A Terrible Thing That Happened To Me

by Catherine Rose

  

To Whom It May Concern: I have to tell you about a terrible thing that happened to me.

My girlfriend, Debbie, often had her sister over. There was always trouble whenever the two of them got together. They invariably fell into the girlish chitchat that they have been engaging in long before I came along. It was like another language that was impossible for me to follow or join in, especially when they disappeared into our bedroom trying on clothes, make-up, jewellery and whatever else they got up to that I dared not even think about.

Since we only lived in a one-bedroom apartment, it was next to impossible to get away from them. I usually started off by doing the hospitable thing in welcoming Robyn and making polite conversation, before ending up watching TV in our lounge or going on the computer in our bedroom depending on what room they haven't taken over at the time.

But they rarely stayed in the one place for long and I usually ended up feeling invaded and totally left out. Tempers would get frayed, and arguments erupted. I had enough trouble standing up to Debbie as it was. When the two of them got together it was always a nightmare. The only thing worse was when their mother, Shirley, dropped by as well. Debbie almost always accused me of trying to control her and of not liking her family and friends. Robyn and Shirley rarely said anything about this themselves but their icy expressions and disapproving smirks made their opinions quite clear.

There were some lighter moments, as well, when they'd include me in their play. Invariably they'd be the ones laughing from enjoyment while I'd be laughing out of embarrassment as they passed comments about my "cute butt" ("too rounded to be a man's"), or try to railroad me into one of their makeovers ("those eyes would look sensational with a bit of mascara and liner"), or worse still they made fun of my "man boobs" ("you need to put those in a bra before you get arrested").

I never gave my breasts much thought till then but I had to admit that they were on the large side as far as men were concerned. I soon became quite embarrassed and self-conscious about them especially when the girls razzed me, even accusing me of secretly taking hormones and threatening to fit me with a training bra. Robyn even claimed my name, Pat, was a girl's name and started calling me, Patricia, insisting that:

"Your parents had obviously wanted you to be a girl and had to put the abbreviated version, Pat, on your birth certificate to ease their disappointment of your birth. I bet they even dressed you up in little girl dresses, Patricia, to make you look really cute…"

Debbie and Shirley only encouraged her with their silly giggling while I sat tongue-tired hoping the heavens would send a lightning bolt to blow up her big fat mouth.

"How are those breasts of yours coming along, Patricia? Are you ready to make the transition?"

"They're fine, thanks," I finally said one day deciding to fight back. "They'll be bigger than yours by the end of the week. What size bra do you wear…?"

It was a B-cup, barely… I knew, because Debbie had once told me how jealous her younger sister was of her own C-cups. She had even told me how paranoid Robyn was about men having larger breasts than hers. She reckoned that was why she gave me such a hard time about mine. That was why I thought I'd strike where I thought it hurt her the most…

"O-oh! You are getting forward, aren't you, Patricia? Do you want to know my size so you can get the right fitting for yourself? I could get you one of mine to try on for size?"

Ouch! She was good. I wished I had just let it go like every other time, especially as her verbal offensive continued unmercifully.

"But then, you could never wear a bra like real women have to. You wouldn't have the balls to put up with underwires cutting you in half, straps sliding off your shoulders, seams rubbing against your sides… You wouldn't even last a one day in a bra."

"Oh, like bras are such a big deal that men couldn't cope with wearing them," I foolishly replied. "If men did wear them, they wouldn't make such a drama over them as you do."

That had only invited more trouble. I can see that now. But when someone continually calls you by a girl's name, and gives you such a hard time over something you wish you could just forget about, it's hard not doing something. That 'something', in this case, lead me to a whole lot more trouble for me.

You don't have to be an Einstein to guess what happened next. With Debbie and Shirley turning on the pressure as well, Robyn soon had me wearing my first bra. It was one of Debbie's old push-up bras she had long outgrown. It was pastel pink in colour with delicate lacing around silky soft fabric that felt much nicer than I had ever expected (or could ever admit). What was even more shocking was that its padding lifted up my breasts into quite a nice cleavage.

You can just imagine the response I got from the girls and how embarrassed I felt, especially when Debbie pulled out a tight pink crossover top with a tie at the back that she said would look perfect on me. It did, even more so with a necklace that delicately dropped down into my newly acquired plunging neckline. With a pair of clip-on earrings dangling from my ears and several stainless steel bracelets clinking away on both of my wrists, even I thought Patricia was a more apt name for person that greeted me in the mirror.

