Sweet and Pretty           by: Farah Daye

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Seven mini-fantasies about sweet and pretty girls who were not born as girls and the boys who love them. The spotlight falls on the transgendered girls' romantic hopes and dreams, their need for love and validation, their passions, and their most cherished wishes. Here are seven adorable shemales in all their luscious beauty. You are invited to expand any or all of these into full-fledged stories.

Farah Daye

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~1~

Have you ever seen a magazine or television commercial spotlighting a breathtakingly beautiful model and thought to yourself "Oh, Wow! I wish I were just like her"? Did you wish that you had her enchanting face and her perfect body? Her silky soft and translucent skin, her full sensual lips and radiant smile, her gorgeous outfits, her perfectly done hair, smooth curves and coltish legs, and unashamed sexuality? No, I am sure that you haven't. At least not in the way that I do.

How can I be so sure? Wait, you'll see. I look at pictures like that with such deep longing. When I get out of school and out of the house, I'll model myself on her. That would be fulfillment. And that would be bliss. Her clothes are so tasteful and glamorous. Her makeup and hair are perfect. Everything about that woman shows ultra feminine grace and elegance. Men find her absolutely irresistible. I want so much to be just like her. She is the very image of the woman whom I was born to become. I shall take the name Vanessa.

Sometimes I feel that I want to be a girl with a sweet childlike look. I want to look pretty and wholesome and have a radiant smile. I want to be like the proverbial girl next door, the vivacious, popular cheerleader, and the center of everyone's attention. I want a cute boyfriend who loves me madly. I think I shall wear bright trendy-looking clothes. I shall have my hair lightened and wear it in a perky ponytail. I'll work hard at staying sexy and pretty for my boyfriend and keeping him satisfied and happy. She is the sweet and pretty girl I want to be. I shall take the name Trisha, Billie Jean, or Daisy.

I watch the Russian Ice Dancer gliding effortlessly across the ice with her adoring husband. How I wish that my body was just like hers! Look at her lovely fawn-colored costume all covered with glittering sequins. See how she flies like an angel when her partner lifts her up with one hand and circles the rink. Look at her grace and ecstasy as the perfect lovers perform their romantic, ethereal ballet on the ice. They look in each other's eyes with such sensual joy and longing. She is so radiant and dreamy with her bright green eyes and pouty lips. She is the woman I want to be. She and her handsome athletic husband look forward to energetic nights of lovemaking after their public performances on the ice. I shall name myself Natalia or Elena.

I think that if I looked exotic and worldly, I would break men's hearts. With my long black hair, sensual olive skin, and intense dark eyes, how could any man resist me? I shall wear glittering bracelets on my arms, long golden earrings and body-hugging silken gowns. I shall be catlike in my movement and oh so seductive. Yes, I want to be a mysterious, dark-eyed, and exotic woman. I shall be called Yasmin or Nadia.

I want to be an athletic girl with a slim, perfectly-toned body. I want men to turn and look at me wherever I go. I want to have my pick of the strongest, most handsome, and richest guys, the ones who drive exotic cars and own sumptuous yachts. I want to go out in bike shorts and a tank top and drive all the cute guys wild. They would all look at me and I would simply love to tease them while pretending not to notice them at all. Only the richest and handsomest boys will take me to bed with them. I want to be a buff, healthy girl like that. I wish to be named Paige or Brooke.

I want to be a woman of power and influence. I shall wear glamorous silk blouses and tailored cashmere jackets. I want to wear my hair in a short, sophisticated style. I want to buy all my outfits at Nordstroms, including my Italian leather shoes, my formal gowns, and my power suits. I want to have my cosmetics created to order just for me. I want to be so important that men will respect and pay attention to me. I want them to follow me, fear yet adore and desire me. That is the kind of woman I want to be. My name will be Catherine or Elizabeth.

I want to look like a romantic girl with the face of an angel. I shall wear breezy gowns in pastel colors. I shall write dreamy love ballads and sing them with an angelic voice. Men will find my music and my image hypnotic and charismatic. They will bring flowers to my concerts and fall madly in love with me at first glance. The most sensitive and kindest of them will become my lovers. That is the kind of girl I want to be. I shall be called Fiona or Shania or Stevie.

