Cloning Myself the Natural Way

I always knew I was a girl. Even as a kid, when I wore pigtails and skirts until my parents punished me for it, what I learned from that was how I was allowed to look, not what I was allowed to be. I started to push those boundaries again during my high school rebellion phase, but I was only really out to a few close friends. Then when I went to college, it was a fresh start, and I transitioned as fully as I could.

It wasn't until I was off my parents' health insurance and started my career that I started hormone therapy. It was a revelation. It reshaped me in more ways than I expected, righting wrongs I hadn't even registered.

For a while, it was enough. I knew there were novel treatments in gene therapy, but I didn't want to be a lab rat. Initially the research was targeted towards correcting fetal defects, but soon it expanded to other uses as well.

I was living with my girlfriend Kristen at the time. She always saw me for who I was, and supported me at every step of my journey. I was contemplating marriage, but the future was still so uncertain. I told her I was considering a genetic transition, and she encouraged me to pursue it.

In the doctor's office, I was a bundle of nerves as the doc talked through what to expect.

"The gene therapy will make you genetically female, inside and out," he explained. I nodded along, having read up as much as I could. "That's going to take time to complete, if you think of the trillions of cells that need to be edited. Once you heal from the surgery, the gene therapy will take care of the rest. In the meantime, we would surgically remove your male genitalia and reshape that area appropriately. Would you like to keep it?"

"Keep it?" I asked, confused. "No, I'm here for a sex change, doc." I laughed nervously.

"Sorry, let me elaborate. For the penis and testicles, once those are removed, you have the option keep them. In case you might want to father children in the future. Or just for...recreational purposes." I thought about Kristen. We hadn't made any firm decisions on future children.

The doc went on, "We do this by splicing in some genetic material from a sea cucumber, so it can stay alive separate from you. Is that something you'd be interested in?"

"Uh...sure," I answered. It would be a fun sort of souvenir of my surgery.

That piece of myself had always felt at odds with who I was. I wondered if it would feel odd to keep it around, or if it would be a welcome reminder of how far I've come. I had to admit that these parts of me had also played a role in most of my sexual encounters. We'd had some good times together, even if it was time to part ways.

I scheduled a date for the treatment. There was still time to back out, but I was more committed than ever. This was it. I would be a hundred percent myself, finally.

I was awake when they injected me with the proteins to remake my chromosomes to be X and X. The first shot was a big dose, to remake 99% of me at once. After that, there might still be male cells here and there, and I might have to come back for a booster shot. But unlike the hormone treatment, at least it wasn't going to be a constant, ongoing commitment. Eventually I would be as biologically female as if I had been born that way.

They put me under for the operation, which I was grateful for. While I wasn't emotionally attached to my penis and testicles, I was glad to be spared the physical pain of having them cut off.

I awoke woozy. I could sense a difference already, but at the same time, I still felt very much myself. The drugs meant that I couldn't feel much of anything yet.

The first time I got up to walk around, the nurse showed me the small saltwater tank on the table. Inside it, my old sausage and two bits were floating there. Until then, I'd only ever seen them from above, or in the mirror. That's when it became real for me.

"It will naturally feed off the nutrients present in a vaginal ecosystem," the nurse explained. "Otherwise, if you're not going to be using it that way for a while, here's a nutrient gel. You just smear a little on the opening every day."

After that, it took a while for things to get back to normal. They never really did, to be honest. In the following weeks, I could feel my body remaking itself from head to toe, even if it wasn't always clear what it was actually doing in there. I lost my Adam's apple. I gained weight around my hips and thighs. I didn't get busty overnight, but I did get boobs, the nipples turning large and sensitive. Eventually I had to start wearing sports bras for support.

"Down there" it took some time to recover from surgical part of my transition. At first my slit was just a crude surgical approximation of female anatomy. At first I was aching and sore and tender there all the time. I walked like a cowboy for a while. It took a while before I was ready to be touched, and even then, I wanted to first rediscover for myself how it worked and what I liked now.

