Just a Friendly Transformation: #1 Femininity Awakens
Millie Dynamite
Just a Friendly Transformation
#1 Femininity Awakens
One man’s journey into womanhood
Mille Dynamite
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© Copyright 2024 by Millie Dynamite
NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. This is a story and contains descriptive scenes of a graphic, sexual nature. This tale is a work of pure fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously—any resemblance to actual persons, whether living, deceased, real events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Just a Friendly Transformation
#1 Femininity Awakens
Denver, Colorado office of Helen Steinmann
November Fifth
“I adored my big sister,” Marcella said. “It is difficult to admit, but I didn’t want to be like her. What I wanted wasn’t to be like her but to be her or, even better, her twin. We looked so similar we could’ve been twins. I was a little smaller than her, but my face was almost a mirror of hers. Even now, I’m smaller than her.”
The patient was relaxed. The words came quickly and flowed from her with remarkable clarity. She and Doctor Steinmann developed a rapport from the first session. It only took two weeks for Steinmann to put her on HRT therapy.
“I was always the last one picked in sports. When at last, they said, ‘Mark, the little guy since no one else is left.’” As she spoke, a rush of emotions flooded her, the side effect of the shot she’d received that morning. A warm femininity spread through her, and she loved everything and everyone at that moment.
“How’d that make you feel?” the doctor asked.
“I had conflicting emotions. I didn’t want to play sports, but I didn’t enjoy being the one they were stuck with. Later they called me the pretty boy, sissy kid, little guy. When I started dating, most girls were mean to me. They would say, ‘I don’t date boys prettier than me, but we can be friends,’ or, ‘Let’s be friends instead.’ Some of them were great friends.”
“I loved being with women more than men. I was comfortable with women and didn’t need to compete. Despite that, I could talk to anyone about anything other than me and act interested in what they wanted. It helps in my job.”
“When did gender dysphoria set in?” the doctor asked. She shifted her chair and leaned closer to Marcella/Mark.
“I can’t remember when I hadn’t wished to be a girl. Don’t remember when I wasn’t keeping my nature bottled up inside me and pretending to be a boy or man. The first time I met Emily, I fell in love with her. But again, I pretended to be a man. I never had an issue with getting an erection for her. However, I’d climax long before she’d even warmed up. Often before my pants were off.”
“I see,” the doctor said, jotting down notes. “Did you tell her about your dysphoria?”
“Of course not. I was hiding what or who I was from her. In time, Emily turned snarky and seemed to enjoy poking fun at me. It wasn’t a good-natured jabbing, but cruel statements I thought were supposed to hurt me.”
“Did they?”
“Yes, and no. While I was humiliated, embarrassed, and frustrated by Emily’s words, they also turned me on. At that time, she started giving weekly quotas in my job. Wanting to please her more than anything else, I became the top salesman at the dealership.”
“As I recall, you sell high-end imported European automobiles.”
“Not all are considered high-end,” Marcella said. “Some are pre-owned. They are all high-quality upscale cars. I’m very proud of my performance at work.”
“You should be,” the doctor said, guiding her client back to therapy essentials. “When did Emily find out?”
“Six months ago, and everything changed in the span of two or three days.”
****
The Home of Mark and Emily Porter
Two Weeks Before Memorial Day
“Mark, we have to talk about something when you get home tonight,” Emily Porter said, handing him his travel mug of coffee. Seldom when a woman tells her husband, We have to talk, is that conversation something he wants.
Kissing his wife on the cheek, Mark took a sip of coffee, discovered the fluid hotter than expected, and drew back.
“You got that hot enough. What’s so important?”
“Those videos you were watching on your laptop the other night. You remember the ones you masturbated to when you thought I was sleeping?”
“Told you that meant nothing,” Mark said, fearing another round of the same fight as before.
“It’s alright, sweetheart. I get it, really, I do,” Emily said with a tiny sneer and a wicked expression. She moved closer, taking the back of his head and guiding him to her.
