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This story may be published to any free site. It may NOT be placed on any pay sites. The base of all Becca Reed's (formerly Rachel Maeve) stories is http://www.geocities.com/The_Werewoman. This is a work of FICTION for ADULTS only. Do NOT read this if you are under 18 or if you are not an adult according to the laws of your state or country. Do NOT read this if you are offended by fantasies involving sexually explicit material. Send comments to The_Werewoman@yahoo.com

 

My Secret                    by: Becca Reed, 2001

 

Do you have a Secret, Bruce?

No – I don’t mean what you think. Of course, everyone has his or her secrets. Those little things they keep to themselves, confiding only in their best of friends. Everyone has some of those. Your sister’s pregnancy, another mother’s alcoholism, a little boy’s cross-dressing. These are nothing.

But do you have a Secret?

One … you don’t tell anyone.

Not anyone.

Not ever.

No, you probably don’t have a Secret.

… Not one like mine …

I was thirteen, and just beginning to come into my manhood. Male Hormones released by my barely pubescent body were beginning to shape, change, and mold me into what they wanted me to be. A young man. Attitudes changed, beliefs altered forever, and the word ‘girl’ was no longer something to be feared – After all, what were cooties, indeed, in comparison to boobies?

At first those days had been a sort of blessed paradise. I’d always wanted to be a man – big and tall – like my father and my brothers were. And it seemed as if that was exactly what was going to happen. And I was elated. Unfortunately … it was also then that I discovered that I had …

… A Secret.

You stand there, with your hands in your pockets, and stare at me. Just staring. Bored, unbelievably disinterested. So I have a secret, you think, so what? You came all the way across town to hear me. You canceled appointments – because I said this was important – for me. And I was touched by that, really. But now you stand there, lounging back against the wall, hands jammed deep in your pockets, fully convinced that you have wasted your time.

Well … I’ll show you.

I realize I must look rather unimpressive as I am. I’m just sitting quietly in my easy chair, right leg crossed over my left in a very mannish way. I hold an un-tasted cigarette in my hand – though I don’t hardly smoke at all – and the wavering courage in my downcast eyes and face is mirrored in the draft-blown airs of the smoke.

Am I gay? Am I bi? Do I like animals?

Have I gone and gotten in more trouble?

Do I take drugs?

All these things you ask of me.

"No"; I reply, "none of these things."

None of these things.

And then I take a long, deep, shuddering breath, and you sigh and look away.

"I like men."

It drops into the uncomfortable silence of the room as lightly as Piano might, falling from a height of ten stories.

Your eyes are so wide.

"But- but- But I thought you said you weren’t gay!?" Your face is so pained now. I’d seen the fear when you’d asked me if I was ‘a homo,’ I saw the relief when I confirmed that I wasn’t gay. But now the fear is back. The relief is long gone. And incredulity has replaced it.

"I’m not gay, and I’m not bi." How many times have I reasoned this through – to myself – to my own doubting soul? But now I am calm. I knew you would ask this. As you will:

"But if you’re not gay – and you aren’t bi – then how can you be attracted to men?!" Your tone is challenging. You want me to admit I’m wrong – that you’re right – and that everything is still as it should be.

You, like everyone else, fear the unknown.

Even you, my best friend.

Have I made a mistake?

"I have a Secret –," I begin, but you cut me off. A dismissive, interruptive, abrupt wave of a hand.

"Yes, yes, so you keep saying. But you’re not making any –, "

"- I wasn’t finished yet." My voice is cold and hard. You glance quickly back at me – you look at the pain in my eyes. This is hard enough for me already. Please don’t make it harder.

Your eyes flare as I cut you off. You look ready to protest, to call back, and I know I’ll respond – I’m just too much on a hair-trigger right now.

But you don’t protest. You surprise me.

In fact, you even calm down enough to let me go on.

"…a terrible Secret. One I’ve kept hidden all my life."

