Reassignment

By Joannebarbarella

The story takes place in an alternate timeline

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The most difficult part. Telling my son and daughter-in-law what I was about to do. They said they understood but I could tell they were not really comfortable with it. I left it with them to tell my grand-children.

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The lady on the other side of the desk looked at me with what I thought was a slightly condescending air.

“It’s my job to ensure that you understand exactly what services we provide here at SR & R . Actually our name says it all; Sexual Reassignment and Regeneration but we like to spell it out so that you are under no misapprehension as to what you will get. There are no refunds.

“Our equipment will automatically change your physical sex. In your case, if you decide to undergo the procedure, you will become female. There is no choice in this. It is an integral part of the process. The second part of the procedure is rejuvenation. I see from your application that you are 74 years old. Our equipment will regress your physical age to a point five years after your original puberty. The equipment automatically evaluates what was your age at pubescence. This varies in accordance with your genetic make-up, but is usually between 15 and 19. We have no control over this. It could be slightly earlier or later, but we have never had a case where the patient’s destination age has been more than a year either side of those figures.

“You will have to have a psychological and physical examination prior to being allowed to undergo our procedure. This is not intended to prevent you from participating but to prepare you for possible unexpected consequences. You may think that you know your own mind but sometimes the subconscious has ideas of its own and we try to advise you of things that you may not have considered because they have been buried within you for many years and suppressed for social or other reasons.

“This is a radical process, both physically and mentally, so we do try to ensure you are ready to cope with the hormonal and psychological changes that you will experience. For instance, at your age, you may think that you are well in charge of your sexual preferences but you will awaken in a body of the opposite sex some fifty-odd years younger and your psycho-sexual urges will be governed by the requirements of your younger and differently gendered self. To a large degree we can predict how you will react after evaluating you psychologically.

“It may well be that you will be more submissive, or conversely, more dominant than you expect, and we will be able to forewarn you of such changes. Thus we will be able to prepare you to cope with the new you. So we require you to now take a minimum of twenty-four hours for consideration before confirming your decision to continue with SR &R in undergoing our treatment. You will then sign the necessary release papers and complete the financial arrangements before commencing the procedures that I have just outlined. I should also advise you to ensure that your younger self has access to adequate financial resources after you have regenerated. It’s great to be young again but you won’t want to be broke.

“If you have questions, save them until you return. All this can be somewhat overwhelming and it’s better to give yourself time to think.”

She now smiled warmly, that hint of condescension gone.

“Thank you,” I said. “I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow. Same time?”

“That’ll be fine. If you want to postpone or cancel, let me know.”

I got up and exited her office. In truth I did not need much more information. I had researched SR & R extensively. They had now been operating long enough that any bugs had been worked out and the costs had come down from astronomical to merely expensive. Expensive I could afford. Her advice about ensuring that I had adequate access to my money after the process was very sensible.

I already knew that the treatment was irreversible and could not even be repeated until ten years after undergoing the first procedure. I didn’t care. If I didn’t do it now I was unlikely to be around to do it later. Ten years or more as a young woman sounded wonderful to me.

More than wonderful. For as long as I could remember I had wished that I had been born a girl. The invention of their machine gave me the means to finally correct nature’s mistake or her joke on me. I had “cross-dressed” (how I hated that term) enough that, even at my age, I knew I wasn’t an ugly woman and my long-distant adventures as a teenager trying to be a girl still reminded me that I would be attractive….and this time around I would be the genuine item, not a wannabee.

Time spent in reconnaissance and research is seldom wasted. I had read everything I could find about their equipment and its capabilities. I did not pretend to understand all the science behind its operation but knew that nanomachines would repair and regenerate the telomeres in my body right back to early adulthood and that it would reverse the combination of my chromosomes, which, in my case would make me genetically female.

SR & R had been operating commercially for about ten years now. I had been very tempted to use their services earlier but the combination of cost and social pressure plus the changes in our society resulting from the process becoming widespread had delayed me until now.

