Gromet's PlazaErotic Stories

Transcendental Deviation

by Tony-B

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© Copyright 2008 - Tony-B - Used by permission

Storycodes: Solo-M; M/m; transgender; cd; fem; bond; cons; X

I had always wanted to be a girl!

I wasn’t one just yet, but I had plans…..


When I was younger, they kicked me out of the service and called me ‘queer’, just because they caught me with another man in the shower.  I mean, there was a real big stink about it, and that led to the ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’ policy that’s still in effect, today.

Well, maybe my case wasn’t what caused the policy, but it certainly contributed to it.

I knew I was different while I was growing up.  At first, I thought I just liked to wear women’s clothes.  I stole panties from girls I knew when their mothers hung their laundry out on the clothesline in their back yards.  If they got busy, or looked away, I could steal a pair in a flash…  All I needed was a few minutes, and a busy mother, and the best panties in school would be mine to take home, and wear secretly.

I didn’t care about the girls – they weren’t interesting to me – but their panties were something I had to have.  It became a compulsion.  The older I got, the more panties I had to have!

Eventually, I started to shoplift panties from stores like Wal-Mart, where too few clerks, and too many customers, gave me the chance to wander through the women’s section and grab a fancy pair of panties, now and then.

As my addiction grew, I graduated into other things – like bras, and stockings, and bathing suits.  Anything that was frilly and girlish, I had to have.  I even managed to steal a dress, once.

Naturally, I was eventually caught and sent to counseling.  After appearing in Juvenile Court, I was afraid, and really messed up.  But my mother seemed to understand me, and comforted me.  When she found me crying one night, I blurted out my problem.  She held me and said she understood.  She gave me one of her nightgowns to wear, and that satisfied me for a long time.  If there was any blame to be attached to my eventual cross-dressing, I have to attribute it to my mother, and her handling of my problem.

I don’t hold her responsible – back then, people didn’t know much about cross-dressing transsexuals.  There weren’t enough of them around to make an impact like there is today.

Anyway, the thought that my mother’s nightgown had touched her body, and was now touching mine, and the feel of it’s soft, silky, nylon kept me calm and satisfied.  The only thing better, was playing with myself.

As I grew through puberty, I eventually started to ejaculate, and had to wear panties again, in order to prevent my sperm from staining mother’s nightgown.  -  I didn’t know enough to call it ‘sperm’ of course – the boys called it ‘Jizz’, or ‘Cum’.  Mother washed the nightgown every week, and I didn’t want her to know I was jerking off at night when I was wearing it in bed.

But I NEEDED panties.  I needed to have them, and hold them, and rub them against my body – especially against my wanker.  But this time I was smarter!  I didn’t steal the panties – I bought them!  I found out that if you bought a bunch of stuff as a discount store, and threw in a pair of panties or two, nobody gave it a second thought…..  they just checked it through like it was anything else.  So I started building up my collection of women’s clothes again.  My first stash had been taken away from me when I went through Juvenile Court.

Mother found them, of course, and held me close as I cried in her arms.

“Don’t worry”, she said….  “I’ll wash them for you every week, and your father will never know….  It’ll be our little secret!  I’ll teach you how to use the washing machine, if you’d like.”

I did.  I wanted to learn how to use the washing machine to wash my own dainties.  In fact, I wanted to learn everything I could about being a girl.  I wanted my mother to teach me how to be a girl, and to love me like I was her daughter.

I knew it was impossible.  But still, I hoped it would come true, someday.

I prayed to God every night that he would make me a girl – that I would wake up in the morning and would BE a girl.  Then I would wank off!

It never worked!

I guess I wasn’t religious enough – but till, I hoped that one day…..

Then I learned about transsexuals.  There was a famous tennis player that got his sex changed.  He got his wank chopped off, and became a famous FEMALE tennis player. 

He might have been the ugliest woman I’d ever seen, I thought, but still, the papers said, he was a woman!  Legally, a woman!

I realized that was the answer I needed.  There was the solution to my problem.

I started to read everything I could find on the subject of sex changes.  I haunted the library and the book stores, looking for anything I could find that was sex-change oriented.  I wanted to know everything I could about the subject!

