Date: Sun, 10 Nov 2002 04:33:00 -0800
From: virtual_xx <virtual_xx@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Greatest Lie

Our heroine transforms from Alex, a conceited but socially outcast high
school boy, to Alexandra, and ambitious and beautiful college T Girl.  In
undergoing these difficult changes in her life, she bravely faces the
dangers of young and poor T Girl in transition, and always does everything
well; but will she ever learn to be good?

WARNING! This story meant solely for adult audiences! It contains scenes of
graphic sex and forcible rape described in first person narration by its
transgendered, teenage protagonist. If you are not an adult, or if you find
this type of material offensive, please stop reading and dispose of this
file. You have been warned of the content.  If you proceed neither the
author nor the site host will be held responsible! This story is purely
fictional.  All resemblance to actual persons is coincidental.


The Greatest Lie (Chapters 1-11)
By Alexandra Rios (virtual_xx@hotmail.com)

Chapter 1
Prom Night

The greatest lie that they tell you is that what happens in high school
doesn't really matter: that life begins in college. I pretended to agree,
though I never believed it.  For as you will see, I am the world's greatest
liar.

"Take, for example", I said to my buddy Quinn as we hung around outside the
art room "Sadie Hawkins Day.  What chickenshit.  Just a chance for some
cheerleader wannabee airheads to feed the egos of their dumb jock
boyfriends."  "And their libidos", Quinn remarked sourly.  Barb and Anne,
our all too-platonic art room friends, nodded their heads in agreement.
They were far too hip to invite Quinn or me. "Let's go to the Bergman film
festival instead, Alex", Barb suggested.  I nodded in agreement, but did
not commit.

For the girl who lived inside me knew it was a lie.  She would have been
thrilled to ask a boy to go to a Sadie Hawkins dance, to spin in endless
blind circles across the dance floor with her love, tiara glinting in the
strobe lights, before collapsing into passion and bliss.

But not with any of the slobs and idiots that ruled this school: the stupid
pampered jocks who hassled me in the locker room and bumped me in the
halls; the dopers who mocked me from their outpost in the quad; or the
motorheads that eyed me with contempt mixed with pure aggression as they
spat "pansy" or "faggot" at me whenever circumstances forced me into their
path.  These thugs were complete idiots when it came to anything but petty
crime or cars, but they seemed to be able to look through me into my secret
soul.

Inside hid a girl whose existence was a secret from my mom and dad and my
art room friends.  She never came out except at night, when I lay in my bed
and stroked my modest and almost hairless dick while dreaming of being
fondled, trussed, and raped by imaginary male lovers.  Each night, my
imaginary breasts swelled with fantasy implants, and my ass was penetrated
by many phantom cocks before I finally came, my ass up and my face buried
in shame in my pillows.  Each morning, I showered away the residue of my
cum and my fantasies and pretended to be a high school boy, a merit
scholar, and a class intellectual.  This had been my ritual since junior
high: hiding my true self behind my intellect and wit, trying to keep the
girl inside and the rough crowd at the school from finding me out and
tormenting me.

The worst was gym class.  My physical development lagged my peers.  At 17,
I was 5' 7", weighed 120, and had only 1" of thin blond peach fuzz above my
undersized penis.

My chest and legs were completely naked.  This led to incessant teasing in
the locker room.  This culminated in September of my senior year when
Miguel, one of the motorheads, confronted me after gym class.  I had leaned
over to open my locker, and suddenly Miguel said, "Hey, chica, nice ass.
I'm gonna fuck it.  Let's go to the towel room."  With that, he snapped me
with his towel, raising a dark red welt on my pale ass.

I spun around, distraught, for one of my secret fantasies was to be
gangbanged in the towel room.  Miguel seized my head and pressed my lips
against his sweaty, bulging jock strap.  "Hey, suck me, chica." The other
guys in this section of lockers were all motorheads, and they looked on
with lustful interest. I thanked god (who officially, I did not believe in)
when coach's whistle sounded and Miguel abandoned his assault.  After that,
I got excused from gym class.

In the weeks that followed, although I lived in dread of Miguel, my sexual
fantasies became more explicit and violent.  I was revolted by Miguel, but
was entranced by fantasies of a cleaner, less profane Miguel sucking my
breasts and making love to my virgin ass.  One day, as I rifled my dad's
medical sample box looking for amphetamine (my favorite study aid, and I
loved the way it made me both horny and impotent), I realized that it was
stuffed with birth control pills.  I had read about the transformative
power of these drugs, and so I copped samples of estrogen, progesterone or
anything that sounded like a female hormone.  I began taking them
occasionally, but while they had a noticeable effect on my acne (it
completely disappeared) and hair (it became smoother and more manageable),
I took them intermittently, to preserve my supply and to preserve my
precarious grip on maleness.

Sometimes I thought there was hope for me as a male if I could escape this
macho hotbed of a high school.  College applications were in, and the end
of high school was in sight.  I was actually gaining some status as a class
genius, and a poem I had written for English class had been published in
the school paper. The girls all loved it because it was romantic.  Soon, I
would be checking out of this shithole, moving out of my parents house and
going to college, where I could start out with new friends and become a new
me.

But for the moment, Sadie Hawkins day, and all that went with it, was the
here and now.

Reality hit me right between the eyes when in my locker, I discovered an
envelope addressed to me, Alex Rios, from Marta Gonzalez.  Marta had been
the girl I wanted to be, since I was a scrawny and scared eighth grader.
Marta wanted me to go to Sadie Hawkins day with her.  I was totally
freaked.  Quinn told me "forget it, man, she's way over your head", and
Barb and Anne nodded in silent agreement.  But I told them they were just
jealous.  I said, "hey, it's an experience, and it's our last chance to do
this high school crap.  I can write about it in my autobiography when I'm
famous."  They rolled their eyes.

I accepted, and my mind went into turmoil.  Mom and dad were so delighted
that I had my first date that they overlooked Marta's modest social
background.  They had reveled in my scholarly achievements but I could tell
they were wondering about me socially, and this reassured them.  Was this
my chance to banish the horny slut that secretly shared my life, and to
become a normal guy?  If anyone could change me, it was Marta.  She had an
hourglass figure with well-formed breasts and pouty, full lips on a
beautiful latina face.

She was a decent student and dressed nicely. Who cared if she had gone out
with a few of the motorheads?  She wanted me now.

I picked her up at her family's apartment, a modest walkup in West LA with
sink full of dirty dishes, a harried mom, a screaming baby brother, and a
hostile father who looked at me with the same contempt as the
motorheads. Marta was bubbly and excited.  She tongue kissed me as soon as
she got in the front seat of my mom's Honda.  I must of flinched, because
she laughed "Seventeen and never been kissed?"  I blushed, and lied that it
wasn't.

We went to the auditorium and danced to blaring hip-hop.  The motorheads
glared, and the jocks and their girls gawked with amazement. As I escorted
Marta out of the dance, I felt like I was on the way to becoming a high
school legend, my male reputation redeemed by my date with Marta.  As we
drove away, I felt a stirring in my groin.  I pulled my car to a shady spot
near Stoner Park and turned to Marta.  "I'm not ready to go home yet", I
started to say.  Before I could finish, Marta had lunged at me, and we
grappled and kissed across the bucket seats and console for the next
half-hour.  Finally, we crawled into the back seat, and as I kissed her
swaying breasts she unzipped my pants and began to slurp, such, claw, and
pull at my cock.  I wriggled my hands into her lacy panties, and found her
fragrant, swollen pussy.  With a few strokes, my fingers found their mark
and lid into her warm, wet vagina.  I stroked, she sucked, and we swayed in
unison.  But nothing happened to my skinny, shriveled and nearly hairless
cock.  It remained as flaccid as a deflated party balloon, impervious to
Marta's efforts.  Finally, admitting failure, we sat in the back seat and
talked about ourselves.  In the intimacy of a mutual failure, I let down my
guard.

"Marta, when I look at you, when I touch you, I get so turned on. But I
don't know if it's because I want you, or because I want to be you."  She
said "um-hum".

"It's like the existentialists say, you can never really tell whether you
are who you make yourself, or whether you are merely the sum of your
experiences," I mused idiotically.

"I know baby," she said, not knowing what the fuck I was talking about.
She embraced me closer, like I was a little sister or even a doll.  I went
on and on, telling her of all my secrets and fears.  She told me of a life
of abuse at the hands of a bullying father and the sexually predatory
motorheads.  I finally took her home at 2:00 a.m., our minds racing with
thoughts and our bodies unfulfilled.

In bed, I jerked off pretending to be Marta in the arms of Miguel, and
drifted off to sleep.

I awoke at 4:00 am the next morning in the midst of a nightmare.  I was at
school, and all the motorheads, dopers, jocks and even the art room crowd
were screaming "Kill the faggot" at me, as Marta pointed mockingly at me.

As the nightmare dissolved, I recounted the prior night's events.  In the
cold light of morning, the adventure that had begun so well, had ended in
disaster.  I had confided the secret of my inner girl-self to Marta, whom I
barely knew.  Fear welled up until I could barely breath.  At least it was
Saturday, so I didn't have to go to school.  But anxiety kept rising in me.
From beneath my bed, I slid the box where I kept my purloined medical
samples and took out a black beauty and a Valium and popped them. On an
impulse, I popped a 5 mg. Premarin too.  Then I staggered to the shower on
4 hours sleep.  It was going to be a long day.

I showered, fondling my hairless body and enduring alternating visions of
Marta and Miguel fondling me.  Finally, I slipped a soapy hand around my
skinny, hairless ass and slid a finger into my anus.  It slid in, and I was
overwhelmed with a recollection of the same finger sliding into Marta slick
pussy the night before.  It felt the same, only tighter.

I was overwhelmed with the sensation that I too had a tight pussy.  The
girl inside me could at last get fucked.

I spent the weekend buried in the medical school library researching the
hormonal treatment of transsexuals.  I stopped by my dad's office, and
since he was doing "rounds", I copped about half his supply of birth
control pills.  Counting the stash I already had, I had six months worth
based on the "Benjamin Standards."  That night, fear of what lay before me
if I kept taking the hormones haunted my sleep even after I jerked off, and
the reds I took just got me wasted.  By Monday, I looked and felt like a
like a wreck stayed home sick.  Tuesday I was no better.  My mom told me
she would take me to the doctor if I wasn't better Wednesday.  I was
terrified that a blood test would show the large amounts of speed, downers
and estrogen I had consumed since Friday, so I went to school, filled with
dread.

But everything seemed the same.  Except for Quinn, who made a snide comment
about my needing three days to recover from my "Big Date", people must have
gotten sick about post-morteming Sadie Hawkins, because now they were
talking about Prom.  I spied Marta talking with some of her latina friend
across the cafeteria, and she shot me a warm smile.  I found another note
from her in my locker that afternoon.  She wanted to get together after
school to talk.  We met in the parking lot.  "About the other night", I
began, "I was just talking about a lot of fantasies."

"That's all right, I think you are really interesting and I still want to
see you."  She blushed, and added "Your fantasies turn me on."  I replied,
feeling a surge emotion and relief, "that turns me on."  We hugged, and I
felt the pressure of her large breasts and her warm pussy against my body.
Once again, I felt more like I was inside her, feeling my embrace, than on
the outside feeling hers.  I loved that feeling, and was ecstatic as we
planned a weekend rendezvous of shopping and pizza.  I relaxed and went to
sleep that night with just my usual jerk-off fantasy of getting fucked in
the ass by a handsome but anonymous stud.

By Saturday afternoon, I had been taking estrogen continuously for a week
and my oily and acne-prone face was blemish free.  My body was outwardly
unchanged, still skinny and nearly hairless, but I felt constant tingling
in my nipples.  I picked up Marta at 4:00, and we went to the mall.  We
went first to Victoria's Secret, where she selected lingerie and nighties
in my size.  I paid. Then on to Bebe, where we picked tops, pants and
skirts.

We bought shoes for my size 2 feet at Coles: high strappy pumps.  We
stopped at the Clinique counter for make up, polish, perfume, brushes and
tweezers.  None of the store clerks suspected anything: it just looked a
guy taking his girlfriend on a shopping spree.

"Where are we going to go for you to change?"  I had just the place.  My
grandma was in a nursing home and my parents were still working on clearing
out the house.  I had a key.

We slipped in through the garage and went to her old room.

Marta drew a bath and I relaxed in the aromatic oils.  I slipped into a
robe and she began her magic.  She styled my shoulder length hair, applied
subtle tones of make up and nail polish, poked a painful hole in my right
ear and loaned me a feminine gold hoops to replace my single stud.  I put
on satin panties and thrilled as they touched my hardening cock.  Then
panty hose, a push-up bra, a spaghetti strap top, and tight, short pink
skirt, and by mules.  When I looked in the mirror, I was stunned. I looked
like Marta's taller, thinner, blonder sister.  "You're a doll, she said.
"So are you", I replied.  I gave her a hug and we kissed, careful not to
spoil our make-up.  "Let's go out", I said, eager to try my new look on the
world.  "No way," she responded.  "First, we need some serious training."
She taught me how to sit, and rise, the looks to make when you walk into a
room, and we worked on my voice and language.  We ate some pizza and drank
some of grandma's old sherry.

At 10:00, we changed into our negligees and began making out on my
grandma's bed. She fondled my dick through the lacy material and it
hardened. She sucked me and I kissed her pussy, and I rubbed my cock on her
warm, wet labia, bringing myself to the verge of orgasm. Her mons throbbed
against my groin, but she would not yield to complete penetration as many
times as I tried. 

"I don't have any condoms, baby, do you?" she said.  Of course I didn't, as
I had never dreamed that fate would place me in the arms of this exquisite
creature.

Marta seemed uninterested in fucking, and that was fine with me, and I
climaxed by rubbing my cockette against her swollen mons. Then I went down
on her, first licking my own semen from her labia, and then feasting on her
tangy vaginal juices. She moaned with pleasure, and soon her moans turned
to cries of ecstasy: "Mas, por favor, mas, mas!" As her hips undulated with
pleasure, her thick pubic hair rasped my tired, tender lips and cheeks, and
I fantasized that I was in her body, being fucked hard by a faceless
motorhead in the boys' locker room at Uni. Her cries, and the frantic
motions of her body, rose to a frenzy and her juices grew hotter, and more
plentiful, until she orgasmed over my face. Then her cries receded to
moans, sighs, and breath, and her hips grew still in post-orgasmic
exhaustion.

