1 comments/ 8910 views/ 0 favorites Biography By: burmohini After a long night with Jayryder who now lie drained in my bed I've decided to work on my biography. I turned 30 just two weeks ago and am pretty happy and content with whatever God gave me. I've treated my body well and reaped its rewards. My breasts are firm. They fit most palms and a 36 bra. Good they didn't grow too big or they'd be sagging by now. My thighs are well built but that doesn't mean my legs aren't shapely. My hips vary between 37"-39" and I never let my waist cross 25". I'm 5'4", a manageable height amongst a variety of men. My eyes are black but when I'm horny I can see shades of green in them. Black lashes arouse men so I trim my eyebrows and use thick eyeliner. My hands are small and plump and I never grow nails. They scare them seeing those witches in horror movies. I keep my hair at shoulder length. Men like their soft curls falling on their faces when they're romancing with me. I don't drink or smoke. If forced I take a few sips and pretend to be drunk. My gums and teeth are healthy. I'd hate to see them tarnished by nicotine. I'm under regular medical supervision and my skin glows magically as if a fire were burning beneath it. The doctor doesn't cost me anything. He just screws me once in a while. Normally I wear long skirts and high neck blouses. Men tend to loose interest if it's all there for them to see. I rarely wear jeans or trousers because I hate to have buttons knocked off or the zipper stuck when a guy is in too much of a rush. Skirts are convenient. He can just pull it up and see what's there inside. Men have their choices. Some start with the tongue, others eat pussy right away. Most are reluctant to use condoms still I store a wide variety. Orange ones are my favorite. They beautify ugly cocks. Some men come while I'm rolling a condom down their organ. They get so excited by the way I do it. Despite my weakness for men my first love remains women. I adore women with pink nipples because mine are too. Sometimes I play with myself and keep a collection of dildos for such special moments. When I was only a schoolgirl a palmist had predicted what I'd do for a living. Now let me tell you what it takes to be a whore and how cool life can be if you're as lucky as me. I've never counted the men I've laid but I'll try. I was fourteen when I first made love. The day still lingers like a dream. 'The first time can be painful,' seniors at school had warned me and I'd prepared myself. My body was beginning to blossom. I longed for someone to hold me, squeeze my melons, and tease the constant itch in my crotch. I'd rub my sacred mound and squeeze my legs but it wasn't enough. When I was in bed, or in the bath, I'd poke my fingers into my clit and fondle my breasts till I was sweating and panting. My best friend Reena and I grew up in the same neighborhood. We shared our fantasies. I knew how she felt about her body, about boys and older men. It was that tender age when life was beginning to unravel itself. Television had made us realize the importance of sex. Reena and I thought we were inseparable till her parents sent her away to boarding school. However, within a month, she was back. 'I came because of you. I really missed you,' she said hugging me fiercely. Reena's parents were going away for the weekend and she invited me over. 'We're going to kick it up,' she said excitedly. My parents didn't allow me at first. They didn't think much of Reena. 'Let her if she wants to. She can take care of herself. She's a big girl now. You can't stop her forever,' Dad finally said to mom and reluctantly she consented. I arrived at Reena's apartment soon after breakfast on that cloudy day. We played pool before strolling down to the city center for ice cream. We looked around at boys but avoided their hungry stares. On our way back it started to rain. We were drenched by the time we got home. Reena changed into a nightgown and gave me one of hers. We decided to watch a movie. 'What would you like to see?' she asked. 'Anything you like,' I said. Reena searched her father's cupboard. 'Let's see what dad's got in here,' she said smiling coyly. She tried a few CDs but they weren't what she wanted. 'Here it is,' she said finally and we settled back to watch. There was no sequence of events in the movie. A man and a woman met. They kissed, undressed and made love. The woman moaned and the man grunted. Having pumped and gyrated they collapsed against each other exhausted. A doctor met a nurse. He didn't have to pull down her skirt. It was so short. He lifted her onto an operating table and started to lick her. She shrieked with pleasure. The doctor wore a rubber glove with which he massaged her pussy. My eyes were glued to the TV screen and my panties were wet. Even Reena's eyes never left the screen. Feverishly she rubbed her hands over her panties. When she saw me looking she threw a sheet over us so we could do our own thing. Another story began. Two women hugged each other. Soon they were fondling and kissing, moaning and gasping. They undressed and licked each other's tits and cunts. I'd heard of lesbians but was always more interested in men. I wasn't surprised when Reena's hand crawled over my thigh and rested on the mound of my panties. I let my hand slide over her breasts and rest on her thighs. The picture ended and we looked at each other embarrassed. It continued to drizzle through the afternoon and we lay quietly in our beds. I was hesitant to look at her after what had transpired between us. We had often discussed the gradual changes in our bodies but never cared to explore each other. I stared blankly out of the window, my mind wandering from Reena and the movie to men I admired. All this while my fingers played with my pussy. By evening the weather cleared and we decided to stroll down to Winky's, our favorite haunt. Boys passed comments and threw pebbles at us as we walked down the street. We didn't stop till we were safely inside Winky's. 