was at a big hotel on the edge of the downtown area, and
I'd booked a room at a smaller, cheaper, hotel a few blocks away because,
while my job was footing the bill for the conference, they weren't
putting me up in luxury. I was meant to go to the afternoon sessions
today, so I planned to check in to my hotel to drop off my bag, and then
head over.
The cab had the slightly battered air of every taxi I've ever been in,
with vinyl seats that stuck slightly in the heat to any exposed skin. If
the heat outside was gloriously warm, the inside of the game was a wetter
and muggier feel. At first, I couldn't care less, still riding the high
of the shock of normality that first blast of hot air had provided. My
enthusiasm had faded by the time we'd arrived at my hotel, but I
persevered, I could grab a quick shower to wash the taxi and plane funk
off before going to the conference. Stepping out of the cab came none
too soon, I felt slick with a sheen of sweat as I stepped out of the car,
and if it had just been that, it would have been fine, but the mistakes
I'd been blissfully ignoring blindsided me. As I straightened, I felt a
weird patch of wet on my chest suddenly cool as it was exposed to air.
That was a bizarre feeling, I'd never had anything like that before, and
then it hit me, I had, of all things, underboob sweat. Slouched in the
car my budding tits had managed to hang just enough to create a pocket of
sweat that was now rapidly evaporating as I stood. Just like that, all
my girly fears were back, and after paying the driver, I walked far less
confidently into the hotel than I'd left the airport.
The lobby was nice, but generic, like they'd stamped it out from a
template. I could imagine the same front desk, the same, the same
elevators, the same breakfast area replaying over and over in similar
square beige buildings the length of the country. It was eminently
forgettable. A brunette smiled at me from check-in as I walked in.
"Checking in?"
"Umm...Yes," I squeaked, not quite ready to deal with other people after
the cab ride. I dragged my suitcase over to the desk.
"Name?"
"It should be under Black?" Not sure why I asked that like a question.
"Ok." She tapped away at her keyboard before looking back up at me.
"Just the two nights, in a non-smoking king?"
"Yep, that sounds right."
"Alright. Could I have a card to put on file for incidentals?" I handed
over my credit card, and she tapped some more, and then fiddled with some
plastic keycards, before sliding one into a small plastic envelope and
placing it and my credit card back on the counter in front of me. "Your
room 412." She circled the 412 written on the envelope, and then started
motioning directions at me. "You'll go around the corner and take the
elevators up to four. There's a complimentary breakfast buffet in the
lounge from six to ten in the morning. Can I do anything else for you?"
Picking up the cards, I shook my head. "Nope, that's it."
"Alright, please enjoy your stay with us Ms. Black."
I was halfway turned to walk away before that last line penetrated my
brain. 'Ms.' Black? Had she really just called me that? I didn't look
that much like a girl did I? I surreptitiously glanced down as I walked
away, trying to do a personal inventory without being obvious. Guy
clothes, my boobs don't seem to be showing, I thought I was safe. Maybe
I just looked androgynous, that was starting to happen a bit, and she was
just playing it safe. My brain pored over the possibilities, and I
barely noticed taking the elevator up to my floor and keying my room
open.
The room was about as standard as a hotel room could be. Two queen beds,
a desk, a tv, big boxy AC unit under the window, as cookie cutter as it
gets. I dropped my bag on the near bed, and headed into the bathroom to
take a piss. I examined myself again in the mirror. Did I look like a
girl? I don't think so. I mean, yeah, not the manliest guy ever, I'd
been dropping weight for weeks after all, and was starting to look
positively scrawny, but scrawny, not girly. Ok, my chest wasn't quite a
match for how skinny the rest of me was, but it wasn't that bad. Mostly
I just looked slightly oily and gross from several hours in a plane.
'That's the answer,' I thought. I'll have a quick shower before heading
to the conference. I'd wash off the flight grime, rub one out, and I be
presentable and distraction free for the talks. It would be a nice neat
solve for everything.
I stripped, pulling my shirt over my head as I kicked off my pants. The
next time I looked up to the mirror, I was standing there in just my
underwear, and for a moment, the receptionist's reaction made sense. I
was slim verging on skinny, but not scrawny or wirey or sinewy, or any
other masculine adjective. I looked smooth and soft, the skinniness
ebbing and flowing, more pronounced at my waist, where the faint outlines
of my ribs were just starting to show, less at my hips and chest. I
shook my head, and got on with it. I spun the shower tap and stepped in,
shivering momentarily as the cool water poured over me, and then relaxing
into it as it swept away the dirt and grime of the flight.
I found the soap and lathered up. I still hadn't quite gotten used to
how my hands slid so easily over shaved skin in the shower. Especially
having just been thinking about my changing looks, it felt deliciously
feminine. I shook my head, trying to get the dangerous thought out, but
it clung. I stopped, setting the soap down and clenching my fists for a
moment. I looked down at myself, and at the soap suds sliding down my
trim belly in the water. Maybe...maybe a quick wank would would help
clear my head and get my mind off...me. It usually brought some respite
from being caught up in all this girly temptation.
