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Subject: NEW TG: Mothers' Group by Princess Pervette 2/2
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NEW TG: "To: Mothers' Group with Transgender Interest" (2/2)
by Princess Pervette
Not to be read by those who shouldn't.
Please note: I am posting this NEW TG STORY for Pervy. It is not my story. I
didn't write it. Any appreciative notes will be sent on to the author,
Princess Pervette.
--Vickie Tern
"To: Mothers' Group with Transgender Interest" (2/2)
By Princess Pervette
Most weekends I would spend some time at my neighbor's, playing with his
electric train. I liked that, and back when my parents were still pushing
girls' clothes on me, it gave me an excuse to go back to boy clothes for
a while. But this weekend I didn't. I sat around in my dress, pretty much
at loose ends, until I thought of looking at a book. My room was full of
books about cars and woodworking and sports, but off in a dusty corner
there were some girls' books my folks had gotten for me years before. I
never read those. In fact, I had torn a couple of them up in a fit of
temper, and they had punished me for being destructive; but after that they
had given up on me and let me read what I wanted. They still wouldn't buy
me any boys' books, but they let me get the ones I wanted from the library.
Now, for some reason, I searched out those old girls' books and made a
selection. It had been a few years since they had last gotten me any, and
they were now actually too young for me. Finally I found one, all about a
girl who went to a ball, full of pictures of the pretty things she wore to
the ball.
I lay on my bed, reading it and imagining what it would be like to get
all dressed up that way and go to a ball. And the curious thing was that
I didn't find it at all peculiar to be thinking that way. Looking back, I
think it was strange how I fell into this mind set without thinking. At
the time, I did feel a little funny reading the book, but that was only
because it was too young for me, clearly intended for seven-year-olds. But
somehow the fact that it was a girls' story book didn't bother me at all.
On Sunday, there was another dress laid out for me. My folks weren't
churchgoers; otherwise I suppose they would have had to let me dress as a
boy. But that wasn't the issue. I went and found Mom. "Mom, can I wear
the pink dress instead of this white one?" She gave me a startled look,
and then smiled. I had never expressed a preference for any dress before.
"Of course, Dear, if you want. You know where it is. Just be careful to
hang this one up nicely."
I hung the dress up, making sure it was properly on its hanger, and got out
the pink dress. I put it on and imagined I was my dream-Terry wearing that
dress.
On Monday, the doctor was there again after school. But this time, my mom
had asked me whether I'd like to put on a dress before she arrived, and,
impulsively, I had said Yes. The doctor looked at me, smiled, and said,
"How's my little girl to-day?" That may have been some kind of post-
hypnotic trigger, because instead of reacting to that remark as I would
have a month or so earlier, in a moment I was back in dreamland. No watch
this time.
This time Terry and I were in the field on the other side of the stream,
the field in which I had seen her running and dancing in my very first
daydreams. We were both dressed alike, in the same kind of dress I had
put on for the doctor. We smiled at each other and admired each other's
dresses. We didn't talk much this time, but we both danced together where
she had once danced alone, and as I turned around with her, I noticed with
pleasure how my skirt billowed out. I felt a glow of sheer happiness.
This was the best dream I had ever had.
And the doctor snapped her fingers.
"Terry," she said, "I'm very pleased at how much better you are. I thought
it would take much longer to, well, to cure you, but your progress, in just
a few weeks, has been amazing." She turned to my parents. "Thursday, as
usual?" They nodded.
The next three days dragged along. I longed to see my dream-Terry again,
and I thought Thursday would never come.
But it did, of course, and I was back in my dream world with the other
Terry. We were back by the stream again, as we had been so often before,
but then she got up and said, "Would you like to see where I live?"
I said yes, and, as happens in dreams, we were suddenly in her house
without my having any awareness of how we got there. It was like my own
house, but somehow different, and I realized that it was a mirror image of
where I lived. We went up to the mirror image of my room, and it was her
room, all pink and feminine, with lace curtains and a flowered bedspread.