In high heels, she was several inches taller than he.
Her other hand found his crotch, their lips nearly touching, and the light pressure on his pecker caused his not-so-little man to stir.
“Oh, baby, don’t make me lose it.”
“I’ve decided to explore your kink,” she breathed the words, her lips grazing his and her hot breath turning up his desire.
“Really?”
She pressed her lips to his, broke away, turned her back, and went to the sink to wash dishes.
“Yep,” Emily said. “Now, darling, go to work and don’t think about it. We can talk after dinner tonight.”
The day drug by for Mark Porter. He couldn’t keep his mind on selling cars. It wasn’t a stellar day for him. He blew three potential sales, insulted one of his bosses, and found his mind pondering a mystery without a clue if he wanted his fantasy to be hers as well.
Then there was the darker secret he’d never spoken to anyone.
Emily spent her day researching the difference between the fantasy of kink and reality. Delving into what issues might arise in communication, trust, and self-acceptance for both parties. Emily read about the introduction and realization of his want within their committed partnership.
While exciting to consider, having a lover and husband who watched her with him would create an erotically charged situation. Emily worried about Mark’s potential reaction to viewing her make love to another man.
Also, they’d need to be quite careful. After all, there are societal stigmas surrounding unconventional sexual interactions. Mark’s friends could be cruel and emasculate him with hateful words. She had no desire to hurt Mark by fulfilling a fantasy of his. Discretion, therefore, was a must.
Her one complaint with Mark was his passivity in sex. His docile willingness to let her do what she wanted, and he lay back and enjoy her work. Mark wouldn’t even initiate their lovemaking.
At the car lot, Mark’s mind raced with the possibilities. Mark and Emily were the same height. He was ten pounds heavier than her. Other than that, they were almost exactly the same. Mark was a shark at work but a minnow at home.
The problem wasn’t the size of his pecker. Mark’s member wasn’t small, far from it, well over eight inches of thick bone.
Sexually, he had no stamina, no staying power. Early on, he tried to be the aggressor, a role he wasn’t suited to in bed. Often, while making out, he lost his load. Embarrassment and beliefs of inadequacy made it challenging for him to get hard once it happened.
Under the best conditions, it takes a lot of blood to make a stalk the size of his rock-hard.
Even when they made love, with her in control, he came long before she was ready. But he could eat her pussy forever. Emily’s sensuality and sexual yearnings made her more than he could handle.
She was a full-figured, vibrant sexual lynx, and he was a lazy basset hound. That day, in between sales, Mark sneaked off the bathroom and jacked off six times. When he got home, his laddy was sore blistered, and he felt weak.
Dinner, steak and potatoes, were ready, and he washed up and sat down, more prepared to talk than eat.
“So, what are your thoughts?” he said as he cut a tiny piece of meat and plucked it from his fork with his teeth. He chewed with a carefulness that made dentists beam with pride. Never wolfing his food, he ate, well, ladylike.
“After we eat,” she said.
“But…”
“Mark, I said, after we eat.” Emily had put her foot down, and Mark realized he’d lost the argument before it started.
The odd truth here is that he loved it when she took charge. So, while he savored his repast, he admitted to his day’s shortcomings.
“I screwed up a couple of sales today and didn’t manage to close any.”
“You’ll do better tomorrow,” she said matter of fact.
“I hope,” Mark said. Her faith in him never seemed to flag. Often, Em willed him to succeed, and he did so to please her.
“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you, you must. You’re behind this month, now more than ever, I’m telling do better tomorrow.”
His cock stirred, and the discomfort hit him. The sore penis against the coarse material of his jeans sent tiny shards of ache right down into his balls. He rushed through the meal, eating like a kid, wanting to play outside.
Emily made them after dinner coffee while Mark went up and changed into his pajamas. After shaving, he came to her, not knowing what to expect.
