Nifty thrives on donations. Authors thrive on appreciation.
To donate to Nifty, visit http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html To express appreciation, email me at sexyamie@hotmail.com
+++++
I followed the investigators out of the room. We had come from one end of the corridor; now we walked in the other direction, deeper into the building.
Should I have known that, at that moment, I would never walk as a free man, ever again? That I would be turned irreversibly and nearly immediately from a typical straight guy into a buttslut for other men?
Would I have turned around? Made a break for it? Resisted so hard that they would have used violence against me? Maybe I could have gotten them to kill me; that way I never would have had to suffer the many indecencies I've endured.
I was about to lose all my power. My independence. My masculinity. My libido--at least as I knew it then.
Would I have resisted?
My mind rationalizes the question: It doesn't matter. They would have caught you anyways. Forced you back inside. Made all the surgical adjustments they were going to make. Leave you high and dry, with a woman's body and a pink collar.
You would have woken up a bitch whether you wanted to or not.
But deep in the darkest part of my soul -- the part you don't show to anyone else -- I fear that the answer to the question... is no.
I don't share that thought with anybody. It scares me to think it.
+++++
The investigators passed my file onto the head nurse. She looked like twice the man that I was.
"OK... Yup. Perfect. We'll get started."
She snapped the file shut, and the investigators left my side. I helplessly watched them go. The woman turned back once more, snuck me one last glance. She had a subtle smile she could not hide, one that mixed sympathy with glee.
And she said something.
"Good luck, sweetie!"
That's when I knew.
I was done. My life as a man was over.
A couple of buff security guys grabbed me by the arms, but they didn't need to.
I knew.
I had surrendered.
+++++
The first step of pink collar training came pre-surgery. Surgery was almost like graduation, or maybe the prom. The trainers kept telling us how excited we would be when our surgery date drew closer.
For now, we were still just a bunch of boys.
I took note of the newly pinked members of my class--about fifteen of us in total.
A couple of them were fags. They were the loudest in class. I don't know if their volume was designed to cover up their absolute lack of self-confidence or what. Surely these two never meant to become breeders. They would be the world's biggest fools if they thought they could pass that test.
Their names were Chase and Mario, but they had already changed their names to Cherry and Angel. Perfect trashy names for a couple of girls who could not wait to get their well-used asses back out on the streets, I thought.
It did bother me that I was lumped in with them. I tried not to think about it.
Another boy caught my eye, maybe because he was more like me. He was beautiful, as a man. A little underbuilt, maybe 5'6" or 5'7". 120 pounds, soaking wet. Dark blonde hair styled into a messy tuft. And these faceted, steel blue eyes, with a lustre that revealed the sadness and intelligence of his soul.
His name was Bryan.
I approached him after class. We quickly became pals.
"Yeah, I didn't see myself ending up here either. I had a girlfriend. We had it great. She was smoking hot. Scorching. We screwed all day long. It was... amazing.
"She encouraged me to go out to become a breeder. She said she wanted us to be able to have babies. I did too. It seemed like an obvious choice.
"I wonder... did she really think I would pass the test? Did she care? There wasn't really any risk for her. Either I'd come back with my balls intact, or she'd just start fucking a new guy. Maybe she already had someone in mind.
"Now, I guess, we're separated forever. I bet she has a new boyfriend already. I pray that guy does not make the same mistake I made.
"She's getting pounded by some new guy. And so will I, soon. Funny how things turn out."
+++++
Cherry and Angel were intolerable. They were loud, sure, but they were also mean. My biggest regret with them: they gave me my name.
"Eric, sweetheart, you did NOT expect that they were going to pick you? With that pinkie-sized penis you have? Oh, girl, that is just the saddest thing I have ever heard!"
Cherry and Angel laughed.
Cherry continued. "Sweetie, you need to settle into your feminine expression. I know, it might take awhile. But you've got it in you. It emanates from you even when you aren't trying. Especially when you aren't, in fact.
"You're a bitch now. You might as well enjoy it."
