Not Quite Right

It was funny to hear myself referred to as Jenny - I thought I could get to like it.

We went to a shopping mall ten minutes' drive away. On the way, Sarita tried to coach me in being feminine. She told me to take shorter steps, to smooth my skirt under me when I sat down, and keep my legs together, or cross them. She seemed to think my voice would pass for a girl's at a pinch. We went first of all to a Starbucks and enjoyed a coffee, then set off to have a look at the shops. Our first stop was a big lingerie store, and I was initially embarrassed as Sarita encoraged me to feel some of the items on show, but the touch of the silken materials and delicate lace soon overcame my timidity. I blushed, however, when she bought me a couple of silk slips and a pack of panties, then more stockings and - heaven forbid - a minimal satin garter belt. We went from there to a shoe store, and Sarita insisted I try on some higher heels. It was a real challenge to try and look nonchalant as I took my first ever steps in three inch stilettos. But when I then looked at my legs in the mirror provided, I had to admit they did something for me. Sarita bought them with her credit card.

We moved on to a tiny boutique, where Sarita introduced me to a thirty-something, rather pretty friend, Jacqui. They kissed on the lips! 'Jacqui knows about you,' my aunt told me - again it was embarrassment time, 'and we'll go to the fitting room with her. You've heard the phrase "You have to suffer to be beautiful" haven't you?' She didn't wait for my reply. 'Well, this will be your first instalment.'

Jacqui locked the door to the boutique, and we stepped into the fitting room at the back, where Sarita took a seat. 'Undress, darling,' she said, 'You can leave your panties and stockings on.' That was a relief, but there I was, stood in this small space, with two women, one of whom I had never met before, in a pair of satin panties, which did nothing to hide an embarrassing erection which seemed to be a permanent fixture now. But the women pretended not to notice and Jacqui took a box from a shelf, opened it, and showed Sarita.

'Looks fine,' said Sarita, and the younger woman took out a stiff looking white corset, which she held up in front of me. When my aunt nodded, Jacqui opened out the garment, and wrapped it around me. It felt lovely, at first, being satin, but when she fastened the buttons up the front I wasn't so sure - it was very tight. I said so, and Sarita laughed, then stood and walked around behind me. It was then that I realised what she had meant by 'suffer' as she and Jacqui took turns to tug the laces ever tighter in the back of the cruelly-boned corset, pulling in my already narrow waist to very tiny proportions. I could scarcely breathe when they had finished, but as I looked down, I saw that the top of the corset jutted out as a kind of bra, and, with a little padding, the semblance of breasts would be there.

'Lovely,' said Sarita, 'What do you think, Jenny?'

'I see what you mean about suffering,' I managed to gasp.

7

I wore the corset until we got back home, but the relief when I took it off was wonderful. However Sarita had left me in no doubt that she expected me to wear it every day. 'Tomorrow I have to go to work,' she said, 'In Manhattan, but you could come in with me, dressed for the city, what do you think?' Think, I was terrified at the idea. 'Okay,' I heard someone saying - must have been me.

After a very disturbed night, during which I could only get to sleep by means of masturbating twice until I shot my load, once, I was ashamed to find, into my lovely nightie, I crawled out of bed at seven when Sarita knocked my door, and showered, after putting my nightie in the laundry basket. I had just pulled up a fresh pair of satin panties, when Sarita burst into my room, already dressed in a smart skirt suit.

'You can take those off!' she told me, in a manner that brooked no argument, and when I dropped them, she handed me an odd device the like of which I'd never seen. It was a tough pink plastic cylinder three or four inches long, with a wider ring of plastic at the open end. 'This will stop you showing your excitement, Jenny,' and she emphasised my new name in a way that made me wince. Before I knew it, she had it secured - and locked - on my cock. It was incredibly exciting, but when my cock started to 'rise to the occasion' all I got was pain - a sharp reminder that I wasn't going to cum again any time soon.

'You can put your panties on now, Jenny,' said Sarita, 'Then I'm going to put you into your corset.' My cock tried to respond to this news, in vain. She laced me, I thought, tighter than ever into the corset, padded out the little bra-cups with a couple of rolled up socks, then found me a nice cream silk blouse to put on.