Years passed, and I found the University Library.  There was a medical library there, and I started pouring through their books, looking for anything I could find to increase my knowledge. 
There was a cute, part-time librarian there.  When she found out what kind of books I kept searching and reading, she suggested that I take a class in Transcendental Meditation that was also being offered at the University, and which was open to the public.

I followed her lead, and discovered the wonderful world of meditation.  The teacher had one agenda, and I had another!  She taught inner peacefulness through meditation and yoga, but I pursued the idea of my inner self as a woman, and how I’d feel and live if I were a woman.

She talked about inner peace and world consciousness, and I thought about how it would feel to have a vagina, and to be fucked by a strong man who held me down and ravished me.

She talked about growth experience, and spiritual consciousness, and I thought about being pregnant and birthing a baby.

She talked about experiencing life to the fullest, and I thought about another woman sucking my breasts.

It was a win-win situation, and I remember much of it still.

Meanwhile, I was trying to live a normal life, but couldn’t hold down a job long enough to really get ahead, and had moved back in with my mother.  My parents had been divorced for several years, and she was still supportive of my habit, and allowed me to wear women’s clothes around the house, and participate in the housework and upkeep when I could.  She was very supportive, and we grew together almost like sisters.  She didn’t want to grow old, and through me, had gained a younger sister, and I didn’t want to be a man, and through her, was living out my own fantasy.

I let my hair grow, and tried to make myself pretty.  Fortunately, I didn’t have to shave very often – only every third day or so, and with a little makeup, and only going out in the evenings, I could pass for a slightly tall and gawky girl.  My mother took me to the beauty salon several times, and had the hairdresser give me a permanent, and taught me how to put my hair up in pincurls at night when I went to bed.  I knew that the hairdresser knew that I was a boy, but he never said anything until I met him at a Gay Pride parade one weekend.  Then, we both knew that I was gay.  Well, more than that I told him – I was a hopeful transsexual.

He nodded knowingly, and in the weeks that followed, introduced me to some of his friends who were also gay or trans-gendered.

Not only did I get to meet new friends and gain knowledge of my condition, I began to find kindred spirits among other young men who also wanted to be girls.  I was on the cusp of experiencing a new life.  It became a social event to hang out with my new friends.  I quickly attached myself to the transsexual sub-group, and began to attend dances with gay men, and go to girlish pajama parties with my new girlfriends.  I became happier than I had ever been.

Except that my mother passed away from lung cancer.

She had been a smoker all her life – at least from when she was a teenager, and had accumulated the lung disease over many years.  She knew she was dying, and left everything to me – including my father’s old wedding band, which she had worn on a chain around her neck for many years.

When she passed away, she was cremated, and her ashes were distributed in the wind over the Sierra Nevada mountains.  I believe she would have been happy there.

As I settled her estate, I gave a lot of stuff to charity, and to the homeless center in a nearby city, but I kept a lot of her clothes for myself.  I just didn’t want to part with some of the things she had owned and that she had worn, or let me wear on occasion.

I discovered her secret box of sex toys that she had collected over the years.  It wasn’t much, but it was enough to let me know that she had been able to pleasure herself over the years since my Dad left her.  I didn’t hold that against her – you have to do what is necessary to get along in this life.  But I did cry for her – many times.

Anyway, back to my story…..

Over the years, I had tried three times to get into a Gender Reassignment Program.  One was in San Diego, where I lived, and several year later, at the one in Los Angeles where I had moved, and finally in Nevada at the University where I now live.

In each case, I was turned down for some reason.  The first, in San Diego, I was turned down because the Psychiatrist that was connected to the Gender Research Clinic decided that because of my history, I was just a gay boy who wanted to be a guiltless homosexual.

The second time, in Los Angeles, the Psychologist gave me a bunch of tests that he called the ‘Minnesota Multi-Personality Inventory’, and decided from that, that I wouldn’t make a good adjustment to life as a woman – that I was too independent, and showed more male characteristics than female.

