“Keep smiling or I make your tits bigger, Nathan.” My girlfriend whispered into my ear, holding the gun she changed me with behind my back. “My not so manly boyfriend has some pretty impressive breasts, but I’m sure the guys here would love it if your tits were bigger.”
There! Satisfied? I can do it. All the way to the balls. No gagging. Now change me back!
See the symbol I’m making with my hands. You’re thinking peace. I mean V. V for vagina. V for the flat crotch that signifies a female. V for the vagina that is the reason that I am currently sitting to pee and not standing. However, it wasn’t always like this.
I was a man. That’s right, a man. I had a D. D for dick. Then, it happened. My sister found an app and thought it would be fun to make me female for a little while. I was so furious but I had no choice. The app destroyed everything male about me. Clothes, possessions and of course my body. I had more make up then what I knew what to do with. She made me embrace being a chick. I had to wear female clothes, I had to have long hair, I had to have make up. It was so hard learning. However, I knew she would never change me back unless I at least tried.
It wasn’t easy. Everything was so different. I almost wasn’t sure I was still human. Despite overly frustrating sitting to urinate was strange. I really got sick of that cold toilet seat and I feared public toilets like a child fears monsters. Long hair was always in the way and men won’t stop looking at you. The thought I was one of them disgusts me.
I kept on pushing. Adjusting and adjusting and adjusting. Trying to make it normal. Trying to gain the respect essential to making me a man again. However, I began to gain interests. Interests that frightened me. The mandatory shopping trips with my sister which were initially completely and utterly despised became bearable. Very bearable in fact. I was thinking about which skirt looked best and which boots suited me. I was beginning to like shopping for women’s stuff.
My sister kept on mentioning the pros of being a woman. I was constantly reminded of the space downstairs. She obsessed with reminding me of the incredibly blissful orgasms only having a vagina can cause. Not to mention the soft sexy ass cushion only females have and the tits.
It made me think. I’d never crossed my legs as a man. Never. It was just to uncomfortable. When you’re packing all that down there it’s just not practical. Now, as a woman, I subconsciously crossed my legs. One day my sister even put stuff in my panties to simulate having male genitalia again. The stuff was probably only the third of the size of what I had before but it taught me. I hated that day. I couldn’t get comfortable. I couldn’t cross my legs or sit comfortably. I’d became used to being a woman and I’d liked it.
The app was quite advanced. One day she got rid of my feminine ass and gave me a flat masculine one much like the one I’d previously had. Everything else remained female. I hated it. I sorely missed the feeling of my ass swinging, squishing, squeezing and rolling as I walked in tight jeans. Not to mention, how uncomfortable it was to sit without the padding. She was about to take my breasts but I told her no. I couldn’t say goodbye to having tits, especially if I wasn’t getting my dick back in return.
However, I began to think I didn’t want my dick back. Having a vagina was pretty cool. Then she mentioned the lack of smooth skin. I thought about it and she was right. I loved my smooth hairless skin that encased the entirety of my sexy body.
Then the day came. My sister and I had a long discussion. We covered the pros and cons of being female. I told her after lengthy discourse that I wanted to stay a woman. She tried to ensure that I was sure sighting reasons like lack of strength and having to sit to pee but I told her no. I like those things because that’s what makes me who I am. Who I want to be.
So, I’m a woman. It’s permanently. I kept my V. V is for vagina and I have one. I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. I can’t thank my sister enough. I simply can’t put it into words. I feel bad for being so upset early on when really she was doing me a favour. She allowed me to be a proud member of the better sex. The sex that has vaginas. The sex that wears skirts. The sex that have long hair. The sex that have breasts. The sex that sit to pee. The sex that includes me.
“C’mon Anna, smile a little more, today is your wedding, it should be the happiest day of your life”-My mother said as she brushed my hair, and I was thinking about how I came into this crazy situation.
This is year 2050, and I really don’t know why, arranged marriages became legal and quite popular in western countries about 25 years ago, in fact homosexual arranged marriages are as common as heterosexual ones, cause most parents that arrange a wedding really don’t care about the preference of their children.
