Of Two Minds

I STARTED TO GET UP, AS IF TO LEAVE THE ROOM. IF I'D HAD ANY CONTROL OF MY BODY, THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED LONG AGO. I DIDN'T. I WAS THANKFUL, THOUGH, THAT WHATEVER—OR WHOEVER (I ASSUMED IT WAS RACHEL)—WAS CONTROLLING MY BODY WAS FINALLY LETTING ME ESCAPE MY TORMENT. I WAS HEADED BACK TO THE BEDROOM. I HOPED, MORE THAN ANYTHING, THAT I COULD GO TO THE BATHROOM AND GARGLE WITH MOUTHWASH. I COULD STILL TASTE THE VILE SPERM IN MY MOUTH. I COULD STILL SMELL IT IN MY NOSTRILS. WORST OF ALL, I COULD STILL FEEL ITS SLIMY TEXTURE ON MY TONGUE.

When I got to the bedroom, I stopped short, surprised by what I saw. On the bed, laid out neatly, was a beautiful outfit—a skirt and blouse—and all the sexy trappings to go with it. The skirt was bright red and ridiculously short. The blouse was black and very slinky. There were black lacy panties and a matching garter belt and bra. And, there was a pair of black nylon stockings—not pantyhose—lying next to the other clothes.

WHAT I SAW IN THE BEDROOM STUNNED ME. RACHEL HAD LAID OUT WOMEN'S CLOTHING ON THE BED—CLOTHING I'D NEVER SEEN HER WEAR. IN FACT, IT WAS CLOTHING THAT I COULDN'T IMAGINE HER WEARING. THE SKIRT LOOKED LIKE SOMETHING A HOOKER WOULD WEAR. I DIDN'T KNOW WHAT IT WAS DOING THERE.

I could see that the entire outfit would be incredibly sexy and that thought instantly turned me on. I walked over to the bed and held up the blouse against my chest. The material felt delicious. It was soft and satiny and I could tell that it would drape suggestively over a woman's body.

I FOUND MYSELF WALKING OVER TO INSPECT THE CLOTHES MORE CLOSELY. AND THEN I WAS HOLDING THE BLOUSE UP AGAINST MY BODY, AS IF I WAS IMAGINING WEARING IT. I HAD TO ADMIT THAT THE FEEL OF THE BLOUSE IN MY HANDS WAS SENSUOUS. I'D HAVE LOVED RUNNING MY HANDS OVER THIS BLOUSE IF IT WERE ON A SEXY WOMAN. BUT THE THOUGHT THAT I WAS HOLDING IT UP TO MY BODY AS IF IMAGINING IT ON ME, SICKENED ME.

Then I had a naughty thought—a naughty, incredibly delicious, thought. It came to me full blown and I knew exactly what I was going to do. I hurried to the bathroom and started running a bath. As I was turning away from the tub, I saw Rachel's bubble bath and decided to add some to the water. Then I turned to the mirror over the sink and began taking off my clothes. They felt awkward: bulky and rough. I was happy to be getting them off.

I DROPPED THE BLOUSE AND HEADED FOR THE BATHROOM. MY HOPE THAT I WAS HEADED FOR THE MOUTHWASH WAS QUICKLY DASHED AS I WALKED OVER AND STARTED A BATH. WELL, THAT WAS OKAY, I GUESS. MAYBE TAKING A BATH WOULD HELP ME FEEL CLEAN AGAIN. BUT THEN I PICKED UP RACHEL'S BUBBLE BATH AND POURED SOME IN THE TUB. THAT WAS WEIRD.

When I was naked, I looked at myself in the mirror. I wasn't sure I liked what I saw. What I saw was a reasonably attractive person, slender—just 145 lbs. and 5'8" tall—with fine, symmetric features. I certainly didn't have a triangular shaped body. I had pretty narrow shoulders, a trim waist, and a flat stomach. That was all fine. But I didn't like the fact that my legs were hairy. I didn't have a lot of body hair anywhere else except for my pubic hair and under my arms.

