CHAPTER 9
Ashton is dead. Long live Ashley

I hadn’t realized that six months had gone by. So one morning, I got out of the shower, just like every day, and to my big surprise I ran into John. He was sitting on my bed. When I entered the room he stood up. I guess he was taken back by what he saw, because he simply stared at me for a long time without saying anything.

“Holy shit...” he whispered. “You look like...” but he never ended the phrase. He was speechless.

“Hi, John. It’s really great to see you again”. After all what he was putting me through, it was still good to see a familiar face and have a conversation. I mean, it had been six months and the only person I saw was a beautiful masseuse who wouldn’t speak to me once a week.

John snapped back to reality. “Listen, Ash. I need to talk to you. Let’s sit for a moment”. John’s voice was strangely warm. Like when we were friends. It was almost... apologetic.

We moved to the kitchen and sat at the table. This day, there were two trays and we started to have breakfast together.

“Look, Ashton...” I was taken by surprise. He was using MY name. None of this “Ashley” crap. “...It’s been six months since we started, and a lot has happened to me since then. I’m really sorry I put you through this hell. I was angry and irrational. I felt humiliated by my wife and his lover and I did things I’m not proud of.” i looked at him with great interest.

“So it finally dawned on me: I may be able to manufacture a woman... but not even I can tell her how to feel. And the last thing I want next to me is someone who is resentful and hateful towards me. She may not take my money. But I don’t want a ‘Lorena Bobbit’ next to me... if you know what I mean.” His words made me stop eating. He went on, “Love is a feeling that has to be given freely. It can’t be forced, or coerced. And in the end I love you. Not romantically. But as a friend. I actually miss you. I miss our conversations... the time we’ve spent together. So, after all this time, I have come to a decision. You may choose your life. Your choice. Not mine.”

John stood up and walked me over to the bedroom. On top of the bed, were two sets of clothes. On one side, were my old white tee shirt, boxers, jeans and tennis shoes. On the other side, was a pair of black panties, sheer, transparent black pantyhose, a black, lace bra, a black angora, turtle neck sweater, a gray, cashmere, pleated mini skirt with a large black belt and a pair of black, patent leather, high heeled boots. And on the corner of the bedroom, stood a large, full-length mirror.

I looked at the clothes, dumbfounded and only held my pink terrycloth robe tighter against my chest. John looked at me and gave me a warm, friendly smile.

“You may choose your life. No pressure. If you want, you can be Ashton again. I will do everything I can to restore your life. I’ll start you on a testosterone hormone program to return you to your old self. And we’ll figure something out so we can bring you back to life. No strings attached. Or you can move on to become Ashley. Whatever. But if you decide to move on, it will be YOUR decision. Not mine. Not anymore.”

I looked at John. I was in shock. I couldn’t speak. John kept his warm, friendly smile. He put his arm over my shoulder and said, “I’m giving you back your freedom. Whatever you choose, I’ll support you.”

He released me and started for the door. “Put on your clothes once you have chosen and meet me in the main house. I have a business associate coming over in about an hour to talk business. You may join us for drinks and... whatever, and after he leaves, we’ll figure out what to do with the choice you made”. He smiled at me and left.

I was standing by the door, looking at the clothes on the bed. But as soon as I heard John walk away, I threw away the robe and raced for my own clothes. I was overcome with joy! The nightmare was over! I could go home!

But the joy was extremely short-lived. As soon as I put on my boxers and jeans I was overcome with fear. I had lost so much weight, that the elastic on my boxers could barely hold on to my waist. My jeans were so loose, that I had to hold them in a grip with one hand to keep them from falling.

I tried to put on my tee shirt with one hand, but i couldn’t. So I let go of my pants... which immediately fell around my ankles. I put on my white tee shirt and I was struck with horror: I had tits! Small, but there they were. You could see them through my tee shirt, especially the enlarged nipples. I had to pull the shirt away to hide them. I pulled up my pants and waddled my way to the mirror. I looked ridiculous. I was trying to pull my shirt away from my chest with one hand and I had to hold my pants up with the other hand. My extremely long hair kept falling over my face because I kept looking down to hide my new tits. i looked stupid and I felt totally awkward and out of place.

I sat back on the bed. I looked down. I could see the lumps on my tee shirt. I hadn’t noticed how much my tits had grown with the hormones, because the sports bras are usually very snug around the breast area. But the tee shirt allowed them to fly loose and... there they were.