God, I thought, how much deeper and more fulfilling must her orgasm have
been than the momentary spasm I had experienced.

"Was that good for you, baby?" she asked.

"It was great. Did you, you know, have an orgasm?"

"Oh my God, yes," she replied. "You're are fantastic lover. Much better
than . . ." She stopped, and I wondered who she meant.

We lay in bed for a few minutes, and then heard the grandfather clock toll
midnight. I changed back into my guy clothes, took her home, and spirited
my girly things into the b ack of my closet.

My parents were really pissed off the next morning.  My dad finally
relented from his rage and tried to tell me about sex.  I laughed and told
him he was a little late for that.

With that, they grounded me for a month.

Marta and I exchanged glances and passed notes to one another at school,
but we had no time for play.  I continued my improvised hormone regimen,
and noticed that by scrotum was becoming more compact.  Even though my
nighttime fantasies or penetration and rape became more vivid and violent,
I had an increasingly difficult time reaching climax.

One night, just before the end of my grounding, I improvised a dildo from
an old electric toothbrush. I wrapped it in a cloth and covered it with a
condom.  Behind a locked bathroom door, I prettied myself with makeup and
blew out my hair. I slipped into my negligee, wrapped myself in a robe and
scampered to my room calling out a breezy good night to my parents.  I slid
beneath my covers and turned the dildo on.

It vibrated pleasantly against the crotch of my panties.  I pressed through
the thin fabric against my hole.  The vibrations tingled over my whole
body.  With my other hand I fondled my breasts and noticed with pleasure
that my nipples had hardened and risen against the silken fabric of my
nightie.  I slid down my panties and placed the dildo against my tush.  The
vibrations surged even more powerfully through my body, and my cockette
began to harden for the first time in a week.

I reached to my bed stand for a tube of KY Jelly, which I slathered over
the dildo and applied in a dainty dot on my hole.  I clenched my teeth and
began to press.  The tapered head slid effortlessly into my rectum and I
continued to press it up the channel.  Two inches in, I gasped and tears
welled in my eyes.  A fiery electric bolt of pain shot through me and I
could not make myself push it further.  I squeezed it out and tried to
catch my breath.  I reapplied KY to my anus, slipping my finger in and out.
With apprehension mixed with excitement I again pressed the dildo against
my now puckered rectum.  It slid in effortlessly, and as I pressed it in
further, the explosive pain again shot through me.

My tortured body remembered that the dildo's recent exit had been almost
pleasant, and so instinctively I pressed downward with my ass muscles while
continuing to press up against the dildo.  To my surprise, it slid all the
way in and my sphincter tightened around it.  Momentarily, I enjoyed the
buzzing in my ass, before panic again built in me.  Now that my ass had
swallowed the whole thing, from tapered tip to the broad base, how would I
get it out?  Tears again welled in my eyes as I imagined a humiliating
exposure in the emergency room of my dad's hospital.  I pressed like I was
trying to poop, and it popped out with a burst of pain as the base exited
my now well lubricated rectum.

My panic subsided, and I again slid it in, more carefully, and this time
with only slight pain, mixed with increasing pleasure.  My god, I thought,
what must a real fuck feel like?  At the tip this thing lacks the bulbous
head of a real cock, and is only half the width of some of the dicks you
see in a high school locker room.  A real stud isn't likely to pause as I
had to let my ass acclimate to its violation before fully stuffing it in:
he'll ram it in and enjoy increasing the agony by ramming me faster.

The thought of these brutal realities of real sex with a real male warmed
me.  The buzzing of the dildo against my prostate stimulated my nearly
dried up juices and with a handful of KY I was able to bring myself to a
climax, my first in two weeks.  It shot out with great force, but I was
surprised that the puddle of spunk was small and very thin, almost clear.
The hormones had taken a lot out of me.  I popped the dildo out of my ass
and hid it under the bed.  I was so exhausted that I didn't change and
slept the night in my nightie.

I slept a dreamless sleep, and woke with my mother standing over me, with a
look of shock on her face.  "Allie, what are you wearing?"  "Some clothes a
friend gave me," I replied helplessly.  "Well, that's not appropriate
clothing for a boy of your age."  "What's the big deal if I only wear it in
bed?" I retorted, warming to an argumentative line.

"Well, if it's just in bed, I guess there's no harm.  Just make sure your
father never finds out," she advised me.  "He's been worried about you for
a while." "Don't worry about that," I said.  "Let's keep it our secret, and
I promise to keep it under control."  "I certainly hope you outgrow this
soon."  "I am sure I will, mom."

As I showered I was filled with regret and guilt at my faux pas, and at
involving my mom as a conspirator in my emerging fantasy life.  But the
thrill of the fantasy overwhelmed my feelings of guilt.  To celebrate my
success in penetrating my ass and co-opting my mother, I popped a black
beauty along with my Premarin and headed of to school in a buzz.  Spring
break was coming, and every day brought news of college acceptances for the
art room crowd.  Quinn got into Columbia, Barb got Reed with a partial
scholarship, Anne got Ann Arbor, and then I got the University of Minnesota
with a full academic scholarship (Sure I'm brilliant, but let's face it, a
Spanish surname helps, even if your are really white.)  My happiness was
tinged with a little sadness, as I thought of poor Marta stuck going part
time to the community college and working nights at her dad's restaurant.
But it would be a new beginning.  Could I shake this transgender fantasy in
a new environment?  Had the macho culture of this awful school forced me to
flee to femininity, or was it coming from within me?  I barely had time to
say goodbye to Marta before spring break.  My dad had been invited to speak
at an AIDS conference in Sao Paolo, Brazil, and with my recent
transgressions as evidence of unreliability my parents decided they had
better take me along.  I was excited to go, as I had read that there were
lots of "travesti" in Brazil.

And there were.  The lined the streets and crowded the corners of some
districts, offering glimpses of their silicon pumped boobs and asses to
passers by.  They varied from the comical to the exquisite, and just being
in that environment infused me with resolve to proceed with my own
transformation.  I had brought an adequate supply of hormones, but I
needn't have.  There was a huge variety for sale without prescription in
every pharmacia in or near the travesti districts.  I went on a shopping
spree and bought oral, patch, and injectable forms of estrogen.

In one store, I was offered a canister of liquid silicon and a syringe.
This I passed on, and was instantly filled with regret.  I never was
offered that product again, and I could find that shop in the labyrinthine
streets of Sao Paolo.  But how would I smuggle this cornucopia through
customs?  My last purchase was a huge, hollow rubber dildo, which would
serve as my drug stash.  I slit a hole in the side, loaded in the
contraband and taped it up to keep the merchandise clean and dry, and I
slipped it into my carryon.

As the pilot announced our imminent arrival at LAX, I got up for a last
bathroom stop.

Fully loaded with my estrogen supply, the dildo was distended into a lumpy
plug of alarming proportions.  I lubed the dildo and my ass with KY, bent
over the sink, and practiced my anal insertion technique.  I hit a solid
wall of pain, and could not make any progress.  At that moment, the pilot's
voice commanded passengers to return to our seats for landing.  "Oh fuck",
I muttered to myself.  "I waited too long."  I tried again, but pain made
my ass as tight as a baby's.  I relubed, and closed my eyes and imagined
myself in the clutches of a big black barbarian.  It slipped past my rectum
and stopped, and I nearly fainted with pain.  The pilot announced that the
stewardesses should prepare the cabin for landing.  I was desperate,
fearing the pain of the entry of this bulbous object equally to the pain of
an airport bust of me in possession of my trannie drug stash.

There was a knock at the door.  "I'm sorry, you have to take your seat."
"Just another minute, please," I pleaded.  As if to underscore the urgency,
the plane began to buck and sway in the turbulence of an imminent landing.
I put down the toilet seat and eased back on the giant package with all my
weight.  It impaled me and my eyes filled with white- hot tears. I ground
my wounded bottom onto the package, which slipped in past my rectum, which
closed over it with a painful elastic snap.  I caught my breath, rose
unsteadily to my feet, as the plane careened bumpily down its final
descent.  "You have to take your seat right now!" hissed the impatient
stewardess.  I stumbled out of the bathroom without having washed my hands
and barely able to walk with the large lump now distending my lower colon.

O god, I thought to myself.  I hope the fucking thing doesn't break: I'll
die of an estrogen overdose.  As I settled uncomfortably into my seat, the
package practically brushing against my ribs, I got slightly horny at the
thought of dying that way.  The very plane felt like it was fucking me as
it bumped toward its landing, set down, and braked on the runway.  I
staggered through customs without an inquiry, except from my mom, who
noticed my halting gait as I struggled with the wad in my gut.  "I don't
feel so good, it must be something I ate."  That lie provided good excuse
for the hour I spent in the bathroom at home, as I painfully worked at
expelling the now bloody package from ass.

But when I got it out, I had a year's supply of hormones at my disposal.

I had been taking hormones for almost two months, and my nipples were
enlarged and the beginnings of little titties were blossoming on my chest,
while my scrotum shriveled and atrophied and my dick shortened.  My hair
was smooth and silky, my skin was soft and had lost most of the little hair
it had developed.  My muscle tone had diminished, my hips were slightly
flared, and my waist had narrowed.  My boy clothes were too tight at the
bottom and too loose at the waist.  I took care, that first morning of my
return from vacation, to wrap my chest in an ace bandage, to flatten my
emerging breasts and protect the nipples from the too harsh fabric of my
black Gap turtle neck.

I had settled on a gothic look as the best camouflage for my femininity,
and it only partly worked. As I scuttled through the halls of my school,
trying to affect invisibility, I noticed more than the usual angry stares
from the motorheads and gaping from the jock crowd.  Even the art room
crowd seemed put off by my new look.  Quinn remarked "You sure look femme
today, Alex."  "Thanks," I replied carelessly.  "That's just what I
wanted."  I hoped my bravado would aid the disguise, and in Quinn's case,
it did.  The school was a target rich environment for his sarcastic venom,
and I joined in enthusiastically.  After all, I hated all these people as
much as they hated me.

Except, of course, for Marta.  We approached each other shyly, like long
lost lovers.  I had been away only two weeks, but to that was added the
month's separation caused by my grounding.  Spring Prom was upon us, and I
left her a flowery note inviting her.


Bouquet of black In a vase of white.

You light the world With your indwelling light.

Flower of red On your face so bright.

You are my heart's delight.

Marta, will you go to the Prom with me?  Alex.

She loved the poem and accepted instantly.  We agreed that after the school
dance, it would be an all girl event.  I gave her my measurements to make
my after Prom attire, and she cooed appreciatively at my 34 24 34 figure.
The art room crowd reacted badly.

"Alex, that girl is getting to you.  You are weirder every day," Barb
remarked nastily.

The motorheads and their chicas increased their social isolation of Marta
and the murmurs as I passed their surly knot in the quad grew more ominous.
God, I thought to myself.  Can I really survive another six weeks in this
shit hole?  We made our Prom plans.  I would dress straight for the dance
in the standard rented tux.

We would dance for a couple of hours, then we would slip out and drive to
grandma's place.  There would be weed and chardonnay to relax us as Marta
coifed and dressed me in the match to her own Prom gown.  Then, our private
Prom would begin.

I fortified myself against the stress of the evening with a black beauty
and an estrogen injection in my bottom.  The speed and hormone cocktail was
coursing warmly through my veins as picked her up at her hardscrabble
apartment.  Her father scowled as her mother fawned over me.  Marta was
exquisite in her pink chiffon gown, which showed an inch or two of her
sculpted cleavage but left much to my vivid imagination, which flitted from
visions of her to visions of me, in the same dress.

At dinner, we sat side by side and started with small talk.  She told me
that her dad was making her work ever-longer hours in his restaurant,
without pay, and he even was taking part of her tips.  She was trying to
save for college, but he said it was wasted on a girl.  I told her about
the amazing things and people I had seen in Brazil, and she giggled as I
recounted my airline adventure.  "Did you save the dildo?" she asked
slyly. "It was ruined, but I have another.  A strap on," I announced.  I
could tell by the look in her eyes that she liked that idea.

The Prom past like a short dream, so buzzed was I on my special drug
cocktail and the anticipation of a lustful night with Marta.  Marta
exchanged glances and a few hellos with her motorhead friends, but I spoke
to no one.  The art room crowd did not go to Proms, and I had no other
friends in the whole school.  I saw Miguel and two of his cronies, Seth and
Jack, and they shot me evil, hate filled looks and mouthed "faggot" at
me. I cringed as Miguel approached Marta and me and said "Hey, bitch, how
about a dance for old times."  I started to interject, and Miguel
interrupted and growled "Shut the fuck up, bitch.  I was talking to the
other bitch."  Marta told him to fuck himself in Spanish, and I said "let's
get out of here."  We hurried to the door looking back anxiously over our
shoulders and got into my car.

I drove a few blocks and stopped.  "That was so-o-o-o scary," I said.
"They're just a bunch of stupid punks", she said bravely.  She had never
looked so beautiful as bathed in the light of a streetlight in the front
seat of my mom's Honda, and I threw my arms around her neck and kissed her
full lips and stroked her heaving breasts.  She eagerly reciprocated and
ran her hands up under my tux shirt and stroked my rosebud breasts.

When at last we released the kiss, I could barely breath.  I cleared my
throat and we drove in silence to grandma's, oblivious to the world around
us, each of us reveling in our shared feelings of love and lust.

We opened the door to the slightly musty atmosphere of grandma's.  She drew
my bath as I stripped from the tux.  She scrubbed my back, fondled my
sudsy, girlish breasts, cleaned my hairless crack, and fondled my tiny
balls and penis.  She rubbed me all over with a deliciously scented
moisturizer, as I did my own face make up.  She coifed my hair as I painted
my nails. Satin pink push up bra and a garter belt to match, garters and
stockings followed.  No panties, and my naked bottom and cockette felt
obscenely exposed and vulnerable.  The gown was a perfect match for hers,
and a perfect fit for me.

We posed triumphantly before the bedroom mirror.  "We're beautiful", I
said, turning to gaze into Marta's eyes.