'An ice cream won't cool you down,' commented a handsome hulk. Before I knew it Reena had got into a conversation with him and even offered to buy him ice cream. 'That's my cousin,' she informed. Her cousin's friend tried to talk to me but I wasn't interested. While Reena laughed and joked with them I became jealous and temperamental. Her cousin's friend continued to ask me weird things but my eyes and mind were focused on Reena's breasts and my hands were itching to slide under her skirt. She invited them over to her place. 'Some other day,' they promised. I was glad they weren't coming with us. Reena and I didn't talk much on our way back. When we were home she asked, 'Wanna watch another flick?' 'The same one?' I asked. 'The same type,' she giggled and suddenly the tension between us eased. 'Let's watch the same one again,' I suggested. 'The lesbians,' she said with sparks in her eyes. As she bent to load the CD, the slit in her skirt opened wide. My eyes devoured her inner thighs. The screen lit up with the story prior to the lesbians. 'Let me change before the action begins,' Reena said. I noticed she didn't lock the door to the changing room so I peeped inside. She was undoing the buttons on her blouse. Behind me, on the small screen, the lesbians had started to undress. Reena stood before the full wall mirror cupping her breasts. She wore a black bra under a printed blouse. The bra had lots of lace on it unlike mine. Her skirt slipped to the floor revealing translucent black panties. She had smooth white buttocks and long shapely legs. I couldn't resist the sight of her and slipped into the changing room. She turned to me expectantly. Her sparkling eyes became glued to mine. Her beauty mesmerized me and, before I knew it, we were hugging fiercely, and gyrating. Our tongues had met and we were breathing in each other's burning mouths. Her fingers slid into my panties and eagerly I drew them in. I lifted her bra and sucked at her nipples. She took my fingers in her mouth, igniting my fingertips. I rubbed my cheeks over her lacy panties and slipped my fingers inside them. She pinned me to the floor, climbed on me, and began gyrating fiercely. Our bras brushed against each other and our juices intensified. 'Oh Reena you're so beautiful,' I whispered in her ear. In the mirror I looked at myself. I was wearing a plain white bra and panty and my breasts were unusually swollen. Reena came up behind me and cupped them. I moaned with pleasure. She giggled and shoved my hand inside my panty. We were both ecstatic and wanted to do more to our bodies than we were capable of. I crawled out of the changing room into bed. Reena found a rubber stick in her mother's locker and rubbing it eagerly over her pussy climbed in beside me. She handed me the rubber stick and fell back on the bed, her legs wide apart. The sight of her pussy made me wild. I set out to explore the forbidden world inside her, first with my fingers and then, at her insistence, with the stick she had found. I was afraid to push it in. I didn't want to hurt her but she was pleading. She gyrated with half the rod inside her, gasping for breath. I bent down to lock my mouth on hers and could feel her every emotion as she climaxed. She fell back motionless, her eyes shut and body exhausted. I played with her breasts but she remained still. I was hot and wanted something inside me. Sticking the rod between her legs I lowered myself onto it but the rod strayed. I gyrated against her pussy but it was useless. Violently I shook her awake. Seeing my pitiable state she shoved the rod inside me. It was probably harder than a real penis but I felt no pain. 'It was so enjoyable. Why don't we do it again,' I asked Reena after I had climaxed. 'We'll do it,' she said smiling faintly. Though I'd yet to have actual intercourse with a man I knew sex was going to be the thing for me in life. Bras turn on most men but they fascinate me, especially when the woman wearing them is hot and knows how to manage her body. I like lacy bras. Black, beige and burgundy are my favorite. After that fateful weekend with Reena my interest in women's bodies grew but, at school, our history teacher Mr Wilson drew much of my attention, probably because I found his subject boring. When he talked about the Great War or the Stone Age, my mind would wander through his clothes to his muscular body. I'd smile whenever he looked towards me and he'd blush. Mr Wilson never asked me questions because he knew I couldn't answer any. 'You're not going to pass my subject miss,' he'd warn me often. 'I know, sir, but I find your subject boring,' I'd say. 'History is an interesting subject.' 'Why force it on students?' 