Adult Image Library 2/Adult_Image_Library_Volume_2_Disc2.iso/stories/sylvia2.txt

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                            CHAPTER 4

     I'd been at Sylvia's about a year and Mrs. Hudson was getting ready to
retire. From my conversations with her I had learned that I wasn't the only
man being feminized in the valley; it seemed to have caught on as a fad with
some of the wealthy women here. She had informed me that Mrs. Humber's
daughter Florence wasn't really a girl at all, rather she was the old lady's
son who was being raised as a girl. Florence and her mother were frequent
guests at Sylvia's and the next time they came to tea I scrutinized Florence
as surreptitiously as I could. There was no way that this sweet thing could
be a boy.

     I took her coat as she entered. She was young; I figured about twelve or
thirteen, short; about 4'10", pale, and delicate. Florence was very pretty
even though she wore no makeup. She had tiny pearl studs in her ears and her
long straight brown hair, gathered in a yellow ribbon, fell down her back
past her waist where the sash of her dress was tied in a big bow. The dress
she wore was floral print in cotton with long flowing skirts and under it's
bodice I could see the swelling of budding breasts. She was the perfect
daughter as she took tea with her mother and Sylvia, chatting amiably with
both of them. I returned to the kitchen.

     "I thought you told me that Florence Humber was a boy," I accused
Mrs. Hudson.

     The old lady looked at me with sad eyes. "Maybe I said too much."

     "Well I'd like to know just what is going on here."

     Mrs. Hudson spoke in hushed tones. "It seems that Mrs. Humber had four
boys and really wanted a girl before she couldn't have any more children.
She was thwarted however when the last child, Walter, turned out to be a boy.
Mrs. Humber is a very strong-willed woman and would not be denied; she decided
to raise Walter as a girl."

     "What about his father," I asked, "didn't he say anything?"

     "I assume he would have, but he was already suffering from the cancer
that killed him before Walter was a year old. Mrs. Humber consulted all kinds
of specialists and used all sorts of drugs to stop Walter's development and
stunt his growth."

     "It sure seems to have worked, he makes a very pretty girl."

     "Oh no," said Mrs. Hudson, "she is a girl."

     "What do you mean?"

     "Mrs. Humber had an something done to Walter that changed him into a
girl."

     "You mean a sex change?" I asked, incredulous that a mother could do
that to her son. What kind of madwomen live here in Carmel Valley?

     "I guess that's what it was."

     "Where could she find a doctor that would do such a thing to a boy?"
I mused.

     Mrs. Hudson told me. "Mrs. Humber never let Walter out of her sight and
he never knew anything other than girlhood. When he turned eighteen she got
him to agree to her plans and before anyone knew of it, he was a girl.
Permanently."

     "Whoa! You mean to tell me that Florence or Walter or whatever is
eighteen years old?"

     "Lord no!" Said Mrs. Hudson. "That was some time ago. Let's see now,
Florence should be about ... twenty-eight."

     "Holy shit! You mean to tell me that Florence Humber is a twenty-eight
year old man."

     "Why yes, ... or, ... she was."

     The more I thought about Walter Humber the less extreme my predicament
seemed; he had been forced to live as a prepubescent girl for over fifteen
years and I only had to do five, unless I could escape sooner. Not only that,
but I could go back to being a man when I got out of here, whereas Walter
would be a girl forever.

                             ******

     Eventually Mrs. Hudson also told me about Mrs. Altieri and her husband
Vincent. It seems that Carole Altieri was a very homely (let's not mince
words; she's a dog) and overweight young lady when her father, the
multi-millionaire Charles Alexander, died and left her swimming in money.
This young gigolo from San Francisco decided to romance her for a crack at
some of the cash. Carole found out what his intentions were, but went ahead
and married him anyway,  with an unbreakable pre-marital agreement that he
either never read or couldn't understand. Boy, when he found out that he was
cut out of any money, no matter the circumstances, was he ever pissed. She
counted on that though and the first time he beat her up she had him where
she wanted him; in front of the Citizen's Justice Committee. The end result
was that Vincent Altieri is now Carole's servant Consuela.

