Jenny’s Story                          by Rachel Ann Cooper                 © 1998

 

Lately, I don’t know what’s that matter with me. And it’s not like it’s the first time, either. I had the same, or at least a similar dream in high school. Now I was about to graduate college and get married and the dream had surfaced again. I suppose it could be influenced by what I’d found on the Internet but that was pretty strange.

It is a site called gaycafe.com and I got to reading some of the stories posted there under the name of ‘transgender/transsexual’ stories. I’d never seen anything like this before. Stories of all sorts were there from authoritarianism to little kids petticoat discipline all involving some kind of transformation of a boy into girl or man into woman. It must have been fascinating to me because I never even heard Angela come up behind me.

Angela and I are going to be married as soon as we graduate. The wedding and start up money for my business is her parent’s wedding present to us and my dad is buying us a new car. Since you can buy a pretty nice manufactured house for the price of a nice car these days, we thought that was a nice present, no car payments. Angie is probably just the kind of wife I need too, positive, assertive, a take charge person, knows what she wants, a real go getter, you know what I mean? She’s pretty and smart and the picture of femininity too. I like that. A girl should be really feminine.

My major is accounting and that is what I’m going to do, devote my time to crunching numbers. I know it’s not a very dynamic job but all the dynamic ones were already filled by Batman and Superman. (Joke) The qualities that Angie says she admires in me are strangely, my nurturing and homebody qualities. I keep a very neat apartment and yet it has a warm, inviting atmosphere and she says I’m a good cook too. The testimony to that is my slightly chub covered body. And, much to my regret, I’m way too trusting and almost never lock the door, which is how I found myself answering the battery of questions that followed her seeing what I’d been reading on the ‘net’.

I don’t know how long she had been standing there reading over my shoulder either, or whether she had noticed the bulge in my jeans while I was reading a story about a girl slowly and methodically changing her husband into a housewife. I, on the other hand, could probably be a stunt double for Casper Milktoast. I don’t know if my restrained, alright let’s face it, submissive personality is something close to femininity or not, but the idea of being forced to be feminine, female even, had a naughty, delicious ring to it. It stirred my loins, if you know what I mean. It was exciting to imagine someone controlling me that way, taking away the responsibility for what was happening, forcing me to become a girl, something I might really enjoy anyway. At the same time, it was a scary concept, giving up control of your life to another person.

Would I really let a girl do that to me and if I wouldn’t, if the idea wasn’t exciting or appealing to me, why was my temperature rising and why was I about to explode without even touching myself? At the same time I felt that I would never stand for someone even trying to do that to me, even sweet Angela. The very idea!!! I was a man, after all, and men didn’t wear frilly things and enjoy all that sensuous clothing that women wear. Well, we aren’t supposed to any way. From reading a few of those stories though, I gathered that some men did indeed revel in feminine finery. Apparently, women’s clothing was meant to be quite sensual and exotic, even if it were just for their own amusement. I’d never thought of it that way before but it certainly IS sexy.

"Jensen?" (I was named after my Swedish grandfather) "what are you reading?" "I...how long...I guess you can see well enough, can’t you Angie?" She had me dead bang. Nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. "Well, yes I can but I swear, I didn’t even know such things existed outside of fiction like ‘Orlando’." "Well, this IS fiction, Angie. Just fantasies, you know?" "But do these things actually happen? Is it possible to take a nice, sweet boy like you and change him into a nice, sweet girl, I mean, if a girl wanted to do that sort of thing?"

"I...uh...don’t really know Angie. I don’t think I’ve ever met one of them, but then, if it was a success, how would I know?" "I see your point, Jens. I mean, if she really did a good job of it, how WOULD anyone know? It is a devilishly fun idea, don’t you think? Devilishly fun! I almost wish I had someone to try it on just for the fun of it. I know how to get hormones and everything for it."

"Why, because I’m not exactly the macho guy type? Do I look like a likely candidate for something like that just because I’m only an inch taller and about as slightly built as you? I don’t act swishy, do I?" "No, no, of course not honey. But then, real girls don’t act real swishy either. Well, you go on reading your stories dear. I have to go. Finals this week and I have endless stuff to get ready for our wedding. I must remember that web site. Very interesting." And with that, she left for home. ‘Thank heaven THAT’S over with’ I thought.

