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From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: NEW TG: Mothers' Group by Princess Pervette 1/2
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NEW TG: "To: Mothers' Group with Transgender Interest" (1/2)
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







    Seen on alt.transgendered:

    It happened to us.  What a surprise.  Despite all the tests and pills
    and MD guarantees, when the stork arrived...he delivered a baby boy.
    We were shocked and very disappointed.  We found out through the net
    a number of couples and single parents have faced the same situation
    but find it difficult to deal with.  We also found out that the
    disappointment need not remain that way.  We started corresponding
    with others who had experience with transformations and now belong
    to a small group (3 couples and 2 single parents)....  We've found
    that an early start is very important.


Dear Mothers:

I know what your group has in mind, but I have to tell you: you're way
behind the times.  Here's what happened to me, many years ago.

My parents were expecting a girl, too, and they were plenty disappointed
when I showed up.  And, like you, they refused to face the facts and resign
themselves to having a boy.  I don't believe anybody remembers being born,
but sometimes in my mind I feel as if I could remember my mother's howl of
dismay when the doctor told her what sex her child was.

They thought an early start was important, too.  Right from the start they
tried to bring me up like a little girl.  It didn't work.  They got dresses
and made me wear them all the time when I was at home, and I hated them.
The only times they let me wear boys' clothes was when I went out, either
to play with other kids or to go to school.  I loved school, because there
they had to let me wear boys' clothes.  But every weekend I had to wear
girl's clothes all day long, whether I liked it or not, unless I was going
out somewhere.  And I went out as often as I could.

They got me dolls, and girls' picture books, and I showed an entirely
unwelcome interest in electric trains, instead.  I would go to a neighbor
boy's house and play with his trains and his toy trucks and his Lego
blocks.  In the Summer I played ball with the other boys in the
neighborhood.  My folks wanted me to play with dolls with the girl next
door.  The made me do that once, and in a fit of anger I broke one of her
dolls.  They punished me for that, but afterward they let me play with the
boys instead.

Otherwise they were loving and affectionate parents.  They used persuasion
rather than force in trying to feminize me.  They didn't beat me except
when I had done something terribly bad, like the time I broke the doll.
There was only one inflexible rule: evenings and weekends, unless I went
out, I had to wear dresses.  All my pleas and entreaties were in vain.  But
it just didn't work; I wore them because I had to, but I detested them.
And whenever I heard Mom say, "Just like a boy," I knew she disapproved of
whatever it was that had prompted the remark.

****

This went on until I was eleven years old.  Then that Winter, I had the
flu.  It kept me out of school for a week.  And while I had the flu and was
in bed, they didn't make me wear my nightie.  I thought that maybe they
were sparing me because I was so sick, but after I had recovered there
still was no more talk about my wearing girls' things.  I didn't know what
had prompted this change, but I accepted it with relief.  Having the flu, I
thought, was a small price to pay if it meant that I could live like a boy
again.

A day or two after I was out of bed, a doctor called.  My folks told me
that she was there to examine me.  I assumed she was just a doctor who was
going to give me some kind of checkup, probably to make sure I was over the
flu and could go back to school.

She started by taking my pulse.  She put her hand on my wrist and got out a
pocket watch.  But instead of looking at the watch herself, she held it up
in front of me and told me to watch the big sweep-second hand, so I could
tell her when a minute had passed.  But while I was doing this, she was
talking to me.

"Watch the second hand very closely, Terry.  See how it moves around the
dial.  Step by step, measuring off each second as it passes.  Little jerky
movements.  Watch it.  Has it gone a quarter of the way yet?  Keep your
eyes on it.  It's absorbing to watch, isn't it?  So monotonously moving
around the dial, nothing else moving--just the second hand.  Watch the
hand.  Just keep looking, looking.  Forget about everything else.  Forget
about your parents.  Forget about me.  Forget, forget.  Nothing in the
world but the watch and the big second hand.  Watch it and forget.  Watch
it and forget...."

I was listening to her and staring at the watch instead of keeping track
of the time.  The second hand must have gone around more than once, but I
never noticed.  And I began to daydream.  I thought about green fields and
blue sky.  Countryside, with trees and a little stream.  It was a pleasing
contrast to our own wintry weather.  I walked down toward the stream.  Off
in the distance, I saw a girl running and dancing in the grass.