     In a way, I guess you could say that it was Vincent whose plight
influenced me to commit to the desperate act that sealed my own fate.
The Carmel Valley Club (whose membership, by the way, is the same as the
Citizen's Justice Committee) was having it's annual social and Sylvia was
this years hostess. All the help was pooled and it was while working there
that I met Vince, or rather Consuela, as his wife referred to him. It was to
be an international buffet and of course Vince was assigned to serve Mexican
food. I gave him the once over while we setting up and he sure looked like a
senorita; long curly black hair tumbled down his back. His face was heavily
made up and huge silver hoop earrings dangled from his ears. He wore an ivory
colored off-the-shoulder peasant blouse, which displayed an immense cleavage
that had to be real, tucked into the waistband of a long full skirt in a
floral design which flowed over wide womanly hips.

     I was serving as a cocktail waitress that evening and, as this was to be
Sylvia's first exhibition of me to the entire Committee since they had placed
me in her custody, no effort was spared in my preparation. After serving
lunch I had been taken to the beauty salon in Carmel owned by that faggot
George. His last name was Llewellyn and I'd found out that he was a member
of the committee also. I was turned over to him while Sylvia and Julie went
shopping.

     George handed me a short pink robe. "Go on in the cubicle there and
strip naked, then put this on and lie face down on the table."

     The air conditioner was going full blast. My over-developed nipples
stiffened up in the cold, their state not concealed by the thin nylon of the
robe. I was very embarrassed as I walked out with my hands crossed over my
crotch. At Sylvia's instruction I had not worn the crotch strap and my cock
and balls hung down, barely covered by the skimpy robe. I laid down on my
stomach as George swished back into the room.

     That queer acted more effeminate than me, if that were possible. At least
when I behaved in a girlish manner it looked natural.

     George started waxing my legs. "Well dearie, it seems that those hormones
you're taking are going to put me out of a job."

     I couldn't dispute him. My body hair was coming in finer and lighter
after every time I shaved, and the intervals between shaving were getting
longer. I wondered if it would grow back o.k. after I was released from here
and was no longer force fed hormones.

     When the backs of my legs were done, I rolled over and George went to work
on the front of me, including my belly so that I'd be left with a only a tiny
feminine patch of pubic hair. He grabbed my shriveled penis and tugged on it
playfully. "You know we could have a little fun, you and I, while we're
here alone."

     "Mr. Llewellyn!"  I blurted out. "I'll have you know that, regardless of
my appearance, I'm not queer and I don't like men."

     George let go and sniffed like he was insulted. "Well I'm sure that
Sylvia can repair that deficiency."

     I was too, and I worried about his last remark while he stuck to business
andI received the royal treatment.  My now long hair was washed, styled, and
permed. As I sat under the dryer a manicurist went to work on my long nails
and shortly they were polished to perfection in deep red. No matter how often
I do them at home they never look that good. I was given a make over, my hair
was brushed out, and then George swung me around to face the mirror.

     I could not believe that in just over a year I had been turned into the
sweet looking young girl in the mirror. What would I look like after four more?

                             ******

     My attire that night was a replica of the old Playboy bunny uniform. I
hid my cock and balls under a what looked like tight rubber jock strap, Sylvia
called it a compactor, and pulled on black pantyhose. Then I stepped into and
pulled up what looked like a strapless swimsuit, but which was actually my
uniform. It was pink spandex and clung to me like a second skin. I was given
a pair of black patent pumps with five inch heels. A little badge that said
Billie, rabbit ears, and I was ready to go to work.

     I found it difficult to get around in those shoes. I had to be careful
and walk very slow and deliberately. I know that my ass wiggled when I did,
but what could I do?  Without a bra my breasts bounced around with each step
so I had to move slowly on that account anyway. I went on down to help set up
for the party.

     I saw Vince there. I arranged to work near him and when I got a chnace
introduced myself. "Hi, I'm Bill Adams."

     He just stared at me for a minute. Then after looking around like a
scared animal he whispered in a girlish voice. "Get out of here. Do it now.
Before it's too late!"

     He turned away and went back to work. I wanted to talk more, but Sylvia
came out and was observing us closely.

                             ******

     As I served drinks I noticed all the men staring at my chest. It was
really embarrassing. My nipples were clearly outlined as they strained against
the stretchy fabric. I hadn't been aware that they were that prominent.

     The party lasted well into the night and when it was over the help stayed
behind to clean up. Carole Altieri had left Vince with us. He would sleep
overnight and help me finish cleaning up in the morning. He was in Mrs.
Hudson's old room and we had to share the bath in the hall. I heard him go on
in and shower. I decided totalk to him. I snuck down the hall and knocked on
the bathroom door.