Instead of the expected look of love, I saw a visage of horror and fright
as she looked over my shoulder.  Before I could turn to see what was the
matter, an all too familiar voice snarled "Yeah, a couple of real beauts,
dontcha think, boys."  I turned, and saw with shock and horror Miguel,
Seth, and Jack, crowding the doorway to my grandma's bedroom.  My knack for
quick ripostes deserted me, and I asked stupidly "What are you doing here?"
"We're here to fuck your brains out, you sissy faggot.  Fuck you, for
turning Marta into a queer-loving lesbo whore.  Fuck you, for being a
superior little shit and hiding behind all your bullshit that you are a
pansy slut.  We are going to fuck, and you are going to be our cum eating
slut."

With that, Miguel yanked down the bodice of my gown, pulled pushed me
backward onto grandma's bed.  Holding my beautifully brushed hair in a knot
on the top of my head, he loosened his belt, and unbuttoned and unzipped
his pants, which slid to the floor with a clank and a thud that could only
mean a knife or a gun.  His hard prick was already poking through his
boxers, and he levered my head toward it demanding "suck it now, bitch."  I
took the glistening head into my mouth and licked and stroked it with my
tongue.  A meaty, slightly sour taste filled my mouth and nose.  "I mean
suck it, you fucking whore" he barked, as he gripped a knot of my hair and
slammed his dick to the back of my throat.  My gag reflex expelled him, and
I must have nicked him with a tooth as his prick slipped out.  He slapped
my cheek roughly, and screamed "suck it or I'll cut your dick off right
now!"  Tears welling in my eyes, I took his penis back in my mouth and
concentrated mightily on this new skill.  Soon, my head was bobbing in
rhythm to his cruelly pressing hand and the thrusting of his pelvis.  I
hoped he would be done soon and this nightmare would be one step closer to
ending.  But he had other plans.

He pulled his dick out of my mouth and mounded some pillows in the center
of the bed.

He ripped off my gown, picked me up and heaved me, tummy down, over the
pile of pillows.  My ass, framed in the pink satin garters, pointed upward,
and my face hung over the edge of the bed.  Miguel ordered "Jack, take her
mouth, while I take her from behind."  Jack stuck his musky dick into my
face and ordered me to suck it.  It was bigger and tasted even muskier than
Miguel's had. Jack warned me "Don't you fucking bite me like you did
Miguel."  That was a difficult order to obey, as Miguel rained a dozen
blows from his rough hands on my exposed ass.  I concentrated on the
controlling the progress of Jack's penis from my lips to my tonsils, and
the suction of my tongue and cheeks as he pistoned out.

I heard Miguel clear his throat and spit, and felt his phlegm land in a
gooey spot next to my uptilted anus.  Quickly, his stubby fingers spread it
around my ring, and then roughly entered.  I gasped, almost breaking
concentration on the perfect blow job I was trying to give Jack.  Recalling
the pain of the improvised dildo and my airplane experience, I knew this
was going to be hard.  I heard Miguel clear and spit again: he would be
wiping that on his prick as a lubricant.  I had the real thing in my purse,
but my mouth was stuffed with Jack's rampaging cock, and then it was too
late.  Miguel impaled me doggy style.

I remembered to press down as he pushed in, and initially, I was surprised
how easily he slid in my ass, taking three quick shoves to bury it to the
hilt.  Then, I felt as if a firebomb had erupted in my bowels, as my body
reacted to this abrupt invasion. I had the usual reaction, a gasp, and
tears welled in my eyes.  My concentration broke, and Jack's dick slipped
from my mouth.  He cursed, and I braced for a brutal slap, but he was too
preoccupied and jammed it back between my lips.  I quickly regained my
sucking rhythm, for I was being ridden hard from behind.

Miguel relentlessly rammed his cock into the tight confines of my anus, and
my body fought hard against my attempts to ease his passageway by pressing
my sphincters down through his upstrokes.  Each plunge brought more stars,
and tears to my eyes.  My groans were stifled by the incessant plunge
Jack's penis into my mouth.  Then Miguel leaned forward and pressed down on
my back, flattening the pillows and forcing my breasts to the bed, as he
continued his assault.  He wrapped one arm around my chest and began
pinching my tiny breasts.  With his other he clawed at my tiny dick, now
even smaller under the influence of my drug cocktail and the pounding that
his penis was giving my body.

I craned my neck upward to keep Jack's dick in my mouth and hoped they
would both come as soon as possible so that I could get on to the next
episode of this bad dream.  But Miguel had other ideas.  After five minutes
of fucking me, he suddenly stopped.  I winced as he yanked himself out of
me as abruptly as he had entered, as my rectal ring suddenly went from
stretched to contracted.  He growling "I'm sick of this faggot pussy.

Your turn, Jack."  He disappeared from the room, as Seth took his place at
my face and Jack prepared to mount me from the rear.  Jack rammed me as
ruthlessly as Miguel had, and his longer thicker cock added a new dimension
to the pain in my abdomen.  Seth's penis was larger still, and tasted
mossy, but fresher than Miguel or Jack's.  This taste soon was replaced by
the slightly fishy, salty taste of his pre cum.  Perhaps, I could spare my
ass a reaming from this rod, I thought as I slid Seth's dick from my lips
to the back of my throat.  "Feels so good, baby," Seth groaned.

Jack was an even more energetic fuck than Miguel had been, and was even
more ruthless in his assaults on the rest of the body.  He captured my
balls and cockette between his thumb and forefingers and crushed and rolled
them back and forth.  He mauled my breasts and slapped my ass as he rode
me.  I swiveled my hips in unison to his lunges, hoping to bring him to
climax.  He yanked me up back to doggy style, causing me to lose suction on
Seth's cock.  I cringed and said, "I'm sorry", and to my surprise he said
"Watch out Jack, don't bust her before it's my turn." Jack said `OK, take
your turn," and ripped his dick out of my ass, which again contracted in a
sudden spasm of pain.

Jack pushed Seth away from my mouth and shoved his dick in, slathered in my
ass juices.

I remembered gratefully that I had used the hand held in the tub to fill my
ass, which was well cleaned out.  By comparison to his uncleaned prick,
Jack tasted wonderful now that he was spiced with the effusions of my ass.
My reverie was interrupted as the Seth's massive tool ripped into my
puckered ass.  It was the biggest yet, and probed places that neither
Miguel nor Jack had reached.  But he was a more considerate "lover" than
they had been, thrusting more deliberately, and with greater imagination
and precision.  His fucking built more slowly and deliberately, like a
train picking up speed as it left a station.  Soon, he was fucking me with
all the velocity, and even more strength and length, that either Miguel or
Jack, and I found myself moaning with pleasure.

He fondled my privates and my breasts gently, to evoke pleasure, not pain
or humiliation.

I was soon responding to him like a real lover, and that incited him to
even greater exertions.  I heard him breathing heavily and slowly behind me
and knew he would soon climax.  I wanted to turn my head and look at him,
but Jack's dick kept me facing forward.  He had resumed his brutal assault
on my face, now pounding my lips against hi pubic bone and smashing his
cock to the back of my throat.  As his attack quickened, he began cursing
me and calling me his sissy slut, his pansy whore, his cocksucking
maricone, that he was going to beat and fuck my faggot ass and fuck my
fairy mouth whenever he wanted, and then suddenly he heeled back, thrust
forward violently and uncontrollably, and spewed load of foamy sperm down
my throat with such force that I soon felt warm rivulets dripping into my
stomach.

At the same instant, Seth grabbed my pelvis and rammed me his hardest yet,
and as he cried out I felt a huge orgasm explode halfway up my intestines.
Seth kept pumping inside me for a dozen more wet, deep, slippery stokes,
and it felt like the two great floods met in center of my tummy.  After
three gigantic gulps Jack had pulled out of my mouth and yanked himself and
sprayed his jism over my eyes, nose, lips, chin and hair.  It looked like a
creamy pink fountain spurting into my face.  When it had slowed to a
trickle, he put it back between my lips and squeezed his balls to drain the
last cum into my mouth.  Seth's fountain too had finished, and now he
glided his prick gently between the cum lubed walls of my ass.  Now I
really did feel like a sissy slut whore.

Unfortunately, Miguel wasn't through with me yet.  He came back in the room
in a rage and yelled "get out of that little cunt-ass."  Seth and Jack
backed away and Miguel stuck his half-limp dick into my tired mouth.  "Suck
it, you slut", and I did, with new-found expertise.  His dick tasted salty
and spicy, and I realized with horror that this was the taste of my beloved
Marta's pussy.  He got hard as I sucked, and as he did, he pulled out and
walked around to my rear.

Seth's jism was still oozing from my ass and dripping down my thighs, and
my ass was still red and puckered from the half-hour of non-stop pounding
it had taken.  Miguel's member easily slid up my ass, as Seth's bountiful
spunk provided a superb lubrication.

Miguel only lasted a few minutes before he started grunting and thrusting
uncontrollably, and fired his load into my bowels.  I felt the warmth of
his sperm swimming up inside me, where it merged into the pool of seed that
Seth had already deposited in me.

Miguel collapsed on top of me, as Seth and Jack relaxed and dozed in chairs
across the room.  He softened, and his penis slid out with a final pop and
drooped down my thigh.

A steady stream of cum mixed with my ass juices dripped down my crack onto
my scrotum and onto the pile of pillows that propped my butt into position.

Miguel grunted and lifted himself off of me, then staggered back to my face
and whispered "Lick me clean, bitch."  I swallowed his flaccid dick and
sucked off my juices and the mixed sperm.  I prayed he wouldn't get hard
again, but he did, and soon both Miguel was again pounding his dick into my
exhausted mouth and throat, screaming obscenities and threats.  Jack
stirred, and mounted me again from behind, and again began pounding his
dick into my slick but tired ass.  With a whoop of triumph, Miguel fired
another load into my throat, and moments later Jack squirted another load
of spunk into my ass.  As Miguel slumped into his chair, Jack took position
and my face and ordered me to clean his dick.  I carefully licked his
shrunken member, and was relieved it did not harden again.

As he wobbled unsteadily away, I felt Seth's large hands massaging my
cheeks.  He brushed my cum-streaked hair behind my ear and whispered "Ready
for me again?"  I nodded my head and smiled, and he kissed my cheek
tenderly.  Then, he gently entered my raw behind and slowly accelerated the
speed and force with which his cock crashed into my body until I found
myself rising and falling with his motion.

He cupped his hands around my cum soaked cockette, and to my astonishment,
it began to harden.  Our pace quickened, and I ground my tiny member into
his strong hand in concert with his massive heaves into my inner spaces.  I
suddenly felt so full, and so warm, and so tingly, that as he gushed
another warm torrent into my belly, I cried out and climaxed, three tiny
drops into his palm.

He stayed inside a long time until he grew soft, and then he exited gently
and painlessly from my body.  "Did you cum?" he asked.  I nodded my head,
and added "Do you want me to lick you clean?"  He offered me his softened
penis, and I swallowed it hungrily, sucking and licking it clean of every
streak of cum or ass juice.  By the time he was clean, I had roused him to
a slanty erection, and I asked if he going to fuck me again.  He shook his
head no, and the he dressed himself and roused Miguel and Jack.

Miguel was still in a rage.  "I'll get Marta, you tie the pansy to the
bed", Miguel ordered Jack.  "I'll do it," Seth volunteered.  He tied
deliberately loose bonds to the bed posts with my stockings and garters,
then covered me with a blanket.  His eyes conveyed that he was sorry, and
he said apologetically "Miguel runs this set, so I got to do what he says."
I watched in horror as Miguel dragged a disheveled and crying Marta down
the hall, and cried at the thought that she might have suffered the pain
and indignity that I had this night.  Jack smacked my ass and said "Good
bye bitch.  You were great."  Seth gave me a pat on the head.  Then the
house was quiet, and I was left alone with only my thoughts and frightening
memories.  Eventually, I drifted off to sleep.

I awoke to the flicker of flashlights and the sound of unfamiliar voices.
My parents had waited until midnight to call the police, and grandma's
house was not exactly the first place they looked.  They discovered me
still tied to the bed and bums up.  "What have we here", said the first
officer. "Looks like a female impersonator who got in over his head,"

said the other.  They wrapped me in the cum soaked bedspread and took me to
the station, treating me as if I were the criminal.  I called my parents
and told them where I was and that I was OK, but that Marta and I had been
attacked by three boys.  My dad exploded in rage.  "Just what were you and
Marta doing at grandma's.  I knew that girl was trouble, and I knew there's
been something up with you."  I told him I couldn't talk about it now.  My
mom got on the phone and said they were coming right down.  I didn't want
her to see me this way, and so I told her that I would call her after I was
finished with the police report.

The police were unsympathetic and contemptuous.  I asked to speak to a rape
counselor.

They said it would have to wait until morning.  I asked if I could clean
up, and they said that they needed to take a rape kit and that too would
have to wait until the medical technician arrived in the morning.  So I
waited in the interview room, cum crusted on my face, hair and bums, and
leaking more cum from my ass onto grandma's already sodden bed spread.
Finally, a bored looking detective came in.  "So tell me what happened
here, sonny,' he asked.  I gave him an overview, and he said "it sounds
pretty consensual to me.  There wasn't any forced entry, at least not of
the house."  He guffawed.  It was 10:00 a.m. before they took the rape kit,
another deep probing of my wounded ass, and noon by the time I was done
with the rape counselor.  By then, I knew I would never press charges
against Miguel and the others.  Everyone, including my own dad, seemed to
blame me for the attack.  They gave me an AIDS test, and when it came out
negative, even my mom told me to forget about it and move on.

I promised my dad I would stop cross-dressing and give up hormones, and I
gave him back the remains of the birth control pill I had stolen from his
office. Naturally, I still had my Sao Paolo stash, and I secretly kept up
the daily estrogen routine.  Other than that, we never really talked about
the events at grandma's house.  The rape counselor took care of the school
angle and I never had to go back again. I finished the year on independent
study and spent most of my time prepping for the AP exams, which I aced,
naturally.

I never saw Marta again.  I heard that she had been fucking Miguel before,
during and after the time she had been seeing me, so no wonder he was so
pissed at me.  I saw Seth from afar one afternoon when I was driving back
from a shopping trip, but he was with the other motorheads, so he ignored
me and I avoided them.  I pretty much lost track with the art room crowd,
except Quinn who stopped over once or twice, "to see how I was doing."  He
had heard about my transformation, and it turned out he was mainly
interested in seeing how big my boobs had grown.  I showed off for him, and
hoped my old friend would put the moves on, but it turned out his interest
was purely academic.  I grew bored and frustrated, and very horny, for a
guy-girl who couldn't get himself off any more.  Finally, I called the
University of Minnesota and asked if I could start in summer school instead
of waiting until autumn.  They said sure, but my scholarship money wasn't
available until Fall Semester.  I emptied my bank account and got my mom to
cosign for a student loan.  I packed my bags, and left home the day after
my eighteenth birthday.  I think my mom and dad were relieved to get rid of
me.