As usual, politicians, lawyers and bureaucrats had complicated things, but they could not resist the pressure from the very wealthy (and many of themselves) who were the earliest clients. Still, you could not have mega-rich “youngsters” suddenly of the opposite sex running around without some form of identification and registration, so everyone who was rejuvenated was required to have a big “R” embossed on all their documentation and to have their original date of birth indelibly computer-chipped under the skin of their fore-arm. Thus you knew that the apparently twenty-something boy or girl that you were dealing with was actually probably eighty years old with the experience, wealth and power acquired over a lifetime. Needless to say there was considerable resentment and discrimination towards those who had undergone the process.

I didn’t care about any of that. My goal was to be female and the rejuvenation was the bonus which would enable me to enjoy my transformation to its fullest. I only intended to use my money on myself, not to develop some kind of empire. I knew that I would have to work hard to eliminate the male traits and habits that I had had to develop, however reluctantly, over a lifetime pretending to be a man. I wanted to become a girly-girl, to be pretty and dress nicely, to giggle and flirt and dance and sing, but mostly just to be happy and comfortable, knowing that my outer and inner selves were finally in harmony. That would also need work, since I hadn’t had the benefits of absorbing those attributes while growing up.

I day-dreamed about getting married eventually and bearing my own children. The “trying” part would be fun. Yes, I wanted sex, or thought I did, and I could hardly wait to find out.

So I went home and checked that I had made the proper arrangements. My apartment would still be mine of course and I had laid by a decent amount of cash for early expenses. I had “neutralized” my credit cards, bank accounts and other investments so that they no longer carried my male identity but omitted any “MR” and my old male forename replaced by a “J”. Tomorrow I would take my identity documentation with me, driver’s licence, passport, ID Card, et al, which SR & R guaranteed to take care of as part of their service, incorporating the obvious photographic changes and the necessary “R” and birth date inscriptions to the revised documents. I relaxed somewhat, satisfied that I hadn’t forgotten anything important, but that didn’t mean I had a good night’s sleep. It’s impossible to relax when your life is about to change so radically.

The next morning I dressed in a plain track suit and thongs (flip-flops to non-Aussies), since I had no idea what my sizes would be when the procedure was complete. I turned off all my appliances except the refrigerator, which I emptied of perishables, since the process took two weeks. I packed a purse with all my necessary documents, my car and house keys and left home, hopefully for the last time as a man.

It was an uneventful drive to the Regeneration Clinic. I’m sure that for most of their clients the rejuvenation was their main goal. They wanted to be young again, and I couldn’t argue with that. The gender change was more of a nuisance to them than anything else, but it was something that they could correct in ten years. In my case it was the other way round but I didn’t have to advertise that.

My intention was to live another lifetime as a woman and then, barring accidents, undergo the treatment again, but, having lived that life, I would be a fully acclimated female and would spend the obligatory ten years living the life of a trans-girl before undertaking the process again and reverting to my true gender. I would be able to mostly be a female for the rest of my unnatural life.

The same lady greeted me on my arrival at the clinic and asked me the obligatory questions about my willingness to accept the regeneration process. Naturally I agreed and we then signed the paperwork and I handed over the payment. As was to be expected the legal releases were boilerplate escape clauses in the event that anything went wrong.

With all the paperwork completed I was ushered into a doctor’s surgery type of room where a nurse asked me to strip and lie on an examination table. A technician came and gave me an injection and I drifted off into a quasi-trance. I remember being asked questions but could not quite remember what those questions were or what I replied. I think I was given a physical examination at the same time but my recollections are misty.

When I regained full consciousness I was dressed in one of those hospital gowns and two men who I presumed to be doctors were in attendance upon me.

“May I call you John?” one of them asked, and I nodded my agreement.