     "Come in."

     I did and saw Vince's back as he dried his long hair. I gasped aloud when
he turned around. As I had guessed his abundant breasts were indeed real and I
now saw them revealed in all their glory. It wasn't the size of his chest that
caused my shock, but rather his womanly hips. They were too womanly, for
below them, between his thighs, hung ...  nothing!

     Below the triangle of pubic hair, where should have dangled the cock and
balls of a proud stud, there was only the sex of a woman.

     He saw me looking at his crotch and said, "See what I meant about getting
out of here while you still can?"
     "Your wife did that to you?"

     "No. I did it to myself."

     "Why?"

     "I'm not sure. It's kind of a long story."

     He went on to tell me about how after he had beaten up Carole, he was
arrested and turned over to the Committee, who sentenced him to remain under
Carole's control and supervision. Carole was pregnant and, with no further
use for Vince, decided to feminize him. He fought her tooth and nail, but
Carole was indefatigable and after several years of hormones and cosmetic
surgery, including breast implants, Vince had been forced to take on the
appearance of a beautiful woman. Carole, who by now totally dominated Vince,
was somehow able to persuade him that he wanted to be a complete woman.

     Vince wasn't sure how Carole had been able to get him to do it, he
suspected hypnosis, but whatever he finally agreed, consenting to sex
reassignment, only to return from the hospital to find out that Carole had
divorced him. Judge Martin had granted her the divorce. Along with the divorce,
Carole had filed a petition for change of name which was also been granted by
Judge Martin; Vince's legal name was now Consuela Hernandez.

     "I owed child-support." He said. "Where could I go? What could I do ... as
a woman? So now I work for her as a domestic at minimum wage. After taxes and
Social Security I take home just over four hundred dollars a month, out of
that three hundred goes for child-support and the balance goes to pay off my
doctors bills and legal fees."

     As I stared at the man who was now irreversibly a woman, I resolved then
and there that I was going to escape before Sylvia got the notion to carry my
feminization to that extreme.

                            CHAPTER 5

     I reasoned that the worst thing I could do would be to make a panicked
escape which Sylvia was probably ready for, and wouldn't get me very far
anyway. No, I would plan it out and bide my time until the right opportunity
presented itself. Toward that end I behaved myself, cooperating fully with
Sylvia, in order that any suspicions she might harbor would be allayed, and
some day she would let her guard down just far enough for me to make my move.

     Mrs. Hudson finally left and I took over as cook and housekeeper. In the
interim, the hormones had taken their toll; I had all the curves of a girl,
my skin was soft, and I was no longer shaving. With the compactor on I could
pass anywhere as a girl, even in a bikini. At this point the hormones were
reduced to a maintenance dosage. I gradually noticed an increasing sensitivity
in my cock and after awhile it even got hard again, for which I was grateful.

                             ******

     I worked hard, watched, waited, and plotted for my escape. My prayers
were answered, and I got the break I had been waiting for on New Year's Eve.
Sylvia and Julie went out to a party and I was left home alone. About three
in the morning I was awakened by loud talking and laughter. Having seen this
before, and thinking that they would probably want me to prepare some food or
help them undress, I got out of bed, pulled a robe over my nightgown, put on
some slippers, and went to see what the situation was.

     I entered Sylvia's room and as I took in the scene I knew that this was
an opportunity which might never again repeat itself. As I suspected, the
girls were drunk as lords, but this time they had gone even further. The two
of them were passed out on the bed in each others arms. It wasn't hard for me
to reconstruct what had happened.

     They must have come in and tried to get ready for bed. Sylvia had opened
the safe to put their jewelry in. After putting hers in, Sylvia went to get
Julie's. Julie always was a playful little thing and had probably pulled
Sylvia down for a kiss. The liquor had overcome them and there they were; on
the bed, still dressed and unconscious.

     I went and looked in the safe. I could have screamed with joy. My escape
was a certainty. In there were bundles of cash, many pieces of expensive
jewelry, papers, and in the back, that same little pistol that had been
planted on me so long ago. I took the gun, checked to see that it was loaded,
then put it in the pocket of my robe.  Grabbing a suitcase, I emptied the safe
into it.

     What next? I stopped to consider. I needed some clothing. Thanks to
Sylvia, I couldn't pass as a man, and all the women's clothing I had were sexy
and revealing. Guaranteed not to provide the anonymity I needed to pull this
off successfully.