So if anyone tells you what happens in high school doesn't matter, tell
them they're wrong or else they're lying.  If they go on to tell you that
life begins in college, well, I hope that they are right.


The Greatest Lie Chapter 2 Don't You Hate Buses?

Never take a long distance bus if other transportation is available.  If I
had just lobbied my parents a little harder, they probably would have
sprung for the plane fare for my summer school session at Minnesota. They
were still pissed at me about the problems I had at the end of senior year,
but those same problems made it imperative that I get out of town.  After
all, when a teenage cross-dresser like me has been gang banged by a Latino
gang once, it its only a matter of time before they (or their friends) come
back for seconds, or even more.

Just spending a few minutes at the Greyhound Bus Station in downtown LA was
enough to convince me that the creeps and losers that I was escaping from
must have come from large families, because this place was full of them.
The thought of spending three days on a bus with a cross section of this
lumpen proletariat made me sick and fearful.

Although I hid behind my Raybans, they gravitated to me.  A greasy bearded,
tattooed middle aged loser beckoned to me from the bench opposite me.  I
pretended to ignore him, but he rose and took the empty seat next to me.
He hissed in my ear, "I tol-jah ta come eeer, pretty boy."  He clamped his
callused hand on my skinny forearm.  "Wassa matter, dincha get it?"  A
flash of genius struck, and I responded "Je ne parle pas l'Anglais."  He
looked at me with disgust and stalked off, not noticing the Los Angeles
Times lying on my lap.

That narrow escape brought me back to my immediate dilemma, the painfully
distended bladder full of pee, and my fear of going to the men's room at
this dump.  I hate public rest rooms, and have a difficult time peeing if I
even think that somebody might be watching me. The alternative, waiting and
trying pee in the swaying rear of a moving Greyhound while all of the
passengers watched and waited, seemed even more daunting, so I took my
carryon bag of estrogen, female dainties, and amphetamines and skulked as
invisibly as I could to the john.

The public bathroom was even worse than I imagined.  Instead of urinals, it
had a long, canal-like trough, which was lined with pissing travelers.
Even though I was wearing boy's undies for this voyage, just the thought of
pointing my tiny, estrogen-shrunk penis over a fetid river of piss, while
being watched by a long row of real men pissing loudly and freely from real
penises, gave me a bashful bladder.  So I opted for the most remote of the
littered, wet-floored and graffiti-covered stalls. Even though I preferred
to pee sitting down, I would rather have died than have sat on the damp,
sticky seat.  So I squatted and waited nervously for the pressure in my
bladder to overcome the nervous sphincter of my little cock. After a long
wait, the pee came.

I pulled up my now unfamiliar boy's briefs and struggled to hoist my tight
Levi's over my rounded tush. Why was I so nervous, I wondered?  When I
opened the stall door, I had very good reason to be nervous: there lurked
the guy with the greasy beard from the waiting room, pretending to be
waiting his turn for my stall.  He covered my mouth with one hand and
shoved my chest up against the wall, banging me so hard that my Raybans
went flying, exposing my fear-filled baby blues.  He snapped shut the door
latch and put a 5" buck knife to my throat, hissing "sh-sh-sh" menacingly.
With his other hand, he fumbled with his belt, button and fly, and his
greasy jeans slid down his legs, revealing a long, partly hardened cock.
He pointed to it, and nodded commandingly.  I nodded back and knelt on the
slimy, piss-sprayed floor, remembering not to regain my command of English.
I lifted his tumescent member into my mouth.

He was uncut, when his head slipped out from under his foreskin it released
a stale and sour slough of dried sweat and dead skin, which his pulsing
prick pushed to the back of my throat. The reddish mass of his pubic hair
was rough and clumpy, like it hadn't been washed for a week, and it scraped
rather than tickled the soft skin of my face and lips.

His filth was so overpowering that I could barely taste his pre-cum.

His shaft was long and ridged with veins. It was long and thin enough to
pass my tonsils and slide down my esophagus, so I easily deep throated him.
He placed both hands on the nape of my neck and forced my head up and down
his long, slender shaft, my gag reflex rebelling at each forceful shove.  I
controlled it and steadied my motion by bracing on his hairy ass, keeping
my fingers well away from his crack.  Clearly, this character liked to be
in control.

And controlled he was, ramming my face so hard and long that I began to pay
attention to the public address announcements for fear of missing my bus.
Too speed things up, I slipped one of my hands up between his legs and
began massaging his blood-engorged balls.  He moaned and began pulsing
faster, and then the motion became jerky and more random and his load
filled my mouth.  And a huge load it was: I had to swallow three gulps to
get it all down and keep my sweatshirt clean.  When he was done, he tilted
my face upward, as if to study it.  Then, he spat in my face, slapped me
and wordlessly opened the door and left.

I was alone, wet kneed on the filthy toilet floor, spit mixed with tears of
humiliation dripping down my flushed and stinging cheeks.  Then, I heard my
bus announced.  I grabbed my Raybans and bag, pulled myself to my feet,
rinsed my hands and faced and hurriedly gargled with the cold water of the
stained and paper towel-stuffed sink. I ran off to my bus and jumped aboard
just as the doors were about to close.  God, I thought, if this is the real
world, it's even worse than high school!  I noted with relief that greasy
beard was not a passenger on my bus.

I found a window seat next to a Mexican woman and tried to compose myself.
What rotten luck I had.  When I dress as a boy, my effeminate good lucks
attracted the worst weirdoes of this world.  I didn't have the I.D., or the
nerve, to pass full time as a girl.  I felt trapped and helpless.
Fortunately, this bus was filled with modest working folk returning to
their families or heading off to factories or fields.  I found their
ordinariness comforting.  None of them would take an interest in me, I
hoped.

When we were on the Interstate, I went to the bathroom, bag in hand.  I
stuck my finger down my sore throat forced myself to vomit. I washed my
face and brushed my teeth about five times, to get the foul taste of my
assailant out of my mouth.  To get him out of my memory, I bared my ass and
injected a double dose of estrogen, and popped a couple of Valium.

Then, to further boost my morale, I changed out of my jockeys and put on
some flowered cotton panties and a matching training bra.  I looked in the
spotted and swaying mirror, and realized I looked frazzled and ashen.  I
put on a little mascara and eye shadow, and some lip gloss, and felt much
better.  I covered up with my Raybans and a baseball cap, returned to my
seat by my Mexican madre.  The estrogen/Valium combo, together with the
rumble of the bus through the desert, worked their magic, and my troubles
slipped away into sleep.

I must have slept through a stop or two because when I woke up "Mother
Mexico" was gone, and replaced by a uniformed, six foot tall soldier.  I
was startled and thrilled: he was gorgeous, but sound asleep.  I climbed
gingerly over his massive thighs, to take a pee and make some preparations
for some serious conversation after he awoke.  He would be the perfect
antidote to old greasy beard.  I asked the driver our next stop: six hours
non- stop to Denver, where I had a layover.  Plenty of time to get
acquainted and to make plans for a very special "lay" over.

In the bathroom, I prepared myself for "whatever" by douching my ass. No
matter how little I eat, traveling always constipates me.  How gross!  I
held it as long as I could as it swirled like a wild tide with the sway of
the bus over the mountainous highway.  I squeezed it in, imagining I was
pregnant and in labor with the soldier's baby.  I brushed out my hair,
applied foundation, spritzed with a subtle Eau de Toilet, interrupted,
occasionally, by urgent feelings and expulsions from my gut.  I changed
from my bulky sweatshirt to a tight, rolled neck T, and draped a simple
gold chain around my neck.  For inspiration, I popped a black beauty and
attached a couple of estrogen patches to the undersides of my nubile
breasts.  By the time I was done, I heard urgent knocking and angry Spanish
through the door, but my tush was squeaky clean, empty, and lightly lubed,
and I looked really cute.  I stepped over the sleeping soldier again, this
time gently brushing his thigh with my butt as I settled in my seat.

He stirred in the mid morning glare, squinted, turned to me, squinted
again, and rumbled "Whoa, excuse you, Miss, errr, Good Morning!"  He was
befuddled by sleep and by the vision of me.  I flipped back my baseball
cap, raised my Raybans, and batted my eyes.

"Good Morning to you, soldier."  Well, it emerged he was not really a
soldier, Air Force Reserve, whatever that was, but what the hell.  I wasn't
really a Miss, either.  But I would explain that later.

His name was Jake, he had gone straight into the service out of high
school, gone to college on government grants, and now he had to re-up for
another year of active duty and three more in the Reserves.  The problem
was, he didn't really like it any more.

After college (he had gone to Minnesota for two years!) the Air Force guys
all seemed to rah-rah!  He was sick of it and wad glad he had only six
months left.  I listened attentively, nodding, flirting, and agreeing with
everything.  Then I told him I was on my way to start college at Minnesota.

He was so excited, telling me all about the wonderful people and
experiences.  "You make it sound like Athens in the tundra," I said.  He
agreed completely, like a modern day Greece set down in the Mid West.  I
told him how glad I was to be escaping LA.  He wondered why.  It seemed so
tolerant, hedonistic, and creative.  Not my high school, I said.  "Well,
nobody's high school is!  Anyhow, you're gonna love Minnesota."  But first,
I thought, I am going to love you.  "But enough about me," I cooed.  What's
next for you."

"I have a couple of days leave in Denver, then I report to an air base in
Colorado Springs, which sucks!" he said.  I smiled inwardly.  Soldier,
you're gonna have a leave in Denver that both sucks and fucks.  I mentally
rearranged my travel plans to defer my arrival in Minnesota.

By the time we pulled into Denver, we had made plans to get together for
dinner and a night out exploring the city.  We split up to get our hotels,
but I was so sure of myself that I changed in the ladies room at the bus
station and saved my hotel money.  I hadn't eaten since LA, but I still
wasn't hungry, so I popped another black cad and couple of Premarin.  My
estrogen level felt high, and my nipples and breasts ached with sensation
when I pulled off the patches, but they had never looked bigger.  They
quivered and jiggled as I sponge-bathed in one of the ladies room toilet
stalls.  I felt better after I had cleaned my ass and cockette with a damp
towel, and spritzed more Eau de Cologne all over.  It felt cool and
shriveled my balls nicely.  Then I moisturized and lubed myself lightly.

It felt good to get out of my dirty-kneed Levi's and into a pair of Capri's
and my mules.

None of the ladies batted an eye as I preened in the mirror, adding
lipstick to my gloss, and color to my cheeks.  I popped some dainty gold
hoops in my ears to match the necklace.  The woman next to me noticed my
self-inspection and commented "Don't worry honey, you look great!"  I was
so thrilled.  I thanked her, wondering how I would tell Jake about my
special problem.

We had agreed to meet at one of those beer and burger places, and I arrived
first and ordered a diet coke.  Like clockwork, one of the local losers
sidled up.  Blowing cigarette smoke toward my face, he began pestering me.
"Where r'you from, what's your name, what's your sign, I'm Cancer."
"Right," I agreed.  "You do remind me of a cancer: lung cancer," I replied
haughtily.  He stupidly mumbled "fuck you, cunt" and walked back to his
lonely table.  I was thrilled at my bitchy brilliance, and delighted that
he had thought I was a girl.

Jake arrived moments after I brushed off the pick up guy, and told the
bartender we needed a table.  We ordered but I was so cranked that I ate
little.  I noticed he ate heartily but had good manners.  I asked him a lot
of questions about himself and let him ramble on.  I knew that guys liked
that, since I had been one.  And that kept the conversation off the
delicate question of my background.

After dinner, we took a walk in the cool evening.  He held my little hand
tenderly in his, and when we paused to view a pretty vista, he put his
muscular arm around my narrow shoulders.  I turned my head, looked into his
eyes and said "I'm cold".  With that he gathered me in his arms and gave me
the first real romantic kiss of my life as a girl, as he gently stoked my
upper arms and back.  He was built like a marble statue, and I melted.

After an eternity, his lips broke contact with my trembling mouth, and he
asked "Did that warm you up?"  I replied, "I'm boiling now", and he
laughed.  We were near his hotel, so he suggested that we go back there and
get an extra sweatshirt for me.  I readily agreed.

It would be ridiculously big on me, but I wasn't planning on going back
outside that night anyhow.

We went to his room and I went to the bathroom to freshen up my cologne and
tush.  I hadn't eaten for days, and my ass felt clean and fresh when I
probed it with a finger full of KY.  Tingling all over from my self
inspection, I resolved to confront the issue that I had been ducking and
dreading. Jake was sitting on the bed.  I sat down beside him, and began my
confession, my head hanging , and my eyes staring at my pretty little feet.

"Jake, I'm different from the other girls you have met."

"What do you mean?"  Tears streamed down my face, and emotion choked my
throat.

This was it, the moment of devastating rejection or acceptance as a special
kind of girl.

In a hoarse and halting voice, I admitted "I have been a girl as long as I
can remember, but I was born in a boy's body."  My voice was overcome with
involuntary sobs as these words passed my lips, which spread and spasmed
through my body.  It was the first time I had ever dared admit this out
loud.  My eyes were blinded, and my ears deafened by the force of my
emotional response to this devastating admission.  I did not know if Jake
would kick me out onto the street, beat me senseless, or accept me into his
heart. I was so overwhelmed by the pain of articulating the secret that I
had hidden inside me for so many years, and so overcome by my intense
desire to be possessed by him, that I practically lost consciousness.

The first sensation I had was of his arms around my shoulders, pressing my
teary face against his chest, and of the whispered words "that's OK, baby"
in my ears.  My eyes still blinded with tears, I lifted my face from his
chest to meet a chaste kiss on my lips.  I responded and was soon
experiencing for the first time from the girl's side a truly hot and
passionate kiss.  I let my lips yield and open and felt his warm tongue
enter and stroke mine.  My arms were pinned to my sides by his embrace, but
when he relaxed his grip to allow his hands to explore the tingling
territory from my waist to my tingling breasts, I left them there, as if I
were now his willing prisoner.  The increasing passion of his kisses tilted
my head back and as I continued to melt under his embrace, he rolled me
back on the bed and lay atop me.  His kisses paused, and for the first time
I opened my eyes.