'You'll notice that the corset has garter straps,' she said, ' You can cinch those to your stockings I'm going to help you put on.' So saying she opened a pack of black stockings and proceeded to roll them on. 'There,' she said, 'That's nice, isn't it?' I nodded, still trying to stop my cock from fighting the chastity cage.

'Now for a new bit of suffering all us women have to endure,' said Sarita, taking from her wardrobe a black pencil skirt with a long zipper. When I stepped into it, I didn't know how on earth I should be able to walk, as the hem was so tight around my knees. 'That's not all,' said Sarita, grinning, and watched as I grimaced in horror when I realised that my outfit was to be coupled with the stilettos we had bought the day before.

On her instructions, I stood and tried walking around - mincing would be a better description, but Sarita seemed satisfied.

'You've a way to go, Jenny, but you're a natural - I'm sure you were born to be a girl. I'll tell you what, Caitlin is away on the West Coast for a while - if you're a good girl, you can be my lover, my lesbian lover tonight. Would you like that?'

'Oh yes, Sarita, I'd love it,' I said, and I meant it.

8

It was beyond uncomfortable getting in and out of Sarita's car, walking the short distance from her designated parking space to the elevator (had to avoid calling it a lift) and getting to her posh office. She had no receptionist, so I took on that duty, which was hardly onerous, as the telephone only rang about four time, and each time I only had to pass it through to Sarita. Clients came and went, each one at the appropriate hour, some having to wait, and one or two wanted to chat with me while they waited, but I made as if to be busy on the computer - when I was really playing solitaire. We went out for lunch in a deli, thankfully very close by, and while we were eating Sarita regaled me with stories about some clients she had had. She was careful not to mention names, but, in any case, I knew nobody.

On the way home, we picked up a take-out Chinese, which proved to be delicious, but I was trembling with anticipation by the time we had finished the meal, and could hardly wait when Sarita took my hand and led me gently upstairs, and into her bedroom.

She stood and faced me a moment, then took my head between her hands and kissed me deeply on the lips, driving her tongue into my mouth, so that my poor, imprisoned cock was fighting in vain to escape its plastic cage. Sarita, meanwhile, had undone the buttons of my blouse and slipped it off my shoulders. 'Turn around!' she said, and when I did so, her nimble fingers worked at the lacing of my corset, and I felt instant relief from its pressure. My skirt was unzipped in no time at all, and I was soon standing in just my loosened corset, panties and stockings, facing Sarita.

'Now undress me!' she ordered, and I set about the ritual, slipping off her jacket, unbuttoning her blouse and sliding it from her shoulders, then searching behind her for her bra-fastening. She smiled. 'This one fastens here,' she said, pointing to a clasp between her breasts, which I dutifully undid, and found myself looking at a truly gorgeous pair of tits - not too big, but with lovely prominent nipples, which I fondled lovingly for a moment before seeking the fastening of her skirt. A button, a zipper, and she could step out of her pleated skirt, leaving - wow! No panties! She wore only a minimal satin garter belt and stockings, and had no pubic hair at all. My cock was now hurting like a bastard. 'Sarita, please let me out of that cage!' I wailed.

'Absolutely not!' she said, 'I told you, you are to be my lesbian lover tonight, Jenny. That, or nothing, which is it to be?'

'I'll be your lesbian lover of course, please!' I said, and she climbed onto the bed, slipping a cushion under her ass.

'Love me, then,' she said, 'I'm waiting.' I climbed up between her legs and licked the insides of her thighs, slowly bringing my tongue closer to her labia, then easing her legs further apart with my hands, I ran my tongue up the length of her fragrant crack, drawing back just a moment to admire the lovely sight of her moist pink cunt. Then I reached up with both hands to pinch her nipples as I bit gently down on her clit. I was grateful now for the few porn film I had seen, as I knew just the steps to take, and when I next plunged my tongue deep into Sarita's pulsing cunt, I knew she was close to orgasm. So it proved, and she shuddered and cried out wildly as her juices started to ooze from her very centre. When I looked at my panties, they were wringing wet, though I had had no sensation of having cum, but felt strangely satisfied that I had served Sarita so well.

9

Sarita found me a clean nightie to put on, but allowed me no respite from my cock-cage. She herself once again wore her nightie/negligee combination that I loved so much. 'We need to talk,' she said, instead of putting on the television. We were snuggled up together. I waited for her to start, but I knew that my few weeks here were going to be crucial to me.

