Becoming a Woman


For the first time in my 23 years, I have my own apartment -- on my own terms.

After so much denial, so much embarrassing high school locker room derision for my small penis, so many tearful arguments with my parents, four years of hormones and therapy, this boy is dressing fulltime as the woman I always knew I was.

At 5-foot-6 and 123 lithe pounds with a firm, perky "B" cup, I like to think I'm passable no matter what i'm wearing, but I don't stress about it.

OK, so maybe I stress just a little.

I had a tracheal shave to trim my Adam's apple. I've attended two weeklong male-to-female instructional retreats that taught me all about makeup, clothing and female mannerisms, and I have a workout and diet regimen that has resulted in a very trim, tightly curvy, yet soft body. I'm not terribly strong, but when I lean back, I can see my rib cage above my tiny waist.

Two years ago, I filed a petition in civil court, published my name change in the legals section of the local newspaper, attended a short hearing, got a new Social Security card and driver's license, and Larry became Lori.

Lori's a good girl, at least so far. I've never spent the night with anyone, but I have so much love to give. It's only a matter of time -- I hope -- before a handsome young man will accept who I am and want me to be his girlfriend. I've got a full-time job at Nieman Marcus, where my employee discount has given me a nice wardrobe, and what I can't afford, I buy, wear one time, then return it to the store.

I'm dressing fulltime, in public and in private, and life is pretty good.

Lately, I've been going dressed up to a CD-friendly club where I've met a cool group of straight men, gay men, crossdressers, lesbians and young straight females who are pretty much drunk whenever I run into them.

A couple of the young guys are really good-looking, and I guess I let that enter into my thinking when I invited the whole group -- there were seven -- to my apartment when things got a little dull at the club.

I was a little buzzed. Cindi -- a redheaded CD who had just gotten out of alcohol rehab -- hadn't had anything to drink. She and another girl had cars and drove all of us, except for Bill, one of the good-looking guys, who said he'd take an Uber and be along later. I had a few bottles of wine in my apartment, and I used my cell phone to order some pizzas for delivery while on the way..

I had my eye on Ben, the good-looking guy who had arrived with Cindi. He's tall, masculine and muscular with a really nice smile. I was ready to fall in love. I put on some loud music for everyone then nipped into my bedroom and put on one of the "overnight-return" dresses I "bought" at Neiman Marcus. It cost a cool $1,400, and I made a mental note about keeping it pristine so I could return it.

It's an incredibly cute Dolce & Gabbana poplin dress with rose & peony floral-print. It has a ruffled, off-the-shoulders neckline, short pouf sleeves and a tight, elastic smocked waist over a tiered skirt that came down just a few inches above my knees.

I put on long, silver, jingly earrings and adjusted the top of the dress just off the tips of my slender (and I think very sexy) shoulders. Putting my hands on my tight little waist, I swayed prettily I looked at my bedroom's full-length mirror.

"Ben won't have a chance," I whispered to myself with a shy smile before opening the door and rejoining the raucous party in my living room.

It's hard to explain, but I was so happy. I was dressed like the girl I was, sitting in my own apartment and being totally accepted in a social setting with other people who may or may not have known my gender. I chatted with everybody and felt pretty and comfortable.

I was on my second glass of my wine and was flirting with Ben, hanging on his every word, when I answered a knock at the door. It was Bill -- already quite drunk -- insisting on bringing his Uber driver with him to join the party. They had been talking on the way over, and Bill was convinced that the driver, Fred, was an undiscovered insightful genius.

Fred was a 60-ish, very fat, sloppy-looking guy with at least three days' growth of beard. He didn't look happy to be there, but since it was already late and Bill had promised him wine, he put his keys on my kitchen table and sat himself down heavily.

Even drunk, Bill was incredibly funny and charming as he filled a tall glass with wine and shakily gave it and a bottle to sorry-faced Fred. I was kind of wondering whether I should turn my attention from Ben to Bill when Bill veered to where Ben was talking with Cindi.

"Excuse me," Bill said to her just before he put his arms around Ben and gave him a passionate open-mouthed kiss, which Ben returned with equal enthusiasm.

"Honey," said Ben, "you're drunk on your ass. You're gonna have such a headache tomorrow morning when I get you up for work."


Two great-looking, masculine men. It seems a shame that they would be lovers.