"You sure don't look, feel or kiss like a boy," he said, and resumed his
exploration of my breasts, bottom and mouth.

My relief at these words released all my pent-up desire and horniness.  I
had been on hormones for over four months now and they had so totally
overcome the boy hormones that I had not cum since Seth had brought me to
climax at the end of my Prom nightmare.

The press of Jake's well muscled, 6'1" frame on my petite and estrogen
softened figure filled me with exquisite sensations to match the emotions
that filled my heart, and these built on each other to a nearly unbearable
passion.  The next time his lips released mine, I gasped "I'm boiling.
Let's undress!"  I pulled my top over my head, tousling my long hair over
my face like a gauzy veil, and wriggled out of my Capri's.  I left my bra
and panties for him.  He returned to me, naked and hard, unhooked my bra,
and began alternating kisses of my breasts and lips as he gently stroked
the front of my panties. I lay back passively and gave him free reign over
my body.  My one inch nipples grew hard and rose to the tingling touch of
his tongue and lips.  My little cockette did the same under his gentle
massage, despite the speed and hormones.

After about two minutes of this, I could not stand receiving without giving
back.  I hoarsely whispered "OK, my turn!" and he released my from the
gentle prison of his embrace.  I rose and knelt between his knees, then
bowed to worship his circumcised, eight inch cock.  As I took it in my
mouth, I reveled in its fresh, meaty taste, which was immediately and
pleasantly seasoned by his ocean-scented pre-cum.  I began tentatively, not
wanting to show immediately the full extent of my painfully gained oral
experience.

He guided my head lightly, and I picked up the pace and introduced some
tongue flicks and flutters, as I took him ever deeper into my mouth and
throat.  He certainly was well hung, long and thick, and his testicles,
which I now cupped in my little palm, were huge and hard.  He was breathing
hard, but I did not want him to climax yet, so I paused, and as his eyes
opened, I said, appreciatively, "Yum."

He lifted me up and onto bed and again sat over me, as I looked up at him
adoringly.  He kissed me, enjoying the first flavors of his manhood in my
mouth.  Then, he gripped the waistband of my panties and began to slide
them down.  As he did, I searched his eyes for his reaction.  They did
widen when my tiny cockette popped out, but only momentarily.  I wriggled
my hips to help him, and soon my panties were dangling from one ankle as he
took my tiny but erect cock and firm compact scrotum as a single mouthful,
while with one hand he fondled my breasts and the other explored the
crevasse of my rounded ass.  I moaned gratefully in response.  As minutes
passed, waves of blinding ecstasy swept over me, and when his fingers at
last found the doorway to my tight hole, I was on the verge of my first
climax in months.

I said "Stop", and he looked at me, surprised and hurt.  "What's the
matter, baby" he asked.  "It's OK, I said, I just don't want to cum that
way.  Just a minute.  Stay here", I said, as I made a last trip to the
bathroom.  I quickly checked the condition of my hairless bum.  It was
pristine, and I applied a generous dab of lubricant.  I fluffed my hair,
added a little gloss to my swollen lips.  I grabbed a condom, then decided
against it.  He was lying on the bed, slightly softened, so I plopped down
beside him and quickly brought him to full attention with a dozen deft
stokes of my lube-covered hand.  I looked lovingly into his eyes and said
boldly, "I want you to fuck me now."

He looked happy and relieved.  "I'm just dying to fuck you but I was afraid
to ask.  I don't want to hurt you."

"That's OK," I said, "just remember to start slow."

"I'll try," he said.  I lay on my back and lifted my ankles to his
shoulders, raising my ass into perfect position for him.  He pressed his
dick-head gently against my hole, and we beheld each other silently for a
moment.  "OK," I sighed, and he pressed forward, as I pressed my sphincters
down.  As his head slipped through the tight ring of my anus I gasped, and
he thoughtfully stopped.  As tears rose in my eyes, I concentrated on
relaxing my ass muscles.  "OK, go on" I said, gritting my teeth and
pressing down as another massive inch slipped up me.  "God, you're so
tight", he said.  "You feel so good!"

"Be careful, I'm a virgin."  And I believed I really was, that the brutal
and forced sex of Prom night and at the bus station had been nothing. This,
at last, was the real thing. "Just keep going slowly until I can get used
to you," I begged.  As my body grew accustomed to his presence inside me, I
signaled him wordlessly with my eyes, and he pressed forward another inch.
I moaned again, this time with obvious pleasure.  Three more perfectly
timed strokes and he was inside me to the hilt.  My ass and tummy felt warm
and pleasantly full.  I beckoned him with my lips, and he leaned forward to
kissed me passionately again.  As his full weight crashed down on me, it
spread my legs akimbo, and wrenched the massive penis inside me to a
delightful new angle.  But still my rectum gripped him tightly.

Now he rose, and bracing himself with one hand cupped on my breast, and the
other rubbing my little dickie like it was a clit, he began gently rocking
his pelvis.  With my legs up and my ankles balanced on his shoulders, I lay
back and enjoyed him, immobilized by his weight to helpless vulnerability.
Inside, my juices began to flow, and as they lubricated his dick inside me,
his strokes became longer and more wanton.  Soon, he was plunging his full
length, in and out, with accelerating velocity and increasing force.

The rapid motion and slight friction of his large organ in my tight, wet
hole sent waves of warm pleasure through me, occasionally mixed with
moments of pain as his marauding penis reached new territory.  The slap of
his thighs against my bottom blended with the sound of his grunts and heavy
breathing and my own sighs and moans to form an erotic symphony.  Now,
tears of joy and pleasure filled my eyes, and I felt that we were both
nearing orgasm.  But it was too soon.  Again, I whispered "Slow down", and
his pace gradually diminished, allowing us to pull back from the brink.

I whispered "I want you behind me," and he lifted one of my feet over his
head and spun me onto his tummy.  As my ass spun around his cock I was
filled with pleasure from the corkscrew motion of his cock in my ass and
with the expectation of being possessed by him from behind.  When he
mounted me from behind, his cock felt even bigger, and his weight took my
breath away.  He slipped one arm beneath my breasts, and spread his long
fingers to tweak both of my nipples.  In his other hand he cupped my tiny
but excited cockette. In this position, his cock found new spaces to
invade, and I groaned each time his cock conquered new territory.  As each
new place became slathered in ass juice, his pace again accelerated.

>From this angle, my soft round ass muscles could better respond to him,
and I undulated in concert with his thrusts.  That made him even more wild
and forceful in his fucking.

Now, the sounds of slapping flesh and our heaving breaths grew more
intense, and the sensations his heat and strength pounding inside me grew
overpowering.  Uncontrollable forces conquered both of our bodies, and I
heard my own voice rise involuntarily from within me in a wordless language
that only he could answer, with deep throated grunts of his own.  With a
spasm that gripped me from head to toe, I climaxed in his hand, and a
moment later, he came in a dozen massive spurts inside me.  Every muscle
from my anus to my throat spasmed gratefully in response, as if my ass had
had an orgasm of its own.

He kept moving, more slowly now, his still hard dick sailing on the ocean
it had made inside me.  With that vision in my mind, I drifted into a deep
sleep.

I awoke god only knows how much longer later to a tickling feeling between
my thighs, a pleasant weight on my back and a slight sensation of fullness
in my ass.  His warm cum was oozing out my cock-filled ass, and he was
snoring on top of me.  I enjoyed these pleasant sensations for a few
minutes, but he was very heavy, and I was actually having a little trouble
getting enough breath.  I finally grazed my shoulder against his cheek, and
he awoke with a yawn, followed by a smile.  "Wow, you are great" he said,
gently pulling his softened cock out of me.  I felt an inner ocean of sperm
and ass juice start to pour out of my uncorked ass, and quickly squeezed my
cheeks to keep it in.  "Excuse me", I said, and scampered to the toilet.  I
wondered if you were supposed to leave the door open or closed in these
situations: my old mentor Marta had never covered that.  I compromised and
left it ajar as I cleaned up my well exercised bottom and peed sitting
down.

When I came back, he was lying on his back.  Wordlessly, I knelt between
his legs and began to clean the residue of my tush from his penis.  He
quickly hardened and began heaving his hips as I licked and stroked his
cock and balls.  Soon, I was bobbing my tired head energetically under his
guiding hand.  After the long, hard fuck, I was pleasantly surprised at how
quickly I brought him to a second climax, this one in my hungry mouth.

It was delicious: the first meal I had had since leaving LA two days
earlier.

Jake slept as I did a little beautifying.  I painted my nails, tweezed my
eyebrows, douched, a took a Premarin.  He woke up after a half-hour, and I
said "I was just about to take a shower, care to join me?"  He practically
jumped for joy at that suggestion and soon we were behind the curtain of
the shower, and Jake was exploring every square inch of me with his soapy
fingers.  By the time our shower was over, I felt like I had never been
cleaner in my life.

He went out for pizza and beer as I cleansed, moisturized, and put on fresh
makeup and nail polish.  I blew dry and brushed my shoulder length blond
tresses, and pulled them into tight, school girlish pigtails.  By the time
he got back I really looked quite lovely in my negligee and dainty
slippers.  I ate a piece of pizza and even had a sip of beer (yuck!)  The
food and drink revived Jake as well: after the pizza was gone he fucked me
long into the night, and we slept until late the next morning.  By morning,
he had recovered enough to make love to me again.  We took another sexy
shower and then emerged from our love nest explore Denver by day.  Jake
took me on a lengthy shopping spree, and I happily augmented my stash of
cosmetics, jewelry and girl's clothing and accessories.  I felt a little
guilty about the money he was spending on me, but what the hell, I was
worth it.

And besides, each time my shopping bags were full, we would return to our
room for another session of lovemaking.

And so it went for two days, until our groins were sore and raw, and his
leave was over.

He even went AWOL for eight hours so he could see me off on the early
morning bus to Minneapolis.  He had given me his name, unit and address,
and told me to write when I had a home, so he could come see me.  I
promised I would.  There were tears streaming down my cheeks as I kissed my
first love goodbye from the steps of my Minneapolis- bound Greyhound.




The Greatest Lie Chapter 3 Town and Gown

My weekend escapade with my first real lover, Jake, convinced me that I was
destined to live as a girl, despite having been born a boy.  Unfortunately,
it was my male persona to whom the University of Minnesota had extended
admission and a scholarship, and I wasn't quite sure how they would react
if I showed up asking for a room in the women's dormitory.

It was bad enough that I, a product of middle class privilege, had
leveraged a Spanish surname into a lucrative scholarship, but to present
them with an undisclosed gender reversal might put me sideways with the
Admissions Committee and the scholarship people.  I needed the dough from
the scholarship, because during my senior year I had managed to alienate my
parents through some complications arising from my crossdressing
habit. With great regret, after I arrived in Minneapolis, I changed back
into boys clothing to register as a freshman entering the summer session,
and tried to reclaim my male persona.

One good thing about registering for summer school was there were hardly
any other freshman around.  I got assigned to a single dorm room, and got
all of the classes that I wanted.  As a freshman, I was quite a novelty
among my classmates, who were split between remedial types that were making
up failures from the prior year and nerds who were single-mindedly piling
up credits as fast as possible. I was so young that I had little in common
with my older classmates and spent most of my time in my room or the
library reading and doing homework, dressed en femme.  Naturally, I loved
studying.  I had to, because, typical ambitious me, I had signed up for all
upper level classes.

The teaching assistant for my "Gender Roles In Literature" class was Jon, a
tall, dark intellectual grad student in the English Department.  At the end
of the first week of class, he invited me for coffee.  By then, I was
getting lonely, so I gratefully accepted. As I usually do when I meet new
people, I asked a lot of flattering questions and let him talk about
himself.  He was from a wealthy family from Chicago.  He told me he was
bisexual, but recently he had lost interest in sex completely.  In a matter
of fact manner, as if it were of no concern to him, or to me, he asked
"Alex, are you gay?"  Whatever I was, I had grown accustomed to hiding it,
and so I replied that I was still trying to figure some things out about
myself.  He liked that answer, and said he was still trying to figure
himself out too.

He was on the Board of the Alliance of Gay, Lesbian and Transgendered
Students, and was in charge of a task force monitoring and investigating
and reporting to the administration on any harassment of gays on campus.
In my situation I thought he might be helpful, so I made the Friday
afternoon coffee a regular event, and waited to see if anything developed.
He certainly had the trappings of campus power.  The Alliance had an office
in the Student Union and Jon had a desk there.  Of course, he also had TA's
office in the English Department.  In academia, I knew from my dad's
experiences, office space was the talisman of power.  It looked like Jon
was doing well in that department.

The course work was demanding, and I really wanted to excel. If I had
straight A's, the Scholarship committee might be more forgiving when I
tried to change my registration to a girl's name.  I just studied all the
time, tried not to think about sex and stepped up my hormones to keep my
libido suppressed.  The only thing was, by this time, my breasts and ass
were getting pretty noticeable.  Even wearing baggy boys clothing and my
hair piled up in a baseball cap, I still got wolf whistles when I walked by
construction sites.

Finals were really hard, and the Gender Roles exam was particularly
lengthy.  I ran out of time and had to more or less sketch out my last
answer. The day after the exam, Jon met me to talk about my answers.
"Alex, I could tell you were on the right track on the question about
Orlando, but you really never got to the point."  "I'm so sorry, I had
never had a final like that, with so much to cover.  I just ran out of
time" "It's really not fair, you're so much younger than the other
students.  Your other answers were wonderful, but this one was for the most
points, and it was not good."  "If only I could have had more time."
"Maybe you can.  Come over to my place tonight."

I was pleased Jon was taking such a great interest in me.  Was it my mind,
or my body, I wondered?  I re-read my notes Orlando, and freshened up.  If
he going prepared to give me another half hour on the exam, I would gladly
give him a half hour he would never forget.

Jon had my exam book, partly marked up, but not graded.  I sat at his
kitchen table and he gave me the test and set a timer for a half hour.  I
sat down and wrote a brilliant essay, as he paced the room and watched me.
When the half-hour was up, he took back the exam.

"I'll read and grade that tomorrow," he said.  "Now, let's relax," he said
as he put on a Tracy Chapman CD and produced a joint and a bottle of
Chianti.  I hadn't had a drink or gotten high for months, and I soon had a
pleasant buzz.  My inhibitions had receded, but not my preoccupation with
my performance on the exam.