I couldn’t think straight. I had been terrified to lose my dick and my balls. But now that I had the chance to go back to that life, here I was even more afraid to return. I looked at my face in the mirror. I was completely androgynous. I was no longer a man. But I wasn’t completely a woman. I was stuck in the middle. No home. No life. Just the memory of my mom... and how I still wanted to make love to her. I wondered how she’d feel if she saw me now. Six months had passed since I made my move on her, and now I was completely terrified if she saw me. I had been evicted from my life. Ashton didn't have anything in his life to look forward to: a mother who would reject him, a father who would definitely cut him off... or even kill him... No place at the university. No job... Nothing.

I closed my eyes and began to cry. I didn’t know what to do.

Slowly I opened my eyes and looked over to the other side of the bed. I saw the skirt, blouse, panties and bra. I stood up and my pants and boxers dropped to my ankles. I walked over to the other side and saw myself in the mirror.

The tee shirt just barely hid my crotch. It looked like a gown. I looked at myself and I immediately saw the femininity I had grown into. I kept looking at the clothes. Then, without thinking, I took off the tee shirt and grabbed the panties. I felt the exquisite, silk through my fingers. I held it up between my hands to look at its shape. The clothes were new. The store tags were still attached. With my teeth, I broke off the tag and slipped into the panties.

My dick had shrunk so small and my balls had shriveled so much, that the panties actually fit nicely. There was a small lump, but it was hardly protruding. I stood up and ran my hands down my butt. The panties felt wonderful.

Then I took the bra. Again, I snapped the tags away and examined it. The soft, silky feel of the cups was incredible. it was a push-up bra. I put it on and looked at my breasts. The nipples were incredibly sensitive and I felt pangs of delight run through my body as my nipples grazed the bra... and they looked great. Small, but no need to pad the bra. They filled it up nicely. It was for A sized breasts, but being a push-up bra, it gave them more shape and volume.

Then I opened the pantyhose and began slipping my legs into them. I had almost forgotten how much I loved the feeling of pantyhose against my legs. And the fact that my legs were smooth, and toned made them look even better.

Then I grabbed the angora sweater. I tore away the store tags and looked at it. It was very feminine and beautiful. But it seemed to me that it was too small for me. I looked at myself, and without realizing it, I had closed my legs by putting my knees together... just like a girl. That made me very horny. My dick wouldn’t get hard anymore, but as I rubbed it, it still retained sensitivity and it felt good. I kept rubbing my crotch imagining how John and any other man who saw me would want to fuck me. That made me even hornier and I kept rubbing harder. I rubbed and I rubbed until I came. I hardly had any cum left inside. In fact, only a few drops came out onto the panties. But the orgasm was fantastic. It was an orgasm that I had never felt before in my life. Not even the pleasure of my first orgasm as a crossdresser compared to what I had experienced. It felt as if it lasted for hours. I felt pleasure shocks throughout my body, not just in my crotch. I had almost forgotten how I craved orgasms. I hadn’t had one in six months. And this one seemed to make up for that lost time.

Then, the most amazing thing happened. I didn’t have any awkward feelings in me after my orgasm. If you remember, when I used to wear my mom’s clothes or John’s ex-wives' clothes, and I came inside of them, I used to feel ridiculous. That is, because I’d think that if a girl would walk in and see me, she’d never want to fuck me and I’d never live down her opinion that I was a sick, gay freak.

But now, I couldn’t fuck a girl, even if she begged me. I had tits. My body was shaven. I had been consumed with femeninity around me for six months and now it felt normal. So instead of feeling awkward and uncomfortable, I simply felt very relaxed. My horny impulse had subsided. I slumped on the bed, breathing heavily. I could see my newly-formed tits heaving under the bra. It was strange, but I didn’t feel scared. I didn’t feel awkward. I simply felt... satisfied.

A few minutes had gone by, but I felt it had been hours. I sat back up and put on the sweater. I was amazed to see how well it fit, considering that it was a size 2. It was nice and snug, without being too tight and it heightened my breasts. With the push-up bra, it almost seemed like I was a size B.