Fine, I resolved, just a quickie, and then I'd be dressed and off to the
conference site to get registered. I grasped my manhood in one hand and
began to stroke. Almost involuntarily, my other hand rose to stroke my
torso, up my smooth flat belly to heft my-not-quite-a-breast and back.
God it felt good. I stiffened (was it, maybe, thinner?) and groaned.
And then...nothing. I didn't notice right away. It still felt good. But
I suddenly realized I'd been caressing myself for a while, longer than
normal. I could feel my prick straining, but it wasn't quite the rock
hard erection I'd been used to since I first hit puberty. It
was...firm..but I couldn't seem to get past that. I sped up, trying to
get over the edge, but no luck. Nothing else worked either, I imagined
porn stars, girls I knew, even, shamefully, myself in lingerie, but
nothing got me to the promised land. Fifteen minutes later I stepped out
of the shower, hornier than I'd stepped in.
I couldn't waste any more time trying to rub one out, I'm an adult for
heaven's sake, not some sex crazed teenager. I'll be a little horny
during the conference talks is all, not a problem. I got dressed, like a
man: boxers, khakis and polo shirt. The picture of a boring librarian,
at a boring librarian conference. All my girl shit was going to stay in
that suitcase.
The walk to the conference site was short but sweltering, and by the time
I arrived I was half afraid I'd developed boob sweat again. Maybe I
should use some antiperspirant on my chest tomorrow. Can you even do
that? What do girl's do about boob sweat? Fuck, I shouldn't need answers
to questions like that. The conference hotel was air conditioned within
an inch of its life, which took care of one problem, but presented
another a few minutes later as I stood in line to pick up my conference
badge and prayed no one could see my diamond hard nipples, because
apparently boobs, even barely there baby one's like mine, are just
inconvenience engines.
I collected my badge and a program from the plain 40ish lady at table in
the corridor outside the event rooms, and fervently hoped her smile was
friendly and not a knowing wink at my prominent nips. Five minutes with
the program, and I knew what talks I wanted to attend the rest of the
day, and I was psyched. I do genuinely enjoy my job. It's not all late
fines and restocking shelves. At a big university library like mine, you
genuinely end up doing a lot of research assistance to the various grad
students and professors that came through, and I always found ferreting
out information fun, like an intellectual scavenger hunt. This
conference was my first real chance at professional development.
My excitement lasted until about ten minutes into the second talk. The
first had been engaging and useful, but the second was given by a portly
middle aged man that gave what was obviously a barely disguised
infomercial about some cloud-based catalog software that could not have
been more useless to me. My third and the last talk of the day though,
was where it all started going wrong. At this point, my mind had been
wandering for the last 40-something minutes of Mr Product Placement, and
due to my earlier failures, I'd already mentally penciled in an epic wank
the moment I got back to my hotel room. It was with this frame of mind
that a short cute woman in her early thirties stepped up to the podium at
the front of the room and began, bless her heart, to conduct one of the
dullest hours of my life.
Unable to concentrate on the material of the talk, my slightly horny mind
considered the presenter herself. She was young enough to still be a bit
adventurous, even in this professional setting. She'd compensated for
her short stature by a pair of towering patent black platform stilettos,
and paired it with a wrap dress. It took me all of five minutes to
covert her heels, and fantasize about the delicious tension they must
apply to her calves, and the strain of standing in them for the full hour
of the talk. In fifteen, I'd decided I'd need a pair of my own at some
point. By the thirty minute halfway mark, I'd moved on to wondering if I
could pull off her dress, whether my boobs were big enough to make it
work, and had entirely lost the plot of the talk itself. By the time
she'd concluded, it was all I could do to keep from bolting from the room
back to my hotel.
I didn't run back, quite. Just...lightly powerwalked. I was stripping
as the door closed, I wanted to get down to my dick and get off already.
I should have cum hours ago, if only my cock had cooperated earlier I
wouldn't be in this situation.
I jerked. I jerked soft and slow. I jerked hard and fast. I jerked
fantasizing about girls, and then, shamefully, about my girly clothes. It
was all good, better than good, but edging isn't cumming, and I needed to
get off already. Finally, I gave up, and dug through to the bottom of my
suitcase and came up with a pair of panties. Desperate times and all,
but usually escalating the girly stuff helped the process along. Sliding
them up my still smooth legs, I dropped back on the bed and gave it
another go. Again, it felt good, but that final moment eluded me, I
continued to be firm but not quite hard enough to reach the promised
land.
Finally I gave up, frustrated and horny beyond belief, the next thing I
might normally try is using a dildo on my ass while I jerked, (I wasn't
proud of that, but prostate massage works) but in a moment of sanity I'd
decided not to pack a dildo on a work trip. I dropped my head to the
pillow and looked at the bedside clock. Fuck! Two hours. I'd been at
this for two fucking hours, and all I had to show for it was a hand
sticky with precum. This was the pits. Then, it got worse. A
realization suddenly came over me. I'm not sure if I'd ever put it into
words before, but the understanding of how my body had been reacting
lately had been percolating in the back of my mind for a while.