I want to be a woman artist. I'll create new trends all by myself and make my own rules. I'll wear peasant skirts and tie my long, curly red hair back with a bright scarf. I will wear light makeup but my face will be as luminous and beautiful as a cameo. My lovers will be sensitive, creative men and beautiful, gifted girls. My lifestyle will be joyous because it will have no boundaries. That is the life that I want and the type of woman I want to be. I shall take the name Marta or Hannah.

I have modeled myself after all of those women at different times. Many pictures of me show my metamorphosis from boy-child to woman. Yes, I was born in a boy's body but that was Nature's cruel mistake. I'm dedicated to correcting that mistake. Soon I will be like one of those women on the inside and outside too. I think I like the woman artist best of all. She'll be an artist of fantasy and bright magic. I've gone far down the path and left the boy behind forever. Except for one lingering anatomic detail, I am nearly like her already. And for as long as it pleases my boyfriends and lovers, I just may keep that remnant indefinitely!

 

~2~

The little boy gives his mother a puzzled look. She explains patiently that they have to leave their apartment as quickly as possible. Her ex-husband is vindictive and unstable. Moreover, he threatened to kill her. She has seen some of his friends drive by her house during the day to keep track of her whereabouts. He may be coming at any time to hurt Mommy. Daddy wants to take her son away from her. Mommy will have to change his hair color, she explains, and ask him to wear certain things so nobody will recognize them. He loves her and would do whatever she asked. He doesn't want to see her get hurt any more.

Later in the afternoon, two people walk down that street. One is an androgynously dressed young person, perhaps a woman though it's difficult to tell. She's wearing a baseball cap, shorts, and hiking boots, and has a backpack slung over one shoulder. The other person is a little girl who's holding the adult's hand. She's wearing a short blue dress and tights. Her long red hair is tied back in a ponytail by a blue ribbon. A car drives by slowly but takes no notice of them. The surly-looking men in the car are looking for a woman and a boy.

That was the first time that the boy dressed as a girl. After their escape, his mom often played what she called the dressing game with him. He pretended to be a girl and tried to be as perfect a girl as possible. She would try to find something that gave him away. She helped him get better and better at the game by teaching him little mannerisms, facial expressions, and typically feminine phrases to say. He became very skillful at it because he and his mom enjoyed their game so much.

She was delighted. She had become very disenchanted with men. It gave her a comfortable feeling to know that her son would not grow up to be a swaggering, macho male. He would never hurt women when he grew up. He would have a deep understanding of feminine feelings and experiences. She needed to know that he would be kind and gentle for her peace of mind. She wished him to experience both sides of the gender equation.

By the time that he was 12, he wanted to spend all of his time at home as a girl. His voice had developed the timbre and pitch of a girl's voice. Seeing his well-practiced girlish movements and gestures, you knew that all traces of the boy he once was had evaporated. He had neither boy possessions nor boy interests. For a long time, he felt that he merely masqueraded as a boy in school. It seemed unnatural to him because he went everywhere else as a girl. He and his mom had ceased to use his birth name, Allen. The new name they used was Alicia. He would soon use the name Alicia in school. It was to be a fresh start in another school district.

Naturally, he asked his mom questions about the future. "Mom, when I grow up, will I marry a girl or a boy?"

"Oh, honey, you can marry anyone you want to!"

"Well, which one is the best?"

"Alicia, if you want to live your life as a woman, you might still fall in love with another woman. The two of you would want to be together. It will be more of an adjustment for you if you fall for a man."

"But Mom, you fell for a man, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I don't do that any more. I have always been comfortable in love with both men and women."

"Mom, if I liked a man, would he want to hurt me like Daddy hurt you? Sometimes, Mom, boys look kinda cute to me. I try not to look at them but I can't help myself."

"Oh Honey, not all men hurt us. Some of them have too much of a certain chemical in their bodies that makes them stupid and mean. It's called testosterone. When that combines with alcohol, sweetheart, it's terribly poisonous. It makes them hurt other people."