Not even my jeans looked out of place with what I had on. But of course they weren't about to stay on me for long, soon dropping to the floor with my underpants, only to be replaced by a pair of Debbie's silky panties. I had always enjoyed seeing Debbie in them but I'd never dreamt of wearing them myself or that it would be her hand reaching inside them to fondle me. Unfortunately, Debbie only pulled my penis back between my legs where its erection and my tight panties held it captive in a way I never imagined possible. Robyn then showed me how to hold in my newly acquired flat tummy so that my "cute feminine butt" poked up from behind.

I was stunned. I never realised how easily a man could be made to look so feminine, not to mention how nice it would feel. The beige pantihose felt like a second skin on my legs, while the softness of the half-slip accentuated my pleasure as it brushed against my legs. I could hardly wait to put on the light cotton flip skirt with its bias cut lace edging. I've no idea where the girls found a pair of shoes to fit me, but as I stood in my 4inch strappy sandals the question never even entered my mind.

Things had gone way beyond where they had ever meant to go and they weren't about to suddenly stop there. The worrying thing even then was that I was quite enjoying myself. No sooner had I finished shaving, make-up was being applied to my face and under my jawline towards my neck, blusher was brushed high up on my cheeks, and powder pressed gently all over my face with a soft velour puff.

My eye makeup seemed to take as long as all my other makeup put together. I could feel brushes sweeping my eyelids over and over. Just when I thought the pencil liner would be the end of it, out came a black mascara that took even longer to roll on, touch up, brush out, in a masterly work of art. I was aware of the heaviness of my eyelashes for the first time and couldn't help but wonder how girls ever learnt to handle this 'magic wand'.

My transformation continued unabated like a never-ending nightmare as Debbie produced a lipstick from her bag of tricks. I watched the bright red tip slowly rotate upwards as if in slow motion. I held my mouth agape as she smoothed it on my upper lip, followed by my lower lip. I merged both lips together in a final act of compliance to spread the slippery mixture into the far-reaching corners of my mouth. I could never have imagined how wonderful this would feel and couldn't help but rub my lips together over and over.

My slide into femininity was not yet over as sudden puffs of wetness collected on either side of my neck, with some also sliding down my chest between my uplifted breasts. My hands moved involuntarily upward so my inside wrists bathed in the wetness on the sides of my neck before being rubbed together directly in front of my face. I inhaled the hypnotic scent without protest barely aware of giggling and laughter in the background.

"Sit down Patricia so we can do your nails."

I instinctively tucked my skirt under as I bobbed down onto the seat presented to me, as if I had done so a million times before. I placed my hands palms down on the table in front of me wondering how it was that I was behaving so femininely. It was as if all masculinity had been drained from my body. Surely a few items of women's clothing could not have done all this?

While Robyn and Shirley worked on my nails, Debbie brought out the wig she occasionally wore for going out. I watched her brushing out the long blond tresses scarcely able to contain my excitement at the thought that the last remnant of Patrick was about to disappear. The bright red finger nail polish on my manicured nails was still drying as my new head of hair was lowered into place. Debbie seemed to fuss around with it for ages till I was finally lead to the full-length mirror.

I stood transfixed at the beautiful woman returning my gaze. Patrick would have creamed his jeans, I'm sure, upon seeing her. Yet Patricia seemed to approach things in a totally different manner. She tilted her head upward, turning it gently from side to side to feel her new locks cascading on her shoulders. She fanned her skirt and spun her whole self around 180 degrees from side to side to soak in the beauty of her image from all angles. She stood upright in her high heels to admire her long legs. Then she softly started to cry…

The next few days were a mass of confusion for me. Debbie initially had interpreted my tears as signs of regret and had sought to ease my 'discomfort' by making it okay for me to only wear the clothes for the rest of the day. But Robyn would have none of it:

"Sure if that's only as long as she can take it. I knew Patricia wouldn't last 24 hours with what we girls have to put up with every day of our lives. When it comes down to it, men are such wimps!"

Shirley was of no help: "If you let him get away with it this time, Debbie, you'll only be making it okay for him to treat you even worse the next time. You have to draw the line sometime."

"It's okay, Debbie," I said dabbing at my tears trying hard not to ruin my make-up. I was quite confused as to why I was crying but I was pretty sure it wasn't because I was upset at being turned into a girl. I knew one thing, though, and that was that I didn't want to remove the clothes just yet. I wanted to savour the experience a while longer.

"I can handle this, " I said at last. "I can last as long as it takes."

The trouble was, of course, that no time limit was ever discussed. So even though this had all started with me only having to wear a bra, suddenly, not only was I now dressed head-to-toe in women's clothes, I had no idea how long I had to remain this way to prove my point.