Generally, as time went on, the more I felt the dangerous urge to indulge
in my girly pastime. The longer it went, the stronger my urges and the
more extreme my behavior. Getting off cleared my mind, as if the post-
ejaculatory exhaustion burned away the fog of my obsession. I hadn't cum
in a day or two, which is why I'm sitting here in panties now. But now,
for whatever reason, I couldn't get myself off, and, given the absence of
any other aides, I might not get off until I got home...three days from
now. That meant three more days of getting hornier, three more days of
wanting to get femmier again. Holy fuck. The last few times I let it
get bad, I got pierced, I got fucking tattooed. What on earth might I do
here?
I needed to get off, now, before I did something stupid. I set to work
with a vengeance, but nothing work. No fantasies, no changes in
technique, my dick remained stubbornly erect but unresponsive. At some
point I was too sore and tense to continue, my cock an angry red staff
rising from black panties, now accompanied by black stockings (also
useless). This wasn't fair! I'd been doing so well! I hadn't dressed in
two weeks, I was getting better! I curled into a ball and fell asleep,
too stressed and scared to do anything but succumb immediately to a
dreamless slumber.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next morning I woke to find myself still wearing panties and
stockings. I rubbed my legs together, shivering at the sensation, I
hadn't felt this in an age, and stockings had always been a favorite. My
dick stiffened, and a little part of me sparked hope. I could still do
this, a good jerk session in the shower and I could be good to go again,
my small lingerie lapse could be nothing but a minor blip, hardly worth
mentioning (though they did feel so nice).
The hope was soon dashed. Again, little Jamie was happy to tease, but
wasn't willing to go the distance. For some reason I almost didn't mind,
what's the worst that could happen, I thought, as I absentmindedly shaved
my legs. My pills followed as I looked at my face in the mirror, I could
probably get away without shaving my face though, most days I could. But
perhaps some makeup, it could be subtle, nothing showy, it's not like I'd
run into anyone I know. No! Bad Jamie, that's what I'm trying to avoid.
I finished toweling off as I re-entered the bedroom area of the room. I
reached for a pair of boxers and hesitated. I really wouldn't know
anyone here. I could dress however I wanted. I fingered the boxers,
they really were so boring after all. I could just do panties, that
doesn't even count as dressing, no one sees them after all. With that
small chink, the dam of my resistance came away piece by piece. As I
dropped the boxers, and pulled on a pair of panties, my mind could only
think of the next item, and then the next. By the time I was done, I was
wearing panties, stockings, a bra, women's flats. I'd kept to jeans and
a men's shirt, but even the shoes signaled 'girl' a little too obviously.
I flushed at my image in the mirror as I passed on the way out, excited
and mortified that I was doing this. Then I stalled for a moment,
looking again, and again I lost the battle of wills. I left the room
wearing eyeliner and a light pink lip gloss.
The conference was, if anything, kind of a letdown. No one knew me, so
no one noticed, or cared what I wore. Heck, as much as the elder cohort
in the talks tended heavily toward grey hair and dull outfits, the
younger generation spanned the gamut, and I was just never going to be an
attention grabber compared to, say, the girl with the blue hair and the
septum piercing. My name was unisex enough, no one made mention as I
used my badge to get into talks, and dark anonymous hotel ballrooms let
me sit alone in the back.
This was great in that I genuinely learnt a bunch. Some talks were
interesting, some were dull, none reached the high tide mark of awful
from yesterday. Unfortunately, all that time to myself also let me spin
fantasies in every idle moment. I had another whole day here tomorrow
after the conference ended. The University didn't care if I flew back
Friday night, or Sunday morning, and months ago I'd added a pair of extra
nights to the hotel on my own dime to take a minivacation and enjoy the
heat. My success at showing up at the conference in low key girl mode
was spinning me off into all kinds of ideas. I could do almost anything
out here without consequence. I wouldn't run into any old friends, no
coworkers, no ex of an ex, no one who mattered to me would ever know what
I did out here. If I wanted, I could go full girly, and see how far I
could go. Once the idea was there, it wouldn't leave. I spent the last
two hours of the day thinking about how I could turn this into a dry run,
a trial of what it would be like if I kept fucking up my life with
estrogen pills and lacy underwear. It terrified me, and I knew I was
absolutely going to do it.
I almost pranced back to my hotel at the end of the day, eager to get on
with things. I hit the elevator button and waited, bouncing lightly from
foot to foot, daydreaming about what I was about to do as I idly looked
around the hall by the elevators. A sign caught my eye as I did. 'Pool'
with an arrow. My frazzled brain perked up. Wouldn't that just be the
crowning dare of this trip. I could go to the pool, I could sunbathe, I
could tan...with tan lines. I bit my lip, terrified, but knowing from
the excitement I'd already decided. I almost missed the elevator before
I came to my senses, and rushing in I could only think, 'I need to go
shopping for a swimsuit.'
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