'We must know about people who have contributed to our lives.' 'Mustn't we live with the present and admire only those men and women who are alive.' 'There's no point arguing with you, miss,' he'd say surrendering. I knew he liked me. During his class I'd pull my skirt higher so he could have a better look at my thighs. Whenever I found the opportunity to talk to him I'd open one of the buttons on my shirt to let him see inside. My balloons had become noticeable. His eyes would pop out briefly and I'd smile back to let him know I didn't mind. My nights were becoming restless and I was always looking for oblong things to stick in my pussy. Invariably he'd wander into my wet dreams. 'You like me, sir, don't you?' I asked him when I couldn't take it anymore. 'You embarrass me. I'm your teacher,' he said blushing. 'How do you define love, sir?' I asked. 'I can't explain things to you.' 'Sir, you try to shirk from the truth. I know you like me. I've seen you staring at me many times.' 'You're mistaken.' 'You're lying sir,' I said. He was quiet for a while. 'What do you expect from me?' he asked. 'Call me over to your place and I'll let you know,' I replied. 'As you wish,' he said, surrendering. I noticed he was grinning brightly as he turned to go. I couldn't wait to get to his place. He too was impatient. The very next day he called me after history lessons and said, 'Miss, I'll look forward to seeing you at my place this afternoon.' I knew his cottage. It was behind the girl's hostel. I wondered how many others had fallen for him and if any of them had gone as far as his bedroom. I rang up home during recess to tell mother I was staying back for games. I sat through the remaining classes without interest, waiting for the last bell to ring. When school finally got over I felt unusually grubby. I ran to the canteen for a quick bite then strode briskly towards Mr Wilson's cottage. He was already in and though he tried to hide his impatience I knew how eager he was to look inside my school uniform. He led me into the living room. Knowing him I didn't expect to be taken straight to the bedroom. He wore light cotton slacks and a maroon T-shirt. He smelt of musk. I knew he had worn the perfume for me because I didn't remember him smelling like that before. 'Would you like something to eat? You must be hungry,' he asked. 'I've had lunch. I'm ready,' I said. He looked confused. 'I don't know how to handle this. Where do I start?' 'Anywhere you like sir,' I said. He couldn't help laughing when I said that. 'I'll be back in a minute. Please be comfortable,' he said and strode off to another room. He must be getting the bed ready, I thought. I sat looking around at the simple room. A cane sofa, few wooden stools and a round table with a glass top were spread out on a bright woolen carpet. He took pretty long. I was beginning to fear he might have fled through the back door when he returned carrying a tray of dry fruits and two glasses of milk. 'Sir you needn't have bothered with that,' I said politely. 'It'll warm you up a little,' he said. 'I'm already hot,' I suggested. He handed me the glass of milk. Our eyes met and for the first time he didn't look away. I don't remember drinking the milk because when we hugged the glass was no longer in my hand. He kissed me delicately, probably not wanting to hurt me, but when I began rolling my tongue in his mouth he tightened his grip. We were sitting on the sofa, his left hand on my waist, right on my shoulder. He got up to draw the curtains. When he had finished doing that I stood up to him. He was tall and had to bend to kiss me. I raised my lips to him and wrapped my arms around him. Hesitantly his hands traversed my back. He was afraid to caress me. 'Sir, please don't hesitate. I can't wait any more,' I whispered in his ear. I pulled his hand onto my breast and he cupped it delicately. I had to squeeze his fingers to let him know he was expected to press harder. 'Oh miss I don't know if I should be doing this,' he suggested again. 'Sir, please be a man. I want you dearly.' He kept kissing me in a most haphazard manner and wouldn't press into me so I pushed him away and took off my shirt. He went wild seeing me in my bra. Sinking to his knees he cupped my breasts in his tender hands and began squeezing them harder. His hands slipped under my skirt and he was rubbing my inner thighs feverishly. I thrust myself at him and longed to feel his naked body. He lifted me in his arms and carried me to the bedroom, his head digging into me. Throwing me on the bed he thrust himself wildly at me. I tried to peel off my panties but he was all over me. He grunted loudly, collapsed on me, and fell to his side, suddenly becoming disinterested, not caring to even look at me. A faint smell arose from a wet patch that formed over his crotch. I was hot and longed for something inside me. Mr Wilson had been a disappointment. I walked into the bath, splashed water on my face, combed my hair, straightened my dress and walked out of his cottage. Once home I locked myself in my room, drew the curtains, undressed, got into bed, pulled a sheet over me and started to play with myself. My pussy was wet and my breasts were swollen. I pulled out the little rubber stick; I now kept hidden under the mattress, and started to push it in and out of my pussy. I was about to come when there was a knock at my door. I hurriedly pulled on a gown. To my delight it was Reena. Locking the door I hugged her from behind and thrust at her buttocks, my hands pumping her balloons. 