Where I had pictures of Star Wars characters and cars and airplanes on my
wall, she had pictures of kittens and ballerinas. Where my desk would have
been, there was a pretty little vanity.
"Let's dress up." But that wasn't my dream-Terry speaking; it was I who
said that to her!
"Oh, yes!" she cried. "That's why I brought you here!"
Most of my daydreams had been short--just a little look around in my dream
world and a short encounter with my dream-Terry and nothing more. But this
was a long dream, the longest dream I had ever had. For what seemed like
hours we rummaged through her dresser and her closet. She would get out a
pair of panties and hand them to me.
"Here. Aren't these pretty? Try them on."
And I would try them on. I marvelled at how nice they felt. Why hadn't I
ever appreciated this in the past?
I tried on all her underwear. And all her dresses: white, light blue,
pink, yellow, all sorts of colors. And each one seemed more dainty and
feminine than the last. And after the dresses came skirts and blouses.
Lovely ruffles and lace and ribbons. I was in heaven.
Finally, we settled on what I thought of as my Terry dress, the one I had
worn when we first exchanged clothes, and then she sat me down at the
vanity and put just the lightest touch of makeup on my face. Very pale
lipstick, so light that I felt it more than I saw it when I looked in the
mirror. Just the least dab of blush on my cheeks. But, while the makeup
was minimal, I saw my face gradually turning into Terry's. I said that she
had my face, but that wasn't quite right; it was mine as mine would look
if it were a bit more feminine. Now, my own face, as I looked in the
mirror, was exactly like hers. It was as if we were twins.
When she was done, she said, "Stand up and let me look at you!"
I stood up, and I turned back and forth, making my skirt swirl about me.
"Oh, Terry, you're a *lovely* girl!" And she gave me a kiss. I had never
kissed a girl in waking life, but now I put my arms around her, hugged her,
and kissed her back. It was only a chaste little peck, but I kissed her on
her lips.
The doctor snapped her fingers. I was back in our living room again. She
seemed very satisfied with me, and her remarks were even more satisfied and
encouraging than usual; but I wasn't listening to her. I was still half in
dreamland, thinking about wearing Terry's clothes...and then I suddenly
realized something.
In the dream I hadn't had a boy's male parts. The front of my panties had
been absolutely smooth.
This realization, which would have horrified me as little as a month ago,
didn't disturb me in the least. It felt, in some way, profoundly right.
That evening, I picked up one of my mother's fashion magazines and took
it into my bedroom to read. I read it as thoroughly as I ever read any of
the railroad or airplane magazines I ordinarily read. I leafed through
it slowly, taking in the ads...lingerie, dresses, outerwear, makeup, hair
styling, perfumes. I saw pictures of women modelling panties and marveled
at how smooth and neat they looked Down There. And I remembered how smooth
and neat I had been Down There, too, in my dream about Terry's house. I
reached inside the panties I was wearing and tried to tuck my penis back
between my legs, so I would look as I had looked in my dream. But it kept
slipping forward, and finally I crossed my legs over it, tightly, to keep
it in place.
****
I had never dreamed about the other Terry except when the doctor came,
but I dreamed about her that night. We were in her house again, in her
bedroom, trying on underwear and dressing up. At one point, just when I
was about to put on another dress, she pointed between my legs, at the
little lump in my panties, and said, "You know, you don't have to keep
that ugly thing. You could have it taken off, and then you'd be a real
girl, just like me."
Even now, I don't know whether this was another post-hypnotic suggestion
from the doctor or whether I had thought of this myself. But this is what
happened: In the dream, Terry went to the bathroom and came back with a
big thing that looked like a caulking gun, a big tube in some kind of
holder. I took off my panties and she squirted the contents of the
caulking gun all over between my legs. By the time she finished, there was
nothing but a big, billowing white mess down there. But then she wiped it
all off, and when she did, I saw that my penis and balls were gone, and I
had a nice, smooth front--just like hers and just like the models in Mom's
magazines.