That was all.  Then I heard the doctor snap her fingers.  I was looking at
the watch, and the second hand had completed its circuit.  It was as if
only a minute had passed, although I know now that it must have taken a
much longer time.

"There, Terry!" she said.  "Your pulse is perfectly normal.  Just right!"

She turned to my parents.  "He's well enough to go back to school to-
morrow," she said.  "We'll have to keep track of his progress, just the
same.  I'll come back on Thursday and examine him again, just to see
whether everything is going all right."

And she left.  It never occurred to me that there must be more to examing
a patient than just taking his pulse.  Now, there's no point in playing
games with you; obviously this doctor was actually a hypnotist, and what
I thought of as my daydream was, in fact, a hypnotic trance.  But I didn't
realize that at the time; I took her at face value.  I didn't remember ever
being examined by a doctor before; how was I to know?

The doctor had come on Monday.  On Thursday, when I came home from school,
she was there again.  She greeted me with a smile, got out her watch to
take my pulse again, and again she had me watch the time.

She started talking to me again about watching the second hand, but I was
back in my daydream almost at once.  It was exactly like the first time;
I was back in the country again, looking at the same fields and trees,
walking toward the same stream, and there, in the distance, was the girl,
running and dancing in the grass.  No more than that.

The doctor snapped her fingers, and the daydream ended.  I was back in our
house.

Nothing changed.  I was still being allowed to wear boys' clothes.  The
next two times the doctor came and took my pulse in the same way, I had the
same daydream each time.

Well, almost the same.  The last time, the girl in the dream saw me.  She
ran toward me, with a sweet smile, holding her arms out to me.  She looked
familiar, somehow, and when she came close, I saw that she had my face.
There was no more to the dream than that.

Somehow that didn't seem strange to me.  It seemed perfectly natural that
she would have my face.

On Thursday I had another session with the doctor.  She started the same
way, having me look at the watch as she took my pulse.  I scarcely glanced
at the watch before I was back in my daydream.  I was in that same field,
down by the stream, with the girl approaching me, smiling.

She came up to me and said, "Hi!  My name's Terry, too!  It's really
Teresa, but everybody calls me Terry."

It never occurred to me to wonder how she knew my name.  But if I had been
a girl, that's what my folks would have named me--Teresa.  I learned that
a few years later, when we were able to speak more plainly about things.
They had made the best of a bad situation and named me Terence Lynn, the
idea being that either way my name would have been shortened to Terry.
Terry Lynn.

The Terry in my dream took my hand, and we strolled down to the stream.
We sat on a rock by the stream, and she said,

"It's nice here, isn't it?  I like you.  I like you because you have my
name."

"And you have my name."  I smiled.  "That's neat, isn't it?"

"It's sweet," she corrected me.  She went on: "Such a lovely day, isn't it?
But it's always lovely here."

"Is it?  Do you live here, then?"

"We both live here, Silly!"

"I thought...I mean, I live at...."  The words wouldn't come.

"This is our real home.  You're finding your real home.  With me."

I heard the doctor snap her fingers, and then I was back home in the living
room with him and my folks.

The doctor gave me a big smile.  "You're coming along nicely, Terry," she
said.  "I can see real progress.  I think it will be only a few more weeks
and you'll be well on the way to...well, to where you'll want to be."

She turned to my folks and got out a couple of small bottles.  "Just give
him one of each of these pills at breakfast and again at dinner.  He 'll
improve a lot faster with these.  And I will be back on Monday to see how
he's getting along."

The next morning, when I got up, my first thought was about pretty Terry,
the girl in my dream.  I got dressed in my school clothes, and for once I
didn't feel that overwhelming sense of relief I usually felt when I put
on boy's clothes.  It was pleasant, as always, to notice the way the fly
zipped up and the way the shirt buttoned, but somehow it didn't feel as
important as it used to.

I took the pills every morning and every evening.  I didn't know what they
were supposed to accomplish.  I was well over the flu, now, and the pills
didn't seem to be doing anything.  But they didn't make me feel bad or
queasy, so at least they weren't doing me any harm.

The next time the doctor came, the dream took a new turn.  My dream-Terry
and I were sitting by the stream again.  She looked at my clothes and
frowned.