'Jenny,' she said, 'I think you were always meant to be a girl. I know you don't like men, but then, neither do I, and I think I'm quite feminine.' She laughed. 'So where do we go from here?'

'I don't know, I'm all confused.'

'I believe you, darling. But know that your mum sent you to me for a reason. She was worried about you. And what she knew about me, and you don't know is that I've had previous experience in the transgender field. Let's just say I had a boyfriend who turned into a girlfriend - you don't need to know any more.'

'Okay, so where does that leave me?'

'Now that we've "tested the water" so to speak, we go and talk to a professional, but only if you want, okay?'

'Professional?'

'Yes, I have a friend who is a specialist in gender issues, who would be prepared to talk to you, and see where we go from there.'

'Okay, I guess that's the road I should be going down.'

*****

So it was that a couple of days later, as nervous as a kitten, I was fidgetting in a plush waiting room, Sarita sat alongside, preparatory to seeing Doctor Villarejo. After what seemed like hours waiting, but wasn't more than thirty minutes, a nurse summoned me in to the inner sanctum.

A woman in her forties, big brown eyes behind oversize glasses, her face framed by a mass of raven, shiny curls, said, 'You are Jenny, then. And very pretty, too, if I may say so. I am Marta - we don't do formality here.' She stood and came around her desk to kiss me on both cheeks, and gave Sarita a similar greeting.

After putting me at ease, she talked to me for a long time about my wishes and innermost thoughts, and then sent Sarita back to the waiting room while she gave me a full physical examination. She also took a blood test, then, when all was done, she sat back behind her desk, and tapped her teeth with a pen, then said, 'After all I've heard and seen, I have no problem with putting you on a course of hormones immediately. You are exhibiting no real signs of developing as an adult male, and I note your own wishes, which lean very much towards becoming fully female. However, as you probably know, you must be prepared to live as a female for at least twelve months before you can be considered for GRS.'

'GRS?' I queried.

'Gender reassignment surgery. In the meantime, of course, the hormones should ensure certain changes, both physiological and psychological in your body.'

10

Thank you, Miss Harding, have a nice flight, said the girl at the desk in JFK, having read the letter I presented with my passport and boarding card. It had been provided for me by Marta, who had proved to be very helpful:-

To Whom it may Concern

The holder of this letter, carrying a British passport in the name of Jason James Harding, is currently in the process of awaiting gender reassignment surgery, and wishes to be known as Jennifer Sara Harding. Application for her change of name has been made to the appropriate authority.

Signed Countersigned

(Marta Villarejo M.D.) (President: Johns Hopkins University)

As the night-flight neared British shores, and I woke from my fitful sleep, I was worried sick about the reception I was going to get, thus presented, in my native land. Sarita had insisted that I didn't 'dress down' and wear jeans or other androgynous gear, but that I went the 'whole way' and made sure I looked my feminine best. The six weeks or so I had been on hormones had been kind to me, in some ways, helping reduce my waistline whilst increasing my hips, making my hair grow thicker, softer and shinier, and giving me the beginnings of boobs - that wasn't an unmixed blessing, as my nipples itched. I also noticed my moods becoming more emotional, and tended to cry more easily.

So there I was, preparing to disembark at Heathrow, worried sick about my parents coming to meet me, dressed in a cream linen suit and white blouse I had bought at Macy's and a pair of court shoes with three inch heels on my stockinged feet. And there I was, on a chilly September morning, walking down the stairway from the 'plane.

A snotty cow at passport control was about as welcoming as a dose of toothache, baggage reclaim was infinitely slow, and then out I walked with my wheeled suitcase. There was my dad! He didn't recognize me!

'Dad, dad!' I yelled, waving at him from about five metres away.

'Jason?' He gasped, 'That you? Really?'

'It's me, dad, and I'm Jenny now.'

He looked as if he didn't know what to say, then simply said, 'Christ!'

'Look dad...' I started, but he said, 'Come on, let's get to the car, I suppose I've got to take you home, though how the hell did my son the promising cricketer get to...to this?' I decided silence might be the best idea.

And silence reigned until we got home. As he parked on the driveway, my dad said, 'I don't know what on earth your mother will think.'