“Well, physically, there is no reason why you should not receive our treatment. You have a heart condition that we know about but no other major medical problems. We will leave your pacemaker in place as it will do no harm and it can be removed or renewed when the battery runs out in about ten years. Anything else will be taken care of by the rejuvenation process and you will be a healthy young woman when we have finished with you.”

“Thank you,” I said, not feeling the need to comment further.

The other man then chimed in.

“Your psychological evaluation shows that you have a definite predilection to become a female. In fact, I am quite surprised that you have successfully functioned as a male for so many years. You should have no problem transitioning to a female personality. You will probably find that you will tend toward the submissive, but not excessively so.”

“I think I can live with that,” I responded, thinking that I knew that already.

“OK, if you’re happy with our assessments we see no reason to delay commencement of your treatment.“

“I’m ready when you are.”

They nodded to a couple of attendants that I had not seen who wheeled my gurney into another room, which was occupied by a space-age looking unit like a glass-covered coffin with lots of pipes and wires attached to it. You’ve probably seen similar in sci-fi movies. They transferred me into the unit’s bed and wired me up with lots of tubes, and then I was given another injection and it was good-night nurse.

When I awoke I was being assisted into another gurney and transported into a bed in a hospital room. One of the doctors from before came into the room and smiled at me.

“Everything went fine. May I call you Joanne now?” he asked.

My heart leapt. Joanne! I was finally Joanne!

“Of course,” I replied, savouring the newly-minted femininity of my voice.

“Well, Miss, we’ll keep you for a couple of hours and give you a shower but then you’ll be free to go. I think you’ll be pleased with the results. Just as confirmation, your transformation took exactly two weeks and the equipment estimates your regenerated physical age at eighteen years old. Congratulations.”

He turned to go. This was obviously routine for him. I lay there thinking “I’m Joanne! I’m Joanne! I’m Joanne!” A lifetime of wishing and hopeless hoping and dreaming become reality.

Then it suddenly hit me just how well I was feeling. How can I describe what it feels like to be eighteen again when the last thing you remember was being seventy-four? You do not realize how many little aches and pains and stiffnesses you put up with without noticing. I got out of bed and everything worked….I mean really worked! Bend! Stretch! Twist! No pain! No clicking of bones! Up on my toes! Pirouette! Touch toes! Jump for joy! Boobs bounce with perfect elasticity!

The marvelous feeling of being young and healthy almost made me forget that I was now a young woman. For a little while it didn’t matter. Now I could appreciate the meaning of those extra fifty-plus years of life. I knew at that moment that it had to be only a matter of time before this procedure would be available to everybody. The savings in the costs of health care would be phenomenal, and if the benefits were withheld from the general population there would be a revolution.

Then the other half of my transformation, the part most important to me, hit me. I was a girl! I looked around for a mirror and rushed into the bathroom adjoining the room, where, sure enough, there was a full-length mirror. Well! All the clichés! I stood naked and admired myself, slack-jawed.

I wasn’t Marilyn Monroe or Angelina Jolie but I wasn't plug-ugly either. My hair was not long after only two weeks in the super-coffin but it had grown and at least I now had hair over my whole scalp. Even though it was still only a few inches long the coverage ensured that it was much more feminine than before and it had regained a blonde tint that I had lost many years ago. My facial features were still me as I remembered them from when I was young but again more feminine. The differences were subtle, the nose less prominent, the eyes wider, the lips fuller, but a girl looked back at me. Just a little bit of make-up would do wonders and she wouldn’t have any problems getting a date.

Then the body. My skin was soft and smooth and virtually hairless. My breasts weren’t enormous, but I estimated B-cup. I couldn’t resist cupping them and fondling my prominent nipples with areolae over an inch across. A frisson of pleasure ran through me immediately…..later, girl! My waist was appropriately tapered, maybe 25 or 26 inches (hey, I’m 74, going on 18, and still on Imperial measure!) and my hips and bum are probably about 36. Not bad at all. I loved my legs, long and shapely and the varicose veins all gone! I imagined them in sexy stockings. I would knock them dead! Overall, I thought I had lost about four inches in height, so I was now around 5ft 6 inches.That would be a great basis for wearing 4 inch heels and , believe me, I was going to be wearing lots of high heels.