I dared not raise the matter myself for fear that I would lose what little self-respect I had left. Yet I couldn't help but wonder how Robyn would ever concede to me wearing pants again given how hateful she had always been towards me (and I to her). I felt damned if I did and damned if I didn't. But the strangest thing of all was how calm I was considering I was facing the prospect of being trapped indefinitely within layer upon layer of femininity.

Patricia, however, revelled in the situation. She knew just how to behave. She knew how to sit in a skirt, how to squat to pick things up, even how to walk in her high heels, as if she had been doing it all her life. It was as if another person had suddenly possessed my body. The funny thing was that the other three girls interpreted my new found demeanour as 'putting on a brave face'. This allowed me to be as girlie as I liked without feeling constrained by self-consciousness.

It was a relief, however, to be able to remove my high heels at the end of the day and found my feet suddenly even sorer than ever. Debbie assured me they would have been far worse if I hadn't been wearing pantihose. My amazement at being handed a perfectly fitting pair of fluffy white slippers was overshadowed by how appreciative my feet felt soothed in such cosiness.

I felt quite sad to have to take off the attire I had so enjoyed wearing. Yet I was not allowed to take off the one item I had been looking forward to parting company with, my bra. Debbie would not hear of me removing it, insisting that this was the whole point of the exercise. I ceased trying to argue with her, as this only seemed to get her angrier with me.

"Oh for God's sake, don't be such a baby. You got yourself into this, now take your medicine like a man, or was Robyn right in calling you a ballsless wimp?"

I had no choice but to go along with her otherwise I'd never hear the end of it from her or Robyn. Besides, with everything happening so quickly, I was feeling quite fragile and really needed her friendship more than ever.

Removing my make-up was a drag and quite a let down to see the plainness of my face returning in the mirror, especially without my wig. The one consolation was that the sweet scent of my perfume remained with me even upon waking the following morning. At first I thought it was Debbie that I could smell until the feel of the silkiness of my nightie on my body reminded me of the events of the previous day.

I soon found out that I was right about the indefinite nature of my predicament when I had to ring in sick for work on Monday morning. It was either that or going in as I was, according to Debbie. As the week rolled on I found that I had become quite accustomed to living as a woman. Since Debbie was working full time, I was expected to do all the housework.

I didn't mind her leaving me a list of chores each morning as it helped to fill up my day. I did however find it somewhat unnerving to have only women's clothes to wash, iron, fold, etc… unnerving in that getting so 'upfront and personal' with them had taught me to appreciate their beauty in a way I never noticed before when worn by a women. On their own, however, I now marvelled at their beautiful colours, their softness, their stylishness. I even started to try on some items in secret.

Debbie rang my work on the following Monday, this time to say that my mother had taken ill and that I had gone to Australia to be with her in case she didn't pull through. Without saying as much I realised then that she was expecting me to continue living as a woman for at least another week, possibly even more.

Robyn was over every other day to ensure Patricia continued to experience the full range of her femininity. After getting me used to wearing knee length skirts for a couple of days, she brought around some micro-miniskirts for me to wear. They amounted to little more that body-hugging T-shirts and I felt so exposed I dare not so much as even move in case my cute little panties showed. As I slowly adapted to them I felt my movements were becoming even more pronouncedly feminine. Having to keep my thighs so close together all the time I soon learned to cross my legs upon sitting down without even thinking. As my balance improved from walking in high heels, I could swear I was developing a little wiggle in my hips.

When Debbie first saw me in such a short skirt, she insisted I needed to shave my legs. She immediately dragged me into the bathroom and showed me how (doing my underarms as well). It was a weird feeling at first, as if my legs were wet. But I loved how smooth they felt, which only encouraged me to keep them close together so that I could rub them against one another. And when I was seated with hands neatly resting on my lap, bare legs crossed in front of me it was all but impossible to resist stroking my legs even though I was aware just how femininely I was starting to behave.

The funny thing was that these mannerisms stayed with me even when I wore less constrictive clothing. When I went through a period of wearing long flowing skirts, I still stroked my legs while I sat, I still kept my knees tightly together, and I was even looser in my hips as I loved how the skirts swayed across my legs when I walked. I even found myself holding the side of my skirt and spinning myself around so it fanned upwards. It seemed that my path into femininity was one-way street and the weird thing about it was that I didn't seem to care.