'What's the matter? You're hot,' Reena muttered. 'Don't ask me what I've been through,' I said pushing my hand into her panty. 'How was Mr Wilson?' she asked. 'Can't you guess from the state I'm in. He fired in his trousers,' I said. Reena laughed. 'And we thought he was a stud.' 'God knows how he'll face me again,' I said. 'I don't blame him. You're so sexy. If I were a man even I might have fired prematurely,' Reena confessed. 'Just get out of that dress and shove that stick inside me,' I told her. 'It's time you got rid of that rubber stick. You'll hurt the insides of your pussy. I've got something more natural and safer for you. A dildo. It's almost a penis. In fact it's more than one because there aren't any chances of premature ejaculation. Before I let you have a feel of it get into these,' she said handing me a small bag. 'What's in it?' I asked. 'Hurry up. I can't wait to see you in them,' she pleaded. I started to undress but she stopped me. 'Not here,' she said. I went into the bath, not caring to lock the door, and opened the pack. It contained a black lacy bra and panty along a note that said, 'With all my love for the body I desire.' It was the kind Reena wore the other day. 'I'd like to see you in one of these,' she had commented then. The bra was a perfect fit so was the panty. Putting them on I sprayed perfume all over me. Reena was already under the sheets in my bed, her dress on the carpet. I stood before her, letting her admire me. Her eyes lit up. I climbed under the sheets beside her and we hugged. She was wearing a beige bra matching the color of her skin. I cupped her breasts and then allowed my hands to wander to her pussy. To my surprise I found no pussy there but a soft rod. I pulled the sheets away to see what it was. She was wearing the dildo over her panty. Taking off my bra and panty she lowered herself on me. She kissed me, squeezed and sucked my tits while pushing herself deep into my pussy. I smothered her as she pumped at me. After I had climaxed she continued to play with me. She was hot. I knew the state she was in. 'It's your turn now,' she whispered in my ear. 'Please hurry. I can't wait,' she moaned. I wrapped the belt around me. With the dildo rightly placed I climbed on her and pushed myself into her wet pussy. Her swollen breasts pressed into mine and her open mouth gasped with joy when she came. We lay in each other's arms till it was time for her to go home. We were both happy and satisfied when we parted that evening. mohini.... Biography of a Transexual Hello, my name is Nishta, and I'm a transexual. Now, before your mind runs off with vivid fantasies involving the legendary "chicks with dicks" take some time to consider the implications of "transexual" in REAL LIFE. It's quite different than your kinky fantasies, and don't get me wrong- I love the kinky fantasies just as much as the next person, but this... this is sort of my story. Let me explain. No, that will take too long. Let me sum up. I was born in Århus, Denmark. At the tender age of but two years old, my family moved to the United States, a place called Winston Salem, North Carolina. Home of the tobacco giants. (I blame that early exposure for my bad habit several years down the road) I grew up in a rather quaint neighborhood down one of those dead-end roads that looks like a giant spoon. I did typical kid things, running around, getting hurt, playing with my sister (two years my senior) and the other other neighborhood boys. However, even by age four, I was experiencing strange emotions about my gender- I wanted to wear dresses, I wanted girly toys. My parents attributed it to having an older sister. At age seven, however, my mother remarried and back to the frozen land of the North we went. I grew up as John Sorensen, yes... John. I was a bit geeky, really. Or nerdy. Or dorky, I'm not sure which is most apt. I had only a few close friends, and most people thought it was only proper to tease me relentlessly in school. After all, I was incredibly short, had a high pitched voice, and "big lips." The tragedy. By age nine, complications with my femininity were only growing. Let it be noted that carrying Lego toys to school begets a healthy dosage of woe and grief from classmates. However, at age fourteen I was to experience my biggest change. I was going into the eighth grade, sure, but most importantly- I had the right to choose whose custody I was under. I immediately left my mother's small, conservative town and headed to the big city of Copenhagen to be with my father. Now, I know you're supposed to give a whole load of B.S. about loving both parents equally, blah blah blah... Ok, I love my mom, sure- but my father and I, well... we actually seem like we're related. We're friends as well as parent/progeny. He gave me freedom, confidence, and a plethora of health foods. Mmm, grain and soy. Heading into the eighth grade, to be top of the class at a new school, I was determined to project a new me. I was given the nickname "Sparky" which I was actually rather fond of. I was popular, I had friends, lots of them! And girls began to show interest. In the awkward stages of puberty