I got up to pee, and checked myself in his bathroom mirror.  Even slightly
buzzed, I looked really good.  I had on this totally subtle makeup.  I
added some shadow, mascara and gloss, looked at myself again, and decided I
looked gorgeous.  I mouthed "Good luck" to my reflection, returned to the
couch where Jon relaxed, and boldly sat in his lap and threw an arm around
his shoulder.  He looked pleasantly surprised.  I made close eye contact
and asked "Jon, remember the first day we met and you asked if I were gay?"
He nodded.  "Well, I'm not.  But I'm not straight either, and I am so mixed
up about myself."  I batted moist eyes in his, looking confused and
vulnerable.

I wasn't really confused, but I liked the way it sounded: like I needed his
advice.  He rose to the bait.  "Do you like sex with boys or girls?"
"Both, but when I have sex with girls, I feel gay, and when I have sex with
boys, I feel straight."  Jon reflected a moment, looked at me with
seemingly clinical interest, and then opined "in my opinion, you must be a
transsexual." I gaped and asked "what do you mean?"  It was feigned
surprise.  After all, I had spent hours in the medical library at UCLA
researching my self-medication.  But Jon expounded on the clinical and
social aspects of transsexuals, and I responded like one of Dr. Freud's
admiring acolytes.  I admitted that I had been cross dressing and taking
hormones for months, on my own, and now Jon was surprised and intrigued:
his curiosity manifested itself through his hands, as much as his words.
They slipped beneath my baggy Golden Gophers sweatshirt and quickly found
my satin spaghetti strap camisole.

>From that discovery it was only a short interval until he discovered my
pert, firm breasts.

Six months of heavy estrogen doses, and large breasted genetics in both my
maternal and paternal lines, had produced small but perfectly formed,
inverted ice cream cones that jiggled pleasantly but never sagged, topped
with silver dollar sized maroon aereoles.  I raised my arms, as if in
surrender, and he pulled my sweatshirt off.

Jon, the silver tongued pedagogue, was tongue tied with surprise and lust:
all he could manage was a husky "O wow" before he slid the straps down over
my slender shoulders began devouring my breasts.  But there, his tongue
discovered a mute eloquence, as he licked and kissed me in a frenzy, as I
cradled his head like a suckling baby's.  I slipped my hand between his
legs and began massaging his cock through his jeans.  In a few minutes he
broke his lips grip on my nipples and picked up my 5'7", 105 pound frame
and carried me into his bedroom.  "You are the most fantastic trans I have
ever met," he said.  "You can act like a perfectly normal boy, but you have
the perfect body of a young girl."  "Thank you," I said "but I'm not quite
perfect yet."  "We'll see about that", he said, and pulled off my pants and
began rubbing the front panel of my panties.

My tiny cockette responded with a mini erection that strained against the
front of my panties.  As he stroked my cockette, his other hand continued
to explore my breasts, which now piled up in perfect, soft mounds on my
chest as I reclined. I released my streaky blond hair from its pony tail so
it would frame my face, and then asked "Jon, what are you going to do to
me?"  Eight weeks of sexual abstinence had me painfully horny, so I had
some ideas of my own.  He responded wordlessly by disrobing, and I wriggled
out of my panties and camisole.  "Let's try this for starters," he said as
he assumed a "69" position above me.

His body was thin and not too hairy, and his circumcised penis was larger
than I had expected.  It filled my mouth and nostrils with a slightly mossy
taste that was quickly spiced with the pleasant, sea foam of his pre-cum.
His mouth took in fully my dainty cock and balls, which he began to suck
with great expertise.  One of his hands explored beneath my ass and quickly
found my hole, and his fingers played and poked there with delightful
persistence.  By now, I was taking the full length of his cock down my
mouth and throat, my arms around his ass and adding even greater force to
his rise and fall over my upturned face.  In this position, there was
nothing but my gag reflex to stop it from entering fully, and I had learned
well how to suppress that well. My natural talents soon brought Jon to the
brink of climax, but I did not want it that way.  I gently braked his
thighs with my hands, and gasped "Wait."  He must have guessed what I was
thinking, because he rose and lay down next to me.  We kissed, mingling the
delicate flavors of my little dickie with the meatier stronger flavors of
his swollen cock.  Then he began a most unequal sword fight with our
mismatched penises.

My lubricant was in the other room, and I did not want to break this spell.
"Do you have any KY?"  He rolled over and produced a bottle of "Astrolube"
and a couple of condoms from his bedstead.  "This is better," he said,
handing me the lubricant.  He deftly slipped on a condom as I lubricated my
ass.  "Put some on my cock," he advised, and I applied it liberally, with
several slippery strokes that made his penis twitch in my hands.  Holding
the second condom and looking at my tiny cockette and shriveled balls, he
said "I'm afraid this isn't going to fit you."  "I don't need it," I said,
settling face downward on the bed and raising my ass provocatively in the
air.

He bounded into position behind me and began testing my anus with his hard
member.

"You sure are tight", he said, as his penis rebounded for the third time
from his attempted entry.  I reached my hand back to guide him.  "Please go
slowly," I reminded him.  This time, two of the seven inches of his cock
entered me, and as the fiery electric charge of pain built in me, I said
"Go on", exerting maximum counter-pressure to ease his entry.

Two more inches of pain filled with ecstasy, then two more, and he was in.
Sharp pain shot through me from my ass to my head, and my tear-filled eyes
were blinded as if by a flashbulb, but agony faded to a pleasant glow of
pleasure, just as a flashbulb's aura disappears.

He gasped "Wow, are you tight!"  I feigned worry for his encased
prick. "Are you OK", and he replied "Are you kidding, I'm great.  Are you?"
My voice choked with pain, I replied "It's getting better.  You're so big!"
I knew guys liked to hear that, and he was about average, in my limited
experience.  The initial moments of anal intercourse are always
excruciating for me, until my sphincters relax and my internal juices start
flowing.

Jon was a very considerate lover, remaining almost still at first and
letting me grow accustomed to his length and width.  Gradually, the fires
inside me subsided to a smolder of pleasure, and I said "Go ahead and fuck
me hard".

He began probing me carefully as he sought to arouse me with gentle tweaks
of my nipples and massaging of my cockette.  Gradually, I opened up and he
began to thrust in and out with greater energy.  He did not possess the
superhuman strength of Jake or the animal barbarity of my motorhead
rapists, but he was in good shape and was experienced and expert in the art
of sodomy.

We were in my favorite position, a prone doggy style, and I responded to
his lunges with my own contractions and hip gyrations.  I could tell he was
approaching orgasm, and I wasn't ready, so I said "Please slow down," and
he did.  I wanted to be fucked more but I didn't really have any great
ideas, so I asked him "Do you have any favorite positions?"

He withdrew from me carefully, and "Sit on me", as he lay on his back.  I
straddled his prone body, ass poised above his upright dick, and I impaled
myself.

Even in my well lubricated condition, this maneuver took my breath away, as
he pierced me from a totally unexpected angle.  It felt like a deeper
penetration than ever, and he was able to send himself even deeper with
up-thrusts of his hips.  But now how hard I wanted to be fucked was up to
me, and soon I was riding up and down as hard as my weak little thighs
could lift me, and repeatedly banging his cock-head from my rectum to my
diaphragm.  It slipped out with a painful snap, but when it escaped, I
aimed my ass and re-inserted him with reckless abandon, for now my rectum
was wet and ready.

He stroked my bobbing breasts and cock as I screamed and rode him until I
was totally exhausted and glistening with perspiration.  As I rested atop
his stomach, breath heaving, a little droplet of sweat dripped onto his
stomach.  My flushed face grew even redder with embarrassment.  "I'm sorry,
I usually don't get this much exercise."

He sat up, still inside me, and pulled my legs around his back.  "Try this,
as he settled me back down onto his prick from a face to face embrace, and
kissed my breathless lips.  I felt like my insides were melting, as he
gently bounced me up and down as I regained my breath.  "I love both of
these positions," I said. "Can we try any others?"  He lifted me, and
supporting my back as he went, dropped me into the legs up position for a
few strokes.  My spine twisted and ached as it recoiled from a few dozen
powerful strokes.

Compared to the nurturing position that had preceded it, the legs up
position seemed crude, barbaric and uncomfortable—OK for a cautious
entry, but cruel for real fucking.

He must have sensed this, for soon he lifted one of my legs over his head
to my side, and rode me from atop my other leg.  I had never felt so
trapped and vulnerable, and his penis found new angles and places to probe
and excite me.  Finally, he rolled me back over onto my tummy.

"Which one did you like best?"  "This one," I answered, twisting my tush as
he thirsted anew. The rotation through the positions and the varied angles
that I had been penetrated made me feel both more relaxed and more fully
stimulated.  He seemed more rested and his movements were even stronger and
more confident.  Soon, I felt like my insides were boiling again, and his
movements grew ever faster and more intense.  Finally, I felt him lose
control and begin jerking wildly inside me.  He had climaxed.  He kept on
fucking and stimulating me, but it was no use.  Realizing as he drifted
into a post orgasmic sleep that I had not climaxed, he whispered "I'm
sorry" in my ear.  I responded "That's OK, you were great."

I had sort of missed the feeling of cum spurting inside me and tickling the
walls of my intestines.  But I did not miss the drip of sticky seed
dripping down my thighs and forming a cold wet spot beneath my groin, while
pinned beneath a snoring body.  I enjoyed Jon's weight atop me. He weighed
enough to make me feel subjugated without being suffocated.  I closed my
eyes and permitted myself a brief fantasy about being his faculty wife, and
serving tea to his students.  But before long the fantasy had shifted to my
blowing one of the students in the closet while Jon pontificated to the
others, and then he woke up and pulled out of me.

He rose and flushed his rubber, and then said "Wow, er-ah..."  "You can
call me Ally" I interjected "AH-Allie, I wish I had known you better
earlier this summer."  "You could have tried harder", I teased, recognizing
secretly that he had been trying, but never asked the right questions.  "My
problem was that you are a master, er, a mistress of camouflage."  "You
mean at pretending to be a girl," I pouted.  "No, at pretending to be a
boy," he replied.  "Flattery will get you everywhere," I said smiling.  I
shivered.  Now that I wasn't warmed up by body friction, it was a little
cold.  He got me one of his T- shirts.  It fit me like a dress.  He poured
some more Chianti.  "Who is your doctor?"  "I dunno, Student health, I
guess."  "No, I mean for the hormones.  You must be on estrogen to have
developed as you have." He playfully squeezed my breast to emphasize his
point.

"I guess that's me."  He was astounded.

I gave him a sanitized version of my acquisition of my hormone stash and
assured him, somewhat inaccurately, that I had researched and was strictly
following appropriate protocols.  He was amazed at my ingenuity, but
concerned.  "You could kill yourself with estrogen.  You really need to be
monitored.  I'll find you a doctor through the Alliance."

"Not somebody from the Medical School."  I confided my fears about coming
out to the Registrar and the Scholarship people before I had an academic
track record.  "That's why I was so upset about screwing up the Gender in
Literature final."  "You've got a point there.  But it's not just making
them love you for your grades.  We had better make this look like a slow
transition, not like something you had decided on before you got here.

You are going to have to keep that "boy act" in practice for a semester or
two, to make it look like a gradual thing."

He was going home on break the next evening.  "Gotta check in with the
`rents'", he joked.  "Where are you going?"  Mom and dad were going to a
conference in Egypt and had half-heartedly invited me, but I wasn't to
thrilled about touring a country were my gender status was capital offense.
I wasn't too thrilled about taking the bus back LA to dodge the motorheads
in my neighborhood either.  Unfortunately, the dorms were closed, so I
couldn't stay there either.  I was temporarily homeless.  "Stay here," he
offered, giving me a key.

He promised that when he got back he would try to set things in motion for
my transition to a female identity when he got back for Fall Semester.  I
spent the night with him and made him come in my mouth the next morning.
He was delicious.  He kissed me goodbye, took off to drop off my exam at
the English Department and then left for Chicago in his Miata.  I was
delighted to have not only a new lover, but an advisor and protector. I was
even more delighted when I swung by the English Department to check the
grades in "Gender Roles."  I had a 97.

There is nothing so sad and depressing as a college campus between terms.
The place was empty except for a few foreign students and people like me,
stranded by circumstances, in the unfamiliar situation of having nothing to
do.  After a couple of days of catching up on sleep and doing some research
on hormone treatments of transsexuals at the medical library, I ran out of
things to do, and started to feel bored and useless.  So I decided to
explore Minneapolis.  It was then I stumbled on Hennepin Avenue, a downtown
street lined with flop houses, arcades, bars, and late at night, whores.
They beckoned passing cars with gestures that ran from the seductive to the
outrageous, and they drew traffic jams of onlookers and customers, and only
sporadic attention from the indifferent police.

I was fascinated.  I spent an evening studying them while nursing cups of
cheap coffee at a greasy spoon cafe.  The technique looked simple enough:
stand by the curbside, baring a stiletto-heeled leg, until a car stopped.
Poke a head in the window, negotiate, and if a deal was struck, enter and
drive off, to the envious cluck-clucking of the competition.  A quarter
hour later, the car would return, and the lucky lady would resume her post.

I watched as one girl turn a dozen tricks that evening.  Finally, she came
in for a coke, and sat next to me at the bar.  She asked "Wah wuz you
lookin' at, bitch?  Uuah cop?"

"Me, a cop?  No way, I ran away from home and I'm trying to figure out what
to do."

She looked at my "University High" sweatshirt, jeans and Sketchers.  I
looked the part, and she relaxed.  She was 20 years old: a pretty, busty
bronze skinned African American from Memphis.  "What are you doin' out
there?" I asked innocently. She smiled knowingly and said "Turnin' tricks,
a-course."  "Would you show me how? I'm broke. "

"Show nuff" she said.  "But I'm dun t'nite.  Made ova 500 dollas.  Gonna
buy me some ice now, get high t'mara.  Meet me here t'mara et 8, and dress
nice, know watah mean?"

I knew exactly what she meant.

I woke up the next morning early and began preparing my day of beauty,
Hennepin style.

At a cheap Vietnamese beauty salon, I had my hair bleached platinum and
corn-rowed.  I got a facial, a manicure with nail extensions, painted
Valentines day red, a pedicure to match, and bought the trashiest red
spaghetti strap dress and the tallest, strappiest red stiletto sandals I
could find.  I bought a pair of outrageously big gold hoops and the
brightest collage of foundation, mascara and lipstick that my pale
complexion could handle.  With the latest Allure magazine as my guide, I
made my makeup as provocative as I could.

