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The Transition Pill - Chapter 2 The First Transition
(09-19-2019, 07:03 PM)Anne Wrote: Chapter 2 - The First Transition

Am I dreaming?  Or am I in some trance-like condition but awake?  Nondescript images appear within my sleep but cannot make out what or who they are.  I hear voices but cannot make out what they are saying.  These fuzzy images and voices come and go with intermittent periods of sleeping within a dark void.  What am I feeling?  Is that pain?  I cannot tell as the sensations are fuzzy like the images and voices.  I feel sensations of someone or something reaching in my mouth.  Then there are sensations of my body being moved or twisted about.

And then I awake.

I am sitting upright in the bed.  I did not notice prior but it’s one of those hospital beds and the end of it has been raised to support my sitting position.  My eyes slowly open and I look about me.  My eyes come into focus and I realize I am in the same room where I swallowed the pill and went to sleep.  Light filters through window blinds.

A young looking male tech enters the room and notices I am awake.  “Hey, good morning. I’m James.  Good to see you are awake.  I caught the tail end of your transition but it was amazing to see what was happening.”
“How long have…..” and I stop talking mid-sentence.  That voice!  It’s not my voice but yet, it is.  As Steve, my male voice was a higher-pitched tenor.  I never had a low-pitched voice.  But this?  My Anne voice was higher pitched like a mezzo-soprano, that medium range of female voice that lies between a low-pitched contralto and a high-pitched soprano.
“How long have I been….asleep?”
“The pharm people set the sleep cycle purposely for nine hours.  They thought it best if they ensured that you slept completely through the transition.  Actually the transition appeared to be complete after five hours from taking the pill.”
“I took the pill at nine o’clock last night.  So it’s six?”
“Just a bit past six now.  How are you feeling?”

How do I feel?  I had to ponder that question for a moment as I sat in bed.  I feel more energetic.  I should feel more energetic, right?  I transitioned into a 50 year old woman from a 62 year old man.  But I feel different?  Is it the age?  Is it because I became genetically a female?  Is it because I just woke up from nine hours of sleep?
Finally I answered, “I feel really good.  It’s hard to explain but I feel more energetic.  I feel strange inside like nothing I’ve felt before.”  I cannot get over the sound of my feminine, so beautiful.  Is this why women converse so much?  The sound of my voice is like a Greek siren calling me to speak more so the world can listen to the wonderfulness of my womanly sound.

I lift up my hands before me to examine them.  The skin appears tighter and more youthful.  There are fewer wrinkles that appear in contrast to my former 62 year old hands.  How delicate and slender they look in contrast to before.

“Hey, let me get you a hand mirror.”  He digs into a drawer and hands it over.  As I hold the mirror and gaze into it, my mouth is open in amazement at what I see.  The tech notices my expression and comments, “Yeah, you went through an amazing transformation.  I would date you myself if you were younger than 50 and I didn’t have a steady.”  Hmmm….thanks for the ‘if you were younger’ comment.  Maybe I should have gone a lot younger.
My mouth is parted slightly open.  My eyebrows are arched more as is typical of a woman.  My pronounced male brow is gone, my forehead smooth like the woman I am now.  My nose is shaped like the Duchess nose, named after the Duchess of Cambridge.  As I examine my features, my only disappointment might be the thin lips that I still possess….that and the older features that one might expect of a 50 year old woman.  I still had wrinkles and some sagging of the jowls, less than I had for a 62 year old male.  My skin...oh how smooth it looks.  I hesitate to call it porcelain but the pores are smaller, much more beautiful looking.  My eyes are still the steel blue eyes of before.  Then I notice, my hair.  It’s my same natural color of brown with streaks of grey but my hair has lengthened to the shoulders.  I ask the tech, “How is it that my hair is down to my shoulders?  I was expecting the same short length it was when I took the pill.
“We were surprised too” he replies.  “We injected a nano probe into your bloodstream to take continuous readings and your biotin levels skyrocketed while your body transitioned.  It was kind of weird to watch your hair grow out at such a fast rate.  Evidently the pill causes a reaction in the biotin levels, making them take off and causing your hair to grow fast.  As soon as the transition was complete, it seems the biotin leveled off and your hair returned to a normal growth rate.”

For a moment, I am lost in the emotion of all this and tears begin to well up.  For once in my life, I feel like I am the gender, the person that I should have always been.  Are these simply tears of joy or am I experiencing a deeper emotional state of being a woman.  I don’t know the answer and I don’t care.  I am in the moment and loving it.  The tech doesn’t understand and thinks I am in pain…”Hey are you feeling ok?  Is something hurting or bothering you?”