That night, I had the dream again. There I was at the Senior Prom, dancing my little heart out and having a ball whirling and twirling with six layers of crinoline under my blue velvet ball gown. I was a girl, a beautiful, auburn haired girl being held by a handsome princely fellow, my prince charming, no doubt. But I had to be home by midnight and my limo pulled up in front of the house and my prince and the limo disappeared and there I was, the old me, just standing on the sidewalk in a sweatshirt and dumpy trousers. I turned and went dejectedly into the apartment building. And then, I woke up perspiring with wet sheets. It was all too real, too vivid, too exciting. I didn’t want to lose my prince charming but it was all just...a dream.

June 15th: Angie and I were standing in her parent’s garden in front of the fountain with three tiers of cascading blue water behind the preacher with 30 people watching. The hedges were all perfectly sculpted and the pool was a vision of pure blue calm. And then we heard the words, "I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride." Angie looked lovely. I’ve never seen her look more radiant. She had four bridesmaids from school and my brother was my best man and my room mate my groomsman. Angie and I were both in white and I was bright eyed and bushy tailed that day as I had forgone the traditional bachelor party. It just wasn’t my style.

We had just planned a short getaway for the weekend, as my new job began on Monday and it wouldn’t do to be late. It was just a small firm, one CPA and two of us working toward our CPA exams as bookkeepers primarily. I didn’t mind being a bookkeeper. Somebody has to do it and I was good at it. Once I got my CPA, her Dad would set me up in business. I’m afraid I interacted better with numbers than I did with people, Angie excepted, of course. Being such a dynamic person herself, I wondered what she saw in me but then, maybe it was that we were such opposites. Our strengths and weaknesses complimented each other.

We left amid a hail of rice and arrived at the motel and spa that evening. After dinner, we went to one of their hot tubs and had an invigorating soak. It was rather sensual, all those bubbles, you know? That seemed to get us in the ‘mood’ along with a complimentary bottle of champagne, and we retired to consummate our marriage. Well, I must tell you, I was a virgin. I know, at 22, what was the matter with me? I didn’t know whether Angie was or not, but she certainly did have some wild ideas about foreplay. After we had gotten into our night togs, she insisted we switch. That’s right, switch! She made me wear her panties and nightie to bed and she wore my pjs. ‘Now, where had she gotten the idea for THAT, I wondered?’

I was so nervous, but she kept soothing me and caressing me and telling me how nice I looked and felt and soon I forgot about how I was dressed and got down to the business at hand, so to speak, and it was a glorious union, one I will never forget, I’m sure, despite the feelings of inadequacy that I had. Angie went to the bathroom and came back with washcloth and towel and cleaned us up a little and then she looked at me rather oddly and said, "Jens, I think I’ll just get another nightie out. Keep that one on. I’d just used it for a stimulus, but it fits you so nicely and I love the way it feels on you, don’t you?"

"I have to admit Angie, I’ve wondered what it felt like to wear one of these. It’s just as soft and sensuous as I imagined. Yes, I will wear it if that’s what you want." "Good. I’ll get changed." That night, our first as man and wife, was the beginning of my end. The next day, she bade me don a pair of her hip hugger panties, reasoning with me that if I liked the feel of the gown and it’s matching panties, I would surely like the feel of stretch satin panties under my clothes. Unfortunately for me, she was ever so right. I LOVED them and as I was not large, they contained me rather well. It was very sexy having satin rubbing against my privates and caressing my bottom all day.

We hadn’t been married a month before it began in earnest. She had moved into my apartment and brought with her the assortment of herbs and vitamins she claimed kept her ticking and insisted at once that I get on the bandwagon, feeding me a handful of who knows what every morning. Why fight over trying to stay healthy, I thought. If it makes her happy, fine. I’ll take them. I noticed St. Johns Wort was one of them and had heard the F.D.A. had recently approved it for use as a relaxant.

I didn’t know it had a side effect. That would come later along with finding out the properties of licorice root.

"What’s in the big bag Angela?" "A present for my sweetie," she replied. "Open it." Inside were two dozen pairs of sensual, sexy panties in satin and nylon and lace. "You can’t be serious," I said. She got a very hurt expression on her face and replied, "but you seemed to enjoy my satin panties so much, I thought you might like to have your own. I thought I was doing something to please you. Don’t they feel nice?"

"Well honey, of course they feel ...wonderful...but I shouldn’t be wearing girl’s panties. I’m a man. Alright, sometimes that’s debatable when I cry in the movies but at least, I’m a male. How am I going to do justice to these? I bulge!" "Not that much Jens. You know your staff isn’t even five inches at full attention. Just tuck it back and learn how to cross your legs properly, at the knee. If you want a smoother line, we can get you one of those gaff things impersonators wear. They make you look like a real girl though, very real!"

