News for Dad
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

I wanted to be closer to my father, and they say that daughters are always closer. I tried to be the son he wanted me to be, but I failed miserably. I decided that what I would do was to spend the money I re-ceived on the death of my rich uncle, to become his little girl. Well, not exactly, because I am not that little. It is just that I needed to be the very opposite of the son that I was – the young man he described as “a total disappointment”.

I told him that I had taken aboard all his criticisms and that I was going away to make serious changes in my life.

“Perhaps you will feel more attached to the new me when I get back?” I said, forcing a smile. I did not get one back. Fathers can be like that with their sons. Some will never rise to the expectations of their fa-thers, but daughters are just expected to be attractive and cheerful. That was more me.

But becoming attractive and feminine was a mission in itself. My good fortune was that I took to hor-mones like a duck to water. Once I was rid of my testicles and on a fulsome dosage I quickly started to change shape. My late mother was a buxom woman – some said that my father married her only for her tits. I had the genes that allowed me to grow broad where a broad should be broad, and soft as a warm sofa. The hormones helped with my hair too, which grew to my waist in the two years I was away.

Two years was what I needed to develop a totally feminine persona. It all started and ended with pink. To me that is a color that I need to wake up to – and roses and ruffles as well. I wanted everything to be beautiful, but most of all, me.

I thought that I looked a lot like my mother, although maybe with my father’s jawline. I think that it works. The thing is to have curves and good skin. I think I have a cleavage that calls out to be dived into headfirst.

I worked on my voice too. I could have made permanent changes there, and I still may do, but what I wanted was to be able to telephone my father and invite him to visit me in my new apartment. I wanted the last words in my male voice to be – “I’m in the bedroom at the end of the hall, Dad. Come on through!”

Can you imagine his reaction when he did. I had posed for this encounter dozens of times, so I was ready for anything. There I was, his disappointment now changed forever – pretty, buxom and female all the way down. And so close to the image of the woman that he had married, now restored to youth. I ar-ranged my hair just so, and I prepared my smile.

As he entered, I raised my voice to what is now the timbre I speak in every day to say – “Hello Daddy!”

Can you guess his reaction?

The End
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© Maryanne Peters 2024