Then, of course, my piece de resistance! My pussy! It was gorgeous! The epitome of womanhood! That perfect little mound and slit between my legs with just a small bush of hair surrounding it. I wanted to stroke it and insert my fingers into it but I knew that I would lose all control if I did and this hospital room was not the place to do it. When I got home I would surrender to my desires….not here, or so I thought.

The change from male to female and vice versa was an integral part of the process and I wondered how that would go down with most people when they were offered rejuvenation and told this was part of the package. For folk like me it was a godsend but would male-chauvinist pigs accept it (Well, Donna Trump did)? Or dyed-in-the-wool feminists like Germaine Greer (oh right, she already had. No more sexist diatribes from him)? Or those of fundamentalist religious conviction? And what about Muslim males in general? Perhaps it would change the perception and treatment of women for the better, but then, knowing the perversity of human nature it might lead to new forms of sadistic and pornographic entertainment.

One thing was for sure. It could not lead to new exploitation of children because it only worked on those who were already full-grown and did not rejuvenate anybody past early adulthood.

I do not know how long I gazed at myself in that mirror but it could not have been that long because I was interrupted by a discreet cough from a nurse who told me she had come to assist me in having a shower and to get me dressed. They were probably very used to patients losing themselves in admiration of their new physical attributes and her assistance to me with the shower was one of the most erotic experiences that I had ever had. She had no compunction in handling those parts of my anatomy that I had been studiously avoiding. I’m sure she enjoyed it almost as much as I did.

When I was clean and dry and calmed down she gave me a pair of panties and brought the tracksuit and slip-ons that I had come in with and took me to a “Discharge Room” where my other belongings, like my documents, keys, etc, were returned to me and I was cleared to go home. Before she left me she gave me her estimate of the clothing sizes that I would need to purchase. Her experience turned out to be pretty much spot on and most of my outerwear would be size 12. She told me to go to the Young Misses sections for the best selections and fits and it was good advice.

In a way going home was also kind of an adventure. I had to adjust all the driving positions in my car. I felt small. Then when you are a different person walking into a familiar environment there is this sense of strangeness. I was fifty-six years younger, perhaps four inches shorter and thirty-some kilos lighter, apart from being a girl. It makes a difference to your perception of things. It didn’t detract from my feelings of elation. I stood in the middle of my lounge room and twirled. Ecstasy! Young, fit and female! What more could a girl want?

As it turned out, a girl could want her bed. Even after being confined to a science-fiction coffin for two weeks my body had expended a lot of energy and needed rest. I slid into my bed naked. Tomorrow I would go shopping for girlie things like nighties, plus anything else that caught my fancy, but on this particular night I was happy to sleep between my own familiar sheets and, with all my tensions taken care of, I had the best night’s sleep ever.

I won’t say I leapt out of bed the next morning. I don’t think that’s how girls wake up, but it was wonderful to rise without all the aches and pains that I had become used to. I walked around the apartment stark naked, feeling the breeze on my breasts and between my legs. Even doing my business was a pleasure. I showered and caressed myself in all the spots that aroused me. God, I can get used to this. It's true what they say about women having it better. I imagined a big cock inside me, a lighthouse of a cock. I also imagined it between my lips. Just thinking about it nearly made me cum. I’m going to have to be careful about letting myself go.

Before I had undergone my transformation I had devoted much thought to pacing myself in my introduction to new pleasures. I didn’t want to use up all my opportunities at once. While a twenty-four hour orgy would be nice, it would probably be more enjoyable if it was spread over a longer period. Unfortunately I hadn’t taken into account how my teenage hormones would be raging. I was as horny as hell. On the other hand I still had a 74-year-old mind restraining me and counselling caution and, as yet, I had no partner to share with.