You sigh and roll your eyes at me. Okay. So it sounds over-dramatic. I’ve earned that right, I think. My skin begins to tingle.

"But I need to tell you, Bruce. I need to tell you now."

And I do.

And it floors you.

There’s no happy ending to this story.

All my life, since 13, I’ve been different. Freakishly so.

I like guys.

Of course, I also like girls, heaven knows we’ve oogled enough of them together!, but that’s different. That’s normal. That’s expected.

There – I’m just like any other guy – cute buns stroll by, nice and round breasts catch my eye – and long, swishing hair! – and I’m hooked. I’m in. It’s a drug unto itself. A rush of excitement, a need and a hunger. You feel the same. Most men do.

I’m a perfectly normal guy.

But then there are the men.

Not all men, not as many men as women, but there are those few.

A few images come to mind, and unexpectedly – and quite unpleasantly for you, I might add – I lean back, into my chair, clasp my hands over my chest, and sigh with all the pleasure of torture unbearable. And moan.

"They’re so-oooo dreamy…"

I sound just like a girl.

But then – I feel like a girl – isn’t that the point?

Oh wait – I haven’t gotten there yet.

I don’t know why it’s some guys, and not others. But I do know what I like.

Mmmmm…

It’s black hair. You know – the kind of black hair that’s so dark and satin-like it shines with blue highlights? I love that hair color.

I don’t like too many muscles, but a lean, handsome body is to die for!

But there seems to be no rhyme and reason, Bruce, and it just happens. A guy I meet in the super-market. A doctor I see for a medical condition. A patient I see for counseling. I don’t know why – or when – but when it’s there – it’s there.

And that’s the problem, really. It’s so indiscriminate that I can’t predict it. I can’t second-guess it. I can’t escape it.

And when it comes – so do the tinglings, the urges –

and the changes.

Lyle confronts the first of his changes in flashback

 

This one catches you by surprise. You stare at me out of those half-closed eyes of yours, perhaps wondering when to call in the funny farm guys. But then – I can’t say that I blame you. You look about ready to interrupt again, but this time I wont let you – I’ve come too far and worked too long to let you stop me now. I have to finish this. An odd sort of feeling – like that of being stretched, but in an inverted sense – begins to focus itself upon my crotch. I ignore it at first.

"They don’t come too often, the tingles. Maybe once every two months, until I want it to end. But then I have to stop seeing those guys. I can’t see them again. Oh, I can try to resist it, I can try to postpone it – and it works, at least a while – but I can’t do that forever. I’m not a rock of strength – I’m a very fragile reed. And so I need to stop seeing those guys.

"If I don’t – horrible things will happen. Things that, though they seem so blissfully right and so perfectly correct to me – cannot and should not happen between two men. Not even two gay men. It’s not … possible. "

Even as I continue to speak, I feel an odd sort of expansion in my buttocks, as if a small balloon had been attached to each of them, and was slowly expanding. An equally odd feeling, though in truth I had felt both of these many a time before, was centered in my hips, where it felt as though I was being pulled apart at the seams. All these changes and more – puffiness around the cheeks, shrinking Adam’s Apple, curving and lengthening of the legs, and the building of pressure underneath my nipples, were going on inside my body, and even as I spoke, I could see Bruce catching glimpses of them, one at a time.

Oh, please, please, Bruce … don’t freak out.

I continued my tale.

"If I don’t leave immediately – the change will come. For a while I might fight it – in its earliest stages – when it first begins to grip, but not for long. Because after a short while – after reasoning flees, and sanity – I find myself wanting those changes. Wanting them so bad. Wanting all the trappings that come with them, all the frilly lace-lined extras that come along."

I want it so bad, it hurts.

I’m a very fragile reed, old friend.

And that’s really why I’m telling you this, Bruce. You have to know.

Dawning understanding sparks a fire in your eyes. I suppress a chuckle – no, a giggle. I’m past chuckling now, the tingling feels so good tonight – at that. You’ve always had a quick wit, Bruce. You’ve always been one step ahead of me.