Wait, I think to myself...what about the rest of me. “No”, I reply.  “I’m just feeling a bit overwhelmed by all of this.”   I notice a full length mirror.  I experience a sense of modesty and ask the tech, “Can you please leave me alone for a moment?  And please shut the door behind you?”  Is that the woman in me asking that?
“Sure” and he leaves me, the door mechanism clicking shut.

I slide out of bed to stand up, the smock hangs loosely off my shoulders.  I untie a strap and unsnap buttons until the smock slides off my shoulders and drops to my ankles.  My look at the mirror immediately goes to my breasts.  They are relatively small, the B-cups I requested and paid for.  Like beautiful saucers they lay upon my chest.  I love having natural breasts but now I wish I had paid for larger breasts.  My areolas are half-dollar sized and appear appropriately sized for B-cups.

I look upwards and notice that my shoulders are smaller and narrower for a woman.  I was a bit barrel-chested as a man but my chest is now more slender.  My arms are much more slender than before as a man.  Before I had muscle mass in my biceps and triceps that belied my dressing as a woman.

My attention turns towards my lower half.  As a man, I have a long torso and short legs.  It is the same now only I have bigger hips and a larger ass.  I am definitely pear-shaped and not happy at all about this.  If I had to guess my proportions, I am probably 35 or 36B-23-37 or 38.  I would not win the Miss USA contest but I am attractive enough that many men would desire me...or at least I hope so?  As a man, fitness has always been an important element to my being.  Having transitioned, my fitness has translated to being physically fit woman as well.  At least I have that going for me.  I don’t give a shit what the PC crowd says….there is no advantage to being a fat woman.  Most men don’t want that.

I gaze downward at the area that ultimately defines the physical being of a woman.  A beautiful triangular-shaped area of pubic hair points to a vagina.  Being 50 years old, my pubic region is brown hair with some grey mixed within.  How many times had I looked in the mirror, only to be disgusted at the penis and testicles that hung there.  I am a woman!!  I AM a woman!!  I reach down with both hands to my vulva.  I am gentle, as if I am afraid I will injure myself as my fingers pry within my outer labia majora lips...ok, my cunt lips.  I pull to spread my lips to reveal the minor labia that are hidden within.  My female sexuality seems to take control as the middle finger of my right hand inserts itself into my vagina and I slowly masterbate.  I am enjoying the sensations created by my finger sliding back and forth within my vagina.  I withdraw my finger and use all fingers on my hand to rub the area over my clitoris.  My eyelids close and I feel lost within the physical feelings building up within my vulva.  My labia pool with blood and swell as my arousal increases.  It’s difficult to first my genital area feels like it is tingling, then more of a throbbing and fullness to it.  My vagina secretes fluid and I can tell I am becoming wet down there.  As I continue rubbing my clitoris, my arousal keeps increasing and I am breathing more heavily.  I want to experience what it’s like to have an orgasm as a woman and I feel it getting close.

Then comes a knock on the door.  Fuck!!  Talk about throwing a bucket of water on the campfire.

“Hello” I shout out.  “I am not decent.”  Again, the modesty thing.  Is my mentality as a woman taking over me?  Am I losing my sense of what I used to be?
He calls through the door, “It’s James.  Just checking to see how you are doing.  The doctor wants to check on you before you check out.”
“Give me a minute and please send him in.”  I lift up the smock from my ankles and cover myself with it.  As I sit in a chair another knock at the door.  “Come in.”  God I hope they don’t notice the scent of my sex in the air.  I am faintly aware that my vaginal wetness has left the aroma of my female sex lingering in the air caused by my masturbation.