and the advent of hormones, I had intense pangs of gender dysphoria, as well as stretches where it never crossed my mind. Now, to further elaborate on that- I knew there was something weird about me. I wouldn't look in the mirror and be happy with what I saw. I was short but well built, pretty attractive in general, for a guy... but it was like looking at a stranger. I would read those "coming of age" books about girls, how they grew larger breasts, their hips expanded, they'd get their first period... and the sense of longing and desire was so overwhelming at times I could do nothing more than lay in my bed and ache just thinking about it all. However, school and growing up would help push those things aside... My first kiss was a girl named Emily. She was an American, a legal alien victim of parents in the military. The day before Christmas break, she brought mistletoe to school, and was kind enough to hold it over my head during recess. My sexuality took off during the end of that year like a moon-bound Apollo craft. I later started dating a sixteen year old girl with size D breasts who wasn't a virgin. Yes, presently our dear young Nish would be experiencing for the first time the pleasures of making out, and mutual masturbation. The movie "Antz" was the cover for my first mutual orgasm. The aforementioned girlfriend, a slightly heavyset but nevertheless quite attractive sort of goth-looking girl named Julie, and I started the movie in a typical fashion of doing nothing but making out and not paying the slightest bit of attention to the film. Making out begot groping, and when no resistance was met, my first eyeful of naked breasts. Now that I look back on it, this girl at age sixteen had a much more ample bosom than any girl I've been with to date. I couldn't fit a satisfactory amount of them in my mouth. It culminated in an awkward scenario wherein I fingered her with my hand shoved down her still-buttoned pants. She, in return, just rubbed me through my jeans until I came. That summer, at camp, I would go on to do much more making out, receive my first proposal for sex, (which I turned down) and have my first voyeuristic experience. The latter was the result of a rather risque game of truth or dare, and to the awe and slight discomfort of the rest of the circle of young'uns, a couple who seemed to be more experienced in the realm of sexuality ended up giving us a demonstration of how a girl gives head. It was at THAT moment that I realized just how bad this gender issue was. I wanted to be that girl more than I think I'd wanted anything in my whole life leading up to this point. Confident, sexy, didn't give a crap about what anybody else thought. She was going to pleasure her man, and she was going to do a good job of it, goddammit, no matter how many people were watching. After that year, I regressed a bit- I moved back in with my mom, and for the first time I was introduced to the realm of cyberspace... and oh, how awe inspiring it was. On the internet there was pornography, erotica, how-to's and photos, resources, sites for sex-toys, pop-ups with women who screamed out at you, "Watch me have sex and get yourself off!!!" with only a look. But more importantly for me, it provided anonymity. On the internet, I was a faceless screen-name. So naturally, I projected who I felt I was on the inside into this cyber-world. I assumed different roles of females- some completely imagined, some based on girls I knew, all based on me to a larger extent. I was able to experience what it was like to interact with people as a woman. Sure, it's the internet... but hey, you work with what you have, no? It was liberating, it was elating, it was paradise. I could project the most desirable woman any man could ever dream about. Smart, sexy, (borrowed pics of old crushes help) funny, witty, into video games, knowledgeable in "guy" things... I loved it. Two years back at my mom's house, and all I can remember is how much I grew internally, learning more about myself. Learning about what makes me tick by studying it in others. I talked with all manner of people, absorbing everything I could. Guys, girls, gays, lesbians, racists, pacifists, people obsessed with bestiality, incest, exhibitionism, D/s relationships, anything under the sun. (And a few things lurking about in darker places the sun never reaches.) It was slow, naturally. Gradual growth impeded by society's standard walls. However, as fast as society could build one wall around an ideal, my exploration broke down two. It was my reclusive "age of enlightenment" as it were. At age sixteen, at a colossal five feet, two inches, I received two things much to my own sense of elation and joy. A driver's license, and a girlfriend. Luckily, I was dating someone smaller than me. She was a senior, where I was only a sophomore. Mette, age eighteen at the time, and owner of a phenomenally athletic and tight body. She did gymnastics and cheer leading, and it showed. She gave me my first proper hand-job, over the many movies we would watch during the summer snuggled up on my bed. I still didn't cross the boundary of oral sex with her, but we had some pretty intense masturbational experiences. I brought her to orgasm for the first time the day she introduced me to my first ever vibrator, a five-inch neon pink buzzy little thing with a curled