But, oh well. I was still having a wonderful time. I sat there with a smile, sipping wine, listening to everybody and feeling very attractive in my cute dress. Every once in awhile, when I looked up, I noticed Fred, the Uber driver, looking at me, then quickly looking away when he thought I spotted him.

I must have been getting pretty tipsy because it became kind of a game for me. I'd look up every now and then, and more often than not, the fat, ugly man was looking at me.

I smiled to myself, stretched my body in an exaggerated yawn and grazed my right hand fingertips over my bare right shoulder, knowing how sexy that looked as I chatted with Cindi, then peeked at Fred.

I caught him good that time. He shook his head mournfully, got up and went to the bathroom. I walked over to the kitchen table to -- I don't know -- apologize to him, then changed my mind and went back to the living room.

About an hour or so later, we ran out of wine, and everybody started to leave. Fred asked Bill if he wanted a ride home, but Cindi said she'd drive him and Ben home.

It had been a quite lovely night. For the first time in my life, I felt accepted as a pretty, self-assured host -- make that hostess. I hadn't found my handsome young man to sweep me off my feet, but there would be other nights and other men. I hugged everybody -- except Fred, of course -- goodbye as they left.

Now alone and definitely a little drunk, I turned down the music, went to the bathroom, sitting down, of course, to urinate, then looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. I gave my reflection a coquetish little smile then moved my top another inch or two off my soft, white shoulders. I went into the living room and surveyed the mess of pizza boxes and wine bottles when I heard a knock at my door.

It was Fred, looking all apologetic.

"I'm really sorry to bother you, miss," he said, his breath heavy with wine and pizza. It was the first time I had actually heard his low, gravelly voice. "I think I left my car keys in your kitchen."

"That's OK," I said. "It's no bother. C'mon in."

The old man self-consciously walked in and went right to the kitchen table.

"They're not here," he said. "I could have sworn I put them right here on this table."

He started going through his pockets again, to no avail.

"The only other place I was while I was here was the bathroom," he said. "Do you mind if I look there?"

I said "fine," and he went there, emerging several seconds later with a puzzled expression on his face.

"I don't know," he said in the living room. "I traced my steps out of here from my car in case I dropped my keys on the way, but no dice.," he frowned and turned to leave. "Hey, I'm sorry I bothered you."

"I told you," I said, "It's no bother."

I don't think I've ever seen a sadder old man.

"You know," I said, "I'm kind of psychic when it comes to finding things. Let's give it a try. Come over here."

He shook his head.

"I'm really not in the mood for silly games," he said with disgust.

"What do you have to lose?" I said. "I'm pretty sure I can find your keys, but we have to be in contact for it to work."

He walked up to me. I looked up at him.

"Now, put your hands on my shoulders."

"What?" he said in disbelief."

"Come on, now," I said with a smile, feeling in my semi-drunken state that everything was hilariously funny. "You've been looking at me and my bare shoulders all night. Don't be shy. I need a psychic connection to you."

He started to deny looking at me, then shrugged and placed his stubby fingers on my bare shoulders, squeezing them. He began to breathe a little harder. I wasn't exactly sure why I was teasing the fat old man. Maybe I was more drunk than I thought. Maybe I just didn't want the night to end. Maybe I just wanted to put off cleaning my apartment's mess.

"Fred," I said, my eyes looking up into his while my slender shoulders gently shimmied in his grasp and my earrings swayed and tinkled, "this is about being psychic, not anything else. You're a fat, ugly, repulsive old man and your rough hands on my shoulders are making my skin crawl. Let's get this done."

I couldn't believe I had said that. I've never said anything so mean before. Meanwhile, he looked disgusted rather than hurt.

"I'm starting to get a vision," I said with my eyes closed. "I'm starting to see the location of your keys,"

The old man squeezed my soft shoulders harder.

"Where the hell are they?" he said.

My eyes open.

"They're under the end cushion of my couch," I said, giggling.

"Why would they be there?" he demanded. "I wasn't anywhere near the couch."

"Because that's where I put them," I said, "when you went to the bathroom."

He released me, walked angrily to the couch, reached under the cushion and retrieved his keys.

"Why the fuck did you do that?" he said.

"I don't know," I said, swaying femininely, my arms behind my back. "I guess I ... I don't know. I just did it as a prank. I was pretty drunk. I actually forgot until just now that I had done it."

