textfiles/sex/EROTICA/M/mistakes.txt

Irrevocable Mistakes: The Diary of Cary Kendall
author unknown

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 JOURNAL ENTRY: JULY 12th, 1994.
 
   I remember the first time I wished I could become a girl. I was only nine,
and it was halloween. My folks were putting on a costume party for the kids in
the area, the same conservative Aspen I live in now. Conservative. What a
laugh. Sure, that is the image a lot of the millionaires and politicians have,
who live and vacation here. But it sure isn't their real lifestyle. They're
anything but conservative. 
   The occasion was an informal one. Just a few dozen kids and their parents;
the planning for it was long, though, because everyone wanted it to be a very
special time. There was record snowfall that year, and a glaze of sparkling
ice encased the trees and shrubbery. A pretty magical night, it was destined
to be. Over the prior weeks, my grandmother had been reading me old fashioned
celtic faerytales. Not the ones with tiny little faeries, but the full, human
sized faery folk of original irish legends. Sometimes scary, the tales were
always exciting, with sorcery and magic in every part, wondrous lands and
warriors with magical powers. I begged for more, and she continued, glad to
see me taking an interest in it.
   I don't know how I got the idea into my head, to go as a faery princess,
but the idea stuck firmly. I wouldn't budge, and was thoroughly confused when
my father became extremely angry at my mentioning the possibility. He actually
slapped me and sent me up to bed. I was just a child. I didn't know about the
stupid cultural taboos on such things. My mother was too held in check to say
anything except for admonishing him for slapping losing his temper. Fortunately
for me, my grandmother was much more understanding. Later on, I would come to
know just how special that trait was, since a lot of people of her generation
would have reacted more violently to the suggestion than dad did.
   She spoke out against the hostility to the notion, and pointed out that
there was no harm in it; it wouldn't be one of the pixy costumes with sparkling
wings, just something patterned after royal clothing, in a silky material,
and with a few gemstones on a belt and tiara. She promised to tone down the
feminine aspects, and make it more like a faery prince costume.
   Looking back on it, I can see she was lying through her teeth, and enjoying
every minute of it. The costume was a work of art, of real silk, and the best
quality false gemstones in a metallic belt, and costume jewelry tiara. It very
much enraged my father when I walked out into the party, just a little kid, but
wearing a very beautiful faery princess dress more accurate from a historical
mythology viewpoint than any other at the party. He couldn't very well say
much about it though, and reveal that there had been arguments over it. Even
then, though, I knew a storm would be brewing in the coming days. I was nine,
but I wasn't blind.
   It was a wonderful, magical night; and a horrible, horrible morning. My
father demanded my grandmother apologize for embarrassing him, and then told
her to get out. With her, went my only consistent ally. I wasn't spanked or
even slapped again, but then I kept very quiet when he sat me down and gruffly
explained how he understood that I didn't know any better, but that wearing
a girl's clothing was a horrible sickness. He told me about how his brother
had fallen prey to it, and how he had to be thrown out of the family. Until
that day, I hadn't even known my father had a brother. The exile had been
total and permanent.
   From that time on, whether from rebellion, or awakening of something that
night, I knew two things; it wasn't a sickness, and it felt very soothing to
immerse myself in fantasies of being a princess. A fantasy that escalated
until age fourteen, when I began to move on to other things in life, became
serious about school, and turned into a television and skiiing addict. Those
activities took up all my time -- except for once, near my birthday, when I
secretly tried on a wedding dress in the attic for a few minutes, and returned
to the fantasy for a few days thereafter. I knew it was odd, and that I had to
hide it. I still didn't quite understand why. Cloth was cloth, regardless of
the type, cut, or colors. Wasn't it?
   I guess, now, looking back, I see that it wasn't. It was a symbol also,
and maybe the trauma of the incidents after the halloween party marked me --
but ever after, the fantasy of becoming female has grown stronger. More urgent.
   Recently, now that I've turned twenty three, it's overwhelming. I'm very
seriously considering trying something a transsexual friend mentioned to me;
estrogen therapy. I work as a ski instructor and help around a lodge, so I'm
not exactly well paid, but the tips should help if I decide to give it a try.
   I don't know if it's right for me or not. I guess there's only one way to
find out.
 
 JOURNAL ENTRY: August 5th, 1994.
 
   God, I feel great! I'm seeing effects already! My skin texture and tone is
much different now, and my facial contours are changing. There is a kind of
firm tenderness and pressure building behind my nipples, and suddenly touching
them is very erotic. Someone should find a way to give this effect even to
guys who aren't on estrogen. It's neat. Most of all though, my libido is way
down, and my thinking feels clearer in a way. I'm a lot calmer. I'll definitely
be staying on it for a while longer at least. My friend says that since I still
have the fantasies, I'm probably leaning toward transsexual instead of
transvestism. I think I'm both, really. I do get an erotic thrill from
wearing female clothing, and soft clothing. I guess that part has declined
a little. Not all that much, though.
 
 JOURNAL ENTRY: November 15th, 1994.
 