We walked in the door, dad leaving me to pull in my heavy suitcase. Mum came rushing out of the kitchen in an apron and stopped dead when she saw me. 'Jenny!' she gasped, 'But I would never have believed it! Sarita told me all about it. Jim, doesn't she look absolutely wonderful?'

My dad just turned away, and went upstairs. 'He'll get used to it, don't worry,' said my mum, 'but he never even helped you with your suitcase, did he?'

'He's just disappointed, mum,' I said, 'He expected me to play cricket for England. Didn't realize what a leap that is from the level I was playing at.'

'I know, darling. Every man wants a son, I suppose, but a lovely daughter will more than work for me. Come and tell me all about it.'

11

My next hurdle was the University, and I had to go and present the letter from Doctor Villarejo to the Rector, and get a lot of changes made. I was eventually assigned a single room in the Halls of Residence, and allowed to rejoin my course in my second year, having passed successfully so far. Meeting other students was by far the most difficult part of it all, but in the event, it wasn't half as bad as I'd thought. These days there is altogether more understanding of transgender issues, as well-publicised cases hit the headlines.

I was going to miss cricket, that I knew, but I didn't really mind not playing rugby any more. For sport, I 'discovered' table tennis. I'd dabbled at it before, but when I found out that several women played in the upper divisions of the local league that the University team competed in, I realised that, at least at local level, this was a 'unisex' sport. I practiced and soon made it into the Uni first team, playing alongside guys I'd never met before. It wasn't long before I started getting asked out on dates, and had to refuse politely - I didn't think I'd ever get around to fancying men.

The hormones were doing their stuff, and by Christmas, I was sporting a nice firm 'B-cup' line in breasts. My hair was now down to my shoulder blades, thick, black and lustrous , and, to my father's disgust, I'd had my ears pierced and wore a pair of moderately sized gold hoops in them when I arrived home for the holidays. My mum just said, 'You look lovely, Jenny!' It turned out that they had invited my Uncle Derek and Aunt Amanda, and their daughter Claire, to spend Christmas with us. They lived in Scotland, and hadn't been to see us for as long as I could remember. I hardly knew them, even as Jason, and my mum didn't tell me whether they knew of my transition, so I was a little nervous when they arrived. I was watching television when their car, a big Mercedes, pulled up outside, and my dad got up, ignoring me, as was his wont, and went to the door. My mum came out of her usual habitat - the kitchen - and, dusting flour off onto her apron, gave Amanda a hug in the doorway of the lounge where I was sat.

My dad was right behind, and as I stood to greet the new arrivals, he began, 'And this is what is left of my s...'

'Jim!' cried my mum, 'Don't you dare!' She turned to my aunt and uncle, 'Jenny is now your niece. Where is Claire, by the way?'

'Oh, she's texting somebody - matter of life and death! Girls!' He rolled his eyes, and just then the doorbell rang, and an astoundingly pretty girl was stood there when I went to open the door. Claire was about my height, with honey-blonde hair straight and long, framing a lovely, oval face, with gorgeous hazel eyes. She wore a thick wool sweater, and black leggings under a brightly patterned miniskirt. When we had done the introductions, I learnt that she was at St Andrew's University, reading literature, and hoping to become a writer. She was a couple of months older than me, and had an engaging Scots accent, unlike her parents, who still spoke sort of 'middle-English.' We seemed likely to get on well, I thought.

12

In the days before Christmas, Claire and I soon became inseparable, as we shared similar tastes in music and films, so, despite my father's black looks, we shut ourselves away in my room for hours listening to music, or watching Netflix. The movies we watched tended to be romances, and I sometimes found myself weeping like the girl I was becoming, as an emotional scene took place. We held each other then, and on one such occasion, I think it was during an old black and white film I'd dug out, Claire suddenly said, 'Kiss me, Jenny!' in a breathless sort of voice. I needed no second invitation, and soon our tongues were entwined, and her hands cupped my breasts. My now-much-reduced cock tried to spring into the first erection it had known in months, confined as it was in the gaff I always now wore, but most of all, my nipples tingled to Claire's touch. 'Christ, Claire, we shouldn't be doing this,' I said.

'Och, why not?' she said, 'Its noo as if anybody is going to come in, is it?'