I’m on the verge of tears now. You do see that, don’t you? Of course you do. There’s concern in those adorable, baby-blue eyes of yours. Concern for me.

In the midst of all my changes, a warm feeling of anticipation and need begins to grow in my chest and stomach, filling my soul with a need, a hunger, a want …

Ooooh….don’t do this to me!

It’s not fair!!!

Now I AM crying. Tears have begun to roll down my cheeks. I hug my knees to myself, rocking my body forward and back – subconsciously consoling myself. And the change has claimed me. A lock of auburn hair drops down in front of my eyes as I rock, but I’m too unhappy to care at this point.

"So you see," I manage to mumble through tears and swollen lips, my voice cracking even as I speak, "I have to go now, Bruce. I have to leave you. Because I care about you now, Bruce, and I can’t let that happen. There can’t be any happy endings to this story." I shut my eyes against the tears – against the heart-rending pain – and I count to ten, swallow my pain, and begin again.

My voice is a full alto now. Quite a change from the bass, and for the better, if I do say so myself. Do you like it, Bruce?

"This is goodbye." I drop my legs out of my embrace, and maybe you catch the quickest flash of two small bumps poking up and out from the line of my chest, tenting up my shirt, before I fall back into the chair. Surely you can hear my voice, Bruce, as it struggles to climb toward a Mezzo-Soprano. Waves of that dark hair begin to cascade down the sides of my face, down my neck, and onto my shoulders. But I’m well past caring now. My chest and posterior are throbbing with pressure. And the tears keep coming.

I expect you to move, numbly, out the door. I expect – never to see you again. What else can I expect? But it’s so unfair! Is it my fault I happened to fall in love with my best friend?

You do rise from the chair, even through my heavy sobs I can hear the wood creak under your weight, and I douse my cigarette, then stand to show you out. I don’t – I can’t look at you, and so I drop my face to the floor, longish, light auburn strands of hair falling before my eyes. Is there any doubt to the bumps beneath my shirt now? They must surely be at least an A-cup, and they’ll be quite bigger by the time we reach the door, I’m sure. I’ve blossomed out to 34-C before, Bruce, and quite perky little girls they are.

What would they feel like, under your hands?

Ugh. Stop torturing yourself, girl.

We move toward the door in silence. I can’t conceal the changes now, so why bother? Those pants are trailing a bit on the floor now – which makes it really difficult to walk, let me tell you that – but they stretch so tight across the curves of my new hips and buttocks. Many men have stopped to watch me stroll by, when I pass them in the street, their eyes just fixed on the rolling hips and swaying buttocks.

Would it kill you to mention how nice they look?

Another pipe dream.

If you’re even bothering to look up from your feet, Bruce, you’d see the smallness of my waist. No small number of guys have wrapped their arms around me there – though I suspect you’d really freak if I told you how much I wanted you there.

Those breasts are as large as they’ll ever get now, Bruce. I turn and face you at the door – and shocked though you are – some male instinct flashes your eyes up and down my body. You see ‘the girls.’ In fact, by now, looking at all those soft curves, all that silky white flesh – you see A girl. Yep. It’s all flat down there now, pal. There’s nothing left of Lyle in me at all. Just Lisa. From the soft, silky, satiny waves of her hair, to the fullness of her lips, the round softness of her bosom, the curves of her hips, the flatness of her crotch, and the lines of her legs – this woman is all woman.

For just a moment, my eyes stray up, over your chest, rising meet your eyes. And then I duck my head, and turn away. I just can’t bear to see the repulsed, frightened look you must have.

I just can’t.

I open the door, and step back for you to pass. The floor looks so interesting now.

Your shadow drops across the threshold of my door, and I can’t stop myself – I just blurt it out.

"I love you."