Because of that, Kristen and I had kind of a dry spell. I knew it was hard on her, and I did what I could to keep her pleased. I was already accustomed to using my mouth and fingers to get her off sometimes. But now there was one less tool in my toolbox. She had always enjoyed taking me inside her, or sucking me off. She was more used to be the one giving pleasure than receiving it. It took some adjustment.

Gradually it felt like I blossomed. When I looked down, when I felt myself, it started to feel...natural. I knew what female genitalia looked like and felt like to the touch, and I started to recognize all of that taking shape between my legs.

I started to experience female arousal and female orgasm. Intellectually I knew these experiences were different from the male equivalents. My experiences with women had often backed that up. But it was different to have those experiences firsthand, as it were. To gently tease my labia, to feel myself warming and moistening to the touch, to feel my clit light up at the slightest sensation.

When I finally let her touch me there, Kristen was patient and tender with me. That first time was the most mind-blowing sex of my life up to that point. I remember pressing her face into my crotch and nearly blacking out as a full-body orgasm tore through me. Things had gotten a little tense and weird between us for a little while, but I thought we were back on track.

One afternoon I came home early. I heard her moaning from the bedroom, and I realized I hadn't heard her moan like that in months. That's what made me tiptoe quietly past the bedroom door left ajar.

Kristen was spread out on the bed. One hand roamed her body, and the other pressed at something between her legs. I didn't understand what it was at first, until I noticed that the little saltwater tank was empty. I had left her in charge of feeding our little pet. As I watched, it would start to slip out of her, and she would press it back in, in a slow but steady rhythm that was soon reaching a peak.

Then something changed, something I couldn't see. Her free hand gripped the sheets hard, in a white-knuckle grip, and her other hand pushed it deeper into her, until it all but disappeared into her cavity. She arched her back, her moans rising to a scream, and then her body started to shake like she was having a seizure. I recognized that for what it was: the kind of orgasm I used to be able to give her. The kind I couldn't anymore.

I snuck out before she could catch her breath. I felt turned on, but also betrayed in some small, silly way. It wasn't like she was having an affair with someone else. She was just using a part of me while I wasn't around.

When I went down on her that night, I could taste the once-familiar taste of my semen welling up inside her.

"Should I fuck you with my cock?" I asked her teasingly, as if the idea had just occurred to me.

"Sure, if you like," she replied, doing a poor job of hiding her enthusiasm about the idea. Maybe she didn't want to let on that she'd been intimate with it already that day.

I fished it out of the tank. It was a little chilly at first, and slimy-wet, and it was flaccid to start with. The skin was softer than it had ever been when it was a part of me.

"How do we wake it up?" I asked, rejoining her on the bed.

"You could try giving it a lick," she suggested.

I did. It was salty from the brine, and it tasted a little fishy. My tongue slid easily across the smooth skin. I took the head in my mouth, and immediately it started to firm up in my hand.

When it was mostly erect, I guided it into her, while we kissed. I started slow, with long strokes in and out, while I kissed a trail down to her breasts. It felt distinctly odd, pushing my cock into her when it was no longer a part of me. But for her it seemed much the same.

I could feel the flesh of it growing hotter and firmer in my hand. I knew what that used to feel like, and what might be coming next. I eased up on the thrusting. That was easier to do, when it wasn't my own pleasure on the line.

I pushed it into her just an inch at a time. Each time, she squeezed her vaginal muscles, pushing back against it. She was breathing heavily, close to her orgasm. I tongued her clit, knowing better now how it felt to receive that. It sent her over the edge, but I kept my disembodied erection buried deep within her as she rode it out.

The stimulation finally proved too much for the little abused sea cucumber. Where I gripped its base, I felt it swell up in my hand, a tell that I recognized from when it was mine. I could feel it drawing semen up from the balls and then jetting that semen deep into my girlfriend. I hadn't quite realized how much she got off on that feeling until I wasn't actually sharing in it. Her hand pressed down on mine, pushing the penis even deeper into her, deeper than it could have gone if it was still attached to me. I was delighted to see her so thoroughly fucked, even if I also felt a bit left out.