Amazingly, I never felt more accepted by the girls and more included by them than I did since I became Patricia. In fact, it wasn't long before they were all calling me Tricia (sometimes even, Trish) as if I was one of their girlfriends. I loved hearing them call me by those names. I found I was even looking forward to Robyn and Shirley coming over and missing them if I hadn't from them for awhile.

Of course, I was always part of whatever they got up to, especially in the beginning when instead of running off into the bedroom on their own, they would drag me in there with them and try all manner of clothes, make-up, jewellery on me. Debbie and I often visited Robyn and Shirley as well, meaning I was able to explore such a variety of women's clothes. I soon found I was enjoying watching them try on things almost as much doing so myself. At that wasn't to see them undress. I'm not sure when it first started, but I suddenly realised one day that I was more interested in women's clothes than their bodies.

I soon resented having to see Patrick at all, that is, first thing in the morning. But he never stayed for long and I didn't miss him once he was gone. The re-shaping of my eyebrows also helped and I got into the habit of shaving my chin as soon I got out of bed and putting on my wig thereafter. I found that wearing long hair caused me to naturally throw my head back as a means of keeping it off my face. It was such a feminine thing to do as was brushing it back with my hands, which had the added sensation of having my bracelets rattling around my ears.

I was most surprised how quickly bracelets and bangles became one of my favourite items of attire. I couldn't resist looking through them whatever shop I went into and I soon owned an extensive collection of my own. Wearing them not only allowed me to play with them but also seemed to make me quite limp-wristed.

Necklaces also seemed to be magnets to my hands, not only in shops but also while wearing them. I often found my hands stroking my bare chest upon which they rested. I also kept my arms folded a lot more than I ever had. This was mainly because women's clothes don't normally come with pockets so there wasn't much else to do with them. I also found it strangely reassuring to have them crossed over under my breasts especially since they seemed to have grown even bigger since I'd started wearing bras.

I don't know what became of my former clothes. They just seemed to disappear overnight. The embarrassing thing was I couldn't even remember when this had occurred. All I know is that more and more dresses and skirts and women's tops and women's underwear made there way into my wardrobes and drawers till there was not a single item of men's clothing left. And then, pants started making their way back in, women's pants.

I could never have believed that wearing pants could be such a feminine experience. Obviously they were cut differently, in colours and materials not found in menswear. Yet even when I wore a pair of ordinary jeans they seemed to change my shape, making my hips seem a lot more rounded than I remembered them and my thighs feel tighter. I just assumed they were a slimmer fit. At any rate, when worn with skimpy tops, pants took on a whole new character.

The weirdest thing about wearing pants was, of course, was that even when they were as plain as plain can be, I always knew I was wearing women's panties underneath. The same thing went for t-shirts and shirts. Sure the girls gave them different names like tees and tops and blouses, and having to button them in the opposite way was a constant reminder that I was 'crossing the gender line', but the unnerving thing was that I had always wore a bra underneath. I could feel it, I could see it, it seemed to completely redefine my body shape. In fact, wearing women's underwear somehow made me feel a woman at my very core.

The pants themselves took on a whole new perspective when worn with high heels. Not to mention how they looked with a cropped top showing off my midriff with the stud in my belly button. The girls talked me into getting that done while I was getting my ears pierced. I loved being able to wear a wide range of earrings, of course, especially ones that dangled and danced about with every twitch of my head. But I was surprised at how girlie I felt from something as passive as a stud in a place I'd hardly given a second thought to before then.

There would have been a time when I might have been worried how I could possibly explain away such obviously physical changes to my colleagues at work. But as weeks rolled into months and the story drip fed by Debbie continued to evolve, it soon become apparent that neither Debbie, Robyn or Shirley had any intention of ever allowing me to return there, at least not as I had once been.

Firstly: "Pat's mother has died and he's having to stay on for her funeral…"

Secondly: "Pat's father is taking things really badly so he just can't leave him in such a delicate condition…"

Finally: "Pat has decided to stay on indefinitely, so you might as well accept this as his resignation and make up his final pay. His cousin, Tricia, is visiting at present so she'll come around herself to pick that up and whatever else of his that still remains..."

I wondered what Debbie was playing at when I heard her say, "indefinitely"… I felt a chill through my entire body as the words, "resignation" and "final pay" left her lips … But it was, "she'll come around herself" that sent me into a wild panic – Surely Debbie didn't mean to force me to parade as Tricia in front the people I had worked with for over 5 years? That would have to be the ultimate humiliation.

Yet it was those words, "that still remains" that were to reverberate in my head over and over. It was precisely at that moment that I realised that I had not seen anything belonging to Pat in weeks. I couldn't believe that I hadn't even noticed when or where all the things from my previous life had gone. Not only was I expected to bring home Pat's "final pay", but that "whatever else of his that still remains" constituted the last remnants that Pat had even existed.