"Alright dear. Thank you for the sexy undies and I promise, I’ll try to enjoy them." Soon after, I found my old Jockey brand had all disappeared into never never land. I didn’t have the heart to put up a row about it. My new undies were quite soft, and they seemed to keep me in a rather constant state for a while, until I got used to the idea that I had become, quite easily, a pantied husband, just like in those stories. Blast! There were then simply my undies.

Could I possibly end up like one of THOSE, in skirts and high heels?

Oh, my! That thought got a bit of a reaction down below too. Here again, the thought of someone doing those things to me were a bit of a turn on.

Well, that would be as far as it went. Surely, she doesn’t want to really feminize me, to make me grow breasts and everything. Surely! "Jensen, old man, how come you never belly up to the urinals," asked Bill at work one day? "Just lazy I guess Bill. Nothing personal," I kidded. The cut of the panties Angie had gotten me was such that I had no choice but to sit like a girl no matter what function needed taken care of in the loo. They were cut too high for anything else. They encased my tummy, hips and bottom entirely in satiny luxury. I hadn’t given it much thought but had gotten used to it. I really no longer even thought about unzipping and standing up, even at home. And to make matters worse, I began wiping rather than shaking. Well, after all, I didn’t want to soil my pretty panties now, did I and shaking didn’t get you dry.

Nothing much more unusual happened for a while, at least that I could see.. I did visit some of those stimulating sites again and found myself in a similar predicament as the first time. I know I shouldn’t have been, but the idea of being feminized without my knowledge or against my will, while scary in some aspects was also quite arousing in others.

I wasn’t sure, but I suspected that Angela was spending some time at these sites to, as she was not as familiar as I about computers and didn’t know that where you have been and when leaves a trail that can be opened up unless you know how to erase it. I did indeed find that she was logging onto some of these sites while I was at work. One of them was titled ‘girl juice.’ She was never there very long but I did find a disk labeled TG one day that I had not created and it was locked with a password. I didn’t even want to know what was on it and left it right where I found it. Perhaps she was aroused by these stories too. And if she was, what was my fate to be?

We had been enjoying conjugal bliss, albeit somewhat odd in that the groom was still wearing lovely satin nightgowns and ladies sensuous undies and the bride was quite ravenous and appreciative of her sensuous hubby that way. I didn’t see that she was making any concerted efforts to change me outwardly. However, after about 2 ½ months, I noticed that she was playing with my chest rather more than ever, it not being a major center of eroticism for me before this. That was changing. Now, she could elicit a nipple erection from me. Quite tantalizing and new. I’d always been soft there but now I was softer.

My aureole appeared larger, darker, tender, and my nipples would come up like bean sprouts when she tweaked or mouthed them. I was receiving sensual pleasures from them and this was altogether new for me. I wondered if all married men were so blessed and affected. Was this something that all married men had to deal with? Was it something that happened to a man after he got married? I was so naive. My skin all over my body felt different somehow and my chest, never hard like an athlete, seemed to be retreating into total flab, as if I were obese, except I was still rather on the lean side if anything. Angela was having such a good time with my chest, she began massaging some kind of fragrant creme into it, or them, as the case may be. She spread it over my shoulders and face and hands too.

My waist couldn’t be over 26, if that, and my hips, yes, that seems so be another area with a problem. My jeans are getting tight on me. I’ve been wearing the same sized jeans for four years and all of a sudden I must need a fuller cut. Sitting in front of a computer all day is no excuse. And my thighs, that’s another thing. They are getting heavier too. I am definitely putting on weight. I’d better get on the scales. See? Six pounds. I would have thought it would go to my waist but it’s not.

The next clue I had was that I found two pairs of slippers and a new robe in my closet. The robe was white satin and so was one pair of slippers, and with a two inch heel too. The other pair was just scuffs, albeit white with pink trim.

"Angie, I can’t wear these things. They are feminine." "Jens, femininity was invented by MEN so they wouldn’t have to deal with their softer side. They’ve relegated that part of themselves to women but I find that you don’t seem to be afraid like most men and I’d like you to get past those old stereotypes and enjoy the other side of you. I want you to develop your feminine side. I think it would be fun. In fact, I’d like to give you shots to help you along. Now, put on the mules and the robe over your pretty gown and come into the living room and let’s cuddle while we watch a nice love story together." "And just look at how that gown is hanging dear. I’d almost think you were getting a bosom, you look so cute in it these days."