I BEGAN STRIPPING MY CLOTHES OFF. THAT'S REASONABLE ENOUGH IF YOU'RE GOING TO TAKE A BATH. BUT THEN I WAS SUDDENLY FOCUSING ON MY BODY IN THE MIRROR. THERE WERE THINGS I DIDN'T LIKE ABOUT MY BODY. I GUESS MOST PEOPLE FEEL THAT WAY. I DIDN'T HAVE MUCH OF A PHYSIQUE OR MUCH MUSCLE DEFINITION. I HAD A SLIGHT BUILD AND LOOKING AT IT REMINDED ME THAT I'D BEEN TEASED IN HIGH SCHOOL FOR BEING A TWINK. ABOUT THE ONLY THING THAT LOOKED REALLY MANLY ABOUT ME—OTHER THAN MY COCK, OF COURSE—WAS MY LEG HAIR. I MIGHT HAVE THOUGHT ABOUT BEING A SWIMMER IN HIGH SCHOOL, BUT THEY ALL SHAVED THEIR ENTIRE BODIES AND I WASN'T ABOUT TO REMOVE MY MOST MASCULINE TRAIT.

The tub was about full so I turned it off and climbed in through the mountain of softly scented bubbles. For a moment, I just lay back, closed my eyes and relaxed. I thought about what I'd just done to Dylan. It seemed so out of character; but, then, why was it so incredibly satisfying?

AFTER TURNING OFF THE WATER, I CLIMBED INTO THE TUB. I DIDN'T CARE FOR THE BUBBLES, BUT THE HOT WATER FELT GOOD. I LAY BACK AND TRIED TO FORGET WHAT HAD JUST HAPPENED. IT WASN'T REALLY ME THAT HAD DONE ANY OF THAT. I JUST HAD TO FORGET IT.

After a few minutes, I sat up and reached for Rachel's razor. That leg hair was coming off. I didn't have to put up with it, and I wasn't going to. I propped my leg up above the bubbles and started at my ankles. I wasn't experienced with this, so I took my time.

WOULDN'T IT HAVE BEEN NICE TO JUST FORGET? BUT I FOUND MYSELF SITTING UP AND REACHING AROUND FOR SOMETHING. I GRABBED RACHEL'S RAZOR. I WATCHED IN DISMAY AS MY HANDS PROCEEDED TO GUIDE THAT RAZOR OVER MY LEGS, DENUDING THEM OF MY MOST MASCULINE TRAIT. MY ATTEMPTS TO STOP THIS BY CONTROLLING MY HANDS WERE AS UNSUCCESSFUL HAS THEY'D BEEN EARLIER.

Shaving my legs was in incredibly sensuous thing. I don't know why women complain about having to shave. The feeling of the razor gliding over my legs and leaving in its wake bare, sensitive skin was incredible. I decided that being careful not to cut myself was one reason for going slowly; but extending these wonderful sensations was another.

SCRAPE BY SCRAPE, MY LEGS WERE BEING STRIPPED OF HAIR. FIRST ONE, THEN THE OTHER. BEFORE LONG, THEY LOOKED LIKE THE LEGS OF A PRE-PUBESCENT KID. THERE WERE NO CUTS—NO WOUNDS TO MY LEGS—ONLY WOUNDS TO MY MASCULINE EGO.

The bath water was cooling. I was ready to get out, anyway. I stood up, brushing the bubbles off my body and back into the tub. As I brushed my legs off, I reveled in the sensation. My legs felt marvelous to my hands and my hands, caressing my now smooth legs, made them tingle. I felt a shudder of pleasure go through my body.

I FOUND MYSELF STANDING UP AND BRUSHING THE FOAM OFF MY BODY. THAT'S GOOD. MAYBE THIS PART OF THE ORDEAL WAS COMING TO AN END. WHEN MY HANDS BRUSHED MY LEGS, THOUGH, I FELT A SHUDDER OF REVULSION GO THROUGH MY BODY. HOW DISGUSTING IT FELT TO HAVE MY LEGS STRIPPED OF THEIR HAIR! THEY FELT LIKE WOMEN'S LEGS, FOR GOD'S SAKE.

I stepped out of the tub and, as I walked to the vanity, I caught my reflection in the mirror. I noticed that my caressing of my legs had produced a predictable effect on my cock. My eyes were drawn to my crotch and I realized that the amount of pubic hair I had was really unflattering. I reached back for the razor and, very carefully in front of the mirror, corrected that problem.

