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From: sapphire@mhv.net (Sapphire)
Subject: NEW TG: Patricia  ( 9 / 52 )
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Hi folks - A NEW multi-part Transgender story ! 
(Posted with written permission from the author!)

Enjoy!
Sapphire
Sapphire's Place TG Fiction Archive
Sapphire's Channel - Pointcast and Webcast TG Fiction
( http://www1.mhv.net/sapphire )

All the Warnings to Minors are in effect. There are parts that some
feel could corrupt your young minds.

----The Story Follows----------------------------------------
Chapter 9

  May 1993

Day Four        Friday, May 7, 1993

     I slept well that night and awoke completely refreshed and
raring to go and attack the world.  I threw back the sheets, sat up
and put my legs over the side of the bed when I was immediately
reminded of my new physical status.  My braid was heavy on my back
and I could feel my breasts thrusting up and out on my nighty.  And
as I moved my legs, that change between my legs was also quite
obvious.  I was no longer a man!  And with a little mental
calculation, realized that I was about to start my fourth day as a
woman.

     "Damn", I thought, "Damn and double damn."  I remembered
the three previous days and comprehended that I was now complete
female, not the man that I mentally thought myself to be.

     My refreshed feelings and the urge to take on the world
collapsed like butter on hot toast.  I felt like beating the hell out
of someone or something, but instead I just sat there with tears
welling up in my eyes.  Hell, I was starting to cry, typical of the
girl I had become.  I sat on the side of the bed for a moment, let the
tears fall and the sobs come  out and then and got a grip on my
emotions and with an effort, got out of bed and walked into the
bathroom.

     I walked up to the sink, turned on the cold water and splashed
some water on my face, and then saw my reflection in the mirror.  A
very pretty young girl stared back at me and again for the fourth day,
I had to try and adapt to this reality.  And then with sort of bitter
laugh at my self, I thought, well at least I'm not a homely girl.

     I went out to the kitchen and put on the coffee and then,
attempting to forget my new gender, I went into the exercise room for
a light workout.  I started on the skiing machine in the nude.  After
about ten minutes of this, I got on the rowing machine and worked my
heart out for another ten minutes.  Finishing with the exercise
machines, I started to do some stretching exercises and sort of
gloried in my new found agility.  I repeated my feat of yesterday,
that is doing a back bend, then a hand stand and finally finishing
with a flip back to my feet.  I was both amazed and pleased and
decided that would be enough for today.

     Walking back into the kitchen, I poured a cup of coffee and
then walked back out toward the bathroom again.  The big mirror on
the door in the living room caught my attention and I just stood in
front of it for a minute or so examining my new body.  I saw a body
that a person could be quite proud, provided of course, the person was
a girl and liked being a girl.  I reached behind my back, grasped my
braid, removed the rubber band and started pulling out the strands of
hair.  I pulled my fingers through the unbound hair and make it fall
sort of naturally down from my head.  Leaning my head back and I
shook my head a couple of times to make the hair fall in cascades
down my back and then reexamined the body in front of me.

     In spite of myself, I liked what I saw.  My overall build
appeared on the slender side, in fact I was nearly too thin, much like
a girl just entering puberty. That is, except for my bust which seemed
rather opulent.  As a man, I hated these protuberances on my chest,
but as an nascent female, I sort of liked them.  The only physical
feature remotely masculine were my shoulders which were broader than
most females, but still within what I  supposed were normal limits.
As a man, I hadn't been endowed with extremely broad shoulders, a fact
which now appeared to be a blessing in disguise.  The effect of these
slightly broad shoulders was de-emphasized by my very slender and
feminine arms, my slim neck and my alluring breasts on my much
diminished chest.

     My charming face with that long ravishing mane of hair, my
willowy waist expanding into my ample hips above my captivating
legs, left nothing in doubt about my current gender. I had the
proverbial hour glass figure of the perfect female. The areola's on my
breasts were light brown and full with the little dark brown nipples
sitting in the middle of these recent additions to my body.

     My vulva was covered with fine brown hair and looked quite
natural in the context of my complete body.  In fact a dork and balls
would have been completely alien to this rather wonderful feminine
body I inhabited.  I guess it was just a unfortunate twist of fate
that I didn't want this near perfect female torso and had been quite
satisfied with my imperfect but very serviceable male physique.

     Heaving a sigh of resignation, I went into the bathroom, turned
on the shower, wound up my hair in a knot on the top of my head,
fastened it with a couple of hairpins and got in under the refreshing
sting of  water.  I washed off the sweat from my workout and got back
out.  Toweling off, I started to contemplate on how I would spend the
day.
  
     Well, first I would get dressed and then go out and try and find
my new car that Richard had given me.  I would then drive it around
and try to discover something about my new neighborhood.    

