The mind of a Transgendered Person

The mind of a Transgendered Person The mind of a Transgendered Person

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


the story is factually based, it revolves around the thought process of a transgendered person who struggles with the person that they are and the person that others see. It tries to detail the conflict of their birth gender, with the gender that appears to be locked inside them, along-with the knowledge of what others expect. Although this book is being put in erotica section it isn't erotic, more of a psychological/thought process


the story is factually based, it revolves around the thought process of a transgendered person who struggles with the person that they are and the person that others see. It tries to detail the conflict of their birth gender, with the gender that appears to be locked inside them, along-with the knowledge of what others expect.
Although this book is being put in erotica section it isn't erotic, more of a psychological/thought process


Submitted: November 25, 2012

A A A | A A A


Submitted: November 25, 2012




It was hatred, detestment, admiration, compulsion everything that I couldn’t control, something which came across me in waves, a virus that infected my mind, body and soul, leaving me trembling, guilt ridden, ashamed yet no matter what the struggle was I knew I would have to submit to it eventually. My moods would change, the longer I denied myself what my mind and body demanded, short tempered, aggressive, I would pace around, my thought process itself would become scattered. I could feel the tightness in my body, the muscles yearning, my chest feeling as though it was being compressed, it was without doubt my greatest addiction, the thing that I both hated and loved about myself, something which I couldn’t control and it was getting worse.

It would never take long for it to sink into every part of my body, soon muscles would ache, my mind soften, perception changing altering, I could think of one thing and one thing only and that was embrace its wishes and slip into its needs, let them embalm and override me.

I had always struggled with this, how could two identities exist within one body, how can the perception of what people see and the gender of my birth be at odds with the internals of how I felt. How was it that whenever I was that which people knew, I was uncomfortable, never happy, never proud, as though living an existence that was second rate, yet like now, compared to the process of what is underway I feel almost human, living instead of existing, relaxed in a strange way, despite the internal war that raged inside me.

I strode slowly across the bedroom, my focus complete, the resistance dwindling, as it usually did, yet the lingering hatred of myself and profound shame remaining in place. My fingers opening the top drawer, pulling it slowly out to expose the allure of the clothing that lurked in its once sealed compartment. My eyes immediately fell upon the soft silkiness of the tan stockings, the slight flecks of silver within the material was as hypnotizing as diamonds. I breathed deeply, trying to composing myself, in my mind lurked the thought that I hadn’t even gone twenty four hours since the internal war ranged within me, yet still it felt so right on every single level, both internally and externally my body and mind cried out longing for this as though this was my natural gender, my right, correct and established clothing, anything other than these were just the false hood of life.

My hands touched the surface of the nylon, fingers lightly caressing them, it was like liquid gold, my head swooned with delight, at that moment there was profound sadness within me, sadness at living my life behind closed doors, living it in fear, knowing that accepting who and what I was, would mean the termination of the friendships, respect and even family. To know that the masculine harshness of your body is what those who know you, expect you to be, yet inside you are something much more, something more glamorous or honest.

I had so frequently trued to become the male others wanted, to make myself become happy with its birth appearance, though it had never worked, for years I never even allowed a mirror in my home, I felt physically sick when I saw the reflection of how I looked. The male form was crude, unattractive, bordering on even disgusting to me. Over the years I had kept my secret well, but each time I indulged it brought with it a yearning  to be honest, a desire to be recognised, understood, many say my type as either sex addicts or gay, most are neither, how can you be gay if you find the male body so repulsive and as for the sex addict, I hated sex, why because it felt false, a lie, a betrayal of who I was.

For a moment I just stood there, my naked, slender and smooth body, glistening from the lavish use of moisturizer , in my hands I held the soft alluring tan stockings, finger tips lightly caressing their intricate lace tops. It was strange how my nature grown, how my feminine side appeared to be infecting into every day aspect of life, how my mind although constantly aware of my birth gender, would also remind me of the gender that was locked inside. I once as a child had hoped that I would grow out of the dressing phase, but rather than that, the opposite happened, over time in got stronger, more compelling, and a few times in the past depression had been so severe that even once, I had tried to end the life altogether, slamming a motorbike into a wall really doesn’t do much apart from cause even more pain to the body. Now I found myself wishing, wanting that those who claimed to know me could find a way to accept it or just respect it as a fact of life, my life.

Breathing deeply and gathering the first stocking up in my fingers, feeling the soft, sensuous nylon brush against my flesh was calming, therapeutic almost in a strange way,  curiously relaxing in such a way that if one could be laid flat, I’d almost drift into a peaceful, serene slumber. It has and never will fail to amaze me how my body buzzes and sparkles into life, how the femininity part of me awakens with such delight, how my mind and body slips so easily into the desired role that longs to be free, from that respect nothing has changed from the time it first came to me, back then I was just a child of six, who nervously went about hiding away, both myself and items of clothing that I could secretly put on as the urges within me demanded, of course with age the urges have simply grown stronger, more demanding and with my acceptance of who I am, though at times I still try to rebel, the yearnings have increased.

Breathing deeply, sitting upon the bed’s edge, drawing the jaws of the stocking open I slip my naked foot into its soft, sensual nylon jaws, feeling the material encompass and mould itself to my foots shape, its soft seductive charms expanding slowly, as the stocking itself is inched upwards, embracing hungry flesh that demands to feel its true sensations. With the first leg fully embraced, the second beginning, my whole lower body now shimmers with a vibrant delight, my mind once more is soothed, relaxed, peace washes over me, relaxation comes in waves, every muscle in my body loosens, aches and stresses float away disappearing into the abyss of neither, as I feel what I know my true gender become not just dominant but truly awakened.