"Is that what was on your mind when you applied? Did you come here just because you wanted to get fucked?" I retorted.
"Of course, sweetie! I get paid AND I get fucked? Sign me up, honey!" Angel reached over and gave Cherry a high-five. We did get a stipend, so that was not too bad. We were just required to spend half of it on new clothes, makeup, and beauty treatments each month.
"Now... what will your feminine name be? Maybe once you have that, you can start to live it."
"Erika?" offered Angel.
"Cute. But too obvious."
"Elle."
"She's not that pretty."
"Jordan."
"Too butch."
"Crystal."
"Too trashy. That's a compliment, bitch."
"Jennifer."
"Not bad. Makes her sound like she's of a certain age tho."
"Oh, true. How about Lily."
"Too delicate."
"April."
"Oh, I like it! When were you born, slut? What's your birthday, I mean?"
I did not want to tell her.
"Speak up, bitch!"
"April 22nd."
The two little fags began hooting and hollering. They were so proud of themselves. So it was that everyone started calling me April. I'm not sure if I've heard my old name since.
When I completed my paperwork, I wrote it out and stared at it.
April Rose Lee.
That was me.
That is who I would become.
+++++
We all went through every aspect of training together. We had hair-removal class together. Makeup salon. Voice feminization. Physical behavior--as in walking, gesturing, sitting. We had fashion shows where we tried out new outfits and styles to find the kind of girl we wanted to be.
The only private place I had was with my therapist. Her name was Jenna. She was so nice to me, though in retrospect, I feel like she had an agenda.
"How is your transformation coming? I do have to say, you look so pretty. Your new, thin eyebrows make your eyes pop!"
"Thank you." I blushed a little. I don't think I knew it then, but I was proud to get a compliment.
"What is it like, making the transition to becoming femme?"
They always used that word, femme.' I think they were avoiding female' since we were not, technically, going all the way to becoming women. They shot us up with huge doses of estrogen. They implanted us with huge, beautiful round tits. They feminized our faces, got rid of our Adam's apples. They extended our hair, taught us how to care for it and style it. They removed our body hair, permanently, through electrolysis. They dressed us in skimpy clothing that left no doubt what we were, or what we resembled, at least.
The one thing they didn't do is remove our genitalia. No, the government, being the cheap, corner-cutting bastards that they are, had a more cost-effective idea:
They caged us, permanently, in pink plastic.
So that's why we couldn't truly be considered female, even if we acted, danced, sang, looked, and talked the part.
I answered her question.
"I guess it's getting easier. It took awhile for me to accept it at the beginning. Then, I would have never been able to say..."
I trickled off. I guess I wasn't sure if I could say it now.
"Say what, April?"
A tear welled up in my eye. "To say that... I'm happy I'm going to be a girl. Even though I didn't know it before, when I was a guy, this was always what I wanted. Even as I had sex with women, I dreamt I would become them. Take their place. Be on the receiving end of a man's love, rather than the giving side.
"I am meant to become a woman. I give up my status as a man. Now, I simply want to please other men, forever."
Jenna smiled at me. I think she welled up too. She was proud of what she'd done. She had successfully brainwashed me. It had taken more than two months, but my psyche was fully broken. I no longer clung to even a shard of masculinity.
Thus was my time with my therapist Jenna over. Had I known that, as soon as I said the magic words that I would lose this trusted confidant, I probably would have dragged it out longer.
But this was government work. I was a bitch. Her work was done.
+++++
Back at the Best Western, I did my best to polish myself up a bit. I took a shower--I literally stank like cum. I did my makeup again. You get so good at it with practice. I pieced my outfit together. It was still too skimpy for the weather. These guys had kept me for so long that the sun would be setting soon--it would be a long and cold walk home.
But my immediate priority was finding my John--an Egyptian guy, maybe 55 years old, named Nahid. He was pretty nice. Or at least we had a pretty good deal, in that he let me use a room for free all in exchange for a good, long blow job.
He was a dirty fucker, though. He talked a lot. I didn't mind.