     After I was dry, I went to the mirror, let down my hair, picked
up a brush and started brushing my long hair.  This took about five
minutes and finally I was satisfied that it fell down my back in
smooth and glistening waves.  And I also decided that the braid was a
good idea as the entire task of brushing my hair was much easier today
then yesterday.  

     I walked into the bedroom, put on some panties and decided
on a bra to limit the bounce of my breasts.  The heck with the female
dress, I just wanted something comfortable.   I found some jeans and
a blouse and finished dressing.  The cold air coming in from the open
window convinced me to add a sweater.  Socks and tennis shoes and
I was ready to find my car.  

     I went out into the living room and went through the stuff that
Richard at left for me and found the set of car keys.  That guy was
generous, even if he was a bastard.  I found the registration and the
license card and got the number of the plates.  It  was a Mercedes
convertible, license plate UMV 403.  I picked up my new drivers
license,  the credit cards and the various other id's I had been given
and decided I needed a bill fold in which to store these things.

     I searched in the closet and found a bunch of purses and
started opening  them and finally found a billfold in one of them and
I placed my identification and various credit cards inside of it.  I
started to shove the billfold into my jean pockets but discovered that
the skin tight jeans weren't conducive to holding billfolds.  So I
dumped the billfold and keys into  one of the smaller purses and took
off for the door clutching the purse in my left hand.  On the way out,
I couldn't help but notice the very well built girl that was reflected
back from the mirror on the door.  I sort of skipped down the stairs,
feeling my hair bouncing around my neck and the weight of my jiggling
boobs confined in my bra.  I didn't exactly like this reminder of my
new sex, but then again, I didn't hate it all that much either.  I
mean, I was a girl and I was going to adapt to this fact.

     Outside, I found the car right in front of my door and checked
the license plate to verify that it really was mine.  I looked in my
purse and pulled out the keys and then opened the door on the driver's
side.  I slide into the seat, put the key in the ignition and was soon
driving down the street.  I found my perifocal vision was somewhat
limited by my hair falling down the sides of my face, but adjusted
easily as it really wasn't too pronounced and a swipe with my hand
rapidly fixed this problem.  And I was very much aware of my breasts
bulging beneath my sweater, especially if I leaned forward and felt
them touch the steering wheel.  But basically, it was pretty
uneventful as I drove up and down the streets ascertaining the
location of my apartment.  I had established that my address was 2322
Marigold, Apt. 2-C and this was just about five blocks north of 28th
Street and three blocks to the east of Eastern Avenue.
 
     I was finally satisfied, drove back to my apartment, parked the
car, locked the doors and went back upstairs to my flat.  Unlocking
the door, I thought I would check out this new place were I was
living.  Back downstairs, I first checked the mailboxes and sure
enough, there was my name, Patricia Browning marked on one of the
boxes.  Then I found a passage that led down another six steps and
discovered a mini-laundromat.  I was set for clean clothes and sheets
at least.

     Back in my apartment, I spent a moment planning the rest of
the day.  I could work on the computer, but then I thought, maybe I
should try something with this hair.  The dumb stuff was falling all
around my head and into my eyes, something I found rather
disconcerting.  Just as I wasn't used to the changes that had been
performed on my body, I wasn't used to the propensity of my hair
falling into my face every time I leaned over or made a sudden move
of my head.  I considered just tying it back in a pony tail but then
remembered reading about French Braids.  I had always thought
these looked pretty sexy on girls and decided to try one on myself.

     I went into the study, found the book, looked up the style and
carried it back into the bathroom with me.  The hair style involved
starting right behind my bangs, braiding down the back of my head,
being careful to wrap each strand of hair under the previous one, not
over it.  The end result was quite striking, a raised braid on the top
of my head with all the side hair joining it with succeeding plaits.
This was called under braiding in contrast to over braiding.  The only
difference being pulling the free locks under the other two instead of
over them.

     I pulled off my sweater, grabbed a brush and started working
on the long tresses.  It wasn't nearly as easy as the book indicated. 
I first pulled a tuft of hair from the top of my head and separated it
into three separate hanks.  Then I started braiding, being very
careful to always braid under and not over.  But the real trouble came
when I tried to incorporate additional hair into the braid.  I worked
for over an half hour an finally had it completed and fastened with a
little rubber band.  

     I pulled out a mirror and looked at the completed job and was
quite disappointed.  The back of my head bore little resemblance to
the picture in the book.  There were loose strands of hair all over
the place and the braid sort of wiggled down my head like a sober
snake, in other words, it wasn't very straight.