I was elated. "Look, Terry! Now I'm a real girl! A girl all the way
through!" And I put on a pair of her panties and marvelled at how perfect
they looked. I danced around in my panties; then I hugged my dream-Terry
and kissed her.
"You've fixed me!" I cried. "You've made me well again!"
I don't know what we would have done next, because the dream drifted away
onto another subject, as dreams do. But in the morning, I remembered it,
and I looked down between my legs at my little eleven-year-old penis. I
had always liked it and been proud of it, but now it seemed somehow out
of place. I put on a pair of panties and went to the closet to select a
dress...and then I remembered that this was a school day. I sighed, went
back and sat on the edge of my bed and started to take the panties back
off.
But then I thought that I could perfectly well wear them under my trousers.
Nobody would know the difference.
Every day after that, except when we had gym class, I wore panties under
my trousers. Later on, I realized that I could even wear them on gym days.
I would stuff a pair of boys' Jockey shorts into my book bag, change into
them in the lavatory just before gym, and then change back into the panties
afterward. Mom must have noticed all this when she did the laundry, but
she never said anything.
The next time the doctor came, we were back in my dream-Terry's house. She
showed me her shoes. There were Mary Janes, like the ones I was wearing,
but she also had some pumps with high heels. She had me try them on, and I
thought they looked lovely with my dress. "Why don't you try some of your
mom's when you get home?" she asked.
I suppose that was another hypnotic suggestion from the doctor. They say
you can't make a hypnotic subject do anything he doesn't, at some level
of his being, want to do, so it's entirely possible that I unconsciously
wanted these things to happen and that I thought of them myself while in my
trance. It's hard to reconcile that with the way I had resisted being a
girl over my first eleven years, but the mind is a funny thing.
Whichever way it was, the next afternoon my mother announced that she was
going out to play bridge--conveniently!--and when she had left I went into
her bedroom and started trying on her shoes. They were too big for me, so
I had to put on three or four pairs of socks before they were snug on my
feet. I loved the way they looked, but when I tried to walk in them, I
could barely stand up. That was the difference between my daydream and
real life.
I had begun to get the hang of it, teetering slowly and carefully about the
room, when I heard Mom's voice. "Why, Terry Lynn! Don't you look lovely!"
My first reactions were shock and alarm. But then I considered that, after
all, they had been trying to get me to live as a girl over all these years,
so she hardly had any reason to complain. And in fact she was smiling at
me.
"Yes, Mom," I said, summoning up a returning smile from somewhere, "but
they're too big for me."
"But you're getting to be a real lady now," she said. "I think we should
go shopping and get you some of your own. You're a little young for heels
just now, but the sooner you learn, the better it will be."
I was beginning to *like* dresses. And that weekend Mom and I went
shopping. I wore my boy clothes when we went, but we shopped for lingerie,
for dresses, and for shoes. All for me! I was entranced.
As the treatments went on, I began to notice changes in my body. It was
the hormone pills taking effect. Mostly it was in my tits. They had been
small and almost colorless, like any boy's, but now they were beginning to
get larger and darker. And gradually they began to protrude. My boy tits
were turning into breasts. And my features softened a little, so I began
to look more like my dream-Terry.
I was beginning to grow pubic hair, too, like the other boys in school.
But there was a difference there, too; their penises were beginning to
grow, as I could see from covert glances in the locker room at gym. Mine
wasn't. I remembered that wonderful dream where Terry had applied the
magic cream to my loins, and I wondered whether that dream was on the way
to coming true. The other boys had started masturbating, too, and they
made crude jokes about it. I didn't understand what they were talking
about, at first. When I finally found out, I tried rubbing my little
penis, but it never got very hard. And while it felt wonderful, it never
seemed to have the explosive effect the other boys talked about.