I shouldn’t have said it. I shouldn’t have said it. But it’s out now – I can’t take it back now. And as I stand here trembling, small and weak in this soft, female body, I just pray you’ll go – go now, and not hurt me. Please – please don’t hurt me.

I love you.

It hangs in the air.

You drop your head to chest –

But you don’t move.

"Lyle – " That’s not my name anymore. Not like this.

"Lisa," I prompt. I speak softly. I didn’t know my heart could beat this fast. What’s going on? This was all planned. You come, I tell, you go. I clasp my hands in front of my chest, and risk a tentative glance at your face.

It’s troubled – that much is plain. Conflicting emotions war there. But beyond that – I can’t tell at all. What are you thinking? What are you feeling?

"Lisa," you start again. Thank you. "… Do I have to go?"

"What?"

Oh, real bright. But I’m scared now. What’s going on? This has all gone wrong! You were supposed to go!

"What?" I repeat myself, in case you didn’t hear my voice – I’m so scared, it’s so soft. "I don’t want you too, but, why?"

I hear the sigh, and I with eyes wide open I see you turn toward me, and your face – Oh, Bruce – the expression on your face. I want to go to you. I need you to hold me. I – I’m scared, Bruce, and afraid – for me, and for you.

You look so lost. You look afraid. Determined – with some of that quiet, graceful strength that I just love you for – but scared nonetheless. I didn’t expect this – and I don’t know what to do.

I go to you.

Your arms close about me – tentatively, but still, they’re there – and your chest feels so warm and inviting with my face pressed against it. This is … ohmygod. This is odd. This was NOT supposed to happen.

"What do you want Lisa?"

"You." It comes quickly, without effort, though it takes you by surprise. "THAT’S what I want. But I can’t have it." My voice grows bitter, and tears begin to well up in my eyes. "I just want to be with you, to be loved by you, for the rest of my life. That’s the only dream I have any more – and it’s the one dream I’ll never have." But for all my gloomy bitterness, for all my hopeless words of worry … a little hope begins to grow within me.

But, again you grow quiet. And as the moments tick by, the hope that was stirring in my breast begins to fade.

"Bruce?" I whisper softly, frightened, "What’s going on?"

I hear you work your mouth for a few moments, but nothing comes out at first. This must be terribly hard for you – it certainly is for me. But – uhhhhhh – I’m going to enjoy this embrace – I’ve wanted this for so, so very long… Oh, Bruce…Bruce…

"I don’t know," you say at last, and I can hear the strain in your voice. But you’re strong. You’re being strong. I can feel that in your arms, as they wrap around my waist and pull me in closer to you. You’re being strong … for me.

Why? What is going on? What is happening?!

Now hope wars with fear in my breast, and terror dances on the tails of joy. You haven’t decided yet – and the door is still open. But I want – Oh, gods above! – I need you, I need THIS so very badly.

Please don’t go.

Please don’t let me go.

Bruce…

Lisa desperately hopes for love and affection from Bruce

 

"You don’t know?" It’s me again, Bruce. Still worried. Time stretches by for moments, minutes, almost a dozen now, but still … there is confusion here. There is fear. I have to know. And trembling, I risk another soft, frightful question.

"Why are you holding me?" Please don’t let me go, pleasedon’tletmego,pleaseplease!!!!

"I -," … A swallow, a heavy of that powerful chest, "I don’t know. I … I guess I want to. It feels right."

Hope surges.

It feels right?!

And then it crashes down on me. This cannot be. It just hasn’t hit him yet. I’m still Lyle, in Lisa’s body.

"No."

I pull away.

"No?" You look at me curiously, and that foolish breath of me that dares to hope shouts at me to see the fear in your eyes. You didn’t want to let me go. I know that. But I’m not just a woman, Bruce – Lyle is still in here. And so, though I want this more than anything – though my heart curses and my mind revolts – I turn away.

"This can’t be, Bruce. You should leave."

