Tag Archives: sitting

V

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.

Request for @asdf101477

He found it hard to keep his mind off her. The way she walked atop of high heels in that sexy skirt and black pantyhose. No one else was like it. She was definitely his favourite teacher. He sat there trying to do his homework but he couldn’t, his mind was on something else. Her. Miss Longley.
Then boom. Everything changed. The text book, the calculator and his pictures of him with family vanished. The desk was different too. A vaguely familiar piece of writing which looked like an essay or report of sorts was spread on the desk. It was his essay on sociology, the one he handed in two weeks ago. He hadn’t got it back because it hadn’t been marked. It was strange.
He reaches forward with his delicate manicured hand. It took him a moment to realise it but the hand wasn’t is. Further investigation via frisking his body up and down confirmed that he was a she. On his chest were breasts and nothing lied down below.
He sits there shocked and panicked, trying to come to terms with being female. He is a she. It’s not right. It must be a dream.
He continues to observe his now her body. Skirt, sizeable breasts, nice clean shaven legs beneath pantyhose and heels. He kicks the heels off under the desk and let’s his new girly pantyhose covered feet slide across the wooden floor like silk.
He stands and sees a mirror he walks across. It was soon clear that he was Miss Longley. Instantly, he began ripping the clothes off her body. He’d been picturing her naked for eternity finally he would know what she looked like under those clothes. He wasn’t disappointed. She was pure beauty.
After many moments of admiration. He had to be serious. He was Miss Longley. There was no going back. He had to accept it and do her job, mark those papers. He now stared to himself that he was a she and her name was Leanne Longley.
She threw some comfortable clothes on and got to it. She marked paper after paper. Many were quite interesting. She definitely found marking it more interesting than writing. The height of the pile decreased and decreased and decreased until nothing remained. She was done. She could go to bed and enjoy her body.
Time passed, she learnt how to live as Miss Longley. She didn’t want to arouse suspicion so she tried to make it as realistic as possible. She dresses, wore make up and did her hair like Miss Longley. She even taught like Miss Longley. She loves it. Nothing beats being the sexy school teacher in hosiery and heels. Nothing.

Still A Man

I’m not giving in. Just because you’ve made me a woman and given me the clothes of a woman it dosen’t mean I’m a woman. I’m a man. Maybe not in the inside but believe me I am. Look at how I’m sitting. Just because you’ve thrown me in a dress and heels, dosen’t make me sit with my legs crossed and acting lady like. I’ll sit there with my legs apart like I’m watching a game of football and scratch were my nuts once were out of habit. I’m still a man. Don’t try and make me a woman.

Thank God for the Femchamber

The Femchamber saves lives. I went from a depressed man considering why I even bothered to breath to a happy female.
I love being a woman. The fact that I can move and sit without the annoying hinderance of male genitalia is perfect. I love the way I can wear dresses that allow air to get to my feminine crotch. I love my smooth skin and the pretty clothes. And believe me, I don’t understand men can’t stand living without a pair of breasts to play with.
In conclusion, as I hold my glass high between my girly hands, I can not thank the Femchamber enough for saving my life.