I got my booster shot, and in the coming weeks, we transformation felt complete, in ways I hadn't even expected. I started to menstruate. It was a sign that things inside me had been completely reformed. It took me by surprise at first, even though it shouldn't have. Kristen only laughed at me a little when I freaked out about the cramps.

The closeness that we found again didn't last. We tried to make it work, but one day she told me that it wasn't working out after all.

"It's just not what I signed up for anymore, and that's not your fault," she said. "We're just growing apart, Jo."

"Fine, but you can't take my cock with you," I whined through my tears.

She gave me a look like I was absurd to even suggest that, but we both knew she was making use of it on the side.

When she left me, I was depressed and alone and in a very dark place. I went too long without any human contact. Just to work and home again, watching TV, cooking basic meals for myself.

I wasn't ready to date again anytime soon. What I saw in the mirror was beautiful and sexy, and closer than ever to how I imagined myself. At the same time, inside I still had a lot of emotional and psychological baggage accumulated from years of dysphoria. I still thought of myself as weird and gross and messy. I wasn't sure yet whether I had really finished my evolution into who I was meant to be.

Once Kristen moved out, the responsibility to feed my detached penis fell to me. Every day I would fish it out of the tank and rub a little of the nutrient gel on the tip. Maybe it was getting blue balls from being disused, because I started to notice that it was getting more easily aroused at the slightest touch. I still remembered what that was like. If I'd been going without sex for weeks, and someone had rubbed gel on the tip of my penis, I could have imagined my enthused reaction to that.

One day, I just kept going, stroking the shaft to hardness, caressing its most sensitive spots I knew so well. I could feel it pulsing in my hand, growing firmer and redder as its intensity built. It eventually rewarded me, semen spurting up and out of the tip and dribbling down over my hand. I had always associated that moment with the utmost pleasure and release. It felt a little weird to be causing it and observing it from the outside. To be giving a hand job without anyone really being on the receiving end. It made it just this purely physiological, instinctual thing. It was at once gross and detached, and intensely hot.

The hot semen pouring down onto my hand wasn't really my own anymore, but it still felt like mine to me. I didn't feel shy about licking it up. From there I got carried away in licking the penis back to hardness, and then taking it in my mouth.

One thing I noticed since my genetic transition was that I was more attracted to men now. I had never considered myself 100% oriented towards women, but now I noticed men catching my eye more often. I started to fantasize about taking a man to bed with me, in ways I never had before.

So sucking off my own cock was also a way to satisfy that curiosity about what it might be like, without anyone getting emotionally invested or hurt.

I had never given a blowjob before, but I knew what felt good as the recipient of one. And I recognized the subtle reactions. The flare of the head, the jerk of the shaft. When it came in my mouth, I eagerly swallowed the entire load of my own semen. It seemed tuckered out for now. I realized that I'd gotten a bit carried away. I returned it to its tank for the night, before fingering myself the rest of the way to a much-anticipated climax.

But that didn't put to rest my desires, or my curiosity. The doctor had said people used it recreationally, but it still felt like I was on shaky ground. This thing did not have a concept of consent. It was an it. And yet it sure seemed eager. Once I started pleasuring it, it seemed to recognize me when I held it, and become erect more quickly in anticipation, drooling precum from the tip. There was nothing romantic about this, it was purely animalistic.

I naturally started to wonder what intercourse would be like, as a woman. But I was still wary of trying it with an actual man. I knew men could be bad in bed, they could have unhealthy attitudes or unrealistic expectations. I wasn't ready for all of that yet, and I had this convenient way to try things out, all on my own. You could almost say it was inevitable that I would cross that line.

One night I was horny as hell, even before I started playing with my cock. I could feel the tingle between my legs that I now recognized as arousal. I lay back on the bed, like I had seen Kristen before, and I pointed the erect penis at my hole.

The moment of penetration was something else that I'd only ever been on the other end of. So it actually took me a few tries to line it up just right. Finally I felt the tip slide into place. It felt huge to me, at first. I had never taken anything like that inside myself before. I breathed deep breaths, willing myself to relax and adjust to it. I took my time, because there was no one else there to rush me, even if the erection's eagerness was palpable. I could feel it straining, lengthening, yearning for more.