"Lisa …" You come up behind me, and put two gentle hands on my hips – but I pull away again, and the ice in my stance is unmistakable.

"Lisa. Lisa, what is this? You say you love me, but you want me to go?!" There’s pain in your voice now – and I tremble – my heart trembles to hear it. I’ve hurt you – I know that, and hate myself for it, but there is no other way.

"I’m still Lyle, Bruce," I whisper to you softly from under the auburn tresses of my hair, "he’s still inside of me."

"I don’t care." Those hands again, wrapped around me. Pulling me to you. Oh, Bruce.

This time I don’t resist. I fall backward onto that chest. My cheeks are wet with tears.

"You’ll hate me," I sob into my hair, tears slicking my eyes and cheeks, tasting salt upon my lips. "You’ll hate me – I’m still Lyle!"

"I don’t see Lyle." I take in a shuddering, sobbing breath, and turn in your eyes to look up at you. Up at your face. So full of concern, that touching concern that moves me so …and … compassion? What else is in there? "I see a woman who loves me. I see a beautiful woman, one who turns me on," (Oh, so THAT’S what’s poking me down there!) "A woman who was my best friend. One I would could trust with my life, with my soul, because I already have."

I don’t reply, just looking up at your face with doe-like eyes of wonder, mixed with fear and hope. Tears continue to well up inside of me, just aching to come out. To pour forth, like a flood.

"Lyle – Lisa – love," I gasp, and you swallow in fear. You said it. How could you?! Don’t DO THIS TO ME!! "Look … this comes all as a humungous shock. I wont lie. A-and I’m not sure how to respond. I don’t know just what to do. But – Listen. Lyle was my best friend. Lisa loves me, and excites me physically. Maybe – maybe we can make something work?"

"Oh stop!" I can’t stand to hear this any more.

How many times have I dreamed for this? Hoped for this, wished upon too many stars to number … for this? And here it is. But I can’t take this. I can’t do this.

"But I can’t be Lyle and Lisa! And I have to BE Lyle to live, I can’t just BE Lisa for you – not just to try and see! And I wont be your lover and your best friend in two different bodies! Just go!"

Oh, Bruce – Bruce – I’m crying inside. I want you so much, Bruce. I need you.

You go on for minutes trying to coax me to stay with you, but I am resolute. I wont do that to you, Bruce, I love you too much. Please don’t do this to me.

Just go.

"You could be Lisa all the time."

HUH?!

Okay, that brings me around.

"Wha-What?" I manage to ask through silent tears, my body suddenly stiff with shock.

"Didn’t you say you could maintain ‘Lisa’ indefinitely?"

I nod apprehensively.

"Well, I know a guy down at the Office – Bill, we played pool with him once? – who can forge you a completely new set of credentials. I’ve seen him do it. He says he learned it from some sort of undercover work when he was in the Agency, and has no qualms about licensing himself out. I could take you in to see him, and in just under 48 hours, Lisa would be a completely legal citizen of the United States – birth certificate, driver’s license, social security number – the works. You could stay a woman all the time."

My interest is piqued, but it’s too soon to hope.

"A-and if I did that? What then? I have no friends as a woman, why would I want to be one indefinitely?"

Please, Bruce.

But you get quiet on that one, and the fear returns in droves. I sigh, my heart full of sadness, and begin to tear-up again. It was an idea. At least it was that. Thank you for that, Bruce, thank-

"You could be with me."

"Please tell me that wasn’t a lie, Bruce."

I’m staring at you now. At arm’s length. This is the last effort I will make, Bruce. If you fail this one – out the door you go.

Please don’t let me down.

"I wont lie to you, Lisa." Your eyes are still hooded, still afraid, but there’s that quiet determination there – as always – and somehow, I just know you wont let me down.

Heh. Or at least, I hope you wont.

"I wont lie to you. This scares me more than anything I’ve ever seen, and part of me wanted to bolt when I saw you start … changing."

