not a true story my best friend helped me write this
Chapter 3 of 5
"I'm not sure I know what you mean."
"Mr. Taylor, I excused those two other students on sight because they are obviously exhibitionists. You, on the other hand, are what was once referred to as a closet queen. Suppose you had the opportunity to come out of that closet. To experience life as a member of the opposite sex. Not just for a night. For the rest of the quarter."
This was not what I had in mind. "Professor, this is crazy. How could I possibly get away with something like that? My roommates would throw me out of the dorm."
"Do you have any close friends here at Cal, Mr. Taylor?"
"Not really. A couple of guys in the dorm, I guess, but no friends from high school or anything like that. I've only been here a month."
"Exactly. What if I were to offer you a place to live." He held up his hand as I started to stand up. "Don't jump to conclusions! You would be living alone. My daughter has an apartment in Emeryville, which she has temporarily vacated. It is fully furnished, with a view of the Golden Gate Bridge, I might add."
I sat back down. Part of me wanted to run out of his office as fast as I could. But another part, just below the surface, desperately wanted to learn more.
"What do you want me to do?" I heard myself say.
The professor got off the desk and began to pace around his office. "If I tell you my reasons, it will destroy the integrity of the experiment. I can only tell you this. If you agree to participate, you will move this weekend into the apartment in Emeryville. You will be given an allowance of $1000 to purchase a complete feminine wardrobe. Starting next Monday, you live 100% as a woman for the balance of the quarter. Do you have plans to leave Berkeley between now and December?"
"Is your family planning to visit you between now and the end of the quarter?"
"No." Money was tight, and I had assured my mother that it would be okay if I spent Thanksgiving alone.
The professor produced a two page legal document. "Read this carefully. Think it over. Your decision will not affect your grade in any way, and like the other two students, you have already assured yourself a higher grade just for volunteering."
I stuffed the paper into my backpack and I was halfway out the door when he spoke again.
"Mr. Taylor," he said softly, "I don't want to influence your decision, but I think you might find some answers from this. Answers that you might otherwise spend the rest of your life searching for."
I took the document out of my backpack, scanned it quickly, signed it, and handed it back to him.
As agreed with the professor, I told my roommates that I had to drop out of Cal and hoped to return in January. On Friday afternoon, we loaded my meager possessions into the trunk of his car and he drove me to a stylish apartment complex on a marina overlooking San Francisco Bay. He pulled into a garage under the complex and pointed out a red Honda Prelude.
"That's yours whenever you want to drive it," he said as he parked next to the elevators and helped me carry my stuff up to the third floor.
When we went inside, I could not believe the situation I had fallen into. The apartment had a smartly furnished living area, a well equipped kitchen with a pass through counter and two barstools, a bedroom with a queen size bed and an immaculate adjoining bathroom. I doubt if any freshman in the history of Berkeley has enjoyed a sweeter setup.
Professor Kleinberg led me out onto the balcony, which as promised offered a spectacular view of San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge.
"Mr. Taylor, you are about to embark on a great adventure. I am counting on you not to let it interfere with your studies, and I have confirmed with your other professors that so long as you continue to attend lectures and sit for the exams, there will be no affect on your grades. If you encounter any problems outside the classroom, here is my home number."
He handed me a scrap of paper, and then dug into his pocket and produced ten hundred dollar bills and a set of keys for the apartment and the Prelude.
"See you in class on Monday, Miss Taylor."
After he left, I checked out the refrigerator and pantry, which had been stocked with more food than I had seen since I left home. I called my mother to give her my new phone number, explaining that I had found a way to save some money by apartment sitting for a professor, and then set out in the Prelude for the nearest shopping center.
Away from the cacophony of dorm life, I slept until almost noon on a beautiful Saturday morning. The late October sun sparkled off San Francisco Bay as I puttered about the kitchen in my new nightgown, fixing myself a mug of coffee and a bowl of Special K.
My foray to a strip mall in Emeryville had yielded the bare minimum: besides the nightgown, I had been able to find a few pairs of panties, a padded bra, a denim skirt, and two tops at Ross, a pair of smart brown flats from a shoe outlet, and makeup and pantyhose from a large drugstore. My face hidden by dark sunglasses, I ignored the stares from curious salespersons.