To fully explain how it makes me feel I cannot, to anyone who isn’t like that or isn’t that way inclined, no amount of explanation would quantify it, it just sounds like the ramblings of a Looney. What seems to happen is that it awakens what lurks within me, the dominant gender, the true feeling of femininity, they say it’s the soul that makes the person, well whilst my body maybe male, every other part of me, both heart and soul is definitely female, it is a profound and even to me, often confusing surge of emotions that’s swamps and dominates, but never in an awful way, perhaps triggering the natural sensations that should exist within me.

As I fasten the suspender belt around my waist and feel it grip snuggly my body, the clasps are drawn downwards, tautly, holding the stockings firmly yet seductively in place, I stand there for a moment, in total silence, a smile, a glimmer of hope in my face that just perhaps in time the true me will come out and exist. Clothed in tanned stockings, their soft flecks of silver adhering to the shape of my legs, their material stretched tight, clasped by the suspender belt that hugs my waist snuggly and tan knickers, my body aches softly, the transition begins to be soaked up inside me, no longer is it just the flesh that yearns, that glimmers and pulses now it’s the inside of me, something which is more profound than I could ever imagine or describe. Drawing the black pencil skirt upwards, feeling it brush against my legs, against the nylon as it ascends, akin to a soft sensuous caressing hand of utter devotion, its touch majestic as it slides over my hips and I fasten it around my waist. The air of belief and confidence which flows through me is astronomical from head to toe, I feel as though finally I am sliding into the person I should be, that she is being released, no longer a captive that is being suffocated, her freedom to be expressed and released is finally being allowed.

I look at the bra, its matches the suspender belt and knickers perfectly, I breathe deeply, my chest expanding, for a moment I glance down at its blankness, its flatness, the masculiness of its creation is depressing and abhorrent to me. I know there is no going back, not now, but there is still that voice, albeit distant voice that says I shouldn’t do it, that I shouldn’t progress, that this is wrong, but the truth was I knew it wasn’t, this is what made me who I am,  the person I should have been created. Bending down slowly, my fingers touching, holding, grasping the bra, I could feel the anticipation rising within me, the need and desire for everything to be fulfilled. I’ve learnt so many times how to fasten a bra, that these days its almost second nature, no longer a fumbling presence or act with my fingers behind my back. I use a gel padded bra, as it automatically gives me a soft curvature to my otherwise barren and desolate chest, I feel the straps hug my shoulders, the band tightening, clasps closing locking myself into its delicate almost cage like design.

How my head swims now,  the bra to me is symbolic , the closing of that clasps one could say almost is like locking me into the role, pushing the maleness into a prison which it can’t get released from until I am ready. My body is vibrant; the feelings of femininity sweep and consume me, it’s a tidal wave of both bliss and delight, delight at that finally once more I embarking on my natural gender, rectifying what nature has denied me. In my nostrils I can smell the scent of perfume, the scent of roses and subtle flowers engulfing my senses, dragging me deeper into the luscious illusion that is womanhood.

My eyes look at the remaining items, laid out on the bed, items that shall complete the transition of perhaps is it the illusion, the blouse and shoes, the only items left to compliment the look, in the latter my favourites are  my knee high three inch heeled leather boots. Recently I have made new additions to my wardrobe but those are by far my most worn pair, of course the downside of them is the size of the heel, they take me, about two inches over six foot, so I am a very tall slim girl. As for the tops, well let’s be fair here one could never really have enough clothing generally, but my tops are endless and range from soft cami type to polar neck jumpers, silken blouses and long silken/satin slips both full length and waist length.

Studying the array of blouses that had been laid out on the bed, I began to sort visually through the ones that would match the clothing already worn, I wanted something that was sexy, but not tart’ish, my fingers skimmed over the top, dismissing most, pausing every so often before finally seeing a top which I felt was more in-keeping with the clothes already worn. A black two toned blouse, see through but only in the sleeves, whilst the front was silken with a lace pattern over it, almost hiding the buttons from view.

Lifting it up, holding it against me, for the first time this evening allowing myself to glance at the reflection in the only mirror that I had in whole house, I nodded softly to myself at the image that was looking back. The female was finally beginning to come out, my body pulsed with pride and delight, confidence returned to my body, the only time I ever had any confidence was the times I was dressed, I began to realise that the emptiness of my everyday living had finally been vanquished, I felt almost complete, almost totally delighted. My figure was tall slim, curvy, some would say hour glass, though personally I would say not, not without that much promised corset which I had never bought myself. Slipping the blouse over my shoulders, my arms through its sleeves and feeling the material gluide over the flesh was majestic. Drawing it across my chest, covering the remaining flesh and the straps of my bra, I drew together the sides, buttoning them up, making the loose material that much tighter and sealing my chest into it’s domain.

Breathing deeply, I could now feel the straps of the bra tightening, I could almost imagine how it felt to be a woman, how much pride and delight they must have, to know that they are at one with their body, to feel the glamorous and sensual material against their skin. To feel the stockings pull with every movement, the bra tense and relax, I sat on the bed and slowly began to place my feet into the boots, drawing the side fastening zip up the leather till each foot in turn was sealed into its domain.

 I felt everything, every ripple of delight, every muscle relax, my mind soft, worries and stress drain away, I felt contentment, not just relaxation but contentment, peace at finally being able to display how the inside of my body felt, who my very essence of being was, not what every saw or the external body was, but who me, the person truly was. And to those who say people dress for sexual lust, let me tell you, when I dress there is no sexual element to it, it’s about being feeling like a human being, feeling like I have the right to exist, everything which they take for granted. Not everything in life is visible, not everyone is the same and sometimes, just sometimes nature herself throws a curve ball and what is on the outside isn’t always mirrored on the inside of person.


© Copyright 2021 Annabel Short. All rights reserved.

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