I tried on my new mules and put on my gown and robe without further protest for some reason. There was no doubt now. Angela WAS going to feminize me. Would I panic or embrace it? ‘Well Jens, if you just did something with that hair...!’ She didn’t have to finish that sentence. I was beginning to get a picture here.

"You’ve been spending an awful lot of time massaging me lately Angie. Are you trying to soften me up and give me boobs?" "I’m not TRYING anything of the sort honey. You are growing them though, and I think you are enjoying them too by the looks of your triple lumps in front and how you respond in bed." "Oh boy! You ARE feminizing me, aren’t you? You’ve given me something somehow and my body is changing and my head is beginning to like it and you’re going to change me into a girl or a shemale, aren’t you? I’ll bet you’ve been doing it to me since we first got married, haven’t you?" I freaked! Fun and games was one thing but I was beginning to look like one of those people I had read about. It was happening to ME and I didn’t know how to stop it. Worse yet, I didn’t know if I even WANTED to stop it because it felt so naughty but nice.

"Nonsense, Jens, I lied, it’s all your imagination. How could I do something like that? I wouldn’t know where to find the things to make you grow breasts." "You said you did and what about the shots?" "If you are, it must be one of those psychosomatic things or something. You know I’m not giving you shots. Maybe you have a glandular problem and don’t know it or maybe you really want them and don’t know it!" "Me? Breasts? Just because you got me into pretty nighties and panties and heeled slippers? You mean my mind could actually be making my breasts grow?" "Sure. Why not?" "Hmmm! Maybe you’re right. I guess it’s possible alright. The mind call heal the body or make it sick. Seems logical."

"I do enjoy the feminine things you got me. Maybe my mind is growing these to fill the gowns. How odd. I am getting to be a handful though, aren’t I?" "Almost dear. Do they give you pleasure?" "Oh, my yes. I’d hate to try and describe it but it’s very exciting when you fondle me. I really should be ashamed to say that, shouldn’t I ?" "Why, of course not, darling, if that’s the way you feel. If having a little breast tissue agrees with you, by all means, enjoy it. I certainly do. I mean, yours AND mine. They are erogenous zones after all and were meant to be.

Do you think you might want to explore being more girlish? I think it would be ever so much fun. We could do all sorts of girl things together. Please. Let me get you some girl juice. I’ll be very gentle, I promise." "You really do want to feminize me don’t you Angie?" "I think it would be the best thing for you lover." "Twist my arm. OW! You did! Alright, I’m just a weakling and you’re the strong one. Do what you will with me. I give up." "Just look on your new assets as bonus sites dear. You’ll be much more responsive as a girl and we’ll have such fun, you won’t believe it."

My ‘bonus sites’ continued to blossom over the next six months to the point of, I’m afraid, no return. I was pendulous, a ‘C’ cup and forced to wear a very tight sports bra to work under my suit coat. It looked like I had a great pair of pectorals. I did, especially when I let them breath at home and in a Wonderbra, oh MY!. Angie and I were now the same size except for my slight height difference.

Angela had not forced anymore clothing on me. She ‘suggested’ however, one thing after another. First, to cope with my tenderness, I began wearing camisoles instead of tee shirts under my sports bras. Oh, they were so soothing, so light and airy, soft and sensuous to the touch and above all, non irritating. My bottom, never wanting to be left out of anything, continued to likewise expand to fit the available cloth surrounding itself. Soon I found myself in the women’s department buying size 10 jeans and slacks and the slacks, I had to wear to work because men’s no longer fit. Then, not wanting to wear a foundation garment to quell the advancing tummy between my hips, I succumbed to control top pantyhose as a regular diet under my slacks which slid into my rather androgynous slip-on shoes with their slowly increasing chunky heel heights.

My new bosom did not want to fit into a men’s shirt either, despite the sports bra and I soon found myself wearing man tailored blouses cut to accommodate my voluptuous eruptions. Was my wife succeeding in feminizing me? Well, let us take stock. We’ve been married over nine months. In that time, beginning on our wedding night, she has gotten me into ladies nighties, panties, camisoles, bras, slacks and blouses, hosiery, not to mention my slippers to which were recently added some mid heeled classic pumps to wear with my slacks, as if I’d ever wear them to work! Well, that’s it. I’ve had it. No more! I know I said do what you will, but I was really turning into a girl, not only in body but in mind. It was becoming very difficult to control my girlish actions and emotions, let alone my increasing desire for MORE of everything female. I was emoting like one of the girls at work too and they to me.