Similarly, I had promised myself that I would not buy up the contents of a whole emporium in one go, but here I was with NO clothes. My god! Where was I going to start? Undies and nighties, obviously; a few dresses, some skirts and tops, skinny jeans and SHOES, lots of shoes. Look out, stores! Here I come!

The only usable female accessories that I had were a selection of cosmetics left over from my pre-rejuvenation days and some sanitary pads which I had laid in just in case my first period took me by surprise. I had anticipated ONE other need before my transition and that was the need to demonstrate to my own satisfaction that I really was female so I had purchased a vibrator. I wanted to insert it into myself, turn it on and experience my first orgasm as a girl! I carefully laid a towel on the bed and did just that. In seconds my nipples expanded into huge rocks and I became so wet I couldn't believe it as the dildo vibrated inside me. My skin turned into one massive goosebump and my consciousness slipped away into a mindless ecstasy as I became a single sexual organ and came like a fountain, shuddering all over. I was the biggest vagina in the universe. I could have laid there all day but with what little willpower I had left I disengaged the wonderful tool and lay there gasping as my mind returned to some kind of sanity. I thought I had definitely proved that I was fully female. I needed a shower before I did anything else!

After that all I needed to get myself fixed up for a shopping trip was a little lipstick and some eyeliner and mascara, nothing excessive, just that necessary touch that every girl needs when she leaves home. I felt so good that I didn’t think I’d need the pads but threw a couple into my purse anyway.

I loaded up on cash and cards and headed for the shops. I was going to need groceries as well as clothes. My first stop was our closest large mall and my first purchase was a pair of cheapish ballet flats so that I could discard those over-large flip-flops. I restrained myself from devastating the shoe stores until later. Bras and panties came next. I couldn’t feel like a proper girl until I had some support where it counted.

I bought two pairs of skinny jeans and pretty pink tee-type tops to go with and could not resist returning straight back home to change into my new gear; now I was every-girl on an ordinary day’s shopping. I can’t begin to tell you how good that felt. It was time now to buy mundane things like food so I was soon back at the supermarket. Some things don’t change. Male or female it was still a pain buying for one person. The stores package for families and ignore the single-person household. Everything is large, extra-large or super-sized. To avoid wasting half what you buy you have to search for the smallest sizes or go to the specialty shops where you can buy a small piece of meat or just one or two pieces of fruit.

However, it was something you got used to and I wouldn’t mind regular shopping trips until my wardrobe was properly stocked up. That could take some time….and when it was I could start all over again.

The next weeks were filled with excursions to the fashion stores, plus routine grocery shopping. It was just as well that I had provided ample cash and credit for all my new purchases. My dressing table drawers filled with panties, bras and nighties. My wardrobe was overflowing with dresses, skirts, tops and pants and I had to buy extra storage racks for all my shoes. They were nearly all high heels, naturally, and I couldn't help myself going for Manolo Blahniks and Jimmy Choos, as overpriced as they were. My trips to the malls were dominated by those heels and tight skirts. I'm sure I was wildly over-dressed but I didn't care.

Then there were visits to hairdressers and salons for hairdos, nail jobs, ear-piercing, and all those other little things that help you to become the girl that you were always meant to be. For days I couldn’t stop myself gloating over my beautiful magenta fingernails. And ear-rings!! the danglier the better. The feel of them caressing my neck made me feel so sexy.

My first period came about three weeks after I left the clinic. I awoke one morning feeling nauseous and grumpy and headed for the bathroom straight away. I knew full-well what was causing me to feel like that. After an initial chuck I didn’t feel so bad and put in a maxi-pad to deal with the flow, which turned out to be not so heavy. In a way I was quite pleased. Firstly, it was a kind of confirmation that I truly was now fully female, and, secondly, it wasn’t that bad. I was not incapacitated like some girls. Sure, I didn’t feel great for the next three days but I could function. I accepted that it was a part of the price that I paid for my rejuvenation and years of extra life and it was something I could live with. Being female was my reward for some discomfort.