"Well Mom, do I have any of that in me?"

"Not very much, Alicia dear. It simply didn't get a chance to develop in you. And the little shots the doctor gives you twice a month help it go away too."

"Oh good! I don't want anything in me that would hurt anybody's mom!"

Both of them had tears in their eyes. She pulled her sweet and pretty daughter closer and hugged her. She knew in her heart that she had done the right thing.

 

~3~

Look at the boy who is barely out of his teens. His ears are pierced in several places. He wears silver tassel earrings that nearly touch his shoulders. In the other spots, the boy wears glittering studs. This boy's reddish brown hair is shoulder length, layered, gently curled, and prettily highlighted. His makeup is subtle and tasteful; from the dusty rose shade of his lipstick to his perfectly applied eyeliner and mascara. His foundation and blush give him a radiant glow. The boy wears a dark blue dress whose length is just four inches above his knees. His lovely dress has a subdued and romantic floral pattern. This lovely effeminate figure doesn't resemble a boy any more.

Such a pretty boy s/he is. S/he wears sheer blue tights and blue strappy sandals with chunky two-1/2 heels. Such a sweet and pretty thing s/he is. A boy whose gender now reflects only the feminine.

A young man watches the enchanting woman who might've been just a boy once upon a time. He watches intently as s/he dresses and prepares for their date tonight. He watches the lovely boy/girl unravel her satiny tights and ever so slowly fit her long, silky legs into them. The girlish boy's movements are sensuous and catlike as if to tease him.

He watches as the boy/girl touches her developing breasts. The young man is fascinated to see the transformation effected by the boy/girl's cosmetics, carefully styled hair, and an exquisitely sexy dress. The boy... no, the girl, for the gender transformation is completed; she is totally feminine now... the girl smiles at her lovely reflection in the mirror. The young man walks up behind the subject of his fascination and gently strokes her hair. She sighs. Then she turns around slowly, smiles prettily, and kisses him. Their tongues meet and play together. She is becoming a woman, a beautiful and sensual woman who arouses the passions of her boyfriend.

 

~4~

Look at the sweet and pretty girl who is not altogether a girl. She looks at herself in the mirror to touch up her makeup. She gently brushes a few stray hairs into place. Now she spends a moment or two deciding on a perfume, finally applying a tiny drop on each wrist. Almost done, she steps back for an overall inspection. The thin straps on her black opera gown are to her liking. Her platform sandals are shiny and stylish. The lovely girl adjusts her earrings and takes one last look. She is such a sweet and pretty girl, this girl who is not totally a girl. Her date is due any minute. He is a cute guy and they make such a lovely couple. A final bit of well-practiced primping and she is ready. Her date knows that she is not entirely a girl and he adores her just the way she is

They'll go out for an elegant dinner and then to the Ballet for a performance of Cinderella. Their seats are in the first row of the first balcony. Those wonderful seats give them an ideal view of the stage. What she wouldn't give to be one of the graceful dancers on stage! Throughout the performance, he'll keep his arm around his sweet and pretty girlfriend.

When the ballet is over, he'll ask her if she wants to go out for a few drinks. She'll say that she'd like to change into a more casual dress and shoes first. She would love to go out club-hopping after that. Would he mind if they stop by her apartment and then leave from there? It will only take a moment to change her shoes to a pair that's more comfy for walking and to slip into a less formal dress.

Secretly she knows that he won't want to go anywhere after they reach her apartment. He'll want to make love to her. You see, she knows that all she needs to say is "Would you be a sweetheart and help me unzip my gown, please?"

 

~5~

I ran away from home a few days after my 18th birthday. I had dreamed of living as a girl as far back as I could remember. I used to steal my sister's clothing just to revel in the touch of it. I dressed in my mom's garments and intimate wear whenever she was out of the house. Eventually, I became quite good at the illusion and even dared to go outside for a short walk once. It was terrifying yet rapturous. When I could stand it no more and I tired of mom's drunken fits, I bought an Amtrak ticket and disappeared into my new life and chosen gender.