The sad story of my life is that my family agreed on marry me with the son (or daughter) of a really rich businessman before we both were born. After few months we were born: Two males, but our families didn’t care.
Andrew (my future husband) and I were at first friends despite we lived in different cities, two happy children that didn’t care about their parents’ complots. This changed as we reached puberty, then I began to hate the idea of being married just because my parents wanted to, and I hated more to marry a man, because we were both heterosexual. Andrew didn’t care too much about marrying me, but he said his father that he preferred if I was a woman, so he bribed my parents make me pass through a sex change, and they accepted.
As I was under-age I had no right to refuse, so my only choice was trying to run away, but I was caught. Then began my living hell: My parents treated me since then as Anna, their “little princess”, they forced me to take pills and hire a “teacher” to teach me (or better said, force me) to act as a delicate girl. As I was 20, I went under a sex change and I had a fully functional vagina, that could even give birth (I’m pretty sure that my parents loved that part).
And now I’m here, three years later, in the day of my wedding, sad of being just a puppet, while I’m walking to the altar to become Andrew’s loving wife for the rest of my life.
You may or may not believe this. I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t believe me. I was linebacker last season. I laid out huge hits on everyone I was feared by all. I had more women than a brothel and that’s a fair statement. But then it all changed.
You see, I was a pivotal player for my team. I hate to sound arrogant but they couldn’t win without me. Of course, as I previously stated, I was a pretty big hit for the opposite sex. So… I did upset a few women.
Little did I know that an opposition team wanted me out. Permanently. They approached a group of girls I’d upset and revealed their plan. The girls loved it and were more than happy to play their role.
I was kidnapped. I was transformed into a girl. I was devastated. I valued my masculinity profusely and I had no idea how to live as a woman. I didn’t want to do make up, have uncomfortable shoes on my feet, wear a skirt or have long hair. I was a man.
I had to stay with the girls I’d upset. They were helpful. I knew that I wouldn’t be a man again so it was best to just try and adjust. They taught me plenty about womanhood even though I learnt somewhat reluctantly. Overtime, they convinced me to join the cheerleaders. I still wanted to be involved in the team so I guess cheerleader was as close as I was going to get now.
I was kind of beginning to enjoy the company of the girls. They were really quite friendly. I was loving cheerleading. It was great to be involved with the team and in many aspects it was better than playing. I never ever woke up extremely sore the next morning. The routines were so fun and it was so exciting watching the game with the other girls. I felt comfortable in the make up I had to wear for my routines.
I now accept being female. I don’t mind it. I have some great friends. I’m in the cheer squad. Wearing skirts is awesome. Having a flat crotch is super awesome particular when it’s so sexy and comfortable. I love cheerleading and doing all those high kicks in my short skirt and feeling those male eyes burn into my feminine skin. I don’t miss being a man. Not at all.
Jess stood before the mirror and begin her morning routine. Looking at her reflection she could still hardly belive that it wasn’t so long ago when she stood before the same mirror, shaving her facial hair. Now she didn’t have any facial hair, she was no longer the man she used to be.
I need to confess something to you. I hated you. You were my college roommate at the time, and I was jealous of you, and angry at you. You were smarter than me, I admit that. You were stronger, and better looking. You were suave with women, bedding a different beautiful woman every weekend, while I never got laid except by ugly girls who were very drunk.
Each time she puckers her lips things get a little stranger.
“Wow, you’re looking chipper.” Margaret said to her son Tyler, currently occupying her body while she was in his, the result of a spell she cast on the two of them. “And scantily clad… And sweaty. What’s going on?”
The last thing I remembered was the crash I was driving fast trying to get out of town after it had become overrun with the bimbo virus. I had just watched my best-friends turn right before my eyes, I was alone and scared and emotional I took the first car I could find and left town as fast as I could until I hit the pothole. The car flipped into the air and came to rest in front of an old college as I blacked out I saw a group of women running over having just seen the crash.