Finally there came the day when I thought that I had to front up to my family. I had butterflies in my stomach. It was one thing to have told them what I intended to do and yet another to actually show them my new self. I rang my son to organize a meeting and naturally he didn’t recognize my voice. I had to have him ring me back to convince him that I was me. Nobody else would have answered my house-phone.

With that done and a time organized I agonized over what I would wear for my presentation to them. Would I go all girly and dolled up or would I minimize the differences? I decided on minimal, because the difference would already be stunning. Their seventy-four year-old father and grandfather would now show up as an eighteen-year-old girl. That was probably enough of a smack in the eye. There was plenty of time later to parade myself as a full-blown female fashion plate.

After all, I was hoping for acceptance, not rejection, so I selected a pair of jeans and a peasant top, the latter in a duck-egg blue. Naturally I wore a bra and added a plain white camisole. My shoes were black pumps with a two-inch heel and little bows at the toe. My hair was now about three inches long in a pixie cut and of course I wore some lippy and mascara. No girl would go out without at least a little make-up. I had gold studs in my ears but no other bling. At eighteen I felt I didn’t need any more embellishment.

Besides, I hadn’t been quite honest with the main reason for my transformation. I had presented it to them on the basis of extending my life by an extra fifty-odd years, not as a means of finally becoming a woman, so I didn’t want them to think I was having too much fun being a girl.

My relationship with my family had always been pretty good. I got on well with my son Anthony and my grand-daughter and grandson were treasures. My daughter-in-law Kylie was somewhat ambivalent towards me. I felt that she didn’t like me all that much and I had mixed feelings about her. Sometimes she was lovely, like when my wife died, and at other times she was a real cow, so I had no idea how she would react to this situation when she was confronted with the real thing.

So I was as nervous as a cat when I went up to their house and rang the bell. It was my son who answered the door and he stood there kind of gaping at me. I don’t suppose I could blame him.

“Hi!” I said. “You can hardly call me Dad anymore, so let’s make it Joanne from now on.”

“Shit! Is that really you? The treatment certainly works as advertised, doesn’t it? Although I can sort of see you in there.”

“That it does. Can I come in Anthony, or are we going to stand here all day?”

He stood aside and I walked in the door, giving him a kiss on the cheek as I passed. He accepted it without flinching.

“You look a bit like Elizabeth (my grand-daughter)”

“Well, that’s not a surprise, really. I always thought she was pretty and it does run in the family. Is she here?”

“Yeah, we’re all here.”

I went into the lounge room and there were my daughter-in-law Kylie, my grand-daughter Elizabeth and my grand-son Max.

They all stared….no surprise. I went to Kylie first and kissed her on the cheek. I had expected, if there were to be any rejection that it would come from her, but she also accepted my kiss readily.

Elizabeth practically sprang at me.

“Wow! You’re lovely. Is that right, that you’re only two years older than me?” She hugged me tight.

I had to laugh.

“It depends how you look at it, Dixie (my pet name for her). I’m either that or still seventy-four or both, but we may possibly be able to have some fun together. I do feel like eighteen, though.”

Max wasn’t quite sure what to do. He was a typical eighteen-year-old teenage boy and a nerd to boot. He had all the usual insecurities and he was blushing like crazy. I just gave him a kiss and a small hug and let him come to terms with the new me.

“Would you like a drink?” from Kylie.

“A glass of wine would be nice,” I said.

“Some things never change,” but she smiled.

“I do have to be careful now. I don’t have the capacity that I used to have. One glass is my limit when I’m driving.”