tip. Now, besides being a great source of sexploration, Mette was also the facilitator of the the next stage in my gender development. By my junior year, she had become a freshman in college. I got to spend a lot of time in her dorm, but she was also quite busy and often left me hanging. Presently I would be experiencing my first little tour into the realm of cross dressing. While she was gone, I would put on her underwear and skirts, and prance around generally feeling pretty and cute. She never found out, and the pressures of med-school eventually led her away from our relationship. Around the same time, shortly after Mette and I split up, I had started attending youth conferences once per month. These were basically a gathering of between thirty and eighty kids between the ages of thirteen and eighteen. Now, you can well imagine how rampant hormones ran during these events. The best part about them, however, was that these were kids who had all been raised with a like mentality- accept everyone. Nobody is "uncool" and unworthy of attention, be friendly, and respect everybody with an open mind. It was paradise. I never absorbed so much energy from a crowd of people than I did during conferences. I was slow to gain confidence there, at first... I did manage to hook up with by far the most attractive girl at the entire event during my first ever con, though. By the time that school year was half over, however, I was king of the con. I would play the "It's Just Porn, Mum!" song on guitar, I would do the Star Wars gangsta rap during open mic, I was known by people who had never even met me. ("Oh, YOU'RE Sparky? My friends told me about you!") Now, don't get me wrong there were lots of people at this high status there, that was the beauty of the con. It was equality incarnate. In short time, my lips became legendary for their softness. I did more than a fare share of making out, and I kissed my first boy there too. (An effeminate guy by the name of Anonymous. Yes, Anonymous... Nonni for short.) I was told I had softer lips than some girls, my ego soared... Throughout the difficulties of my high school life, those cons were my anchor. I was able to talk with a transgendered guy for the first time. (Grew up female, became male.) I told a girl about my longing to be one, and she was accepting. It would be that same girl who gave me my first ever blow-job, a feat I still marvel at to this day. (We were jam-packed on the floor of a church congregational hall, with the pews shoved to the sides. She managed to go down on me and swallow enough so that we didn't even leave any evidence. Kudos, Shayne!) There was one point that she came down and visited me outside of conferences, when I was in college. We fooled around and de-69-virgified each other. As delicious as she tasted, the euphoria wasn't to last long after she told me in tears (once we were done) that she was dating a guy back where she lived. There were several more make-out buddies, and a brief relationship with a younger girl who introduced me to cunnilingus with dairy products (namely whipped cream and nutella) involved. Then came my first revolutionary girlfriend. Mckenna. We dated for two and a half years, and she was the first girl to teach me how to shave my legs, tweeze my eyebrows, put on makeup (hard!!) and other such essentials to female living. The secret came out to her when I jokingly put on her school-girl outfit, and she encouraged me to complete the costume. We stuffed a bra, she put lipstick on me... it was liberating. Now, there were two distinguishing characteristics about Ken-ken and while one was her bull-headedness and strong will, the other was her propensity for sex. We had been dating for I think under a month, I was nineteen, she seventeen... when she became the first to take my virginity. I remember we had stayed up all night talking with each other and cuddling... it was pure magic. We clicked so well, it was like two corresponding puzzle pieces fitting snugly to create a picture. I knew I was ready then if ever. We headed to a pharmacy to pick up a condom... *bangs head on wall, blushing* now, this was a great memory of my first time: The security guard at the pharmacy was (I guess) so tickled by this young couple, that she actually chased us out onto the street, and shouted from a distance, "Getting an early start on the weekend?" with a huge grin on her face. Bless her. Like the typical male, I came within the first sixty seconds, but it wouldn't be until about a year later she ever found out. (Hehehe...) I managed to stay hard and keep going, never having let on that I actually had two orgasms, not one. From then on we were hooked. We did it every day, except when she was on her period. (Sometimes we did it then, too.) We had sex in trains, on hotel roofs, in port-a-potties, in parks, on the counter, in the shower, on the floor, on the stairs, you name it. There's a smaller, lockable bathroom in the Smithsonian museum between the Freer and Sackler art galleries, underground where the two connect- we graced that one, too. She took me out for the first time ever when I was fully dressed up as a woman. She was ALWAYS supportive of my gender crisis, she did everything to make me feel comfortable about it. One of my favorite outings was when we went to a park at night, both looking fabulous in sexy