Soft music played. He believed it was blues. The lights were low, and the room had a soft, romantic atmosphere. Two cups of coffee steamed on the coffee table. The couch was littered with fluffy throw pillows.
“Make yourself comfortable, sweetheart. I’ll be right there,” she said in her breathy bedroom voice.
“Sure,” Mark said, his weapon at full attention. Don’t cum in your jammies, don’t cum in bottoms, don’t cum, don’t cum, he thought. Sitting on the couch, lotus position, he held his coffee and sipped it carefully to avoid a repeat of burning his lip.
Emily’s shadow fell across him as she passed behind. She moved to the far side of the room, gliding gracefully in spiked heels, wearing a black lace teddy. Once she positioned herself in front of the TV screen, she turned and poised, arms out, her palms upward.
“What you think?”
“WOW, very sexy,” Mark said. His unit bobbed its approval under the bottoms, lurching up, rubbing against the fly, begging to be released. Don’t cum, he thought.
“Do you think a bull would like how I look?”
“Oh, yeah.” Who wouldn’t love how she looked? No one, no one at all, wouldn’t fuck her.
“I’m pretty hot, aren’t I?”
“Yes, ma’am, you are.”
Moving to the couch, she curled up next to him and whispered.
“How will you handle it when another man sees me like this?”
“Excited, jealous, horny, confused, and proud,” Mark said. His python still straining for freedom and entry to a new, tight, wet prison. Do not fucking cum and piss her off.
“All those things?”
“And more, if you do this for me, I’ll be the happiest man alive.” His latent feministic side longed to be as hot as her.
“Will you be humiliated?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Ashamed?”
“Yes.”
She touched his face, running her fingers over his cheek and chin, and turning her hand over, she stroked his smooth flesh.
“You shaved. Your bread grows so slow, you don’t usually shave but once every other day.”
His skin was warm, and she ran her fingers over the flesh, wishing Mark could satisfy her in bed. For years, she suspected he wasn’t turned on by her. Or perhaps he was gay and didn’t know it or wanted to admit it. Her for him was profound that nothing mattered, even if he were gay.
“Yes, I don’t know why I did.”
Mark’s lips were soft, full, firm, and heart-shaped, very girlish. The face of an angel, not a man. His eyes always drew her in, and she lost herself in them in an odd sort of way, harking back to her lesbian tendencies at college.
Her pre-Mark days.
“Don’t be upset with this question, but I want the truth,” she said. Touching his ear with her lips, she breathed the words in Mark’s ear. “Do you have homosexual thoughts?”
“If I say yes, will you be angry and not go through with cuckolding me?”
“No, I won’t be angry and will do whatever fantasy you want, baby.” Her hand ran down his neck, caressing the flesh, wanting to please him in ways she’d never been able to accomplish.
“Yes, I have bisexual thoughts.”
“Do you feel girly?” she asked, pressing herself into him, wanting to join him as one person, sharing skin, bone, mind, and soul.
“Sometimes.”
“I could wax your face, buy you a wig, makeup so you look all girl, dress you my clothes, and fuck your ass with a strap-on. We don’t have to bring another person into the picture.”
Wrapping her arms around him, she held him, longing to merge.
“I’d love all that, but, darling, I’d still want to watch you with another man.”
Stradling him, she let her weight sink on his lap and rolled her body into him. Undulating as she teased. His body tensed, his donger pressing against her crotch.
“A big manly fellow, claiming he has an enormous pussy stretcher, dark skin, an even darker streak of something in him? A dangerous black man. Would you be keen on seeing that kind of man use me?”
Her crotch rubbed his bone, and she moved faster, her breathing short, ragged, their mutual need flooding them.
“Oh, god, yes, I love that,” he said breathlessly as he climaxed. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said, unsnapping the crotch of the teddy and crawling up his body. “You’re only good with your tongue.” She pushed her hairy snatch to his face, forcing his lips to her labia. “Eat me, baby. Do what you do best.”