AS MY BODY MOVED OUT OF THE TUB, MY EYES WERE DRAWN TO THE MIRROR. IN IT I SAW A SLENDER, DENUDED MAN. I LOOKED ALMOST FEMININE—EXCEPT, THAT IS, FOR THE COCK JUTTING STRAIGHT OUT OF MY CROTCH. IT WAS A FREAKISH LOOK, KIND OF LIKE ONE OF THOSE TRANSSEXUALS YOU CAN SEE PICTURES OF ON THE WEB. MY HEAD TURNED AWAY AND, FOR A MOMENT, I THOUGHT THAT WAS A BLESSING—NOT TO HAVE TO LOOK AT MY BODY ANYMORE. BUT WHAT I WAS DOING WAS GETTING THE RAZOR AGAIN, THIS TIME TO REMOVE MOST OF MY PUBIC HAIR. THANK GOD I DIDN'T CUT MYSELF DOING THAT.

When I'd removed everything except for a slender "landing strip," I was satisfied with my look. Well, really, more than satisfied. I quite liked the look, even my cock, the only manly part that remained.

Turning to leave the bathroom, I remembered that I hadn't shaved my underarms. One last time with the razor and that was taken care of. Except for my head and the little strip I'd left above my cock, the only hair on my body was the slightest peach fuzz that covered my arms and chest.

OH, AND I COULDN'T LEAVE IT AT THAT. OR SHOULD I SAY, WHOEVER WAS CONTROLLING MY BODY COULDN'T LEAVE IT AT THAT. I WATCHED AS I RAISED FIRST ONE ARM THEN THE OTHER TO SHAVE WHAT LITTLE UNDERARM HAIR I HAD COMPLETELY OFF.

I went back into the bedroom to look at the clothes Rachel had left for me there. I noticed something I hadn't seen before. On the dresser were a blonde wig and some things I couldn't make out at first. Walking over to investigate, I was amazed and delighted with what Rachel had done for me.

I MOVED BACK INTO THE BEDROOM—WELL, I WENT ALONG IN MY BODY FOR A RIDE BACK INTO THE BEDROOM. THE WOMEN'S CLOTHES WERE STILL ON THE BED, OF COURSE, BUT I NOTICED SOMETHING I HADN'T SEEN BEFORE. RACHEL HAD PUT A WIG AND SOME OTHER THINGS ON THE DRESSER.

Next to the wig was a plastic container. Opening it, I found remarkably realistic breast forms. Excitedly, I held them up to my chest and looked in the mirror behind the dresser. They were at least a B-cup, maybe a C-cup—big enough to fit my body but not so big as to make me look freakish.

I COULDN'T TELL WHAT THE "OTHER THINGS" WERE, BUT I WAS SOON TO FIND OUT. I WATCHED AS I WALKED OVER AND OPENED A CONTAINER NEXT TO THE WIG. MY HANDS PULLED OUT TWO FAKE BOOBS—VERY REALISTIC ONES, RIGHT DOWN TO THE AREOLES AND NIPPLES. MY HANDS HELD THEM UP TO MY CHEST AND, I WAS FORCED TO LOOK AT THEM, HELD THERE AS IF THEY WERE MINE.

Then I saw a bottle of adhesive. I opened it—inhaling the rubber-cement-like smell—and used the brush that was attached to the inside of the cap to put adhesive on the back side of one of the breasts. I didn't have any experience but it turned out not to be that hard to position it properly on my chest. It adhered immediately and I smoothed the edges to my skin. It looked so terrific that I couldn't wait to get my other breast on to finish the transformation.

I LOOKED ON HELPLESSLY AS MY HANDS OPENED A BOTTLE MARKED 'ADHESIVE' AND SLATHERED THE FOUL-SMELLING STUFF ON THE BACK OF ONE OF THE PHONY TITS. IT FELT COLD AS MY HANDS ALIGNED IT TO MY CHEST AND PRESSED IT ON. MY EYES WENT TO THE REFLECTION IN THE MIRROR AND I LOOKED ON WITH HORROR. THE CURRENT ASYMMETRY WAS JARRING, BUT THE SIDE WITH THE FAKE BOOB LOOKED INCREDIBLY REALISTIC. IF I COULD HAVE FORGOTTEN THAT THIS WAS MY OWN CHEST THAT I WAS LOOKING AT, I COULD HAVE BEEN TURNED ON. AS IT WAS, I FELT ONLY REVULSION.