The third time, at the Sexual Reassignment Program Clinic, they said I was just too old to be a transsexual.  I couldn’t figure that one out.  I mean, are all transsexuals supposed to be young and beautiful when they apply for sex change surgery?  At what age is it no longer necessary to be  woman???

Anyway, I found that like it or not, I was going to be a man for the rest of my life.  The best I could do, was to be a cross-dresser for the rest of my life.

“Maybe you could just be a She-Male”, one of my friends suggested.

That idea sort of appealed to me!

I had always liked the androgynous look.  I had subscribed to several mail order women’s catalogs, and when they arrived, had poured over them, looking for pictures of women who looked tom-boyish.  I imagined such pictures were really boys, dressed in women’s clothes, with titties, long hair, and lipstick.  The mental image of  a young man – ME - wearing women’s slacks, along with a  crisp man-style blouse and sandals fascinated me.  And when I thought about what was underneath – a bra and panties, it was enough to get my motor started!

Becoming a She-Male would allow me to wear women’s clothes all the time, and to take hormones, and grow breasts.  I could leave my hair long, and wear makeup, just like Quentin Crisp, the famous English homosexual that had recently been on television and in a movie.

Okay, I thought, and I started to collect videotapes on the subject.  I looked for every movie or TV show I could find that had any form of gay or transsexual as part of the plot.  I bought movies such as ‘Tootsie’ with Dustin Hoffman, and several featuring Alexis Arquette, who used to be Alex.  But I had to seek out the underground market to find videos of She-Males.  They weren’t main-stream.  With titles like ‘Razz My Tazz’, and ‘Big Boned Strippers’, you can understand there wasn’t a big market for such tapes.

But there was even a big-name porn star who changed sex, and appeared in the same movie as both male and female characters.  Talk about a special interest tape!!!

Collecting a library of such tapes wasn’t satisfying.  I got more satisfaction, and more pleasure, out of just putting on a dress every day, and putting on my makeup.

I went through about fifteen hours of Electrolysis, trying to remove my beard and reshape my eyebrows, but it was very painful, and cost a bunch of money, and eventually had to quit for lack of funds.  Electrolysis got rid of some of my beard, but I still have to shave every couple of days so it isn’t apparent.  But my eyebrows look great!  That’s one feature I’m proud of.  It also attracts the attention of some men. …..

I’m not going to discuss my sexual adventures with men in any detail – that’s too private for here, but suffice it to say that I am still sexually active.  ‘Nuf said!

I do have one friend that I must say something about, though.  He’s a long-haul truck driver, and sees me every weekend.  He knows all about me and my story…..  we sleep together every weekend, and I pleasure him when he’s here.

I’m not a bad looking woman when I’m dressed, or even when I’m not dressed.  I’m large, of course, because of my size, but I’m not ‘fat’.  I watch my weight and exercise, and try to keep it steady at about 140 pounds.  I wear a size 16 dress, if that gives you any indication of my figure.  Yes, I’ve got  figure.  Over the past several years, and by taking hormones, I’ve grown a nice rack.  Although I’m a little big for my size.  I have a 42 inch bustline, with a nice C-Cup handful.  I also still have my male body parts.  I like to think of myself as being built like my mother from the waist up, and built like my father from my waist down.  And it pleases me that I can keep a thirty-two inch waist.  With the size of my boobs and hips, a 32-iinch waist gives me an hourglass look – especially when I wear one of my corsets.  They can pull me down to 28 inches, and I look absolutely delicious!!!

My friend likes to tie me up, and make me give him pleasure, and I like that.  I like to submit myself to him.  I give myself to him willingly, because he always treats me like the woman I’ve always wanted to me.  I’m not kinky, by any means, but I do like to be dominated.  And he does it so well!  I’m never bored with his attentions, and look forward to every weekend with anticipation.

I keep myself up, keep my hair trimmed at shoulder level, and my hairdresser keeps it shampooed and trimmed regularly.  I like having shoulder-length hair, and like myself nowadays.  I like what I’ve become, and have given up the idea of becoming a transsexual.  I’m happy being who I am – and I’m happy that I finally got here.  I think my mother would have been proud of me.



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