Eventually I felt myself opening up to it, my vulva parting, my juices flowing. The pressure of the tip inside me was already new and exciting, but something in me wanted more. Gripping it by the base, I fed more of its length into me, little by little. It was reaching places inside me my fingers never had, unlocking sensations I'd never felt before. At a certain point, it wriggled in my grip, burrowing deeper into me almost on its own. I had certainly never felt anything like that; I wasn't sure a human lover could even do that.

Then it was conjoined with me in unnatural union, my penis lodged inside me, inverted. Through my vaginal walls, I could feel it softly pulsing, growing and contracting in time. I timed my breaths to that rhythm, concentrated on activating the muscles deep inside me. Finding the muscles that had relaxed to let it in, and clenching down with them in a delicate dance.

It incrementally lengthened inside me, pressing just a little further along my vaginal canal. At this point I didn't have to use my hand to keep it inside me, it was doing that all on its own. In fact, somehow it was using jellyfish-like motion to gradually draw itself deeper, until on the outside only the testes remained.

The further it went, the more full I felt, until it nudged against something inside me, that gave me a surprising sensation. I had to guess that it was bumping up against my cervix. My vaginal muscles rippled around it in reaction, and I felt the penis start to twitch with pleasure in reaction to that. I caressed my breasts, still figuring out the limits of what my nipples wanted, particularly when I was so highly aroused.

It wriggled inside me like a fish, desperate to push deeper, and I couldn't hold back against its onslaught anymore, not even if I wanted to. I screamed for an audience of no one, my thighs shaking, my toes curling, my back arching, my entire body trying to take in more of a man who wasn't there.

And then I felt it swell up inside of me. It grew thicker, more engorged, the girth of it pressing outward against my tight, inexperienced vaginal walls. With one more desperate lunge against my cervix, it flooded my interior with its seed. I felt the pressure of its eruption and the warmth spreading throughout me. My orgasm redoubled. My brand new reproductive organs milked the milky fluid out of it, as it swelled and spurted again and again, until it presumably ran dry.

I passed out right there, like that, with it still lodged deep inside me. I wasn't thinking, I was still just awash in the pheromones of spectacular sex. At some point in the middle of the night, I woke up. I remembered what I had done, but I couldn't convince myself to regret it, let alone swear off doing it again. In fact, I couldn't wait.

With careful use of my newly-developed interior muscles, I teased it back to hardness. It was eager to have another go, and I felt it become erect inside me, a wonderful sensation I'd only wondered about before.

This time, I wasn't content with the slow, subtle approach. I wanted to be fucked. Hard. I knelt on the bed, and imagined a man impaling me doggy-style. I gripped it by the base and thrust it into myself over and over, withdrawing it completely each time and feeling the full length of the shaft slide along my guts. Eventually my strength gave out, and I sat back. My weight fell on the base of it, driving it further up into me, and I brought a hand to my eager clit. I bit my lip as the erection swelled up again inside me, and I recognized it as the moment before it would burst forth again. I looked forward to feeling it flood me again. When I felt it fountain into my depths, my orgasm crested and crashed.

When I eventually recovered my senses again, I fished the flaccid penis and balls out of my snatch and dropped it back into its tank, well-used and covered with my male and female juices combined.

From that point on, I was hooked. It was rapidly becoming apparent to me that I was becoming something of a cum slut, and I loved having my pussy filled with creampie. It was a side of myself that I never would have guessed was there, and maybe it hadn't been there until I genetically transitioned.

It wasn't always just about my pet sea cucumber. I started to fantasize about going to truck stops and porno shops and glory holes and letting men dump their cum in me. Making them cum inside me with the newfound dexterity of my sex.

I would imagine all kinds of different men on top of me, thrusting into me, trying to figure out where this new proclivity was leading me. But nothing particular ever clicked. When it came to talking to guys in the real world, I found myself being as shy as a virgin. After all, I never felt like I had to take a risk because my sexual needs were all being met already.