He sat in his desk chair, turned to the side. I kneeled next to his desk, took his cock inside.
"These boys... they treat you good?"
"Mmmmmhmmmm." I remember how good that felt, when a bitch would make noises with my cock in her mouth.
"Ahhhh... and they, did they fuck you in the pussy?"
"Mmmmmmmmmhmmmmmmm..." That was meant to mean, "boy, did they."
"Yes, yessss... good girl. Very good girl."
I worked him slowly but steadily. Some girls, they go for the glory. The quick-and-dirty. The blow-and-go.
I take my time with my men. I know how they like it. I can build them up with my mouth. Get them to be so totally engorged that their dicks can barely fit inside my mouth. Work up a load so big that it will explode inside my mouth, or my pussy.
I don't mind taking it up my pussy, not anymore. You get used to it. You... well, you grow to like it. Especially when it's your only means of expressing yourself sexually. Your man's pleasure becomes your own true calling. You live to get him off. His orgasm IS your orgasm.
But Nahid never came in my pussy--he only came in my mouth. That was more intimate. I would look up into his eyes, see him watching me suck him, then watch as he started to lose control. His eyes would roll back into his head. I would suck even harder, deeper, knowing he was about to plant his seed deep inside my throat.
I could take a man's dick all the way inside me without gagging now. That comes with practice, and practice comes through training. I'll tell you how I learned to suck cock all the way another day.
Nahid's dirty talk was heating up. I knew what that meant. And I loved hearing it.
"You are a little slut, aren't you? You like taking man's dick inside you?"
"Mmmmmmmmmmhmmmmmmmmmmm...."
"Little slut. Perfect little cocksucker. Make Nahid's cock feel so, so good. Nahid's wife wonder why I come home so happy. It because I have a slut between my legs who sucks cock better than any woman."
I worked myself a little faster, building towards his orgasm.
"Yes, baby. Just like that. You know just how to make me feel good, don't you."
We made eye contact then, and held it.
It's amazing what you can say with your eyes.
Today, I said, "Yes. Yes, I do know how to make you feel good. And it is my only purpose in life. I put all of my energy, and soul, and body into it. I have learned from sucking your cock how you like it. I memorized it. I now work to perfect it.
"My only goal is to give you the greatest orgasms of your life."
That message must have gotten through. Nahid's eyes rolled back. I'm sure he wanted to watch as he shot his load inside me, but the pleasure was simply too great. Did he have stars in his eyes? Did he take a brief visit to heaven? I don't know. I can't know--not anymore. All I can taste is his nutty, bitter nectar, the product of what must be his astonishingly consistent diet.
(I recognize the taste of cum that my men shoot in my mouth. Delight in it, even. It's like wine, only a bit more repulsive.)
Nahid sighed deeply as he pumped what was probably the biggest load of his life into my mouth. I worked my head up-and-down, just a little more gently, as he exploded. Some of his cum went straight down my throat. That was fine. Some of the rest wound up in my mouth and worked as lube. I would have the chance to swallow that later. Some more of it spilled out the sides of lips and onto my face. I tried my best to keep it there--Nahid tries to keep a clean hotel; he can't have cum dripping everywhere. (Though the room he gave me was hopeless.)
I slowed down to a gentle but thorough sucking. He lay back, his body spent. I just needed to clean him off now. I swallowed the tasty cum in my mouth. Just as I used a dainty, painted fingernail to scoop the cum on my face into my mouth, he came to.
"Heaven be praised... this girl really knows how to suck a cock."
As I knelt there, I took inventory.
I had fifteen loads up inside my pussy, and about the same number in my mouth and stomach. I smiled up at Nahid, a true smile, a genuine, warm smile that expressed the feeling I had from taking so much semen from so many men.
It was just one simple feeling.
Pride.
+++++
I think this different type of story is working! It's working for me, anyway... I am leaking through my pathetic little cock cage as I'm writing it. Did it work for you? Drop me a line at sexyamie@hotmail.com -- if you're turned on I'll keep writing it.