     "Damn", I thought, and pulled it all out and started brushing my
hair smooth again.  I tried again and it went a bit faster.  And this
time I pulled in the added locks of hair tight to my head before I
added it into the braid.  I also tried to keep a straight line down
the back of my head and after fifteen or twenty minutes I again looked
at the completed result and was somewhat gratified. This time it
looked quite sexy and feminine.  My hair was tight to my head and I
could feel the pull of the tight braid on the roots of my hair.  In
fact, after I had brushed out my bangs, I was quite satisfied with the
results.

     From the pride I took in the results of this braiding operation,
one would think that I was starting to enjoy this feminine life.
Nothing could be further from the truth, I just tackled a project and
wasn't satisfied until I got it right.  But again, there was that smug
self satisfaction that I looked pretty and somewhat sexy.

     I sat there just thinking.  A normal male would probably think
he was completely insane, or he soon would be well on his way after
experiencing the same metamorphic change to his body which I had
experienced.  Logically, I should be in a deep depression or possibly
in a complete mental rejection of the havoc of this unwanted surgery. 
Why hadn't I whacked off this long hair, bound these new breasts,
dressed in all masculine clothing and at least attempted to appear as
a male again.  Well, I had and it hadn't worked very well.  So
instead, I had donned female clothing yesterday, and again today, done
up hair up on two occasions and even used makeup on my face.

     Upon contemplation, I just decided it was because I was a
realist.  I was currently existing on two different planes.  The first
being the reality of my male mental sexual orientation, at least in
thoughts, emotions, and most actions.  The second plane was the
very real physical fact of my female body, a fact I couldn't disavow
or attempt to superficially change.  In spite of desires or dreams, I
was a male mind in a female body and I was determined to live with
this fact the best way I could.

     The most interesting thought was as a male, I desired the
female, loved her long hair, her pretty face, her breasts, her slim
waist, the expanding hips and the long legs descending to the floor. 
In fact, I couldn't really understand what the female saw in the male.

But they did really seem to like and desire us.  Well, that made for a
perfect world and sort of tended to propagate the race.

     But now I had the body of a female, but still thought as I always
had, desired and loved the female and was rather turned off by the
male.  Well, that is not exactly true, I wasn't turned off by my
fellow males, I had just never considered them in a sexual context and
really believed I couldn't ever consider a male as a sexual object.

     This was made even more confusing to me by my basic
inability to even imagine myself as female.  When I thought of my
body, I remembered my male body and male voice.  Thus I was a
temporarily startled each time I moved and a female attribute made
itself evident.  This effect was even more pronounced each time I
passed a mirror.  I guess that emotionally at least, I was
experiencing a period of denial of the real facts of my current life
and was remembering my real life prior to four days ago.  And the most
interesting aspect was the fact I couldn't remember what my new face
looked like except when I was looking into the mirror, and just this
past hour or so when I was working on my hair, I tended to ignore that
cute little face peering back at me in my reflection.  And when I
spoke out loud, it was a real mind bender.  My female voice was just
as shocking as my female body.

     My mind continued wandering through this labyrinth of
thoughts and emotions about my true sexual identity.  I had been a
man for over twenty six years, more than a quarter century, and I had
the body of a girl for just three days.  No wonder I was confused and
frustrated.  A normal woman had a lifetime of adjustment beginning
with her birth.  Raised as a female, with female role models and
female friends and confidants, it is axiomatic that this results in a
completely different individual than a person raised as a male, with
same sex role models, friends and confidants.  Even if there weren't
any intrinsic physical differences due to hormones and genes, the
different backgrounds would surely result in two completely diverse
individuals.  And I was convinced that both genes and hormones
played a significant part in determining a person's sexual identity. 
And I had the genes and environmental training of a male and the
body and hormones of a female.  In total, I was something of a
hermaphrodite.

     My mind jumped to my immediate future and I thought of my
contact with the outside world, a situation that had been avoided so
far.  I would meet people and they would have innocent questions,
and I didn't have a past.  Well, I had a past, but not one I could
refer to without creating myself in the role of a freak.  I had to
develop a fictitious past, one that would cover my self from being a
little girl going to preschool to my present age of twenty six.  I
would get on the computer and type up my life's story, just adapting
it to the female whenever it was in conflict with the male reality.
The early years would be quite easy but the years after puberty would
be nearly impossible.  I resolved to start on this project yet today.
But first, I had to try and adjust to this female role I was forced
into assuming.

     I looked into the mirror and then thought, well now is a good a
time as any to get started on this mental transition.  I decided to
apply a complete feminine facial makeup, studying my face the entire
time and trying to memorize its new configuration.