"Bullshit," he said. "You wanted me to come back when everyone was gone."

"No," I protested. "Really ... I didn't."

He grabbed my bare shoulders again. I shimmied, but he held me fast.

"You little prick-teaser," he said with a sneer.

I struggled, then I felt it. A hard slap on the left side of my face. I was shocked and my body froze. He confidently leered down at me, his stiff, open right hand was near my face.

"You want another one of those?" he said.

My eyes start to mist up.

"No," I said softly. "I'm sorry. Please don't hurt me."

His hands returned to my shoulders, caressing them this time. He smiled arrogantly as he slowly lowered his face to mine.

I tried to push myself away.


He slapped me again, harder this time. My eyes misted up and I kind of saw stars.

I felt his fat lips on my slender ones, and his thick tongue followed right away, forcing itself into my mouth. I writhed and struggled, but he was too strong.

His beard stubble was rough on my smooth skin. I was in agony. This wasn't what I wanted. It wasn't anywhere close to what I wanted. I started to sob as he kissed me. His tongue tasted terrible. His fat belly made me lean backwards helplessly as he held me tight.

"Please," I said, tearing my face away from his mouth. "I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I teased you. Please let me go."

Fred's hands moved down to my tight waist. Mine pressed girlishly flat against his chest.

"Have you learned your lesson, missy?" he said sternly.

"Oh yes," I replied, hopeful that I would now be allowed to escape with a scary, unpleasant warning. "Yes sir. I'm so sorry I teased you."

"How did it feel?" he asked, almost kindly while he held me by my waist. "Did it turn you on to tease an older man?"

"Yes. No, I don't know," I said, finally starting to stop sobbing. "I just felt so pretty, and I thought you might be attracted to me. I'm not really used to -- well -- older men looking at me, and I knew that we'd ... we'd ..."

"Never make love," he said, finishing my sentence. "Because I'm a fat old man who drives for Uber for a living?"

I bit my lower lip.

"Uh huh," I said, blushing, my head down..

"C'mon," he said reassuringly, moving his arm around my bare shoulders as he walked me toward the door. "I'm not going to do anything more to you."

I looked up at him and smiled gratefully, my face still stinging from being slapped so hard. He had established his dominance, and I felt like a silly little girl who was fortunate not to get raped. I leaned in to him as he gave my right shoulder a little fatherly squeeze while we walked

"Thank you," I whispered.

"You know," he said with a cruel smile, "when it comes to teasing, you millennials don't know shit."

With that, he bent me over and kissed me hard as I cried out and struggled.

He picked me up, my legs kicking rapidly but impotently as he carried me toward my bedroom, his mouth on my neck. He used my butt to push open the bedroom door, then tossed me onto my bed.

He was horribly out of shape and breathing hard as his flabby body covered my thin one. His hands held my slender wrists down on either side of my head as his mouth attacked my neck. My hair all over my face, I tried to struggle. He nuzzled and bit my neck. I arched my back and chills went all through me. The first strong male body ever on top of me aroused feelings I didn't know I had.

He sensed my competing emotions. He kissed me, slowly, triumphantly, his tongue more leisurely in my unresisting mouth. I wasn't exactly kissing the horrible old man back, but I wasn't not kissing him, either. I felt the texture of his lips, the thickness of his tongue, the roughness of his beard. My body went limp, I stopped struggling, and he released my wrists.

His hands moved slowly up and down my sides over and over. He kept kissing me and kissing me, pausing only now and then to ravish my neck and nibble on my shoulders.

"You're incredibly beautiful," he said, breathing harder. "You turned me on all night in this dress. Am I going to have to rip it off you?


If he damaged it, I couldn't return it. No way could I afford $1,400.

My first real sexual encounter is a looming rape by a fat, ugly old man ... and now ... my dress. Any thought of offering resistance disappeared as I worried about my dress.

His hands moved to my soft shoulders, caressing them, squeezing them over and over again. He was obviously into bare shoulders, or at least into mine. His touch still made my skin crawl, but I shimmied sexily as his fat lips and rough beard went from my lips to my neck to my collarbone over and over again.

He was really heavy on me, his beard so rough, his tongue taking up residence in my pliant mouth. I closed my eyes and sobbed quietly, I don't know how long this lasted, but it was a very, very long time before he got up on an elbow and told me to "lose the dress but keep the shoes."