As I dressed, I folded my shrunken scrotum forward over my tiny penis and
taped it securely into a compact cocoon.  I had bought a box of jumbo
sized, winged Tampax panty liners, and I splashed some ancient ketchup from
Jon's fridge on one and put it into my panties.  I didn't want some horny
trick to discover my secret while insisting on fucking me: I would tell
them I was having a really heavy period, and as you know, I'm a really good
liar.  With my veins coursing with an extra large dose of estrogen and
speed, I took a cab to meet Daylene for final preparations.  The cab was an
extravagance after my spendthrift day, but the heels were already killing
me, and I planned to be on my feet a long time that night.

Daylene's eyes goggled when I wobbled into our greasy spoon on my unsteady
and pinched feet.  "Wo, bitch, ya look hot!" she complimented me.  I
replied, "you too. So what's your secret, Daylene?  I want both of us to
break your record from last night."

"Jus act happy, y'no" she responded.  "How do you avoid the weirdoes?"
Daylene responded, "there's a kunvenchun, farm kwipent `r somthin. Weirdest
thang `bout dem is dere axents. Jus look happy an tell'em 50 bucks fer
head, hunnerd fer a fuck.  Dey all take head."  We giggled.  I liked her.
We walked out into the muggy evening, found a dark corner and smoked a hit
of ice together.  It was 9:30 when we took our places on Hennepin, still
giggling in the giddy excitement of a speed buzz.  At about 9:31, the first
car pulled up and rolled down its window.

I must have looked about 13 years old, with my slim legs and arms, wasp
waist, my small breasts bouncing subtly as I staggered slightly in my
ridiculously high heels.  "Get in, little girl, let me take you for a ride"
said the middle aged, slightly paunchy Viking sitting high in his Suburban.
I improvised from Daylene's pitch, in view of my special
circumstances. "Fifty for head, twenty-five for a hand job."  "How much for
a fuck?"

"Can't, `m hav'n my period."  "OK, hop in."  "Where's my donation?"  He
handed me a fifty, and I put it in my handbag.  My heart was racing, but I
concentrated on being happy.

I complimented him on his car, his driving, his sound system, his choice of
music (country, yuck!) his leather seats, what good shape he was in.  He
ate up the flattery.  He found a deserted location and pulled over.  He
reached over the massive center console and slid his hands between my
thighs.  His rough fingers probed inside my panties and pressed against the
tampon that guarded the secret between my legs.  He grunted "OK, then give
me head."  Now, the console, which had been a barrier to his exploration of
my ass, became an awkward obstacle to the task at hand. I kneeled on the
seat and over his garage door opener and who knows what else to descend on
him from an awkward angle, trying hard to keep from banging my breast on
his stick shift, as I pistoned my lips on his prick.  He tilted his seat
back and began groaning with pleasure.

There was nothing particularly erotic about this front seat encounter.  As
Garth Brooks droned in the background, the Viking's eager hands twisted my
head and neck into position.  I could barely see his penis in the gloom,
but I plunged my head into his lap and found it with my glossy lips and wet
mouth.  He actually tasted pretty good and clean, and his small size
presented no challenge for me.  But the awkwardness of his position and his
indifference to my comfort placed me in constant danger of banging my head
on the steering wheel, and when this happened it yanked my heavy hoops in
my ears.  My back and stomach ached from arching over the console, and the
fifty bucks in my purse seemed inadequate to for all this discomfort.  I
made a mental note to increase my rates. Fortunately, he was a horny guy in
a hurry and lasted no more that a song and a half before coming in my
mouth.  I let the cum drip out of my mouth onto him, breathing heavily on
his dick to keep it warm and rubbing it into his groin.  I was amazed that,
after his brief exploration between my thighs, except for the hands he
grasped my cornrowed hair with, he had not touched me during the encounter.

We drove back in silence, his shame palpable.  My back was killing me, and
I was tired.

He didn't even say thanks when he left me back on Hennepin, feeling used.
I went back to the café, to the disapproving glare of the owner, and
bought a diet coke and waited for Daylene.  She came back about five
minutes later, still bouncy and giggly.  "Wassa matter, Al?" she inquired.
I replayed my encounter with Mr. Country Music.  She laughed and said "Das
why Ah recommend a back seat." "Do you swallow if?" I asked.

She rolled her eyes and chided me. "Din'ch ya use a condom, honey?" she
laughed, rolling her eyes at my ignorance.  After I had gargled and fixed
my lipstick, I went to one of the liquor stores and bought a twelve pack of
Trojans out of the fifty.  When I got back on Hennepin, Daylene was already
gone. I resumed my post, batting my eyes provocatively at the passing
traffic.

Trick number 2 was a four door Cadillac, an old guy.  He wanted to talk
before we went at it.  "Are you on break from your school?"  I
nodded. "What grade are you in?"  Christ, this guy thought I was still in
high school.  I indulged his fantasy.  "I'm going into tenth."

"You're so young, so pretty," he said as he pulled my face toward his lap.
"Just a sec" I said, remembering the rubber.  I rolled it on and slipped
him into my mouth.  An antiseptic taste of latex and talc filled my nose as
his cock filled my mouth.  Old guys are nicer, but they take more work, I
learned.  He built to climax and failed three times, and I swear that when
he finally came I though he had had a heart attack. It had not been very
erotic, but pleasantly sanitary.  After I finished him, I slipped the
condom off and tied the end like a water balloon. No muss, no fuss.
Afterwards, he was extra polite, saying as I left him, "Thank you, young
lady," and tipping me an extra twenty.  Old guys!  A little extra effort,
but worth it.

I worked my way through the dozen Trojans by midnight, and decided to call
it a night.  I went to the café, ordered a Diet Coke and waited for
Daylene.  She showed up, still grinning, at 12:30 and we started to compare
notes.  She was a little irritated that I had made a hundred and twenty
more than she had. "Beginners luck," she said.  I was still pretty buzzed,
so I invited her over to Jon's to finish off some of his booze.  We drank
and regaled each other with our escapades until 3:00.  Eventually, we
passed out together in his bed.  I woke up with cotton mouth and a
headache.  Was it all the talcum and latex or the booze, I wondered?  I
smelled bacon and eggs.  "Mornin' girlfriend" Daylene's cheerful voice sang
out.  "Surprise for you, breakfast is served."  She brought me breakfast in
bed. We shared from the giant plate she brought.

I gobbled the cholesterol-laden meal ravenously.  She put the plate aside,
and "Honey chile, I see uze got a surprise for me, too."  She gently
stroked my groin through the sheet.  "Ida never known you wazza shemale if
Ah hanta slep t'ere."  I smiled nervously.

"You won't tell anyone, will you?"  "Shit no, honey chile, cuz ahm won
too!"  She slipped down her panties to reveal her own shaved cock, three
times larger than my own tiny thing, but stained a darker brown than the
rest of her skin by exposure to estrogen.

"Daylene, I'd never have known."  I was delighted that my friend shared my
secret, and as intrigued by her body as she was by mine.  "Let's take a
shower together", I suggested, and she nodded with girlish glee.

Soon, we were soaping one another's breasts and bottoms.  She had size "D"
implants which I both loved and coveted.  I noticed that her 6 inch cock
hardened readily when I handled it.  "Aren't you on hormones?" I asked, my
fingers grazing her large dark aereoles.  "Yeah, three yee-ahs, but ma
docta keeps me kinda balanced, y'know."  I admitted that I had had no
doctor, and she tut tutted me.  "Yo funny, "she said, tracing my pretty
chin with her finger.  She kissed me, and I kissed her, and I felt her firm
breasts nuzzle my own dainty titties as we settled onto Jon's unmade bed.
As we kissed and cuddled, our cocks rubbed each other and got hard.  Though
our lips were joined, our eyes met and reached a silent accord, and we
switched into 69 and began sucking on another.  Her freshly showered cock
tasted divine, and her pre-cum was delicious.  I sucked her and fingered
her anal ring, and she did mine.  Her cock filled my mouth perfectly, and
her shaved groin was as smooth as a baby's.  I loved the feeling of a
hairless she-cock in my mouth.

Her tongue was exploring beyond little cockette and scrotum.  She rolled my
pelvis upward and then began darting her tongue onto my hole.  She parted
the flesh of my slender cheeks and kissed my stretched rectum like a pair
of lower lips, and then tongue kissed inside my freshly scrubbed ass.  It
was the sexiest thing I had ever felt, and she lingered there long enough
to make me writhe with ecstasy.

"Do you want to fuck me?" I soon pleaded. "Happy to, ho" she replied.
Seeing my hurt look she joked "Ah mean, sista ho".  I reached into Jon's
bed stand for a condom and the Astrolube.  She ripped the wrapper with her
teeth and rolled it on expertly, as I lubed and probed myself with a
slender finger.  She daubed her cock with more Astrolube and her face took
on a harder, more determined look.  She put her arms under my thighs and
rolled my tush up, pinning my legs helplessly in the air.  She fingered my
ass and studied my reaction.  Her eyes gazed deep into my own, and I could
not take my eyes off her striking face, framed by her large nippled, brown
breasts swaying above me.  I looked at her pleadingly.  "Please don't hurt
me."  She smiled and her momentarily tough look warmed with compassionate.
"Don worry honey, Ah knows how."

Soon her cock head was pressing against, and was then inside my ring.  She
eased it in until she saw me wince with pain, and then withdrew her cock
and let my rectum relax a few heartbeats before she entered me again.  This
time she slid in farther until she saw my face begin to contort, and then
withdrew again.  I must have smiled as I relaxed, because she whispered
"Yor beautiful."  "So are you," I replied, and she was.  She entered again,
and this time I was completely relaxed.  "Now, did dat hutcha?" she asked.

"Just a little", I replied, as bliss took me over.  Soon, we were both
uttering girlish cries of joy as the pace of our lovemaking increased.
"Can you cum", I asked.  "Ujaly, if I'm doin de fucking" she said.  "Can
you?"  "Maybe on my tummy" I said, and she immediately rolled me over.

Her dick was less rigid than the guys who had fucked me before, but its
greater flexibility made it even more stimulating.  I was thrilled by the
feeling of her dick in my ass and of brushing of her boobs on my back.  It
felt like I was getting fucked by a woman, and this made me feel even more
like a girl than ever before: a lesbian femme.  This made me very hot, and
Daylene's expert fondling of my cockette made me even hotter.  Suddenly,
without warning, I came, a tiny wet droplet in her hand.  Daylene felt it
and got really aroused herself, and soon her motion speeded up and went out
of control, and with a chorus of joyous squeals and cries she came into my
still pulsating behind.  Then, her breasts slumped even more weightily on
my back and I felt the tickle of her long, curly hair on my neck.  It was
not enough to keep me from drifting off to sleep.  When we awoke, we
showered together again and got so horny that we might have made love
again, except we had so much to do.  We shopped for new clothes, shoes and
make-up, and spent hours experimenting with make up and hairstyles.  We
walked hand in hand to Hennepin, two sistah ho's on the town.

The next ten days passed quickly. "Tricks all night, kicks all day",
Daylene called it.

But I was on a collision course with reality.  School would resume in a few
days, and my ho'in would have to become, at most, a weekend activity, as my
studies would fill my days and nights.  And then there was Jon.  I really
needed and liked him, but I doubt if he would approve of this life style or
appreciate sharing me with about ten guys a night. I would miss the wild
nights and days with Daylene, and I would certainly miss the cash flow and
the thrill of sucking all those new dicks, but this was not the life for a
college girl, or a college boy, as I would soon be.  Each night of cheap
thrills and day of cuddling with Daylene brought me closer to the end.

Finally my last night came. Jon had called to tell me he was leaving
Chicago after the bars closed that night and would be up early the next
morning.  He couldn't wait to see me, but if he saw his apartment, he would
have killed me. Ten days of non stop partying and fucking had left every
surface covered with empty bottles, roaches, condom wrappers, and every
sheet stained and sweaty.  I had to do maid service.  I was crushed that
couldn't spend the last night out with Daylene.  I helped her get ready for
the street, I gave her a hug and said goodbye.  She smiled broadly, said,
"See ya" and sashayed out to Hennepin in her red party dress. Cleaning the
place and running the laundry made me feel a little less guilty, but as I
slaved away I thought "I bet he wasn't a virgin while he was gone."  On the
other hand, he hadn't given over $5,000 of blowjobs, either, I thought as I
settled in his freshly-made bed.

I couldn't sleep as visions of my prostitute's life of the past ten nights
clashed with my life as a college boy, or girl for the coming year.
Platoons of the upright cocks of my tricks marched by in a procession of
shame mixed with sluttish pride.  I was a trannie whore, and those words
reverberated in my head endlessly.  I massaged my breasts and fingered my
hole, trying to bring forth a vision of Jon, or Jake but all I could summon
was the cocks of my anonymous johns, now penetrating my ass as well as my
mouth.

That was all I was or ever could be: a trannie whore.  And my visions of
that pathetic life was now beginning to turn me on, as I felt my cockette
stiffen.  Oh god, what had become of me?  I liked being a whore, a piece of
shemale ass for my twisted dates to use and throw away like a used Kleenex
on the side of Hennepin. I was totally hooked on street life.  How would I
make it through college?  These thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the
door.  Why would Jon knock, I wondered nervously.  "Who is it?"
"Minneapolis police," came the abrupt answer."  I freaked, horrified at the
thought of arrest and embarrassment.  How did they find me here, and how
did they connect me to my illicit trade of my flesh on the street?  I
opened, and two plainclothes cops came in.  "Sit down, we need to ask you
some questions."  I sat down on the bed, crossed my legs demurely and
motioned them to the sofa.  I had prettied myself for Jon, and I noticed
the cops eyeing me appraisingly.  "How can I help you?"  "We found this
address and phone number on a deceased, and we want to know why."  I was
bewildered.  "A deceased, you mean a dead person?"  "Yea, a transvestite
hooker we found dumped by the river, strangled.  We found this address on
her body."  I felt as if I were being strangled myself, and covered my eyes
and began sobbing.  They waited till my initial wave of hysteria passed,
and then said "Can you come to the morgue for an ID?"  I nodded assent,
dressed in androgynous jeans, T-shirt and sneakers, and went with them to
the morgue, now silent in my grief.  I reproached myself bitterly for my
embrace of the street life and the terrible price it had exacted from my
friend and lover Daylene.