     I pulled open the drawer with the cosmetics and started with a
foundation liquid.  I smeared this on my face, covering everything
from my hairline to my neck.  I now  realized why they referred to
this foundation as pancake makeup as my face was encrusted with the
stuff.  I picked some tissue and wiped about half of it off, blending
in the rest so I looked fairly natural.  I then tackled my eyes, first
with eyeliner, then some shadow and finally mascara.  I tried blending
in some green, brown and blue eye shadow and finally got a rather
risque look to my eyes.  Then some blush, three different shades that
I tried to apply in various judicious positions on my cheeks, nose and
chin.  Some eye brow pencil seemed called for as my eyebrows were
quite thinned from what I remembered.  And last of all, my lips.  I
first added a liner and then the bright red lipstick.  I was done and
examined my face in the mirror.

     I had accomplished something I decided.  I looked like a
whore, a prostitute on the make.  This was really too much of a good
thing I decided.  But what the heck, I would dress the part and then
examine my self in the full length mirror in the living room.    With
the blatant makeup, I thought I looked quite wanton and sexy.  Too bad
that my hair was in a french braid, but it was looking quite good and
it was too much bother to remove it and brush out his long hair.  What
the hell, even prostitutes could wear a braid now and then.

     In the bedroom, I took of my blouse and jeans and removed the
bra I had  been wearing.  I searched through all the lingerie in my
drawers and found an underwire demi bra, that is a bra that seemed
to force my breasts up and out and came just to the nipples.  I also
found some fishnet hose and put both of these garments on.  Then in
my closet I discovered a blouse that was nearly open on the front with
a wide neckline that went from shoulder to shoulder.  Going through
the many skirts I found a skirt that appeared to be only about a foot
long from waist to hem.   I quickly donned these clothes and then
found some four inch spike heels and forced my feet into these tight
and extremely uncomfortable shoes.  Stumbling to my jewelry draw,
I picked out some long dangling ear rings, a gauche necklace and
bracelets and put these on one at a time, checking the mirror after
each addition to gage the effect.

     I walked out to the living room and stood in front of the mirror.

I looked the perfect tart.  My breasts were exposed for all to see,
the skin tight blouse and skirt that just came above mid-thigh were
quite revealing, and the makeup and jewelry just added to the
ludicrous look.  The four inch heels looked quite ridiculous and
uncomfortable, something that I could readily agree to as I was
hobbling around and not really walking in these c ontraptions.  I
imagined that this is about what Richard had expected yesterday after
I had dressed the first time.  But somehow, it did make me feel very
female, I was flaunting my sex to any man and just asking to be raped
by the first man that saw me.

     And with my bangs falling down over my right eye,  I looked
every bit the two bit whore.  This is a example of how I don't want to
look, I thought.  Everything about my appearance is blatant and
sexual.  Too sexual and very crude and cheap looking.  But at the
moment, I just loved it and enjoyed the sexual signals I thought I was
exhibiting.  If I was going to be female, I was going to use it and
flaunt it.
  
     I noticed that it was one o'clock in the afternoon and I was
getting hungry.  I decided to continue with this dress while I fixed
lunch and ate something.  I  somehow managed to get into the
kitchen in my four inch heels and make myself a sandwich and
poured a glass of milk.  I was just finishing my lunch when I heard a
ding-dong and wondered what it was.  Then I realized that it was my
front door bell and I had visitors.

     At first I considered not answering the door but then thought
"What the hell.  No one knows me and it is probably just a sales man
or woman.  I got off the chair and clumped into the living room and
went to the door.  I opened it and discovered a woman with two young
girls in tow.  "Shit", I said to my self, "What do they want?"

     Here I was at the door, holding it open with my breasts bared
for all to see and wearing these very tight and revealing clothes.  I
summoned up my sweetest and most feminine voice I could and said,
"Hello, how can I help you?"

     I towered over this woman who was about five foot three.  Here
I was standing there at six foot with four inch heels on, looking down
at her with a questioning look on my painted face.

     She sort of pushed her children behind her and then launched
into her spiel.  It was a very apt spiel as it had to do with saving
my soul and finding the lord.

     I cut her off saying, "My lord won't be home for a couple of
hours as he is out with one of his other girls.  But when he comes
back, I will tell him you were looking for him.  Well, thank you for
coming and telling me about your search, but I am sort of busy now,
so if you will excuse me, I have to get back to my john.  He is paying
me good money and I don't want to disappoint him.  Good bye for
now" and I closed the door.

     That should give them something to think about for the rest of
the day.  I found my self giggling as I stumbled back into the
bathroom to rid myself of these clothes and cleaned up my face. 
Then I stopped cold and thought, "I was giggling, something that men
rarely do and women do frequently.  What is happening to me.  I
recalled the tears of that morning and again perceived that I was
becoming somewhat more female in my thought and emotions than
I thought possible.  With my more unemotional male logic I decided
that this was preposterous and would soon forget both instances.  My
mind was still male and unfortunately only my body was female.


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