Along with a few personal things, I packed as much of my sister's clothing as I could stuff into my backpack and one suitcase. Five days later, I was 3000 miles away in San Francisco. I had a thin frame and delicate facial features for a boy. After I had my own place, I colored my hair and highlighted it. I lived next door to my cute, affectionate boyfriend. He was a wonderful hair stylist who cut my hair in a layered style with just a little bit of highlighting added. He showed me how to blow-dry and brush my hair for volume and comb bangs to maintain my new look. With fresh makeup, I had a cute, naturally feminine look. My boyfriend was a honey who taught me so many things. He always made me feel like the deliciously real woman who I longed to be.

After a few weeks, I found work as a waitress. I presented an image of an attractive, perky waitress and I was very happy. The wages weren't great but at least I wouldn't starve. Moreover, I would never go back to living as a boy. I was comfortable in my identity and with my outward appearance.

During the next several months, I was only read once. The fellow in the booth asked me to sit down for a moment. We weren't supposed to do that with customers but it was late and near closing time. I didn't think anyone would mind.

"You've done a hell of a skillful job on yourself, Candace, or do you prefer Candi?" he said. I was startled that he had read me and knew my name. As if reading my mind, he said "Your name is on your pin, doll."

I felt a little foolish and blushed. "Ah!" I said, "and how did...? I started to ask how he read me but let it trail off.

"I manage a club in the City, dear. All of our girls are, you know, after market remakes." He smiled at me and I smiled back. "You can make yourself some serious money waitressing there. Tourists come in and drop huge tips. After a while you might become an extra in a revue if you're into that and have the talent."

"Oh, of course I'd love a better paying job. I hardly make anything here. Look, I've had tons of dance lessons, jazz, ballet, even ballroom."

"Well think about performing later on. Lets see how you do as a waitress first, okay, Hon'?"

So that was how I came to work at the Club. It was exciting there! I had to dress in a cocktail waitress uniform to deliver drinks to leering tourists. I wore fishnet hose and uncomfortable platform shoes but I didn't mind. The customers loved it. They knew that the waitresses weren't genetic girls. If anything, that seemed to make them even more rude. They'd reach out to pinch us or grab our butts as we walked by, often while their wives were grinning. We looked positively conservative compared to some of their garishly bleached, helmet-haired, and overly made up wives or trashy rent-a-girlfriends. Because the tips were so fat, we put up with their behavior. Besides, if we said anything to the customers, we'd be fired. If we wanted huge tips, we had to wiggle our butts a lot, squeal, and pretend to be embarrassed. The tourists ate it up. They'd stick 20's and sometimes 50's in our bosoms.

We were encouraged to flirt with them. It was all part of the show. I loved that part. It was so much fun to daydream myself into the part of the pretty and pampered suburban wife of a handsome and caring man. Yet I hoped that one day I'd be on stage as a dancer. Then I'd be free of the boorish tourists but that seemed so far away then.

I shared the dressing room with five other girls. We treated our work very professionally. We played a role and performed an illusion. I was surprised that out of our little group, only two of us lived full time as girls. Two others were married and two never said much about themselves. Those two were very flamboyant. Most of us called ourselves drag queens but they liked the term shemale. It was accurate for me but I thought that it would make me feel less real so I just didn't use it. I was an actress. The other girl who lived full time en femme partnered with her male lover. I envied her for that intensely.

I wondered which partner I might relate to on a long-term basis and yearned for a lasting relationship. I anxiously needed to be validated as a girl physically and emotionally. I wanted whatever it took to be feminine. While I loved to give pleasure to cute guys, it was also a little unsatisfying because I wanted a relationship built on real love. Still, I had to admit to myself that I had intense crushes on the other performers. In fact, I wanted to be with any or all of them. Naturally, we all did a little flirting and vamping with each other. We were an affectionate sorority.