So we sat and we had a “family chat”. Obviously they were curious about the procedure and how I felt now. How did I feel about being female? I sort of deflected this by telling them how wonderful it felt to be young and healthy and being a girl was secondary in a way.

My son may have bought it but I could tell that Kylie didn’t. She didn’t say anything but I was somewhat used to picking up the vibes from other women, probably because I had always been one of them inside.

When we had picked the bones out of all the supposed circumstances of my transition and rejuvenation, and it had all gone without apparent antagonism, I got up to take my farewells. Kylie was the one who escorted me to the door and then to my car, something she had rarely done before.

When we were out of earshot of the others she smiled at me, a genuine and surprising smile.

“You’re an awful old fraud, Joanne. Yes, I understand the age thing, but you really wanted to be a girl, didn’t you? That was the real reason behind all this, wasn’t it? I should have seen it before, but you were pretty good at hiding it although I occasionally had my doubts about you. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow and we’ll go shopping and have some girl talk away from the boys, but my quid pro quo is that you’re going to have to look after Dixie and keep her out of trouble now that she’s growing up. Deal?”

With one condition. You have to help me become a proper girl. Deal?

“Deal.”

We kissed. I thought we could be friends from now on.

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Ten years have passed since that day. Kylie and I are great friends. She did give me all the necessary pointers to eliminate the male traits and habits that I had picked up over the years. They were mainly fashion tips and advice on my vocabulary and body language. As each year goes by I find it harder and harder to remember what it was like to be a man. That suits me fine.

I chaperoned Elizabeth through her teenage and early-twenties years, keeping her out of trouble with predatory young men. That wasn’t hard and I like to think that she took advice from me more easily than she would have taken it from her mother.

My son and grandson became a little more distant. I think the male psyche apparently finds it more uncomfortable for me to be female. They are by no means hostile but have never warmed to me as they once did. I guess you can’t have everything.

The rest of the family, my wife’s sister’s kids and Kylie’s sisters, treat me like one of the girls. That’s just great. I’m talking to Kylie’s mum right now about following in my footsteps. She’s a bit hesitant about becoming a man, but that’s part of the deal for those extra years of life. I have pointed out to her that she can always change back after ten years.

The cost of the procedure has come down drastically and it is predicted to be available on health insurance in the near future. The insurance companies are actually lobbying for it because many illnesses, including cancers, are avoided if you take the plunge.

For myself, I sowed my wild oats and enjoyed myself tremendously. Do I like sex as a woman? Woo-hoo! Nearly all of my fantasies were fulfilled. The sight of an erect penis with my taloned fingers caressing it is enough to make me very wet.

As a man I had never been really comfortable with sex. The only way I could climax was to pretend that I was the woman in the act. Now that I truly was the woman I was able to relax and enjoy myself. I found that being fucked was the most wonderful sensation I had ever felt. Being penetrated by a hard penis and filled until my body and soul became a mindless puddle of ecstasy and being able to repeat until I was too sore to move was sensational. I delighted in giving blow-jobs too. Taking a man's cock into my mouth and licking, nibbling and sucking until he ejaculated into my throat not only made me incredibly horny but gave me a sense of power and control as most men would do anything to be blown. I soon became an expert in controlling my current boyfriends. Men are easy meat for a pretty girl who is willing to give them what they want, and I was certainly willing. Thank the goddess for the pill.

My only problem was that most of the men that I interacted with were just horny boys. Don’t get me wrong. They could walk the walk physically but were shallow kids that I found it hard to talk to. My body was twenty but my mind was still seventy-five, although that didn't matter much when I was well-and-truly fucked. Still, one has to settle down sometime.

I’ve now got a boyfriend who is of my generation….or regeneration. We understand and love each other and we are planning to get married. I have my wedding dress picked out and Elizabeth will be my bridesmaid and Kylie will be my Matron of Honour. I plan to have children as soon as possible. Anyway, practicing will be fun.

I think I’m ready.