One of Those Stories
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

Forced feminization is the stuff of fantasy. People talk about it. Tall stories have been written. The basic premise is simple – a regular guy driven by his strong masculine sexual urges, performs some indiscretion and is punished for it by a female partner – a wife/girlfriend who is revealed to have a vicious streak and curious inclination to feminize the wrongdoing husband/boyfriend. The result, more often than not, I suspect, is that he is permanently “readjusted” and will become a simpering sissy, or similar.

It is nonsense. Or at least it is until it happens to you.

My indiscretion is irrelevant. Let’s assume that it was serious. She certainly thought so, and that is what mattered. And, of course, my speech about things being different for men only served to inflame matters. But for women the logic of it does not even matter – human biology sees men blessed with large volumes of sperm, including sperm cells whose only purpose is to fight other sperm cells with different DNA and kill them. Why does nature provide for that? It assumes infidelity. She was even more furious to hear that. Women despise logic in the face of emotion – I know that now.

She had all the tools that she needed to effect the change in me, including the HRT capsules that I had procured - I suggested to her these were the modern way of fighting off middle age, and not just menopause. She was not happy about that either. No woman likes to be advised of advancing years, least of all by an unfaithful husband.

The truth is that I had known her too long to not understand how short her fuse was, and how nasty her response could be.

It started with her using those drugs. I am not sure how she got the capsules inside me, but once they were in, there would be slow release over many weeks and the effects, while slow, were unstoppable. Before I knew it breasts were sprouting, and I then told her that my beard was disappearing.

I talked about going to the doctor but she reminded me that I hated doing that given that he was a buddy of mine and a fellow philanderer. Did I really want to take this issue to him? Anyway, she said that she had heard about this kind of thing happening to men of my age. She would look things up and find remedies. She said that things could be fixed with a change of diet. All that seemed to do was make me lose all the muscle from my body and acquire a soft girlish shape.

I told her that I was changing emotionally too. I could burst into tears when watching a movie, but that I found this new sensitivity strangely appealing, as if the stresses of life could be washed away with a good cry.

None of these drastic changes seemed to sway her from her course. She seemed intent on taking me all the way. She said that I had breasts that needed support and that perhaps I should consider wearing gender neutral clothing when I was out. She said that I needed to face the fact that my manhood was disappearing, and until it could be restored it was best that I try not to act like a man – a man with tits.

Neutral clothing led to the slow introduction of more feminine clothing. Then she suggested that we should go together to the local salon. She promised nothing too drastic, but that was another lie.

She had my hair, which had been growing steadily over my ordeal, dyed blond and styled in a very feminine way. She had my eyebrows shaped and residual hair removed, and she added a makeup job that made my face look like a cover girl.

I gasped when I saw it. Any man in my position would have been horrified. How could this have happened? How could a normal man allow his body to be so completely feminized and now have a face that would leave men drooling to have her? How could she achieve all of this without such a man fighting back?

Well, the answer is that this never could have happened if I did not want it to happen.

Forced feminization is the stuff of fantasy. I understand now that I have always been transgender, but like many in my position I fought it and lived a male life, right up until it became unbearable. And then what do you do? How do you explain it to your wife? How do you seek her forgiveness for having lied to her about your true nature all these years?

Well, after all those years I knew my wife.

She still thinks that it was her doing, and I am not inclined to let her think otherwise. She went way too far, and she knows it. She still cannot understand how I walked out of that salon and within a month I had a rich boyfriend booking my surgery.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2022