Getting it Wrong.
by
Angharad

It had been a wonderful evening, I had pulled a nice guy and we'd been for a meal. Then it had all gone wrong. Feeling all romantic and full of lust and dying to road test my new fanny we went off to his place for a cuddle and I hoped for more.

We cuddled and snogged for ages, swapping spit and whatever people do when they are randy. I'd always thought I was asexual but not since I had a vagina, this girl was going to make up for lost time.

I'd been sure I was really a girl from quite an early age, my parents took some convincing but eventually, they took me to the doctor, a gender clinic and finally the life test and the op. It had taken me two agonising years of being patient, something I'm not terribly good at and then a couple of months to heal, shoving in this horrible plastic bullet to keep things from healing up. The surgeon had told me having sex was a good way to stretch it after a couple of months, but it went over my head as I was so repressed I didn't even like to look at it.

I continued my virtually solitary existence, work to home, where I spent hours on the computer reading TG tales, or Mills and Boon fairy tales, where everyone lives happily ever after. In those the heroines are pretty or beautiful, I couldn't see that I was. Okay, I hadn't had a male puberty taking the blockers just in time to prevent it, so I didn't have a beard or Adam's apple and my body shape was curvy with nice shaped breasts and big nipples. I suppose I looked as much like a genetic girl as it was possible to be while still being XY.

I started flirting in the office, I'm a pen pusher for the local council, and when the boys told me I was good-looking, I began to think differently. I was invited out for drinks with some of the girls, none of who knew my real status, having started there while I was well into transition, so I sort of went from a teen nobody to being told I was good-looking in a few months.

The flirting was done around the photocopier and it was all harmless fun, in fact, half the time I wasn't aware I was doing it. But after a while, I started to get the hang of it and batting my lashes or pretend sneaky glances, and I was well away.

As my confidence grew and I started to take the stories to heart, where the girl or trans girl makes good with a fellah and I wondered if such things could happen to me. I knew I'd never find out without trying it, so when I was invited out, I jumped at it mainly to socialise with the other girls because I was getting a reputation for being stand-offish for obvious reasons earlier on. So I bought a new dress and told my parents not to wait up for me and went out, feeling horny I think they say about men I wonder if the same goes for women, among which I numbered myself.

We went to a restaurant and had a curry, not my favourite meal but it was okay, and there was lots to drink. I wasn't drunk but just less inhibited. I could still waggle my bum and stay upright so I thought I was okay.

We went on to a club and dancing opened up new vistas for enjoyment and I was soon hot and sweaty dancing with the other girls. Then I saw him, archetypal tall, dark and handsome and he asked me to dance and soon we were smooching for all we were worth. We had a couple more drinks and soon we drifted off from my office crowd, me getting less and less inhibited or should that be pissed. He invited me back to his place for a nightcap and perhaps a cuddle.

I made the mistake of saying I was a virgin, so I possibly wasn't good at the flirting stuff, of course, that meant I was even more desirable and the necking intensified. We ended up in bed and being less than sober, I let slip I was a trans woman, well that guaranteed I would get laid but I somehow lost control. My mum and girlfriends had told me that the woman has to be in control otherwise it was just like masturbation for him with your body. He'd been so kind and gentle up to then and suddenly he declared, "You're a bloke," and hit me in the face several times before having the roughest sex I could imagine, effectively I was raped and then he fell asleep.

The assault had sobered me up and after dealing with the shock, I rose and dressed, his juices and my blood running down my leg, I ran from the place and it was about fifteen minutes later that a taxi driver saw me in distress with the blood still running down my legs and as he was the father of two teenage daughters took me to the hospital.

There amidst the drunks and emergency cases, I was processed by the rape team and the police were called. When I explained I was transsexual they examined me a bit differently and the doctor in A&E told me I was all torn up inside and the best he could do until I saw a surgeon was to pack me a dressing to stop the bleeding. It felt like I was having a really heavy period and now the shock was wearing off, it was beginning to hurt big time.

My dad was called and he wasn't too sympathetic telling me I should have been more careful, my mum was more sympathetic and cried with me, her little girl was hurt in a very private place.

The upshot was he was arrested and charged with rape, and the evidence of his sperm and my injuries were given as evidence. The wait for justice went on and on, I had surgery to repair the damage and I became very withdrawn. We were called to trial and then It was cancelled at the last minute. It's apparently a ploy the defence council uses quite often. It worked and it was only the pleas of a rape team woman constable that I agreed to go to court.

It was awful, my life was turned inside out and upside down and my transsexual status came out, fortunately, we had a woman judge and she eventually tired of his defence counsel and told the jury in no uncertain terms that as far as the law was concerned, I was female and should be treated as such. Much of the defence case fell apart and he was sentenced to seven years, he was taken away swearing abuse at me and threatening to get even with me.

I won my case but at some cost, I had PTSD and was seeing a therapist, I had lost my job, too much off sick, and I sat in my bedroom day after day, in the dark and not even having the energy to read those stories on the computer that had happy endings, but that was fiction and the pain I felt every day was real life and now I knew the difference.