I knew who I was. I had become a sweet and pretty woman. I lived entirely as a woman. I looked like one so the outside world treated me like one. It didn't matter what body characteristics I had at birth or what remnants of boyhood remained under my dress. That was just Nature's mistake though my lovers were quite taken by it. I dreamed of quitting work as a waitress by winning a beauty pageant for girls like me or, best of all, becoming a showgirl. Then I'd have independence and fame, and best of all, adoring boyfriends. I dared to dream that one beautiful day one of them would fall in love with me, and take me away with him to a carefree life.

 

~6~

The girl across the table from me is stunning. I can't take my eyes off her. Her large green eyes with their long lashes look deeply into me. She has wide, pouty lips highlighted by sensual burgundy lipstick. Every detail of her appearance is exquisitely beautiful. Her auburn hair falls a few inches below her shoulders. She has it styled with bangs, gently layered, without a single hair out of place. Elegant gold teardrop earrings and a thin gold necklace finish the perfect picture. She wears a sleeveless black dress whose deep neckline reveals her lovely bosom. Its simplicity highlights her beauty and draws my eyes to her face. I love her soft, smoky voice. She is a woman any man would desire.

"Sweetheart," she said, "I'm ready to leave. If you like, you can come over to my condo for some coffee and we can listen to music."

"That would be great, honey," I answer. I feel so blessed by her interest and attention. She is no ordinary woman. To be accurate, she is an exceptional woman but she is not a genetic female. Larissa, my exquisite girlfriend, works as an entertainer, a male actress. She is an exceptional impersonator and a gifted club singer. If you saw her, you could not help but comment on how sweet and pretty she is.

We are very much in love. Our souls touched when we met and then intertwined. They were like two bright balloons whose strings raveled together. Then, forever joined, they floated up toward the moon. Neither gender nor genetic sex was important to us. We transcended gender. It was just an appearance to us, a role that society forced us to play, something not innate that should not stand in the way of true affection.

Larissa smiled at me and gave me little butterfly kisses on my cheek. I wanted to pull her to me and kiss her fully but it wasn't possible in the restaurant. We stood up. I helped her into her coat and we headed for my car.

I was fascinated by every detail of Larissa's appearance. She wore delicately patterned black silk pantyhose and elegantly simple shoes with a stylish, choked silhouette and chunky two-inch heels. This woman I loved was always the essence of good taste and classic style. As soon as we were in my car, I kissed her. Our tongues met and we kissed passionately. She sighed with pleasure, ran her fingers through my hair, and very quickly but firmly touched the upper portion of my leg. Then in a final tease, she ran her hand over my lap, paused midway for a few seconds, and smiled mischievously. "I love you, Larissa," I said. "And I adore you too, Sweetheart," she whispered. She blew in my ear and licked it once. Then she said simply, "Let's go home!"

 

~7~

Once again I had contrived to casually bump into my upstairs neighbor. She fascinated me although I was sure that she was married because were two names on her mailbox. I had met her husband or partner two or three times and exchanged pleasantries with him so I felt a little guilty. He was a slight but handsome young man. He could almost have been her twin brother. I had little interest in striking up a conversation with him.

There was something special about the lady, captivating you might say. She seemed to have a score of different looks and an endless supply of lovely clothing. Her hair color and style changed frequently. She was thin, exceptionally pretty, and very graceful and feminine. I tried not to think about her knowing that she must be married but I couldn't shake her many charming images out of my mind. It occurred to me that I didn't even know her name but just her first initial.

I lingered nervously at the mailbox as she retrieved her mail. "Hi," was the only word that I could muster. "Hi, yourself. Isn't it a lovely day today?" she said. "Yes, you're lovely today," I stammered and then blushed as I realized my faux pas. She smiled again. "Why don't you come to dinner this evening and meet my other half, hon?" she said. "My name is Tessa. What's yours?" "I'd like that, dinner I mean. I'm Gary."

That was three hours ago. I've been nervous ever since. It would be difficult to keep my eyes off her at the table. What would her partner think? I shaved for the second time that day, took a fresh shower, and summoned my courage to go upstairs to their apartment.