"You don't look nice," she said to me.  "Those clothes don't suit you.
They look icky.  You'd look much better dressed like me.  I think you
should be."  She smiled.  "Would you like to change clothes with me?  Let's
change clothes."  For some reason, that idea didn't bother me.  I said Yes,
and in a flash, I discovered I had taken everything off, and so had she.
This was a dream, or a hypnotic trance, and so it didn't seem at all
strange to be naked out in the open countryside, or to be naked with a
naked girl.  In any case, we were both only eleven years old.  We quickly
exchanged our clothes, and as I put hers on, I had a tremendous sense of
well-being, as though the other clothes had been wrong for me and these
were right.

She giggled.  "Now I'm the boy and you're the girl," she said.

"Yes," I said.  "I'm the girl."  And suddenly I felt very relaxed and
contented.  I was deeply at peace with myself and the world.

And that was the end of that dream..  The same dream was repeated, with only
minor variations, the next two times the doctor visited us.  Each time my
dream-Terry and I exchanged clothes, each time Terry complimented me on how
I looked, and each time I felt this strange feeling of tranquillity.

After the last time, I remembered Terry's smile when I woke up, and how
friendly she had looked.  Pretty, too.  Somehow that girl who had had my
face had looked pretty.  I wondered whether I had looked pretty when I was
in her dress.

Pretty...!  Hey!  What was going on?  Those were girl's clothes!  I was a
boy!  That's what I was always telling my folks--I was a boy, not a girl.
But the dress...well, it hadn't seemed bad at all in the dream.

But the next morning, as I dressed for school, I was glad to put on pants
and a boy's shirt.  I felt good about having it button the right way for a
boy's shirt.

But Mom must have known, or sensed, something, because just then there was
a change.  The Saturday after that last visit, when I got up, Mom came into
my room with a dress.

"I was wondering...whether maybe you would like to try one of your dresses
for a change.  You don't have to if you don't want to; you know we won't
make you.  But if you'd like to...."

I remembered my recent daydreams with the other Terry and how nice it had
felt when we swapped clothes.  So, rather to my own surprise, I said,

"Why...er...I suppose so.  Why not?"

I looked at the dress Mom had, and it was the same dress as the girl in my
daydream had been wearing and that I had put on.  I wondered briefly how
Mom had happened to choose that dress.  I put it on.  I didn't have the
feeling of peace and contentment I had felt in the dream, but I didn't have
that perfectly *awful* feeling I used to have when my parents dressed me.
What I did notice was how comfortable the dress felt on my body.

The next time I dreamed for the doctor, Terry and I were both wearing the
same kind of dress.  She smiled at me.  "Now we're both girls.  Isn't that
nice!"  And she gave me a little kiss on the cheek.

These daydreams generally followed a pattern: there would be an advance,
like this one where we were both wearing the same style of dress, and then
a sort of period of stasis during which the latest adventure would just
repeat, with no significant differences in detail.  And on the next two
visits from the doctor, that's the way it went: my dream-Terry and I were
both wearing the same style of dress.  I was getting used to the two of us
being dressed the same.

On the next Saturday morning, Mom laid out panties and a dress for me, as
she always used to do on weekends.  The dress was the one I had worn in the
latest dream, when Terry and I had both been dressed alike.  I looked at
it.  "My Terry dress," I thought, with a smile.  I hoped I'd see her again.
So I put the dress on, thinking of my dream-Terry, and I put on the short
white socks with the embroidered floral tops and my Mary Jane shoes.  What
shoes had my dream girl been wearing?  I'd have to look next time.

I came to breakfast, kissed Mom, and sat down, unconsciously smoothing the
dress under me.  This was something Mom had always bugged me about, and I
never remembered to do it, until to-day.  I took the big purple pill and
the smaller white pill, as I did every morning, washing them down with my
orange juice.

You've probably guessed that the pills were hormones.  Well, the big purple
ones were, although of course I didn't know that then.  What I did notice
was that life had become so much more calm and serene ever since the doctor
had started her treatments.  The little white pills were tranquilizers.

You've probably also guessed that the doctor was guiding the content of my
dreams when I was hypnotized.  As I learned much later, she was talking to
me all the while, guiding me through my dream, like the "pathworking" they
do in some of the New Age religions.  She was gradually changing the way I
felt about clothes and, more important, about myself.  Looking back, I know
that her treatment did more than the pills did, at least at first.

****

[Continued in Part 2/2]



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