Tricia's visit was a memorable day in more ways than one. I was petrified to have to go through with it, of course, but Debbie had left me with no choice. Nervous as I was, I was amazed that not one of my former colleagues recognised me or even gave me a second look, other than the forklift driver who gave me a couple of embarrassing wolf whistles. Debbie had tried to assure me that not even my own 'dead' mother would recognise me now but it wasn't until that moment that it finally sunk in just how much I had changed.

My breasts by then had outgrown my B-cups and I found my walk had quite naturally adapted to the rhythm of their swinging and swaying motion. My arse had become so rounded I couldn't help but wonder where all that extra 'padding' had come from. Even my voice, while remaining somewhat deep for a woman, merely seemed to possess a sexy edge to it. In fact, I had become so accustomed to my life as Tricia that I realised I now carried myself with an air of ease and confidence.

Even at home, I had fallen into such a comfortable routine of cooking, cleaning, shopping, etc that I had started missing work, that is, 'paid' employment. More than anything else, I was missing other people's company. Debbie's life seemed so much more interesting. But I realised that in order to get a job now, I would have to consider different type of work to that I'd ever held before.

When my birthday rolled around a few weeks later, it was an amazing experience opening my presents to find only girlie things in them. Shirley bought me the most gorgeous floral dress you could ever imagine. I went bright red with embarrassment when I opened my present from Robyn to find a selection of very intimate lingerie. But I was totally floored to open my present from Debbie to find am enormous vibrator ("No girl should be without one"). Before I could say a word, the lights were turned off and a cake brought out. With the words "Happy Birthday Patricia" evident in the candlelight, not to mention hearing the sound of "Happy Birthday, Dear Patricia…" einging in my ears. I readily went into dreamland upon being urged to make a wish and blow out the candles.

I always thought that you had to keep your wish secret for it to come true, but Debbie put a whole new spin on this. As the smoke from the extinguished candles snaked upward, she declared that if she could guess my wish, then it would be 'fait accompli', that my wish would be 'sealed' forever.

"I bet you wished..."

No one needed to say another word, for the sudden redness of my face said what we all already knew. Debbie and Robyn screeched like schoolgirls. Even Shirley never looked more satisfied.

"Go on, Tricia," she urged, "Say it out LOUD. You can do it."

With more and more encouragement from all of them, I finally blurted it out the truth:

"Okay! You're right! I admit it! I want to remain as Patricia forever."

And that was it! The girls made me say it over and over, louder and louder, until we were all skipping around the room singing it like schoolgirls:

"I want to be Patricia

I want to be a girl.

I want to be Patricia

More than anything in the world"

It was then that I found out what I had tried so hard not to think about – that the reason why all my clothes, especially my footwear, had always fitted me so well was that I had been entrapped by the girls! That's right, and it wasn't even Robyn's idea but Debbie's. She had become so pissed off with my attitude around Robyn and Shirley that she vowed to teach me a lesson and had enlisted their help to force me to experience what it was like to be a girl.

The thing that shocked me, however, was that Debbie had been secretly slipping me hormone supplements in with my breakfast muesli. By the time I was wearing my first bra, I had been taking them for nearly a year. This was how come my breasts had become as big as they were.

But most shocking of all was that even after I had realised that my masculinity had been destroyed forever (ie. short of Breast Reduction surgery) by this cruel trick, I decided to willingly and openly to continue with the hormone treatment with the view to eventually seeking sex reassignment surgery. I had come to enjoy living as a woman so much that I wanted to go the distance with it.

My whole attitude had changed since I was made to wear my first bra. I had learnt Debbie's lesson so well, I now wanted to 'graduate with full honours', especially after she introduced me to the pleasures of my new dildo. I now longed for my own vagina so I could feel complete.

When I broke the news to my parents, I discovered that they did in fact dress me up as a girl when I was a baby and that they had especially chosen me the name Pat because it passed for both sexes. I might have resented Robyn once for being so right, but not any longer. I was now so grateful to her for bringing the truth to bear and to Debbie for planning my reconstruction into a woman that I couldn't stop crying at my parents' acceptance of me, tears of sheer joy.

And then I suddenly realised the truth. That terrible thing that had happened to me was not that I had been tricked into surrendering my masculinity but that I had been brought up a male at all. Finally after all those sorry years that terrible thing had now been righted once and for all.

Love to you all (and may all your dreams come true)

Tricia

  

  

  

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