When both of my breasts were on, I took a minute to admire myself in the mirror. I looked fantastic. The breasts made my waist look smaller and gave my whole image a more feminine look. I couldn't wait to get dressed and admire myself in the mirror.

SOON THE SYMMETRY PROBLEM WAS SOLVED, BUT NOT IN THE DIRECTION I WOULD HAVE PREFERRED. I HAD TWO NICE BOOBS HANGING FROM MY CHEST, LOOKING FOR ALL THE WORLD AS IF THEY WERE MY OWN NATURAL BREASTS.

I'd watched Rachel get dressed up plenty of times and it wasn't hard to remember the steps. I started with the garter belt. I knew that women put these on under their panties so that they could go to the bathroom without too much fuss. I fastened it in front of me and turned it around so the clasp was in the back, as I'd seen Rachel do.

Then it was time for the stockings. I sat on the bed and very carefully bunched them up on my hands so I could slip my toe into them and pull them up. When I'd watched Rachel do this, I'd always thought it looked very sexy. I didn't realize until now that it *felt* very sexy, too. The feeling of the smooth stockings against my now-smooth legs was sensuous. I felt my cock rising again.

I MOVED TO THE BED AND BEGAN PUTTING ON THE CLOTHES THAT RACHEL HAD PLACED THERE FOR ME. AS I WAS PUTTING ON THE GARTER BELT, I REFLECTED ON MY SORRY SITUATION. I COULD CONTROL NOTHING; I COULD ONLY WATCH. I KNEW THIS AND STILL I TRIED TO CHANGE THINGS. IF THERE WAS NOTHING I COULD DO TO ALTER WHERE THIS ALL WAS GOING, COULDN'T I AT LEAST HURRY IT ALONG? COULDN'T I MAKE IT HAPPEN FASTER—GET IT OVER WITH? BUT, NOW, MY BODY WASN'T GOING THROUGH THESE MOTIONS AS IF THIS WAS SOMETHING TO BE GOTTEN THROUGH. MY BODY WAS ACTING AS IF THIS WAS A WONDERFUL, SENSUOUS EXPERIENCE—ESPECIALLY WHEN I WAS PULLING BLACK STOCKINGS UP OVER MY SMOOTH LEGS. I WATCHED AS MY HANDS CARESSED MY LEGS GENTLY AND FELT, WITH HORROR, MY COCK RISING FROM MY GENDER-BENT AUTOEROTICA.

The bra matched my black, lacy garter belt and the panties. I knew, too, to clip this in front and then move the clasp to the back. I'd seen Rachel sometimes put on bras this way; other times, she'd just fastened them behind her back. This way seemed a lot easier—especially for a novice like me.

PREDICTABLY, THE BRA WAS NEXT. STOCKINGS AND A GARTER BELT ARE INCONSISTENT WITH MALENESS, OF COURSE. BUT THERE WAS SOMETHING ABOUT PUTTING ON A BRA THAT SEEMED TO BE A COMPLETE SURRENDER OF MASCULINITY.

Slipping my arms through my bra straps and feeling the cups support my breasts excited me. I reached in to first one cup, then the other, to adjust my breasts in the bra. Looking down, I saw marvelous cleavage and, beyond that, a rigidly hard cock sticking straight out from my crotch. The contrast was arousing.

I ADJUSTED THE BRA LIKE I'D SEEN RACHEL DO WHEN SHE PUT ONE ON. AS WHEN I LOOKED IN THE MIRROR AT MY "BREASTS," THIS CAUSED A MIXED RESPONSE IN ME. ON THE ONE HAND, IT FELT VERY MUCH LIKE REACHING INTO A WOMAN'S BRA AND FEELING A FULL, SOFT BREAST. WHAT GUY WOULDN'T WANT TO DO THAT? ON THE OTHER HAND, THE "BREASTS" WERE ON MY OWN CHEST. WHAT GUY WOULDN'T BE HORROR-STRUCK BY THAT THOUGHT?