I had almost $900 left to spend on a wardrobe that would have get me through the next six weeks. My first decision had already been made: I was not going to grunge around the campus in jeans and sweatshirts. If I had to live as a girl, I was going to be all girl, and within the limits of my budget, I was going to dress like I was pledging one of the sororities on Bancroft Way.
All of my guy clothes were stored in boxes in the hall closet. Before going to bed, I had drawn a hot bath and completely shaved my body, leaving only a small triangular patch of pubic hair, and for the first time in my life, I had filed and polished my fingernails. I even trimmed my eyebrows, feathering each one into a feminine arch.
Now it was time to make the transition, and my heart was pounding as I finished my coffee and lit a cigarette, a habit I had picked up from my roommates after it became apparent that Cal swimming was over my head. Jim Taylor's hopes and dreams would have to be put on hold. Jamie Taylor was about to meet the world.
My hair had grown over my shoulders since I arrived in Berkeley. I shampooed and conditioned it during a long, hot shower, and after giving my face a close shave and applying moisturizing crème to my arms and legs, I went to work with a blow-dryer. I thought about trying to create a hairdo, then decided just to pull it into a ponytail until I could get some professional help. The professor's daughter had a supply of scrunchies in her dresser, which I borrowed along with some inexpensive jewelry.
My hair attended to, I sat down on a tuffet in the bathroom and started in on my makeup. Furtive hours spent reading my sisters' and mother's magazines had prepared me well. Moisturizer first, then foundation, powder, blusher, eyeliner, shadow, mascara and lipstick. I had learned that less was better, and when I inspected the final product in the mirror, I found myself face to face with a stunning young woman.
The spell was broken when I realized that my penis was standing at full attention. Almost mechanically, I stroked it a few times until it spewed jism all over the bathroom mirror. The usual euphoria was followed by a momentary wave of revulsion, but with another look at my pretty face in the mirror, the feeling soon dissipated. I had reached the point of no return.
When my penis softened and shrank, I felt feminized, almost emasculated. My heart was racing as I tore the tags off a new pair of panties. I stuffed my limp penis between my legs and pulled them over my waist. The padded bra came next. With the illusion of breasts and my telltale genitalia concealed, for the first time my body looked like a woman's. Incredibly, I felt my penis beginning to stir again as I admired the slim physique of the girl wearing a bra and panties in the full-length mirror on the bedroom wall.
My hands were shaking as I tore a pair of L'eggs out of their package and began to pull them carefully up my legs. Sitting on the edge of the bed in front of the mirror, I was transfixed by the site of the gorgeous girl putting on her nylons. Knowing that she was me was an indescribable rush, and my penis struggled desperately to break free. With a sigh, I pulled down my panties and hose and stroked it a few times. Once again, it erupted, and the pleasure was so intense that I actually fell to my knees.
This time, there was no revulsion, only impatience for my penis to return to its flaccid state so I could finish getting dressed. After it complied, I readjusted my panties and nylons and got back to business. I selected a white top, which I pulled over my head and down over my pert breasts. It hugged my slim hips, and looked sensational on me. Then I took my new skirt off its hanger, and stepped into it. I had to twist it around to button and zip it, then lift it up to tug my top into place before I straightened it out. It fell about six inches above my knees, and I realized that my short skirt and long legs would attract guys like a magnet. As I stepped into my dainty shoes, there was no question about it. Jamie Taylor was absolutely devastating.
The rest of the day was a kaleidoscope of new sensations. Pressing my knees together as the man in the toll both on the Bay Bridge stared at my legs. Trying on skirts and dresses in the Macy's on Union Square. Flirting with two guys at the next table while I lunched on a salad at a sidewalk café. The pampered feeling of having my hair cut and styled. The sting as piercing needles went into my ears. Having my foot caressed by a shoe salesman when I tried on my first pair of high heels. Juggling my purse and packages while I tottered back to my parking place in my new heels.