"Come in, come in, sweetie. I don't bite. Well, sometimes I do," she said with a mischievous grin. I looked around but saw no sign of her partner. "Is your ...uhh, other half home yet?" I asked. "Sweetie, he's always with me!" she exclaimed with an even bigger and sweeter smile.

"Hon, are you open-minded? I mean really, really so" she asked. I thought that was an odd question but answered firmly "Yes."

"I'm an entertainer, dear," she began. Come on, don't just stand in the doorway!" I accepted and sat down beside her on the large comfortable couch. Her apartment was beautifully and brightly decorated. A woman's touch was everywhere. I tried to keep my eyes from staring at her beauty by scanning the beautiful flowers, paintings and decorations in the apartment. "Now here's where you must be quite open-minded," she continued. "At the club where I entertain, all the girls are really boys. Sometimes, I really enjoy staying in my feminine role. It gives me the freedom to dress to suit my moods. I detest being drab all the time! You're not shocked, are you? It's so much more than that," she continued. "I've always felt that I should have been born a girl."

"It's Springtime, hon. I can wear my long breezy skirts and loose peasant blouses." Her smile lit up the entire room.

"Tessa, I'm surprised," I said. "Glad, I think. May I confess something too? I asked. A whirlwind of thoughts and images rushed through my mind. I wondered if I had already at some deeper level sensed who she was.

What if I told her how much I admired her, how much she excited me at that moment, not just for her looks and sensuality, but because the way that she lived was my greatest wish? Could I tell her that all my life the desire had burned within me to be a woman? I fantasized it incessantly. I fantasized about being pretty, as sweet and pretty as Tessa, and being loved as a woman and getting married. I must have imagined myself in a lovely white bridal gown a thousand times. I longed to be held warm and safe and cherished by my strong and handsome husband. I even dreamed of having babies to nurse and nurture. I wanted to wear lovely feminine clothes like Tessa wore whenever it suited her fancy. I longed to live in a lovely home all done in pastel colors. I wanted to have women friends and attend housewife's gossip parties. I longed to be a girl, a woman, a female, a mother, and a wife. I had never dared to approach another man but whenever I imagined myself as a woman, being loved passionately by a man was always part of my dream. I was still young but I felt so repressed and guilty most of the time. In my heart I felt that I should feel no guilt for my nature but society intruded on that naïve view and forced me into secrecy.

I looked directly into her gentle green eyes. "We have something in common," I stammered. Tessa reached over and took my hand gently. "You can trust me, Gary." "I... I sometimes dream... dream of living a life like yours," I blurted out. "But maybe all the way, I mean. I mean like being a real woman. No offense, Tessa, I meant to say all the way, like married. I've never told anyone before."

"I'm not offended, sweetie. When I'm expressing myself in the feminine gender, I feel the desires that a woman feels. It's no one's fault that nature made a little mistake, is it? She asked. "No, it isn't," I said quietly as Tessa moved closer. "Honey, you're very slender for a boy" she observed. "Yes, you could do it. Your features are kinda cute, yes, very fine, not blunt and strong. Why, even your feet are smallish for a guy. You could be a sweet and pretty girl if you wished. Ya know, sweetie, I could do a fabulous makeover on you!"

I blushed and smiled at Tessa. Then she stood up and motioned for me to do the same. Tessa moved closer and kissed me softly. I was surprised but didn't pull away. Instead I put my arms around her and then we exchanged an increasingly passionate, lingering kiss. "I feel the desires of a woman," she repeated firmly. "Perhaps later if you wish, I can help you to express the feminine part of yourself too," she said. But now I'm just what you see. I'm the woman and you're the man. I feel your arousal, honey, and I want you!"

"Tessa...I've never..I mean that I don't know how..." I whispered. "I'll teach you how to make love to me, honey, anything and everything you'll need to know," she replied and kissed me again more passionately. I knew that my life would never be the same again as Tessa and I kissed again. We wrapped our arms around one another, gyrated together, and then fell back on to the inviting bed. The fulfillment of my dream was just beginning because hours later our roles would be reversed.

With much love and hugs to all my pretty friends, --Farah Daye

 

(C) 1997 Farah Daye

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