I decided it was time, now, to "put on my face," as I'd heard girls say. I sat down at Rachel's dressing table. She had all the necessary supplies. Unfortunately, I didn't know how to use these very well. I'm afraid my efforts were a little amateurish. Still, I did my best with rouge and powder, mascara and eye shadow. After I'd finished with the make-up and put my wig on, I liked what I saw in the mirror. My face was passable—attractive really. I'm sure I could do better with practice, and maybe Rachel would help me. But this would do for now.

I FOUND MYSELF SITTING DOWN AT RACHEL'S MAKE-UP TABLE AND TRYING, NOT TOO SUCCESSFULLY, TO FEMINIZE MY FACE. I USED ROUGE AND POWDER. WHEN I PUT ON MASCARA, I WINCED AT HAVING TO PUT SOMETHING SO CLOSE TO MY EYES. THANK GOD I DIDN'T TRY TO PUT ON EYE LINER. WHEN I'D FINISHED AND PUT ON THE WIG THAT RACHEL HAD LEFT FOR ME, I STARED AT MYSELF IN THE MIRROR, FEELING CONSIDERABLE DISTRESS. I COULDN'T DENY THAT I HAD BECOME A DECENT LOOKING WOMAN—MAYBE NOT PASSABLE ON CLOSE INSPECTION, BUT CERTAINLY ABLE TO PASS ON A CASUAL GLANCE. BUT THE THOUGHT THAT THIS WAS MY FACE WAS VERY UNSETTLING.

I put on my heels. These might take some practice. They weren't that high—about three inches. Still, I didn't have any practice walking in heels. But, looking at myself in the full-length mirror on the closet doors, I couldn't help but notice how the heels shaped and defined my calves. My legs had gone from slender to shapely. I turned in front of the mirror admiring myself.

AS I WATCHED MYSELF PUT ON THE HEELS RACHEL HAD PICKED OUT. AS I FELT MYSELF STANDING, I REALIZED THAT THESE THINGS COULD BE DANGEROUS. IT FELT LIKE I WAS STANDING ON STILTS. AND THEN I WAS LOOKING AT MYSELF IN THE MIRROR. AGAIN I HAD THE CONFLICTING RESPONSE OF ADMIRING THE FACT THAT I WAS AN EXTREMELY SEXY (APPARENT) FEMALE AND BEING HORRIFIED BY THAT FACT.

Not only did my legs look terrific, I had a tight, well-defined ass, a flat stomach, and apparently perfectly proportioned breasts. I loved what I saw. I felt my cock rising and experienced a rush of excitement at the thought that I could turn myself on so much.

BEING HORRIFIED, THOUGH, GOT ME NOWHERE. SO I DECIDED TO JUST LOOK OVER MY REFLECTION, TRYING NOT TO THINK ABOUT THE FACT THAT IT WAS ME. THE "WOMAN" I SAW IN THE MIRROR HAD GREAT LEGS AND AN ASS THAT COULD DRIVE YOU CRAZY. AND HER TITS ... HER TITS WERE TERRIFIC. FROM WHAT I COULD SEE, SHE WAS DEFINITELY SOMEONE I WOULD HIT ON IN A BAR IF GIVEN THE CHANCE.

The bulge in my panties, though, didn't look right. I'd need to take care of that. This was going to be fun.

THESE THOUGHTS GOT ME GOING; I COULD FEEL MY COCK STRAINING AGAINST THE PANTIES I HAD ON.

I got some of the warming lubricant that we kept in the night stand and went into the bathroom, positioning myself in front of the mirror. I liked what I saw. The thought that I was going to, at least apparently, jack off a very attractive shemale was exciting and I watched as my cock, which had been semi-hard for a while, hardened even more. I pulled my panties down and hooked them under my balls so I could watch as my cock rose to full mast without even being touched.

I GUESS I WAS GOING TO TAKE CARE OF THAT. WITH SOME LUBE FROM THE NIGHT STAND, I FOUND MYSELF WALKING IN TO THE BATHROOM, OBVIOUSLY WITH THE PURPOSE OF RELIEVING MY SEXUAL TENSION. MY COCK WAS STRAINING TO GET OUT OF THE LITTLE BLACK, LACY PANTIES THAT CONFINED IT. I RELEASED AND IT ROSE UP HARD AND STIFF, AS IF TO STAND AS ONE REMAINING SIGN THAT I AM, AFTER ALL, A MAN. BUT LOOKING IN THE MIRROR, AT ANY PLACE BUT THE REFLECTION OF MY COCK, MY BODY SCREAMED OTHERWISE.