She lay glassy eyed and expressionless on the slab.  I hugged her still
slightly warm body, but the detectives pulled me away, worrying about
disturbing the evidence.  "You know what she was up to, right?" one of them
said.  I admitted she was a streetwalker, the words sticking in my throat.
Then I began sobbing again.  "And you knew her how, exactly?"  Grief did
not interfere with my mendacity.  "I am a college student doing research on
sex industry workers, you know, safe sex habits, attachments to boyfriends,
that kind of thing.  I am going to write a paper on it.  She was one of my
subjects."  As I cooked up this wopper, it occurred to me that it was
actually a really good idea, on several levels."  "So you got some notes on
this one we could look at?"  "I haven't typed them up, but I'll do it right
away if it would help you find out who did this."  "That would be helpful,
because we don't have much on this one.  Know her name or where she was
from."  "Daylene, from Memphis.  About twenty, that's all I know.  Can I go
home now?"

They gave me a ride back to Jon's: thank god he wasn't there yet.  "We'll
be by in a few days to pick up your notes."  I promised them they would be
ready by Monday.  "If the body hasn't been claimed in two weeks, we'll
release it to you.  Otherwise, it gets a John Doe burial."  "You mean
Jane," I said angrily."  "Yeah, right," he said as he left.

I was still banging away on Jon's keyboard when he arrived three hours
later.  He was so exhausted that he went straight to bed until two in the
afternoon.  When he awoke I sucked him and let him fuck me, but without
much passion or enjoyment.  He asked me if something was wrong, and I said
"yes, someone I know has been killed." Elaborating on the clever lie I had
invented for the cops, I told him that I had started to research the
behaviors of transgendered sex industry workers, that I had gotten one of
them to really open up to me, and she had let me observe and interview her
at length.  Now, she had been killed, and I was crushed.

He very sympathetic and comforted me.  He promised that if her family
didn't claim her body he would pay for a proper funeral.  He was really
impressed and happy that I was doing such a socially and personally
relevant research project.  He promised me he would try to get me a grant
through the Alliance to support my work, and he even thought he could hook
me up with a professor in the sociology department to get independent study
credit.

This was looking like my most brilliant lie yet.  The best kind of lie is
the one that you can spin into reality: then it can provide a screen for
still more secrets.  "Behaviors of Transgendered Sex Workers" would be my
project: no one else would know that I was both the author and one of the
subjects.  My sex industry research project would be the perfect way to
merge the street life of Hennepin Avenue that I craved with academic
research on a politically correct topic.  If I was lucky, I might even be
able to investigate the murder of Daylene.  It would be all the more fun
pulling it off right under everyone's noses.  I smiled inwardly.  Maybe
college wasn't going to be so dull after all.

The Greatest Lie, Part 3 Chapter 4 Those Happy College Nights

Don't get me wrong, I don't hate being around people.  Actually, I hate
being alone: it brings out the weird self-critic inside me.  But god, do I
hate crowds.  Fall registration brought mobs to the campus.  The half-empty
dormitory that I had shared with a few Asian engineering students was now
thronged with muscular, masculine and boisterous freshman: ruddy farm boys,
small town bourgeoisie, suburban kids and a sprinkling of hip hop
urbanites.  Almost all were Minnesotans, and as a Californian I was ignored
as if I was from a different specie.  Trapped, as I was, an impostor in
this all-male world, I took comfort in solitude.

My summer school admission had secured me one of the few single rooms in
the dorm.  I stayed there behind closed doors during those first weeks
amidst the rowdy rituals of male bonding that went on around the clock. I
had been on estrogen nearly eight months now, now I had a well defined
bust, soft slender arms, a slim waist and a rounded bottom.

My hairdresser on Hennepin took out my cornrows cut my shoulder length hair
into a white blond, new wave mullet.  I wore punk clothes and affected an
indifferent swagger; I could pull off the role of an effete west coast
intellectual, above the rituals of male camaraderie.

I was not only isolated, but vulnerable.  Meals were served buffet style in
enormous, noisy halls, and I stood out from my tall, beefy classmates.
Bathrooms were shared and crowded, and I was terrified that a classmate
would catch sight of my nubile breasts as I entered or left a shower.  I
was not sure whether I would stir lust or revulsion from these
unsophisticated but horny freshman, and either had terrifying and
potentially dangerous consequences.  I lived like a fugitive, brushing my
teeth at the, and showering at 4 in the morning when my dorm mates were all
passed out from alcoholic bingeing.

Jon was still freaking out about my self-administration of hormones, and
admittedly, my intake had exceeded clinical parameters that I had
researched.  So after class on the first day of school I found myself in
the office of Dr. Peter Prince, an endocrinologist.  His nurse summoned me
from his drab waiting room to a tiny curtain draped alcove, and she handed
me a paper gown.  She motioned to a hanger hooked to the wall, saying "You
can hang your clothes there."  My heart started racing.  Other than Jake
and Jon, no one had seen my emerging femininity in anything near its
current state of development.  My breasts were firm, perfect cones capped
with broad aereoles and tipped with nipples that hardened and rose in the
chill of the examination room.  My muscles had softened into the delicate
curves of a maturing young woman, and my skin was clear and my hair, though
short, was soft, lustrous and thick.  My penis shrunk to an even tinier
than usual inch and a half as I shivered miserably under the rough paper
shroud.

Dr. Prince strode in abruptly, sweeping the curtain aside without looking
up from his clipboard.  He was an angular, bearded and intense young
doctor.  "Hmm, Alex Rios, and you were referred from ... ah, the Gay,
Lesbian and Transgendered Center.  What seems to be the problem." I had
decided on a direct approach.

"Um, the problem is, I was born a girl stuck in a boy's body, but I've
changed that, and now I have girl's body, but I'm stuck in a boy's dorm."
This admission got Dr. Prince's attention.  "What do you mean?"  I hunched
my slender shoulders forward and let the gown slip to the floor.  As I
looked up at Dr. Prince, I caught him in the second half of a double take,
and he looked pleased.

"Ahem, ah, who prescribed the hormones?" he asked, recovering his
professional composure.  "A doctor in Tijuana," I lied.  "I'm from
California," I added, as if that would explain everything.  "What are you
on?"  I told him, editing out my most extreme excesses.  He scribbled on
his pad.  "We'll need bloods and urine.  Can I see your prescription?"  "I
just ran out," I lied.  I was running low.  The stash that should have
lasted a two years was almost gone after six months.  "Stand up."  He
massaged my breasts, which felt lovely, and asked "Any family history of
breast cancer?"  "I don't thinks so."  He took my hand in his and guided me
in my first breast exam.

"You're looking for any lumps or masses."

"Do I have any?"

"None at all, but you need to do this every month to make sure you stay
healthy."  I thought silently, "you could do this every day."

He gently grasped my scrotum and squeezed it.  I prayed silently that I
wouldn't get hard.

"How about a family history of prostate cancer?"  I had no idea, so he told
me to lie down on my side.  He slipped on a rubber glove and before I knew
it he entered my ass with his thumb.  I groaned, but he smiled and said
"Cough."  Now my cock was hard, and I blushed and covered up.  But he was
scribbling notes on his clipboard, and without looking up said "You're a
little bit enlarged, estrogen can do that, having paradoxical effects on
male organs.  We are going to have to keep an eye on that.  See me in my
office when you are through with your labs," he called as he breezed
through the curtain.

  A nurse poked her head in and said "You can get dressed now Alex."  I
peed in a cup, gave a shocking amount of blood, and they swiped my student
health card through the machine.  I walked hesitantly to Dr. Prince's
office, disguised, once again, as a boy.

"Alex, I notice that you are not `out'".

"Yeah, well, unfortunately, the University took me in as a boy.  I didn't
want to surprise them."

"Well, you certainly surprised me.  I see a fair number of transsexuals in
my practice, but I don't think I have ever seen anyone as feminized as you
at your age, and with so little medical history.  Who is your
psychologist?"

"Dr. Feinberg, of Beverly Hills," I extemporized.

"And didn't Dr. Feinberg refer you to anyone here?  Do you have a letter
from Dr.

Feinberg?" he asked, incredulously.

I silently cursed myself for being so ill prepared.  I decided to resort to
feminine helplessness.  "I didn't have anyone to talk to, I was afraid to
tell anyone," I sobbed, tears streaming down my face.  "I just couldn't
stand being a boy and turning a man.  I'm a girl, and I have to become a
woman. If I can't, I'll just kill myself."

"Wait a minute," he said soothingly.  "Nobody said you can't.  You just
have to go about it the right way.  Now I can't write estrogen
prescriptions for you without a letter of referral from a psychiatrist of a
psychologist.  It sounds like you skipped over that step somehow.  Is that
right?"

I nodded silently, my closed eyes stung with tears.  "I am going to send
you to Dr. Erika Wright," he said, scribbling a name on the back of a
prescription pad and thrusting it at me. "I think you will find her someone
you can talk to. Call me back in a week for your labs.  And back off on
that estrogen."

"I'm sorry I lost control", I said, wiping my eyes.  "I really want you to
be my doctor."

"And I want to be your doctor, but I want you to learn to play by the
rules, and to tell the truth to your doctors."

"I'm sorry, but it's so hard to tell the truth about this.  You get used to
lying."

"But not to me," he replied.  I nodded, and then involuntarily hugged him.
He gave my hand a little squeeze as he reminded me "Don't forget to call
Dr. Wright.  And maybe she can help you with your housing problem!"

O god, I thought, just what I need, another doctor.  I dreaded speaking to
a shrink.  She would probably think I was nuts!  I had never had thought I
was crazy: I was just stuck in a crazy situation.  A shrink might think
otherwise.  Or maybe she might decide that I should remain a male, or even
get me committed.

I was too stressed out to go back to the dorm, and Dr. Prince's prodding
and poking had left me aroused.  I hadn't been fucked since Jon's return,
and I was horny and lonely and scared, so I decided to stop by Jon's
apartment.  I climbed the familiar steps, put my leftover key in the lock
and pushed open his door, my mind racing ahead to the erotic conclusion of
this journey.

The apartment was dark, but I could tell it was occupied.  I groped through
the dim interior, and pushed open his bedroom door.  I was instantly
overcome with regret and horror, for there lay Jon entangled in a mound of
disheveled sheets, wrapped in the arms and legs of another guy, and
obviously savoring the afterglow of sexual encounter.  "I'm sorry" I
stammered as I retreated in bewilderment.  Jon bounded up and after me,
calling out "Wait Allie, let me explain."  But I understood, and this
needed no explanation.  I was just another gay lover, a variation on the
guy in his bed.  He caught up with me at the front door.  "Allie, he's just
a friend."

"Yeah, and so am I", I sobbed, and broke free from his grasp and ran down
the stairs into the darkening, cold afternoon.

I took a long route back to the dorm.  I was nauseated by the thought of
Jon enjoying sex with another man.  True, I was still physically partly a
male, but he had related to me only as an active, dominant male, and I to
him as passive, submissive female.  Keeping sexual activity within these
categories reassured me and kept me sane and balanced, but obviously they
made him feel confined or bored.  He wanted it both ways: I only wanted him
one way.

As I thought of him being possessed, in the same ways he had possessed me,
I felt revulsion.  No wonder, I thought, he was the master of so many
positions: he had probably experienced them from the bottom.  As I entered
my room and threw myself on my bed, I felt sick.  God, maybe I do need to
see a shrink.  Then it occurred to me: despite my little "problem", I was
really a heterosexual.  The problem with Jon was that he was bi, or maybe
even homosexual.  We had too much in common to be lovers.  Now, I had no
one.

Except Jake, I thought, remembering my wild weekend affair in Denver.  I
recalled the letter that I had received from him last week and had
callously left unopened.  I rushed for it in a panic, thinking perhaps I
had already missed a chance to see him.  I tore it open, and read: Jake
Jones Edwards AFB Box 47872 Rosamund, California

Dear Allie:

Thank you for writing and telling where you are.  It was good to hear from
you.

I'll never forget the time we had last summer.  You are a beautiful and
wonderful person and I am sure you will grow up to be even more beautiful.
But I have had time to think and I am not the right man for you.  I want to
have kids of my own and a normal life.  I am getting married next week to
my high school girlfriend, and then she is going to move onto the base.  I
re-upped for three more years in the Air Force.

I am sure you will be fine, because even though you are different, you know
what you want.  Thank you for helping me figure out what I want too.


					Sincerely

					Jake


I felt as if the walls of my tiny room had collapsed on me, burying me in a
mound of grief.  I lay sobbing on my bed as the world receded into
nothingness, and I was left alone in a center of isolation and pain.  I
would never be accepted.  I was a freak; I only attracted only perverts,
curiosity seekers and wayward homos.  Was the solution to have a sex change
operation, and fade into the world of ordinary women?  I grabbed my cock
and balls and squeezed them with all my strength, that they might
disappear.  Gathering unconsciousness forced me to relax my grasp, and the
black orbs of pain faded from my vision. As I regained control over my
breathing and pulse, I remembered that I wasn't even close to a sex change
under the Benjamin protocols.  Every step I had taken, I had taken alone,
without any medical sanction.  For the present, I was stuck in this in
between life, alone, amidst the mad mob of my classmates.  Skipping dinner,
I took a double dose of Premarin, a couple of Valium and tried to jerk off.
Failing, I finally drifted into a troubled sleep.

The next morning I had an appointment with Professor Roger Finch, the
faculty advisor for my Behaviors of Transgendered Sex Workers project.
"Hmmph" he grunted, "sounds like an ambitious project for a freshman.  Ever
done any field work?"

"Not exactly, but I have some relevant experience.  I think it's a
fascinating project, and one that hasn't been done in the U.S."

"True enough, though others have tried.  Problem with transsexuals is they
always have a secret agenda.  Most of the studies have been done in a
clinical setting, and there the subjects tend to tell their therapists what
they want to hear, to get 'the Operation'".

  "That's why I think new work needs to be done in the U.S., like Kulick's
work on the Brazilian Travesti."( Finch looked surprised.  "You've read
Kulick?"  "Of course," I said, "when I was in Sao Paolo last year I did
some careful observation of travesti myself.

A fascinating group, but seemingly distinguishable from the North American
phenomenon."

P