At about this time I took to changing into girl's clothes as soon as I came
home to school. Ever since I had had the flu, my parents had dropped their
rule about putting girl's clothes at home, but now I did this of my own
accord. I would feel the cares and tension of the day falling away as I
put them on, and they were beginning to feel right on me. I was especially
fond of the training bra Mom had bought me.
About this time, too, the doctor changed my medication. She took me off
the tranquilizers and (as I learned much later) changed the other pills
to a carefully balanced mix of hormones. I noticed some difference when I
stopped the tranquilizers--I was somewhat less relaxed in school--but the
happy awareness that I had a pair of panties on under my boy clothes helped
a great deal. And changing clothes after school had much the same effect
that the tranquilizer pills had had. I think a pretty dress is the best
tranquilizer in the world.
****
When Summer came, my parents rented a cottage at a lake. They had never
done this before. It would make a nice story if I could tell you that one
day I discovered my dream meadow in my wanderings about the lake, but I
must stick to the truth: that meadow and stream never existed outside my
daydreams.
We spent two weeks there, and the important thing is this: at the cottage
I dressed and lived like a girl all day long, every day. A year earlier, I
would have hated this and fought it tooth and nail. But now I enjoyed it.
Enjoyed it? No: I loved it! I loved the way my little girl shorts looked
and how my pretty Summer blouses looked. I liked the way it felt to have
just the tiniest touch of lipstick on my lips and to have my hair swept
back into a ponytail.
Whenever we met people, Mom always introduced me as her daughter Terry
Lynn. For swimming, she got me a girl's suit, but one that was very tight
about the bottom. I was able to tuck my little penis back out of sight and
the fabric held it there. And inside the tight fabric, my little balls
slid up out of sight into some secret hiding place I had never known they
had. The first time I did this, I looked down with admiration at the
smooth contour, modestly curving down between my legs with only the
slightest hint of a bulge, more like a mons veneris than a boy's bulge.
I knew, too, that some day my dream about losing my organs would become
a reality. It wouldn't be as neat and effortless a transition as it was
in my dream about the caulking gun, but it would result in the same happy
feeling I had had then: the joyful realization that now I was a real girl,
a girl all the way through.
****
So you see, Mothers' Group, an early start wasn't enough for me. Forcing
wouldn't have worked, and persuasion didn't. It took a doctor who slowly,
artfully hypnotized me into femininity. The pills may have helped, but
they were more a preparation for what was eventually to come.
I know this, because once I had lovingly embraced being a girl and was
having a girl's adolescence, I had a long conference with my parents and
with the doctor.
"Each time I put you under," she explained, "I led you, ever so gently,
further into feminization. Every male has a feminine part in his nature.
We call it the `Anima.' I was recruiting your Anima to help us change you
into the girl you should have been. Your dream-Terry was your own feminine
part, the hidden girl every male has buried deeply within himself. There's
much more to the Anima than that, but that was the important part for you.
"Yes, I talked you through your dreams. But you talked to us, too, while
you were in your trance, and your commentary and my own suggestions worked
together. We went very slowly at first, just repeating your experience of
being in the meadow and seeing your feminine part running and dancing in
the distance. I wanted that to happen several times before we tried to
go further, so you could get used to her and so you would start being
curious about her and want to get to know her. Her being in the distance
represented your own separation from your feminine nature.
"Then, to bring you closer to your own femininity, I had her draw closer
to you. But you know, it was you who told us that she had your face. I
didn't tell you that. I didn't have her tell you that your dream-world was
your real home, either. That came from your own mind. And we knew, that
day, that at some level you knew exactly who your dream-Terry was."
She smiled as I glanced modestly down at my breasts. "And as you gradually
became friends with her, you were becoming friends with your own feminine
nature. Becoming friends with her was the important thing, much more
important than the business with the clothes. And we knew we were going to
succeed the day you kissed her. You were kissing your own femininity. You
were making this potent and unmistakable gesture of love toward your own
feminine nature. After that, it was only a matter of time."
Princess Pervette
March, 1998
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