Gay/Lesb - LGBT Transformation (M2F) Stories

[bobby27]

I like to think that were pangs of regret even before she took the steps that she did, but that might just be me trying to think better of the man I was. It is more likely that I slept so soundly because I did not care. Why should the tears of a woman matter to a man like I was? Men like that think that "the waterworks" can be turned on by women as they like, as a means of controlling me. That was before hormones showed me the truth.
I woke up looking the way I did in the image, although that would be a few minutes after that, when my eyes had cleared and I understood that under the cover I was fully restrained. A hairdresser's chair cannot be moved, and to be bound at the wrists and elbows and at the knees and ankles is to completely immobilize a person.
She said that I should be grateful that the painful stuff had been done whiles I was unconscious, or somehow semi-conscious because there was a vague recollection. The facial hair and male skin being peeled away, the ears being pierced, the body being waxed, and the ring fastened to my penis to make any erection agony and any urination downward.
I was only recovering after my hair had been bleached and as the curlers were put in and the net cover tied over them, leaving me to look straight ahead into the mirror and the woman whose head was lolling and whose eyes where struggling to focus, just as I was.
I recall that I said something but stopped immediately when I understood that my voice was not right. It sounded as if somebody was holding me by the throat and forcing every word to become a high-pitched scream
The woman in front of me, behind a sheet of glass, seemed to be trying to speak too. It tokk some time before I came to the stunning realization that this was a mirror and that was me. The face had my jaw, but the cheekbones and the lips were not me - some small procedure as it turned out, and some early attempt at makeup before I woke.
It was me, with the maleness stripped away to a thread as thin as what was left of my eyebrows. But it was me.
I saw she was there beside me, her red hair held up in a claw clip. The bruises were still on her face. Based on what I had done before perhaps a couple of days. It was before she could use heavy foundation to mask the worst of it, and receive customers into this place, her home salon.
I had agreed to it because jealousy was driving me crazy. I needed to know where she was. A woman as beautiful as her is bait to men other than me, and I could not bear that. I thought that marriage would cure these wild thoughts, but if anything that made it worse. She had sworn that she was mine and nobody else's and yet I saw the way she looked at people and could not believe her denials.
I have a temper, or I had one then. When I was in a state, I was blind to the truth.
I am now left wondering if I was blind to the truth all along, in every mood I had except those secret moments that were supposed to remain forever hidden from the world. Men are easily fooled, even by themselves.
Because when those curlers came out, not long after that images was taken; when the curls were brushed out and shone in the lights above the mirror, when the makeup went on and the lips puckered suggestively - then I suppose I understood how thin my male veneer was.
Whether she saw this in me or not I have never really understood. Did she really think that I would live on tied to that chair, only to get free at some moment, and then rain down fury upon her which this time would be sure to kill her? Or did she understand that when she sliced through those restraints I would stay in the chair of my own accord, admiring the woman I had become and wondering what future might lie ahead of her.
People will tell you that the hard thing is the doubt that you could ever be anything other than the person you were born to be. If that doubt can be removed at a stroke and you have all that is needed - the hair, the skin and the voice - then the rest is just rags. You can step out and be somebody else - somebody good.
And that is what I did.
We are no longer married. I have my own man. But I still attend her home salon to get my hair done. People often say it of their hairdresser but in my case it is true - She knows me, you see, in every sense.

[bobby27]

I am not sure where these feelings come from. I still consider myself 100% heterosexual because Aneey is 100% female … or very close to 100%.
She was still working days as Aritro when I met her, but I had no reason to see her in that role. After work she became Aneey, so I can honestly say that I never met Aritro. I have seen some images of him, but I prefer not to think about him at all.
Aneey was clearly not complete when I met her, and she was still "a little rough around the edges" as you might say. Somehow that just added to her charm. It is like "My Fair Lady" or "Pretty Woman" - you find an uncut diamond and you have a hand in polishing it into a priceless sparkling gem. There is something special in that.
I suppose that the best thing about her was that she wanted to make herself into the image of the woman I wanted. In my experience all women, including my late wife, wanted instead to make the man. I have heard it said that marriage is all about learning about the man your wife would have preferred to marry. I do not mean to speak ill of her, but it was like that. To Aneey I am what she wants and she just wants to be what I want.
And then there is that feeling of power when you are deep inside the body of somebody who may once have been your physical match. The loss of maleness and the muscles rendered flabby by hormones make her so weak that you feel immensely strong, especially when she cries out as your seed fills her.
Is that it? Is that why I went looking for a woman on a transdating site? Maybe it was just curiosity? Maybe it was just the fact that I knew that with a transwoman I would have none of her children to deal with, or any children of ours together. I was happy with my two children who were of my blood.
Perhaps I thought that if I found the right "woman" she could just move in and becomes a nanny and fuck-buddy. I have heard it said that transwomen are good in both roles.
But Aneey was a revelation. Even in her 'rough state' she was so completely feminine and just desperate to be rid of the last traces of manhood in her body and her presentation, that she just drew me in. If I was not in love with her on that first date, then I soon was once she had quit her job and any life as Adam and moved in with me.
I paid for all of the surgeries and I was happy to do it. I have polished her to the cut and color of a perfect jewel. I love her to bits and so too do my son and daughter.
She is perfect. She is my sexy trans wife.