I nod, then toss my long and gorgeous hair over my shoulder.

"But … when I realized what you meant – that you were going to be leaving my life forever – I cracked up. Lisa, Lyle was my best friend for 26 years, and I couldn’t just give that up. I need him. And now I realize, that if Lyle is you, then I need you."

Ooooh… my heart melted on that one.

Good move, Bruce.

"If you and I cannot be as Lyle and Bruce …well, I’ll admit the thought of Lisa and Bruce is scary to me … but it’s not because of what you are. It’s because of who you are. If I fall in love with Lisa, if I let myself love her – as I already like her, and her looks, then will I lose Lyle? Will I lose my best friend?"

"Never." I raise a defiant chin and stare calmly back at you now, as if by look alone I could assure you of my honesty. "This is Lyle’s mind, wrapped in a woman’s soul and body. You lose nothing." Then I wink suggestively and brush my hands down the soft curves of my body. "But you gain this…"

You cough, and blush, and then grab at my hands.

"Well, then," You start, "are you convinced yet? Will you stay? Please stay."

"Well," I say, looking down and biting my lip in apprehension once again, "there is one more thing."

This is all going by so quickly. Please, please, let this be the right decision!

"What? I’ll do anything, Lisa, just don’t – mmmph!….mmmm…."

10 seconds later I pull away.

"You just did it."

You blink at me, still surprised by the kiss, but pleasantly so. I’m sure of that now. You really did mean what you said – that we would give Lisa and Bruce a try, and that if nothing else, Lisa was still Bruce’s best friend – and a woman who turned him on more than any other he knew.

Lisa nervously propositions Bruce

"Well, it’s still awkward, and I still see LYLE in LISA…."

And you want me so badly.

Hee hee.

"Well … maybe we can work out the awkwardness … in a more physical way?"

Oh, Bruce…

I stretched my body languidly, made a show of unbuttoning the top two buttons of Lyle’s silk shirt, and turned in your embrace, taking your hands in mine and sliding them down over my chest and onto my breasts.

"Take me to bed, lover?"

The look said all I needed to hear.

 

 

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Well, it’s been 3 years now, and Bruce and I are a happily married couple living in an eastward farm-county of New York, thinking about having a baby. In retrospect, I don’t think I’d have slept with Bruce that night if I hadn’t been so muddled, hopeful, and frightened all at the same time, but, there it was.

Though maybe it wasn’t a total loss. Although Bruce was definitely in the mood that evening – and Mr. Happy would have had to have had a serious discussion with him had he NOT been, this body does come with an ample supply of curves – he was still trying to get past what his eyes had seen. That his buddy Lyle had transformed into a beautiful woman named Lisa, one who threatened to disappear from his life forever if he couldn’t love her. I had to get him to stop seeing me only as Lyle in Lisa’s body, and as Lisa-and-Lyle in the same body instead.

To that end, I think the effect of peeling Lyle’s boyish clothes off of Lisa’s sexy female body was somewhat beneficiary. It drove home to him that, underneath of the man he’d known as Lyle – his best friend – for all of his life, there had always been a woman buried there as well, one who loved him.

And if that didn’t help, I KNOW Lisa’s – my – experience on the female side of sex did. If that didn’t drive home what and who I was to him, once and for all, I knew nothing would.

In the end, we still had a time of it, and it was months before he could bring himself to say he loved me. But I never pushed him, and he never left me. And I never changed back, or left him. And 11 months exactly after the night of my change, Bruce proposed. I think I could have died.

I never wanted to spend my life as a woman. It was never something I’d dreamed of, hoped for, or even wanted. But I did want Bruce. More than anything. I didn’t know I could even love that much.

Maybe … in the end … that was the biggest secret of all?

How much love I had for Bruce? How much he had for me?

Well.

I suppose some stories DO Have Happy Endings, after all.

image4.jpg (15701 bytes)
Lisa as a happy woman, 3 years later.

 


2001
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