revealing clothes and classy makeup, and I went down on her. It was sort of like my first "lesbian" experience, hehe. On the walk back, a guy clocked me (term for noticing it's a guy, not a girl) and while passive enough... he proceeded to lecture us on God and Christianity, and the evident nature of my sin. She stood up for me the whole time, defended me with a passionate argument- intelligent responses, not just anger. She was my Goddess that night, I felt blessed to tread on the same earth as she was. (Or pavement, rather.) Now, as time moved on and the flaws in our relationship became more apparent, we started to drift apart and break away from our self-destructive coupling. It got hostile, there was yelling and strong emotions- but to that remarkable woman's credit, she NEVER once used my issues with my gender to push my buttons. (And DAMN if she wasn't good at finding everything else that would push those buttons.) She was a pivotal role, but somehow a brief two month fling that never amounted to anything more than exchanged text on a computer screen would alter my life in a greater way than I could ever imagine. Her name was Kate, and we instantly became flirtatious friends. I was playing World of Warcraft, and naturally had assumed the role of a female there, as was most comfortable and matching to my personality. Kate was dark, brooding... but sexy, vivacious, and infinitely appealing. The more I tried to get close and learn about who she was, the further she would push away- but I could tell she didn't truly want to. Eventually, her vacillatory nature came out. "Look, you're falling for me and you don't even know the truth about me. I'm transgendered, Nish, I used to be a guy." She fully expected me to be grossed out and lose all interest then and there, but my response was genuine and straight from the heart, "Sweety that's OK, why on earth would that change the way I feel about you??" While internet relationships are tentative at best, I gathered a great deal of information and confidence from Kate. She told me about how it was for her to become a transsexual, how she got her hormones and how she flew to Thailand to get her operation without a psychiatric evaluation. She empowered me, not just with her words but with her example of strong-willed determination, to take the next steps towards the realization of my ultimate goal. Through an online ordering company, I was able to start hormones. The change was intense, even from within the first few days I was experiencing mood-swings, but it was altogether beautiful. Slowly... painfully slowly, I began to change more. My hair grew finer, I had to shave less, I started to get some semblance of hips, and over many months I finally started to sprout breasts. I was extremely reclusive during this time, living locked up in my room for the most part and avoiding friends and family. The computer and internet communities were my unfailing support network for these changes. I had several electrolysis treatments to help remove facial hair and other undesirable hair. I began dressing up and living full time as a woman. Finally, I was starting to feel like I had a body that matched who I had been inside all along, since those first confusing desires in my earliest memories around age three or four. I didn't go out often, and I was very quiet when I did. I was extremely self conscious of my more masculine features still, but all in all it was one of the happiest transitional stages of my life. I got by on what I prided myself in the most- being able to be happy with myself and who I was. I -liked- being who I was, I liked how people would talk to me about all these changes and open up to me. I think I definitely have risen to the upper ninety-fifth percentile for open-mindedness. After about a year of hormones, I was ready for the next step. You know that mounting tension you develop as a young kid leading up to Christmas? Imagine that sensation somehow magnified by over a hundred times. More intense than a big move, or a new job. More intense than when I was about to lose my virginity. More intense than ANYTHING I've ever been excited or nervous about, ever... I prepared for the final stage, the operation. I booked my flight to Bangkok, I had developed a good repoire with the lovely Dr. Pitchet who would be preforming my surgery. He was understanding, infinitely kind and gentle, and never overwhelming or pushy. Looking back, I can't even remember anything about the days leading up to my departure. I don't even remember getting on the airplane. Bangkok was a blur, I was overwhelmed entirely with the situation at hand. I remember thinking to myself in awe and wonder that this man, this doctor, did this every day. He changed people's entire lives, and it was just his job. I wasn't star-struck when I met Ron Jeremy or Janeane Garafolo (spelling, I know...) but for some reason this man had me just that- star struck. The lovely assistants and his beautiful, kind, warm wife helped me along, gave me support, and in general treated me like a princess. The operation, I was informed after the haze of induced unconsciousness wore off, was a success. The next several days were painful, physically, but pure ecstasy, emotionally. I continued to receive royal treatment, and tender care. These doctors and assistants didn't just make money