[bobby27]

I really didn't understand what he was talking about when he told me: "I don't want to be just your friend, I want to be your dominant".

I thought that he was the coolest guy in college. All I wanted was to be with him. It was not a gay thing … or maybe it was.

I was too young for sex at the time, but he said that was not what it was about. He said that he needed to dominate, but with domination there must be respect. Love was not mentioned. Not then anyway.

I was never a particularly strong person - not strong like him anyway. We could be friends, and I would meet the terms he set for that friendship. Why is that wrong?

He never said anything about feminizing me. I might ask myself that if he had right at the start, would I have said no? Probably not. He reached out to me and offered to make me his closest friend. How could I refuse him?

Having not said no, that was his first requirement of me: That I should never say no to him, always say yes. He said that it was about trust. He would never put me in a position that saying yes would not be in my best interests. I believed him - I still do.

He told me not to cut my hair, but to keep the rest of my body clean of all hair. I did not ask why, because he told me never to question him, and I said yes to that.

He gave me special pills. They were not pills that you swallow, but pills that you put in your butthole. Every day he would moisten them in his mouth and then pull down my pants and shove one in my butthole between my smooth cheeks. I never question what it was about.

Of course, I am not stupid and the effects of this treatment because fairly evident over a few weeks. But he was my dominant, so I did what he told me to do.

He said that I should look down at the floor unless instructed. Sometimes he would not tell me to look up at him, but he would come over and take my soft little chin in one hand and lift it up and look into my eyes. He would say: "Do you trust me? Do you respect me?"

I would say: "Yes. Yes I do". But it was much, much more than that.

It sounds sexual, but it was not back then. Only the insertion of the pill, and his finger coming into contact with that most tender orifice … that might be sexual. Otherwise this was a relationship on a much higher level. It was a relationship where one person places themself completely under the control of another, and that dominant takes full responsibility for the life of his submissive. What human bond could be more noble and meaningful?

My parents did not understand. They liked him when he first came to my house, but then when they understood what I was prepared to give up to be his, they became hostile. I said that I was not strong like him, but I was strong enough to tell them that I could make my own decisions. And I only had one decision to make, and that was to leave all other decisions to him.

He told me what to wear, and even bought me the clothes that I should wear.

My mother asked: "Why would you choose to wear women's clothes!"

The answer was that it was not my choice, but to say that would only make matters worse.

My father baled him up when he came round to my place, but my father was so much smaller than my dominant who just listened quietly before coolly saying: "You will never understand what it is that we have going, and I am not going to bother to explain it to you." I felt so proud of him. I stared at him smiling, but quickly dropped my gaze when he turned to me.

He took me by the hand, and led me out of the house, and I never went back.

I left everything behind to move up to the next stage.

It is more sexual now. But when I say yes, I mean yes. And I never say no. He is my dominant, you see.

[bobby27]

I have to say it: Ever since my vagina healed, I just can't get enough sex. What am I saying? Even before that I needed to have my guy inside me, right up to the hilt, filling me with his hot cum.
Maybe T-Girls just try harder - what do you think? I mean when I look at some cis-women I think that they really don't care what their man thinks. You need to know what he wants and give it to him.

If he likes your tits big, then get the biggest tits that you can. Okay they weigh you down and make it had to run or jump, and sometimes to find dresses that fit, but if that is the price that you pay for keeping you man happy, pay it, and pay it with a smile.

Sure long blond hair is high maintenance. I wash it almost everyday and get the color redone every couple of weeks, but long hair turns him on. Sometimes he likes to wind it around his cock and spurt all over it. I just rub it is and smile, and say "Thanks Babe. Sperm is good for my hair. It will help me to grow it even longer … if that's what you want.

Never be seen looking less than gorgeous, that is what I say. He needs to see you at your best, so make sure that he does. And when you go out with him, make sure that every other man is jealous of him. Half of that is the way you look, and the other half is the way you look at him. Show everybody how much you adore him. You want the other guys to think - "Why does my girlfriend not look at me the way she looks at her guy?" And maybe the girls are thinking: 'He must be something special from the looks his is getting from his girlfriend."

But most of all, the perfect woman is hungry. I guess that comes from being born to hunt for sex, and it seems that doesn't go away with your balls."

"Babe, I am so hot for you right now. Let's just find a place - a back seat or a broom closet - and fuck … fuck like there is no tomorrow. Pleeeease Babe." Word like that will grab him by the balls every time.

But if he says - "Can we do it later?" you must not pout. Nothing turns a guy off a girl like complaining. Just sit him down and get him a beer of something to eat and maybe sit on his lap and just cuddle up, just to let him know that he in in charge of your life and that you can wait.

The perfect woman is patient. Hungry but patient.

But if he doesn't get a hard on soon enough just remember that there are plenty of guys out there in search of the perfect woman, and that is you - right?