Then I stood up and grabbed the skirt. I examined it for a moment. The pattern, the pleats, the texture. It was a cotton/rayon blend. Smooth and almost silky. I slipped it on and fastened it. Again, to my surprise, it was a perfect fit. It wasn’t snug or tight. It was just right. Then I grabbed the belt and tried it on. It was a bit snug around the waist, but it wasn’t tight or uncomfortable. Actually, it helped slim my waist even further, making me look more feminine.

Finally, I sat back down and grabbed the patent leather, black boots. They were shiny and feminine. I put my right foot and began zipping it up. The silky lining felt wonderful against my panty-hosed leg. Then I put the left one on and stood up. I took a few steps back to look at myself in full-length the mirror but I wanted it to be a surprise, so I kept my eyes looking down.

Slowly, I raised my head and looked at the reflection in the mirror. When I saw it... I lost my breath. Across from me, inside that mirror, stood a beautiful woman. I remembered my first time in my mom’s bedroom when I tried on her gown and this pretty 13-year old girl had stared back at me. Today, that 13 year old girl had blossomed into a gorgeous woman.

There were no traces of my masculinity. The reflection in the mirror could never be mistaken for a cross dresser. The frame was smaller, the hips were larger, the face was smoother... It was a WOMAN. But it was weird, because it was a woman with MY face on it. It was still my face. But it was a female face.

The feeling went beyond incredible. That image had surpassed my wildest cross-dressing dreams. And suddenly, i found myself wanting MORE. I raced to my dresser and began plucking and shaping my eyebrows. Then I applied makeup: base, eye-shadow, eye-liner, mascara, lipstick...

Then I grabbed the blow dryer and began styling my hair as I had learned to do so in the videos I had been watching for six months. Finally, I put my pearl earrings on and stepped back in front of the mirror. I was in such a shock from that vision, that my legs actually buckled and I fell on the bed. I felt incredibly emotional at the vision of the beautiful young woman staring back across the mirror. I wanted to cry. But at the same time, I didn’t want to ruin my makeup.

Slowly, I stood up again. I turned around trying to look at myself from every angle. The skirt looked fabulous. It made my legs look incredible. The entire outfit felt like paradise. It was just my size. It wasn’t uncomfortable at all. Then I looked at my old clothes lying on the floor. I walked over and picked them up. I stared at them for a while. Then I remembered what I looked like in them. I looked awkward. Like a little girl trying on her daddy’s clothes. Slowly, but surely, this new feeling started inside of me. It was as if... now, my old clothes were the cross-dressing clothes. As I saw myself in the mirror, my female self felt and looked more natural than ever. Suddenly I felt repulsed at my male clothes. I felt... angry at myself for being such a coward. As Ashton, I had been a coward in facing the world. I kept hiding behind video games and the internet. And I used any excuse I could to stay home... inside a closet. Not socializing. Not doing much of anything. A feeling of hatred against myself began. but it wasn't at myself. Not anymore. It was at Ashton.

I went to the kitchen and pulled out a large, sharp knife. I raised the pants and began thrashing away with the knife until I had them reduced to shreds. Then the tee shirt and boxers followed.

I took a black, garbage plastic bag and threw the shreds inside. Then I walked back into my room to see myself in the mirror again. As I enjoyed my reflection, I kept thinking... Ashton is dead. I started to hate the name “Ashton”. It didn’t feel right anymore. The more I looked into myself I kept thinking, “Ashley”. Then I realized that my addam’s apple was still there. I was a little self-conscious about it. I pulled the turtleneck a little higher to try to hide it. I raised my skirt and looked at the tiny lump in my crotch. I wanted it cut out. Then I ran my hands through my breasts... It felt so good I wanted them to be bigger.

Six months ago, I was terrified at the notion of getting tits and having my dick and balls cut off. But John was right, back then. Now... I couldn’t wait. I wanted to beg for it. The more I thought about that, the more I realized that Ashton was indeed... dead. Now it was Ashley’s turn to take on the world. As that thought raced through my head, I found out wanting to be MORE of a woman. I wanted to share that womanhood with the rest of the world. Especially, with the man i admired most in the world... the one who had set me on this path. The man who had such an extraordinary vision or me, who knew me better than I knew myself, that I realized I was falling in love with him. I smiled and said in a low voice, “my dear John... get ready for the time of your life”.

I raced out the bungalow into the world. Ready to show the world who I really was. Ready to become the woman I always wanted to be.