He enters and pulls up a chair next to me.  “I’m Doctor Summers.  I’ve been following your transition.  How are you doing?”  I answer his questions and he wraps a blood pressure cuff around my upper arm.  He increases the cuff pressure and listens to my artery with his stethoscope.  He listens to my heartbeat  The stethoscope feels cold against my breast.  As a man, the stethoscope could feel cold but not cold like this.  Then comes the unexpected.  “Can you please sit back on the bed and spread your legs?”
“I’m sorry but what?”
“Anne is it?  Anne can you please sit back on the bed and spread your legs.  I’m going to look inside your vagina and examine it.  I’m sorry we are not better prepared with stirrups but I need to examine you to check your genital transition.”
I sit back on the bed and pull up the smock to my waist.  Emotionally, I feel strange, as if I feel embarrassed at my exposure.
“This is a first for you.  I’m going to insert what we call a speculum into your vagina so that I can spread the blades to open your vagina so that I can examine your vagina and cervix.”
He puts on a pair of gloves.  The coldness of the speculum catches me off guard as he inserts it into me.  I slightly gasp and comment, “Doctor, maybe next time you could warm it up?”  Do women deal with this all the time?
“Sorry” he replies, “I will be more considerate next time.  Gynecology is not my primary area of healthcare so subtle nuances like a warm speculum are not something I am cognizant of.”  He looks inside me with a light.  “Amazing.  The transition appears to be 100% complete.  Your vagina and cervix are that of a healthy 50 year old woman.  I’m going to next insert lubricated fingers into your vagina to check your uterus and fallopian tubes.”  I breathe slowly as I feel his fingers slide into me.  It’s a strange feeling and he comments to himself “fascinating”.
“What is fascinating?” I ask.

“You are the first male to female transition this company has done.  Your uterus appears to be a bit long but it is normally shaped and positioned for a woman.  Your fallopian tubes are normal and from a scientific standpoint, I wonder if you transitioned younger, would you have eggs and the capability to become impregnated.”

“Well, I’m certainly not looking to get pregnant….I’m post menopausal anyway and I guess you’re welcome?” I replied.
He laughs and finishes the examination.   Before he leaves, he reviews the transition back.  “Do not forget”, he says, “that when your 48 hours is up, a sleeping agent that was put within the pill will take effect.  You will become groggy and fall asleep about 48 hours from the time you took the pill.  You are being put to sleep to avoid any discomfort from your transition back.  It’s best that you avoid operating any kind of machinery or vehicles leading up to that.”

He leaves the room and before I dress I take a long look into the mirror.  I play with my breasts and pinch my nipples.  I get a tingly feeling within my vagina from the gentle pinching I give to my nipples. I get dressed in my sweatpants and top.  Damn, I think to myself, given my new shape, do I proper fitting clothes?  I drive home and try out several items.  I find a knee-length skirt that will fit and a top that is open in the front to show off what cleavage I have.  My disappointment is that all of my bodycon dresses are cut for my DD breastforms and slender male hips.  No time to find a new bodycon and besides, I’ll be changing back tomorrow evening.

I’ve talked about advances in technology and one of those advances is an identification chip in my arm.  Cash is a thing of the past as electronic devices access chip information from that arm chip and allow for instant access to financial credits in my financial accounts.  But the chip has my id as Steve which clashes with the temporary Anne Preuss.  The clinic provides me with requisite forms to take to the government office ID Center.  Finally my turn with the official arrives.  I arrive at his counter and hand over the paperwork.  I provide my pin number allowing the official to link with the arm chip.  He looks at me, looks at the paperwork and comments, “Nice transition surgery.  You look like a real woman.  Compliments to your doctors.”  Hmmm, not much as changed over the years, I surmise.  He has no idea I am a real woman and his callousness hurts.  I think about reporting him to his supervisor but change my mind.  I would rather not bring attention to myself.  We finish up and I am now Anne Preuss per my arm chip.

Next is a trip to the mobile phone center.  I think it’s best if I keep Anne and Steve separate so I obtain a new phone to exclusively use as Anne.  This day is getting away from me.

I want to go out and enjoy this evening as Anne but I need to take care of several cosmetic looks.  My hair is a mess and I need a short style that I can fix on my own.  All the popular hair stylists require reservations but I find a place that takes me as a walk-in.  I sit in the chair and after a quick perusal of hairstyles, I choose a pixie cut...easy for me to comb out and restyle at home.  Next is a visit to the nail salon.  I am unsure what will happen to glued-on nails when I transition back so I just pick out a beautiful red color and have the manicurist paint them.  A lady needs her toes painted as well, so I have a pedicure too.  I am loving my time as a woman...the pampering, the talking...all the things I envisioned woman doing.  I enjoy being a part of the girltalk….talking about clothes and boyfriends and husbands….and the thought strikes me...this is all part of a culture that has existed for many millennia in which women preen themselves in preparation to find a mate for breeding.  Noone speaks of these beautifying tasks in this way but culture has conditioned women to behave in this way.  Some women may complain about objectification but yet, we all participate in the objectification.  OMG, I said “we”.   I am a cis gender woman and feel true to these feelings.