By the time I started driving back towards the Bay Bridge, I was exhausted and exhilarated, and I never saw the other car coming.
$8 MILLION AWARD FOR HALLOWEEN ACCIDENT
San Francisco - After deliberating for less than an hour, a jury awarded James Taylor $8 million for injuries suffered in a traffic accident on Mission Street last October 31st. The Irvine resident, now 19, was a student at UC Berkeley when his Honda Prelude was broad sided by a Mercedes driven by Daryl DelMonico, 38, of Hillsborough. Both drivers were dressed in Halloween costumes, DelMonico as a circus clown and Taylor as a girl. Lawyers for Taylor argued successfully to the jury that DelMonico's red nose interfered with his visibility and caused the accident.
I tossed the newspaper onto the floor and started to laugh. After three weeks in a coma, eighteen stitches on my forehead, two operations including painful rhinoplasty on my nose, and almost six months of agonizing physical therapy, the nightmare was finally behind me. My mother had gone through most of her savings to make sure I had the best medical care and legal representation, and now our financial future was secure.
She had been waiting at my bedside when I finally came around in my hospital room. I had no memory of the accident, but my recollection of my experiences in the hours before I lost consciousness were still vivid. When I finally realized where I was, I desperately tried to explain. She just held my hand and told me to get some rest.
When I came around again, Professor Kleinberg was standing nervously by the door. My mother, he said, was getting a bite to eat. He told me about concocting a story for her, and the police, that I had dressed as a girl in preparation for an elaborate costume party. He assured me that my reputation was safe. I suspected that he was more concerned about repercussions to his faculty standing as a consequence of his unorthodox experiment. When I apologized for wrecking the Prelude, he told me that was the least of his concerns.
Now, almost a year after the accident, my body was sound again. Swimming progressively longer distances every day, I was lean and lithe, without an ounce of body fat. My stitches had vanished, my nose was smaller, and my hair had grown well over my shoulders. With all of my friends away at school, I had a lot of time to think as I whiled away the lonely days in my room.
At least now my mother would be able to quit her secretarial job. Not that I intended to spend any more time living at home. I was ready to spread my wings again, only now it would require more courage than I had ever mustered. If my father were still alive, I doubt if I would have been able to go through with it. Telling my mother would be hard enough.
When my lawyer called us with the news about the verdict, we had been too stunned to celebrate. Tonight, when my mother got home from quitting her job, we planned to go out for dinner at the Ritz Carlton. I dressed in a coat and tie for the last time, and I was pacing the house nervously when she got home from work. She sensed that I was preoccupied with something while we drove to the restaurant, and after we were seated at a quiet booth, she broke the silence.
"Tell me what's wrong, Jim."
She was a strong woman, and I respected her too much to play games. "Mom, I love you and I don't want to hurt you, but I have made a decision about my future that is going to be very hard to understand." She had a stricken look on her face, and I took her hand and squeezed it gently.
"Jim, if you don't want to go back to college, you don't have to. You can stay home as long as you want to."
"That's not it, Mom." There was no point in delaying it any longer. "Mom, I want to become a woman."
She gasped and blinked her eyes. Tears started to roll down my cheeks as I pressed on.
"I've been fighting this for years, Mom. It's not something that I want to do. It's something that I have to do."
She sat back in the booth and stared down at her shaking hands. "This is such a shock. How long have you felt this way?"
How could I tell her that it all started with an innocent Halloween costume? "This has nothing to do with you, Mom. I love you, and I just hope you'll try to understand."
"I just want you to be happy, Jim. I just want you to be happy."
"Are you sure you don't want me to come along this afternoon, dear?" She wrung her hands nervously as she watched me carry my shopping bags up the stairs.
I paused on the first step and kissed her on the forehead. "No thanks, Mom. Just give me a little space now, okay? When I come back downstairs, I'll introduce you to your new daughter." I turned and walked up the stairs before she could respond.
My body was already hairless from months of swimming therapy, and I had allowed my fingernails to grow quite long. After filing them and covering them with a coat of quick dry polish, I methodically laid out some of my purchases. It was unseasonably warm for late October, with the same Santa Ana winds that were blowing the day Hillary Fowler introduced Jamie Taylor to the world, and I was quivering in anticipation when I spread my new sundress carefully upon my bed.