I dribbled some warming lotion on my hard cock and began stroking it. I didn't start fast and furious. I wanted this to last. I loved the sight of this attractive "woman" stroking her very hard cock. And, for some reason gentle stroking seemed more appropriate. I felt as if I was trying to make love to my dick, not just get it off.

It was a marvelous feeling. I'd never been so aware of the shape and feel of my cock. I was focused as much on how my cock felt in my hand as how my hand felt on my cock. I could feel the pronounced head of my cock as it slipped in and out of my fist. With my other hand, I fondled my breasts, wishing they were real and could feel my hands on them.

THEN I WAS JACKING OFF. I CAN'T DENY THAT THIS WAS A PRETTY HOT JACK-OFF SESSION. I'D ALWAYS LIKED LOOKING AT PICTURES OF SHEMALES AND, NOW, HERE I WAS (APPARENTLY) JACKING ONE OFF. BUT THE THOUGHT THAT THIS WAS *ME* THAT I WAS LOOKING AT MADE ME ANGRY. WHAT I WANTED TO DO WAS TO BEAT OFF SO FURIOUSLY THAT I WOULD PUSH ALL OF THAT OUT OF MY MIND. INSTEAD, MY HAND WAS CARESSING MY COCK LOVINGLY, LIKE A WOMAN MIGHT MAKE LOVE TO HER MAN'S COCK. I TRIED TO WILL MY HAND TO MOVE FASTER—TO JACK MY HARD COCK FASTER—BUT I WASN'T IN CONTROL. I WAS JUST ALONG FOR THE RIDE. SO, I TOLERATED THE SLOW, SENSUOUS STROKING. WELL, TRUTH BE TOLD, I DID MORE THAN TOLERATE IT. IT FELT TERRIFIC—AT LEAST AS LONG AS I FOCUSED MAINLY ON THE SENSATIONS MY COCK WAS RECEIVING AND NOT SO MUCH ON HOW MY COCK FELT TO MY HAND.

Gradually, I worked the rhythm up to a faster pace until I felt my balls begin to boil and could tell that my orgasm was inevitable. When I hit that point of no return, I did something I'd never done before. I pulled my hand away from my cock and fondled my breasts, one hand on each, while my cock began spurting stream after stream onto the bathroom counter.

It was an unnatural act. Who stops stroking his cock just when it's about to shoot? But unnatural or not, it intensified my orgasm. My hips were thrusting in a desperate and vain attempt to bring my cock into contact with something. Despite the intensity of my orgasm, I watched intently as my bare cock shot line after line of cum.

BEFORE TOO LONG, THE SPEED OF MY STROKING BEGAN TO PICK UP AND I FELT THE WONDERFUL ONSET OF AN IMPENDING ORGASM. THANK GOD! I COULD LOSE MYSELF IN THE INTENSITY OF THE MOMENT, FORGETTING COMPLETELY THE HUMILIATING PATH I'D TAKEN TO THIS PEAK OF SEXUAL INTENSITY.

JUST AS A CRASHING ORGASM WAS INEVITABLE, I WATCHED IN HORROR AS MY HAND MOVED AWAY FROM MY COCK. INSTEAD OF STROKING MY COCK THROUGH THIS INTENSE ORGASM, I WAS LEAVING MY COCK FLAILING IN THE AIR SO THAT I COULD PUT BOTH HANDS ON MY FAKE BREASTS.

WHAT A CRAPPY THING TO DO! MY COCK NEEDED TO BE STROKED THROUGH THIS ORGASM. I'M NOT SAYING THAT IT RUINED THE ORGASM. IN FACT, IT WAS INCREDIBLY INTENSE—AND INCREDIBLY PRODUCTIVE. I SHOT A HUGE QUANTITY OF CUM, DECORATING THE COUNTER TOP IN LONG STRINGS OF WHITE JUICE. AND I WAS LEFT SHUDDERING WITH PLEASURE.

The intensity of my orgasm left me stunned. For a few minutes, I just leaned against the counter and tried to catch my breath. When my heart rate had subsided to a countable beat, I looked down at the cum I'd shot and felt a gratified smile cross my face.