I’m finished with nails but one more thing for this woman….shoes.   When I crossdressed as a male, I was wearing a womens size 10.  My feet are smaller and slender as I appear to be a women's 8.  A visit to DSW and I find a pair of open toe 4” heels to go with my skirt and blouse.  I feel that my look is complete but as I pass a mirror in the DSW store, I am struck by my naked ears.  Yes, I have clip-ons at home but how many times have I wished I had pierced ears.  But when I change back, are the earring holes still there?  How do I explain that to my wife when she comes home in a few months.  So many styles of earrings out there for pierced ears  My female emotions take over...I’ll deal with that the discussion as it comes.  I am a woman...I want to do everything that a woman does.

I find a local shop that pierces ears. I sit down and wait for the body piercer to finish preparations.  Kristen looks at me and notices my age.  “My dear, it’s so unusual for someone to wait this long to pierce their eyes.  What have you been waiting for?”, she says, choosing her words carefully.   We women are much more sensitive to others feelings.  There is that inclusive word “we” again.  My new identity is taking over me more and more.  I am definitely more “Anne” than I am “Steve” in such a short amount of time.  And Anne is becoming ever more dominant with each passing hour.
I make up a story, “I wish I could say.  I just have had a phobia about getting my ears pierced.  But I am frustrated with what is available for beautiful earrings that I just have to do this.”
“Awwww, you have nothing to be afraid of.”  I can have my co-worker Jennifer hold your hand if you like, while we do this.”
I play along, “Oh could she?”
Jennifer is called over, smiles and gently holds my hand.  I pick out a nice zircon stud earring to look nice for tonight.  Before I know it, one ear is done, then the other.  I am given a hand mirror and my mouth opens and my eyes brighten...I look wonderful.  My armchip makes the payment and I hug Jennifer and Kristen goodbye.  I love being part of a woman’s world in which tender hugs, cheek touching cheek, are given.

It’s off to home where I prepare for the evening.  I first have a bite to eat.  Though I am 12 years younger now than I was as a man, I don’t have much of an appetite.  I guess the nutritionists are right that a woman’s body requires less calories.  I prepare a salad of greens and a side of fresh fruit cut into small pieces.

Next I jump into the shower.  I marvel at the look of my wet body, water cascading over every curve that makes up my physical essence.  As I towel off, I watch myself in the mirror and enjoy my breasts jiggling.  ‘Men are such simple visual creatures’, I think to myself.  I am so absorbed with becoming, being Anne, that I don’t even question that thought.  I blowdry my hair and work a brush through it.  I set my hair, using my wife’s hairspray.  It doesn’t even register that it is my wife’s hairspray...I only think of it as a women’s hairspray.

I sit before the makeup mirror.  This is fun, I think, applying my makeup in the nude.  As I apply the makeup, I catch occasional glances at myself.  I complete my look and begin dressing.  As I sit, I slide on a nude thigh-high nylon over one leg.  I thoroughly enjoy the feel as I roll the nylon over my foot and slowly up my leg.  Same ritual for the other leg before I pull up a pair of thong bikini panty.  Next I put on the garter belt and hook the straps to the nylons.  I look at my collection of bras and realize I don’t have any B-cup bras.  Well girl, the men are going to think you’re being real flirty when they notice your exposed cleavage and catch a glimpse of nipple.  I smile a crooked half-smile and slip on my skirt and top.  On with the heels and I check myself out in the mirror.   Hmmmm, ok, I’m that pear-shaped woman I looked at earlier.  Not perfect but I gotta believe someone will like this.

I decide to Uber myself downtown to the Hilton Hotel and ride the elevator to the top floor bar.  It’s 8:00 pm and I sidle upon a barstool at the end of the bar.  The male bartender approaches me. “Hi.  My name is Austin.  What’ll it be tonite, my lovely lady?”  I love that he plays to my womanly desires for compliments.
I lean forward and place my elbows on the bar, my slender fingers curl in an open clasp and I rest my chin upon my knuckles.  “Austin dear, I would love a wet vodka martini.  Stirred please, not shaken.”
He obliges and I find myself sitting at the bar with a martini when he enters.  He looks about my age, late forties or early fifties.  His hair is grey and he has good masculine facial features.  He has a slight bit of a paunch showing that he needs to hit the gym.  He sits at the bar and orders a drink. As he looks towards me, I spin my barstool seat slightly his way and cross my right knee over the left in that womanly way.  I look at his eyes then down the rest of my martini.  He gets up and saunters towards my end.
“You know what’s better than having a martini?” he asks.
“No, but I think you are going to tell me.”  I know the answer already, ‘a second martini’.
“A second martini and a partner to have fun conversation with”, he replies.
“Ok, you can get me a second martini”, I say, “but where do I find the fun partner?”
He busts out laughing and I laugh too at our bit of opening jousting.
“Steve’s my name”, he says. “Steve Saunders”.  Well, that will be easy to remember.
“Anne.  Anne Preuss.  So very nice to meet you Steve Saunders”, I say in a sexy, whisper like manner.  This is going very nicely, I think.