"Y-yes, sir," I said. I slid off the bed, and his eyes all over me as I stood there and oozed out of that wonderful, ridiculously expensive dress. Wearing only my strapless bra and very frilly white panties along with my 3-inch heels, I carefully hung the dress up in my closet.

When I turned around, his sloppy yellow shirt and worn brown pants were off. He quickly shucked his underpants and undershirt and moved off the bed. His naked body was pasty, hairy with thick patches of gray, and flabby. His fat stomach hung down in waves over his gray pubic hair and thick but not huge, flaccid penis. Whether it was the wine or my disgust, I felt the urge to vomit. I turned my body away from him.

"You know, you little cunt," he said. "you may have the best body I've ever seen. Now, lose the bra."

I was really feeling nauseated now. I hesitated.

The next thing I felt was his left arm move around me, holding me in place. His right hand spanked my cute little bottom ... hard.

Again, Thwack!

I arched my back as his left arm held me tightly to him. His lips and teeth had their way with my bare back, neck and right shoulder.




"All right," I cried. Please stop. "I'll take off my bra."

But he didn't stop.






I was sobbing now. My cute bottom was throbbing and so sore, but my neck, shoulders and back were feeling turned on by his mouth's assault.

From my front, I unhooked my bra and it slid down my shoulders and back to the floor. My "B" cup breasts were erect.

"Good girl," he said, moving my wrists behind me and maneuvering me in front of the full-length mirror. The sight of that naked, fat, grotesque senior citizen behind my slender, curvy, girlish body made me tingle.

"You know, missy, you've got a really sexy back," he said, planting wet, disgusting kisses up and down my arching back as he pulled my wrists behind me.

"Please," I begged, "let me go."



My tight little bottom stinging under my frilly panties, I cried out as tears came to my eyes. I arched my back as he grabbed my elbows and sucked on my neck. My body went from being absolutely tense to almost formless surrender. He turned me around to face him, and pulled me to him.

My firm little breasts pressed into his hairy, flabby chest as he triumphantly kissed me. His rough hands traced their way over my ribcage and down to the concave of my waist. For some reason, I was up on my tiptoes, and my arms were crossed around his neck as he kissed me.

"I have never fucked anybody as beautiful as you," he slurred between kisses. "Not in my whole fucking life."

He picked me up by my waist and gently placed me on my back. My tight little bottom stung in my frilly panties, and I subconsciously figured that it would ache in a different way. He moved his thick, disgusting body over me and sat on my chest, his knees taking most of his weight on either side of my shoulders. Only the tips of my shoulders peeked out from his massive thighs.

His massive, sweaty belly rested on my forehead and his penis hung there at my chin as he grabbed my hair.

"Suck it, missy," he growled. "Make it all wet and hard. This is going to be the best fuck -- last great fuck of my life."

"Please," i said, sobbing. "I said I was sorry. Please don't make me do this."

In response, he showed me his stiff right hand by my face.

"You want another one?" he said. "Start sucking."

I never felt so helplessly feminine. My arms trapped at my sides, I took his soft, fat penis into my lipsticked mouth and began to suck him slowly. The sound of my jingling earrings seemed to taunt me in my utter humiliation.

His penis tasted rancid as I heard the faint sounds of the music from my living room. I sucked the penis of a man almost 40 years older than me to the rhythm of the music. Fred was sweating and breathing hard, but it took what seemed like an eternity for his 60-something-year-old penis to become hard.

I hated every moment, but I have never felt so submissive and girly as his grip on my hair tightened and he moved my head rapidly on and off his penis. His belly jiggled on my forehead.

Finally, his grip on my hair loosened and he crawled down my body. He was all sweaty. I dreaded what I was certain would come next, but my will to resist was gone. I lay back, my hands palms-up on either side of my head, my young breasts heaving. This disgusting old man was going to fuck me, and there was nothing I could do about it.

Slowly, his hands gripped the sides of my frilly panties and then he pulled them down my legs.

"What the fuck!" he shouted. "Damn, no! You're a fucking ... a fucking ... "

He never finished the sentence. Fred's stiff right hand slapped my face so hard that I nearly passed out. His eyes moved up and down my body in disbelief. When he saw my little penis again, he slapped my breasts, then my face again ... and again.

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