‘I have to go to work and live in the real world. I can’t be going around looking like a woman with this long hair and dressed like this. What will people think?’ "Jenny?" "Huh?"

"Jenny, I’m talking to you." "JENNY? ME? YOU CALLED ME JENNY AS IN JENNIFER?" "Calm down. Yes, I did. What’s wrong with that? Jennifer is a beautiful name." "You know bloody well what’s wrong with it. You’re doing it again. Do I look like a Jennifer to you?" "Do you want the truth or what you want to hear?" "What I want to hear, of course. What else?"

"Well, I’m sorry, I just can’t do that. I want you to go down and get your ears pierced tomorrow after work and have some nice little hoops put in." "I will NOT" I said as I was about to throw a tantrum. "Alright then, I’ll just have to take you myself like a two year old. Is that what you want? Do you want me to treat you like a two year old, hold your hand and make you do everything that Mommy says?" "In some ways, that would be more comforting." "Just do it please?" "Oh, alright! How soon before I’m forever in skirts and high heels?" "Soon my darling. Soon!"

"Next you’ll be wanting me to go have a cut and a perm and a manicure with lovely polish on these too long nails of mine and maybe a complete make over." "How did you know?" "Just a lucky guess! I said sarcastically." "Your appointment is at 4PM Thursday. Don’t be late. Gwen will be your operator and she has her instructions. You won’t be done until 7. Be a good girl and don’t give her a hard time." "A good GIRL now is it? All of a sudden I’m a girl in your eyes?" "No Jenny darling, not all of a sudden. I didn’t realize it until I stood behind you at the computer that day."

"The qualities I’ve always loved about you have been qualities that any girl should HAVE, a really nice, sweet girl anyway, which I am not. It didn’t hit me till then. Those feminine qualities just happened to be in a male package and rather out of place. I found I really didn’t mind the idea of repackaging them. Now, you are going to be my girlish hubby and like it and you won’t be sorry. I’ll see to that. So go get your hair styled and let Gwen do whatever else she wants to and come home happy to be you, alright? And you’d better wear something feminine into the shop because when you leave, you’ll be embarrassed to be in men’s clothing." "Oh, that’s just FINE!"

"Angie, I don’t know if I can do this." "Honey, you’ve already done it. The cake is baked. You’re little bod is a size 10, a perfect size 10 and that face is much too sweet to pretend it belongs to a man and so is your disposition. You don’t really want to be a man anymore do you? Really?" "(sigh) I used to think so Angie. Why did you do this to me?" "Because you really wanted me to and I love you. I saw how excited the idea of being dominated and changed into a girl affected you. You could hardly contain yourself. You were glued to the screen, mesmerized. You were pulsating! It’s about time you gave up those stupid pants and started wearing some smart skirt suits and dresses to work, don’t you think?" "You’ve got to be kidding. I’ll lose my job."

"Have you looked in the mirror lately JENNY? Do you think I’m the only one who sees Jenny? Surely you aren’t that naive. I didn’t marry you because you were stupid!" "Paul and Marie HAVE been a little strange around me at work lately. While I’ve been thinking I’ve been hiding things, they and everyone else has been seeing Jenny take over, haven’t they?" "Yeppers! I know because I’ve talked to them. They’ve been keeping me posted sweetie. They can’t wait for the other shoe to drop!"

"You haven’t got a masculine bone left in that effeminate little body of yours. It took a house to fall on me but those qualities that I fell in love with in you were the feminine traits that I lacked. We’re perfect for one another and it’s about time we got you into a dress and high heels lover because you’re living the rest of your life as my wife/girlfriend and that, as they say, is that. I’ve informed your boss not to expect you back. Jenny starts on Monday." "You didn’t!" "Oh, yes I did my love. You ARE my little Jennifer now and they don’t care a fig at work. They’ve known for some time which way the wind was blowing."

I dressed appropriately for my appointment at the beauty parlor. Angie had ordered ‘the works’ for me. I’ve never been so pampered in my life and I liked it. Scratch that. I LOVED it! We went out to celebrate that night to a fancy restaurant. It was wonderful accepting my femininity at last. I’m not Casper Milktoast after all. I’m a girl. Well, almost. Now all we have to deal with is MEN! Oh, boy!

 

© 2000
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