We talk over drinks and he’s very engaging.  Since I have no real background as Anne Preuss, I draw upon my past history as my male self, Steve, and hope that I’m entertaining as well.  Sometimes he tells a story that he thinks is funny and I laugh along with him.  He is successful in pharmaceutical industry or so he says.  As we talk, I feel at times like I am being interviewed. I watch his eyes and I notice how he keeps glancing at my cleavage.  I’m not sure if he can see some nipple but if he can, it must be driving him crazy. I can tell the drinks are loosening him up when he tells me about his divorce and how his wife is a bitch.  If he’s trying to impress this woman, he sure is going about it the wrong way with that.  I finish my third martini and he looks into my eyes.  Steve puts his hand on my arm.  “Anne, let’s go to my suite and have a nightcap there.”
I lean towards him and whisper “Yes Steve.”
Either he is really successful or he puts on a good show as we enter the penthouse suite.  Gotta be damn expensive.  Large spacious suite of multiple rooms and furnishings.  I am taken aback by what comes next.  “So tell me Anne, what do you charge for your services?”  I must have a surprised look on my face.  “Oh, don’t look surprised.  What do you charge for a fuck or a blowjob?”
He thinks I’m a whore.  I cannot believe this.  I transition to a woman so I can be what I always wanted to be...and the first guy I’m about to fuck thinks I’m a whore.  I get up and start walking towards the door and I stop.  I am so angry but the bitch in me says ‘You gotta teach that bastard a lesson girl!’
As I turn around to face him, my mind is racing.   So what does a whore charge for her services?  I try to think about any stories I might have heard in my past.  I decide to just wing it.  “If you want the best fuck of your life with my cunt, that’ll cost you 3,000.  If you want a blowjob, that’ll be 4,000.  But if you want to fuck me in the ass, that’s gonna cost you 6,000.  I figure anal pervs are always willing to pay top dollar.
“You’re damn expensive but you’re a lot of fun.  Ok, let’s fuck.”
“Whoa, wait a minute mister.  You get nothing until the money is in my account.”  So he goes to his phone and I give him the code to transfer 3,000 to the 1st vault that allows deposited money to then be safely transferred to the primary vault or account.  I check on my phone to confirm.
Steve sits in a chair and motions me towards him.  My hips and ass are swishing as I walk towards him like I’m on a straight line.  He stands up and puts his arms around my waist.  He’s a couple inches taller than me even in my heels.  I raise my head and our mouths meet.  He greedily thrusts his tongue into my mouth and I suck on his tongue as I reach to undo his belt.  I undo his pants zipper and they drop to his ankles, revealing his hardness within his underwear.  Our mouths unclench and he sits back down as I untie his shoes and pull them off.  I lean forward and reach for the buttons on his shirt, slowly unbuttoning each one.  His shirt is open and I rub my soft hands on his grey-haired chest.  My hands remove his shirt from his shoulders and clumsily he takes his shirt off.  Now he reaches for my top and lifts it up, revealing my breasts.  I raise my arms so he can lift off my top.  I then stand up to unhook my skirt and let it drop to my ankles, revealing my garter belt and stocking legs.