and deal with patients, they worked miracles and treated their patients with love. You became part of the family while you were down there. I stayed in the hotel for two weeks, then was moved to another one further North closer to Phra Nakhon. I stayed there for another three weeks, recovering. My wonderful doctor checked up on me and said he was happy that it all looked like it was turning out beyond perfect. Begrudgingly, I found myself on a plane headed back home all too soon, the balmy weather and smiling, beautiful faces behind me. I had documentation for a legal name change, and an appropriate gender assignment for when I got my new license. I had all the tools and information to help facilitate the healing process, and ensure everything turned out alright. But most of all, I had the complete dignity of being in the body I truly desired. Well, perhaps it wasn't particularly dignifying to have to dilate myself with what looked like an ACME cartoon version of a dildo every day, but hey- it did its job. The healing was slow, and a bit frustrating at times. Things didn't look right at first, it looked more like someone had tried to sew a flesh-colored pocket into me and not done a very good job. Over time, however, everything began to heal. I noticed how pronounced the outer and inner lips were, and the nice shaping of it all. Even within only two months of the operation, and completely against everything I had heard to the contrary, I found my clitoris to be sensitive. Most everything was numb, but I could get a little pleasure from rubbing around down there gingerly. Biography of a Transexual As the healing process moved on, I became more and more exploratory with touches and caresses and probings. I was determined to nurse some life into that numb, but now quite pretty little vagina of mine. Let it be said now that I am extremely pleased with the aesthetics of how it turned out. Dr. Pitchet, upon receiving my photos, said not even a gynecologist could tell the difference on the outside. I diligently worked at trying to get myself off almost every day, and my first experience with that is found in my other story, "Transitions" (albeit rather glamorized and polished to a more erotically appealing state.) Almost one year after the operation, I encountered Katja. Katja was the first woman to ever fully expose my submissive side. While Mckenna and I had toyed with it, Katja insisted on it. She made me wet myself in order to receive her rather talented tongue the first time we met. She was aggressive, pushy, and domineering. She broke a guy's nose for grabbing my ass once. She loved oral sex more than anyone I've ever met, and she liked to be dirty. She wouldn't let me wipe myself off after peeing in my pants, before sex. She made me eat her out while she was on her period, and called it "war paint." She would absolutely soak a pair of her panties with her wetness, then make me wear them all day. She called me horrible names, treated me like a tool designed for her pleasure, and discarded me when she was done getting off. And I loved it. You see, the secret beneath every D/s relationship is a tender, deep worshiping of each other. Both ways. She revered me just as much as I did her, we just showed it in different ways. Eventually, drugs and alcohol created a rift too big to keep us together, and we went our separate ways. (I have some past trauma with those two things, and stay well away from them when possible.) My next encounter, aside from a cunnilingus-crazed liason in the bathroom of a bar with a complete stranger, would be with someone I knew from the age of eleven. And boy, was that weird. Seth had known me from my pre-pubescent years and all through my other relationships, hardships, and transitions. And I slept with him. Go figure, huh? To my phenomenal luck, even though it made things a little awkward for a while, it never messed our relationship up. We ended up sleeping together a few times after that as well, on the rare occasions that I'd go visit him. There's something oddly spiritual about being able to fuck your best friend who knew you before you were even a girl. While Seth and I connect, it's not a romantic thing... it's a tender, deeply deeply rooted friendship thing. Since my early years of clumsily bumping my lips into a girl's under mistletoe held aloft, I think I've really come into my own as a sexually empowered woman with a unique outlook on sex. With exploits ranging from rooftop exhibitionism to menage trois (I would NOT recommend this, regardless of whatever delusional fantasy you hold) I've realized two very important things. One, sex and kink are beautiful ways to explore LOVE, and perhaps acceptable at times to explore lust. (Though I'd try to limit that.) And two, they mirror our own souls. Can you be honest with yourself? With your partner? Are you willing to explore new things? Where do you draw your lines, and can you do so lovingly? What does your sexual appetite tell you about yourself? These are questions that this wonderful world of squishy, slick parts, sensitive flesh, fluid exchange, moans and groans, writhing, shudders and whimpers, little white stains, embarrassing noises, (air gets trapped in tight places sometimes, and you ALL know it) awkward positions, intense emotions, and pure blissful release can answer. Be bold, be kinky.