Incomplete

You have to finish before you can reverse course.

It started out as a simple experiment.  My girlfriend and her team were working on a machine that could not only change a living genetic code, but could speed up it’s implementation process.  They could take someone with breast cancer, take out the genes that made that particular cancer possible and then make is so that they never HAD cancer.  But there was something about the mind that they were butting up against.  Something about a willingness for the change that made no scientific sense.  So when they wanted to do some experimentation that wasn’t exactly sanctioned… or legal… I was volunteered to be the subject. 

 It was supposed to be simple.  They showed me how they changed a man with gender identity disorder and made him over into a complete woman and assured me that the process was completely reversable.  This wasn’t a test of the ability to enact changes, but on what the mind’s process was in all of this.  So after a full disclosure of what could happen, I agreed.  Everybody, myself included, assumed that my willingness to be changed would result in an entire transformation.  But something went wrong.  My body was some kind of half breed…  some of me was female while other parts of me were male.  My body hair was almost non existent, but I still had a penis and testicles.  I had small budding breasts, but had my deep masculine voice.  The hair on my head didn’t change, but my cheekbones changed into a softer more feminine appearance. 

Their theory was that I hadn’t fully accepted what it meant to be a woman.  That the masculine part of my mind was balking against the procedure, even if it was on a subconscious basis.  So then the social trials began.   My girlfriend said I’d have to start living as a woman.  To experience everything that she did and only when I accepted it, could they finish the process and then change me back.  My girlfriend is really very feminine so this wasn’t exactly easy for me.  I had to wear clothes just like hers which included white lacy panties and bras, short tight skirts, and tops that would show off my breasts and belly.  After a few days they ran the experiment again, but all that changed was the size of my breasts.  They now seemed to fill out my girlfriend’s tops and bras perfectly. 

The next week I started to exercise with my girlfriend.  Pilates on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.  Yoga on Tuesdays and Thursdays.  Another trip through the machine and my waist changed shape.  A quick X-Ray showed that I had grown another rib, and my pelvis bone had changed enough to allow childbirth. 

The next week I started wearing makeup.  The machine just plumped my lips out and smoothed out my strong jawline. 

I started going out in public and referring to myself in a feminine way, but that didn’t get me any change.  The psychologist sat down with me for some extensive testing and said that my sexuality may be hampering the process, so my girlfriend and I started trying out saphoric techniques on each other but after no result the psychologist postulated that I wasn’t homosexual, but still craved sex. 

It turns out it isn’t’ hard to trick some guy into sex.  A wig, a dark bar, and me whispering in a sultry manner earned me a chance to kneel before some random dude in the back alley and let him fuck my throat.  The next morning the machine changed my voice, but just a little bit, so the team worked with me to experience more sex.  Above and beyond my protests, both guys on the team made sure I got really good at giving head.  But even after that set of experiences that will forever be burned onto my psyche, I still wasn’t complete.  My voice and face were feminine and if I dressed right hardly anybody would sense the difference, but my face wasn’t quite right.  And my hair refused to change.  Oh and I still had that masculinity between my legs. 

More tests with the psychologist and she suggested that everything seemed okay except for the conflict between my unconscious desire for heterosexual sex and my conscious fear of sex with men.  It took them weeks of talking me into it, but only the promise of changing me back made me agree to letting the fellas screw me.  They both loved it as neither of their wives allowed them to have anal sex… but for me it was the most humiliating experience of my entire life.  After the machine failed to change me again and the psychologist assuring everybody that she was right, we got to do it all over again.  It seems that she was a fan of B.F. Skinner and simply added rewards on my end.  So a full week of the guys taking turns in my ass…. And my girlfriend giving me head at the same time.  If getting fucked in the ass was humiliating, it was doubly so humiliating to actually orgasm each time it happened. 

But with that, the machine took away my male bits.  My fingers brushed over my overly sensitive clit and I shouted out in joy.  But when I exited the machine everybody else was pouring over the data and noting that the DNA process wasn’t finished.  That there was something else blocking me.  Seeing the glint in the psycologist’s eyes made me shudder.  I cupped the back of my still short haired head and just stood in the red glow of the machine waiting for her answer. 

“Well… she could always have vaginal sex now!”





source:  fuskator