Steve stands and leads me to the bed.  He still has his underwear on and I’m curious why.  “Anne, go doggy on the bed for me” so I get on the bed with my toes hanging over the edge.  Finally, he pulls off his underwear and looking back behind me, I almost want to laugh at his 5” dick.  I’m getting paid for this so I hold my laughter and make with some fake come-on talk.  “Oh Steve, stick that inside of me and take me.”  He stands behind me and positions the head of his cock at my vulva. Slowly his mushroom tip pushes into me.  It feels tight but not because he is large, far from that.  But I initially feel pain, not realizing that as a virgin, my hymen has not been stretched.  He then pulls it out, and I feel relief.  Even though I’m disappointed in the size of his penis, as a woman I still have sexual desire within me.  My vagina begins to lubricate in anticipation as he enters me again.  This time he pushes all the way inside me and I gasp in pleasure.  My vulva swells as does my clitoris.  He withdraws again but not all the way this time.  He pushes back inside and begins to rhythmically buck his hips back and forth as his cock slides within me.  With each thrust, his cock moves the prepuce skin back and forth over my clitoris.  I may have thought his 5” cock was humorous but for this first fuck, I am feeling the pleasure.  I feel an orgasm building and I rock my ass to meet his thrusts.  Beautiful, sweet sensations build within me as I utter “ooh-ooh” many times.  Suddenly my passion is complete and I shudder with my orgasm.  I clench the bedsheets and scream out with pleasure.  After a few more thrusts, my orgasm subsides but Steve has not yet cum.  He pulls out of me and rolls me over to my back.  He looks down at my swollen cunt and the look in his eyes tells me exactly what he wants.  Without being told, I raise my legs and spread them wide.  Steve moves on top of me and he needs no guidance.  My wetness grants him easy entry and he slides in me again.  He starts fucking me with a slow rhythm and our mouths join together.  We french kiss and then he moves to nuzzle my neck.  He whispers in my ear, “For a slut, you’re a pretty good fuck.”  What was beginning to build to another orgasm is totally shut off with his cruel statement.  I fight back tears as his thrusting increases its pace until finally, he lets out a loud groan as he thrusts hard with each release of his semen into me.

As callous as this son-of-a-bitch is, I wonder if he still might see from my face that I am unhappy.  He is ready to pull out but first, “Anne, stay there and be ready to sit up.  I’m gonna get my phone and take pics of the creampie I gave you.”
I’m shocked not by his request but at his presumptuousness that I’d let him do that for free.  I want to slap him but I’m in a compromising position with his softening dick inside me.  Well, I might as well get paid for it.  “Awwww Steve baby.  I’d love to let you take some pictures but that’s gonna cost you.”
“How much?”  I got him.  He doesn’t even question that I’m making him pay.
“Loverboy, it’s going to cost you 5,000 for pics.  And I’ll let you take video of your wonderful, sticky cum leaking out of me.”
“Can we do the transaction after?  The cum will leak out before I’m done.”
“Sure baby.”  He pulls out and rushes to get his phone.  I sit up and pull my heels against my thighs and spread his legs.  I feel his semen leaking out of me, running down my cunt, down my ass cheeks, onto the bed.  He is taking pic after pic, closeups and body shots.  “Push it all out, Anne!” he urges me.  I squeeze my Kegel muscles and a large white glob spills out of my vagina.  I’m just a sex toy to him as….his eyes don’t even look at me as he watches his cum leaking out of me.

Our picture taking session ends and we complete the transaction.  “Anne”, he says, “I’ve got a proposition for you.  I’ve got an important dinner date with a couple of business people tomorrow.  This can culminate in an important deal for me.  I’d like you to attend the dinner with me as my escort.  I like how engaging you are in conversation and you’re funny.  You’ll be the spice that helps finish the meal.  What do you think?”
“Are you intending to hand me over to these men for sex after the dinner?”
“No, no, no.  You are just there to enjoy dinner and be by my side.”
“I’m ok with that.  It’ll cost you 10,000.  5,000 now and 5,000 after.”
He seems taken aback for a second but then answers “Done.”  We complete the transaction for the 5,000 and go over the details for the dinner.  I clean up, dress and head for the door.
Before I leave, he comments, “Hey Anne, thanks for the fuck.  You are worth every dollar.”

I step into the hotel hallway and his door closes behind me.  As I wait for the elevator, I begin sobbing.  I had expected my first date as Anne to be about romance but I finish the night as a high-priced hooker.  I step into the elevator and as the doors close I put my hands to my face and cry, tears pouring down my cheeks, streaking my mascara.  I take the Uber home and clean up my mascara and shower.   Toweling off, I wonder if high priced escorts get emotional and cry like I am doing now.  I look down below...I am still sticky and wet with some semen leaking out as a reminder of the asshole I had my first fuck with.  I throw on a teddy and slowly fade off to sleep.

TBC…...Chapter 3 Transitioning back

Wow Anne!  You have a very vivid imagination! I’m not certain I would want the pill or not at my age, 73.  I love my life now as Suzy and am treated as a lady now wherever I go.  I can also occasionally be a dude, be accepted in that role as well.  But I much prefer my feminine side!  And I also love being in the company of a handsome man when I am Suzy.  Anyhow, entertaining stuff!  I look forward to the next edition!  Hugs, Suzy

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RE: The Transition Pill - Chapter 2 The First Transition - by Suzy - 09-20-2019, 02:13 PM

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