     I ran to my room, grabbed panties and a bra, and put them on. Back in
Sylvia's room I went through her drawers and found what must have been her
only pair of jeans. They were of course designer and fit very tight, but
they'd last until I could buy something. I pulled on a cotton shirt and found
a leather jacket. That and some shoes were all I'd need. I found a pair of
running shoes and put them on, after over a year of wearing nothing but
high-heels they felt good on my feet.

     I decided to take my revenge before I left. I laughed as tied the two
unconscious girls spread-eagle on the bed. I got a glass of water and threw
it in Sylvia's face.

     "Wake up bitch!"

     She puttered and came to. "What the fuck?"

     "Shut up!" I yelled. I'm on my way out of here and want to finish what I
was doing when you so rudely interrupted me last time."

     I pulled down the jeans and panties, pulled out my cock, and started
playing with it to make it hard.

     "I want you to watch while I fuck your little girlfriend here."

     She did, as I did. It felt great, even if Julie slept through it. Sylvia
glared at me. I knew what I wanted to do. I went in the bathroom and pulled
out that horrid butt-plug. I was so used to it that I'd almost forgot it was
there. I rinsed it out. Returning to the bedroom I crammed it in Sylvia's
mouth and tied it there with a pair of panty-hose.

     "I've had Enough of your shit bitch. Maybe that will keep it in. Now is
when it starts getting better for a change."

                             ******

     I laughed to myself, enjoying my revenge on those two cunts, as I headed
north on Highway 1 in Sylvia's car.

                            CHAPTER 6

     I knew that Sylvia would spare neither effort nor expense in searching
for me, so I did what I could to throw the hounds off of my scent. The first
problem was my appearance; that of a beautiful blonde. I knew from past
experience that, no matter what I wore, men would stare at and remember me.

     I took stock of my situation. In the case was well over 150 thousand
dollars. I figured that the money would be fair recompense for what Sylvia
had done to me and my body. I also knew that making myself presentable as a
man again would eat up a big chunk of it. The rest would help make myself
disappear. I had an idea. I crossed over to, and headed north on, 101 towards
San Jose.

     I left Sylvia's car in the long term parking lot at San Francisco
International Airport and started wandering through the terminals. It wasn't
long before I spotted what I needed; a good looking blonde about my height.
I went over and talked to her.

     "Excuse me, but could I ask where you're headed?"

     She was a cute girl, but then again that's what I appeared to be. She
wasn't suspicious of my motives and talked to me.

     "New York. Why do you ask?"

     "It's a long story, but I'd be willing to pay your way if you can help me
out."

     "Go on."

     "It's my boyfriend. I've had enough of his abuse and I'm leaving him.
 He's got lots of money and I don't want him to be able to track me down.
So here's the deal. I get in line, buy you a ticket under a my name so you
aren't involved, the agent remembers me, and you fly to New York on the ticket
while I head elsewhere."

     "Sounds good to me, and I could sure use the money it would save me, and
I know what pigs some men can be. Sure I'll be glad to do it, and good luck to
you."
     We never exchanged names and after I saw her off I caught a cab to the
city. There I got on BART to Oakland where I caught another cab to Oakland
International Airport and bought a seat to LA under a made up name.

                             ******

     It was mid-morning when I deplaned in Los Angeles. I bought newspapers
and went into an airport coffee shop and ate breakfast while looking for a
place to live. There were several reasons why I'd picked LA;  I'd grown up
there, it's easy to drop out of sight there, and damn hard to find someone
there who doesn't want to be found. If you have money there's nothing you
can't buy and, most importantly, LA has a large transsexual community.
Strange as it sounds, that would be my cover while I returned to masculinity.
Hide in plain sight as it were.

     Los Angeles was the perfect place to lose myself; if you can't do it
there, you can't do it anywhere. I decided to call myself Jennifer Smith.
With the money I had it wouldn't be hard to settle in, find my way around,
and buy some ID. Once that was taken care of, I could figure out a way to
become a man again.

     As I went through the classified ads, I circled those with potential and
started calling when I was done eating. I hit pay dirt on my third attempt. A
furnished studio apartment in Hollywood for rent by the month. The landlord
was sort of a bum, but he wasn't curious, and took my deposit and first months
rent in cash.

     He probably thought that I was just another of the thousand or so young
girls who flock there each year hoping to make it in show business, and I did
everything possible to reinforce that impression.