In a few months, I hoped that my hormonal balance would be radically altered, but today, as always, a raging erection anticipated my transformation. I took care of it with a few quick strokes while I was in the shower. I watched my seed swirling into the drain and wondered if I would ever have children. Not likely, I said to myself, and I indulged in melancholy thoughts as I shampooed and conditioned my long hair, which months at the pool and in the sun had lightened into a golden auburn. After drying it, I took my time with one of my sisters' magazines and fashioned it above my head with a French braid.
I shaved and put on a little makeup. My new pug nose made my face look even more feminine than it had before my accident, especially after I played with my hair until it fell in soft bangs above my eyes. I had surreptitiously maintained the holes in my earlobes, and a pair of Emily's hoop earrings completed the picture.
My long legs were deeply tanned, and although I loved to wear stockings, I decided against them. A wonderbra, panties, the sundress and a pair of strappy sandals would have to do. I would be undergoing a physical examination in less than an hour, and I wanted to keeps things as simple as possible. I became aroused again as I lowered my dress over my head and watched the beautiful girl in the mirror reach behind her back and tie it in a bow. But I might need to provide a sperm sample today, so I concentrated on adjusting my sandals and organizing the contents of my purse.
I paused in front of the mirror before heading downstairs to confront my mother. Was I doing the right thing? Once I walked down those stairs, there would be no turning back. The beautiful girl in the mirror smiled at me, and told me the answer to my question. Still, I had knots in my stomach as I slowly descended the staircase, my dress billowing around my knees. When I reached the landing, my mother was waiting for me with a strange look on her face. She seemed to be surprised, even a little relieved, and something else. It was the same look I had seen on her face when I was accepted at Cal. My mother was proud.
I nervously flipped through a dog-eared copy of Redbook while I waited for the doctor. My God, I never knew women's' magazines were so sexually explicit. The article I was reading described different positions for making love on the kitchen table, in an airplane lavatory, and other places I had never imagined. I had a lot to learn about being a modern woman.
Fortunately, I had the waiting room to myself, and the receptionist had seemed nonplussed when I presented her with my insurance card in the name of James Taylor. When she called me, my knees were shaking as she escorted me down a short hall into an examination room. She instructed me to remove my dress and shoes and put on a paper gown. I had just done so when I heard a rap on the door, and the doctor entered with a clipboard in her hand.
She was about thirty, with pretty legs beneath a short white coat. She appraised me with her piercing brown eyes for a moment, and then she asked me to sit down on the examining table. She studied her clipboard, and then she started asking me questions.
"Shall I call you Jim?"
"I prefer Jamie."
"Very good. How are you feeling, Jamie?"
"I feel fine."
"You've been in an automobile accident, I see. Are you experiencing any pain or difficulty?"
"No, I'm just fine now."
She put down her clipboard. "How long have you wanted to be a woman?"
"I guess since I was a sophomore in high school. Maybe even before then. I fought it for a long time."
"When did you decide that this was what you wanted?"
"Last year, after the accident. I had a lot of time to think. I know this is what I want. What I need."
"How about your family?"
"My father died two years ago. Telling my mother was very hard."
"When did you tell her?"
"What did she say?"
"She cried last night. But she wants me to be happy. Today, when she saw me for the first time, as Jamie I mean, she hugged me and she wouldn't let me leave the house until I put on her favorite perfume."
The doctor smiled. "She sounds like quite a lady."
"I'm sure it's hard on her, but she wants what's best for me. I also have two older sister."
The doctor raised an eyebrow and wrote something on her clipboard. "Tell me about your childhood."
I knew where she was going. "I was a normal kid. My dad always seemed disappointed that I wasn't more of an athlete, and I spent a lot of time with my mother and sisters because he traveled a lot. But I wasn't feminine or anything. I had a lot of guy friends, and I lettered three years on the swim team."
"Can you remember your first orgasm?"
"Yes. I was wearing my sister's dress."
She made of note of that. "Did you date a lot in high school?"
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