     I sat in my tiny new home and took stock of my situation. I had nothing
except the clothes on my back and a suitcase full of cash. The first order of
business was food. I grabbed a handful of bills and then stashed the suitcase
in a closet. On my trip to the supermarket I discovered what would be my
number one problem in LA;  a good looking girl alone just can't go about her
business incognito. Especially walking in a city where everyone drives. I
was no sooner on the street than I heard my first, "Hey baby. Need a ride?"

     While walking through the grocery store, I stopped for a minute in front
of the panty-hose display. "Never again," I thought to myself, savoring my
escape from Sylvia and liberation from forced femininity. I returned to my new
apartment with the basics: milk, bread, cereal, cold cuts, chips, and beer. I
made myself a sandwich, popped a cool one, and considered my next move. I would
need some clothes, but the question was where to shop and what to buy.

     While I had hoped to return to men's clothing as soon as possible, there
was no denying that with my body, at least for the present, I would be more
likely to find appropriate clothing at Frederick's of Hollywood than
Brook's Brothers.

     I went shopping and bought a bunch of jeans and sweat-shirts. Just enough
to keep me going until I could get back to real men's clothing. I also bought
some cotton briefs, they were women's, but the only ones I could find that fit.
They'd do for now.

     I also found out that there was something else I was going to have to work
on. I found out the hard way that living with that butt plug inside me had
caused me to lose the ability to control sphincter. I won't go in to any
details, except to say that whenever I felt the need to go, I now had about
three minutes to find a toilet. I debated getting another one, but decided
that I'd rather regain control and have dirty panties than keep another butt
plug in me.

     I settled in and laid low for awhile. Then one night I put my plan into
action. I knew that there was an area of the strip where TS hookers and their
customers congregated. So one night I wandered on down there and started
hanging around. I struck up a conversation with a couple of them. I found one
that hadn't been hardened by life on the streets yet. He called himself Lana
and had come out from Utah or somewhere to hustle money and change his sex.

     I invited Lani home to sleep on my couch one morning after a night on the
streets. We talked for awhile and I pumped him for information on the best
doctors to see. I woke up the next afternoon to find the little bitch gone
along with some of the jewelry I had taken from Sylvia's. I'd stashed it under
the sink in a coffee can. Lana had obviously torn apart the house looking for
anything of value. It was a good thing I'd put the money in a safe deposit box.
I'd been able to rent one with the false ID I had been able to buy. It wasn't
the best, but it worked. The guy who sold it to me thought I wanted it to be
able to pass for 21 and buy liquor.

                             ******

     I went to one of the clinics on the list I had made talking to Lana. The
receptionist told me that they did do sex reassignment there, but that I'd
need to be referred by a psychologist first. She gave me the name of one and
I went to see him. It wasn't hard to convince him that I was what I appeared
to be; a pre-operative transsexual passing successfully as a woman. That's why
I went to LA, it's almost an everyday thing there. It was time to put my plan
into action.

     "So you've lived as a woman for a year and you're ready for surgery?"
The shrink asked me.

     "I'm not sure Doctor. I just want to get this over with."

     "I really can't let you go through with this if you're not one hundred
per cent sure of what you're doing."

     "What else can I do Doctor? The hormones I've been taking have completely
changed my body shape.., and just look at these." I pulled up my sweatshirt
and showed him the massive breasts hidden under it. "What can I do about them?"

                             ******

     I laughed all the way home. In my purse was a years supply of the
strongest male hormone available. The doctor had even been so kind to arrange
for what he called a radical mastectomy. I didn't care what he called it.
They were gonna cut those damn tits off.

     On the appointed day I showed up at the clinic where they were going to
do the job. I was given a room where I undressed and put on the hospital gown.
As I tried to go to sleep I was so relieved. At last I was on my way back to
masculinity. No more bras for me. I'd get these tits off in the morning and
never wear girls clothing again.

     The next morning a nurse came in and gave me a shot in my ass. I started
to drift as the shot took effect. Another nurse in surgical greens wearing a
mask came in and I became aware that she was strapping my arms and torso to
the table.

     "Why are you doing that?" I asked her.

     "It's for your own protection dear."

     That voice! I knew it. Just then she slipped her mask down: it was Sylvia.

     "So! You thought you could get away from me. I must admit you led me on a
merry chase until some of my jewelry started showing up in pawnshops, but here
 I am and now you must pay. Remember Billie; it always gets worse."