   I'm really excited now, and having trouble figuring out where to start;
over the past few months, the changes have really been going. It started with
the pressure behind my nipples increasing, and progressed to real breast
contour starting. My hips are filling out also, and I'm losing muscle mass
like crazy. I've always been pretty muscular, and now it's as if I'm just
deflating or something. I tried to lift a spare tire for my bronco earlier
today and failed totally. I had to ask for help. It's inconvenient, but kind
of pleasant in a way. I notice my motions are getting more fluid and agile
from the decrease in muscle mass. I guess I was a little musclebound, before.
   I've still got a sex drive, but it's nothing like it once was. Something
my girlfriend has noticed -- and two weeks ago she commented on the changes. I
think she suspect I've got a health problem, because she has started having me
wear condoms when we have sex, and she suggested an Hiv test; probably scared
because of my muscle mass loss. It's made me a lot thinner in the limbs.
   Spontaneous erections aren't very common now, which is kind of a relief,
really; snowsuits are heavily padded by flexible, and it's always been a bit
embarrassing to be showing off a third ski pole, so to speak. I think I've
made the right decision. Overall, I feel much better about myself. My friend,
who suggested hormones, agrees, but is suggesting that I start working on a
new wardrobe. She thinks my bust development is going to be significant
enough I'll need a bra. I don't know, that seems kind of unlikely. I'm an
adult, after all, and male. How could it get much past this budding stage?
   She keeps telling me I should see a therapist to work on planning for
surgery. I don't know if I want that or not. It's one thing to get some of
the benefits of being female -- going all the way, and all the way under the
knife, is probably a bit much for me, though. I've never even worn a dress in
public.
   I really like the changes though, so who knows? Maybe going all the way is
right for me. It'd sure disappoint my girlfriend Linda, though.
   But, there is plenty of time to decide on that.
 
 JOURNAL ENTRY: February 20th, 1995.
 
   I wouldn't have believed it last year of a dozen people had told me that
I could be seriously needing a bra now. My friend says I've had a lot faster
than usual development, but that a 38 C isn't all that unusual. It sure as
heck feels unusual. It's been a slow development, and really sneaking up on
me, but I just started noticing it really intensely recently. I've been hiding
the development with a very tight athletic bra and heavy shirts, but it's
become utterly impossible now. My girlfriend outright grabbed one of my...
sheesh, it feels odd to say 'my breasts'...she grabbed one and felt it,
frowning, then demanded to know what is happening to me. I guess it was too
much to expect, to be able to hide it forever...but I never knew it would
continue this far. I told her something totally lame, which she believed
anyway, but I've been embarrassed about it ever since; I told her I had an
accident skiing, and I landed poorly on a rock, stunning my testicles into
a pause in testosterone production. I don't know if that's possible or not,
but what with the jokes on television with suddenly rising voice after a
groin impact, she accepted it, and suggested that maybe I could get shots
of testosterone to supplement until I recover. I just stayed quiet, and 
pretended to accept the idea.
   I'm starting to be a little divided in my thoughts on this situation; I
_love_ the sensations the hormones have caused. My whole body is one big
errogenous zone, and my breasts are especially. I look younger, my skin is
smoother and paler, my hair is a little thicker and has more luster, and
my emotions are much freer. I feel free and relaxed in so many ways. On the
other hand, I'm rarely having erections anymore. I can stimulate during
foreplay and continue to have sex, but erections sort of ache in a weird
way. My testicles are definitely shrinking, and my scrotum is also. 
   I think Linda could win against me in an arm wrestling contest now; my
strength is so far down it feels really weird sometimes. I banged a breast
into a doorfacing a few days ago, and learned another disadvantage; I think
I could be more disabled by a blow to the chest than to the groin, right now.
   My thoughts are definitely changing, and so is my manner of speaking. I
know it's terribly cliche, and probably mostly psychologically caused, but
I'm becoming much more verbose when talking, and my dreams are starting to
reflect the presence of my breasts and feminine contours. 
   A couple of other things have been worrying me, though; first, despite my
transgendered friend's assurances to the contrary, and those of medical books
I have read on side effects of estrogen in males, I think my voice _is_
entering a slightly higher register, and different vocal pattern. Plus, it's
probably just my imagination, but I think my penis is getting smaller. That
has to be totally ridiculous, though. Testicles sure, but my penis? No way.
 
 JOURNAL ENTRY: July 4th, 1995.
 
   The fireworks today were more between myself and Linda, my girlfriend,
than in the skies. She demanded that I take off my shirt, and she's noticed
the athletic bra before. My body curves are getting dangerous in more ways
than one, and they're beyond hiding, now, even in heavy clothing. She totally
freaked, and I've never seen someone so scared; she sat back on the bed and
cried. I've worn the athletic bra a lot myself, and it wasn't until I looked
in the mirror, and into her eyes, that I realized just how much I've really
changed. I literally couldn't comfortably go without a bra, and I now have
a decisively female body and facial shape; my features were refined already,
and this has pushed them over the edge totally. If I wore very tight briefs,
I could pass as a girl without a dab of makeup. Linda ran from the room
without even an explanation -- I later found out why. She saw my medicine
cabinet, and the premarin and provera present in it. 
   I called her later, and we got together to talk about it. She wasn't
unable to understand the situation, but is very sad. I think she feels in
some way inadequate. As if I wouldn't have taken this path if she were more
beautiful, or something. She's wonderful, and had nothing to do with it; a
pretty open minded person, she cried, but fell into my arms for a hug...which
was a truly strange experience also, as our breasts pressed together. She
didn't seem to mind too much, though. She only pulled back an instant, seemed
to think a moment, then pressed tighter to me.
   We tried to make love, and it the foreplay felt good -- but today I just
couldn't manage an erection. I don't understand why -- it's probably just all
the stress. Just in case, though, I'll cut back on the dosage a bit, to give
my body a rest.
 
 JOURNAL ENTRY: July 17th, 1995.
 
   I can't stand it anymore. I've been off the estrogen for a couple of weeks
but it seems like eternity. It's not long enough for my breasts to diminish
or anything like that, but I'm a psychological wreck. I feel like I can't
stand to be off of it. How can someone be addicted to a hormone? I've got to
start again, though. Linda hasn't expressly forbid me from continuing on it;
we've have sex several times successfully since the 4th, so she's not too
nervous about it. She's just glad I'm not changing lifestyles to that of a
girl.
 
 JOURNAL ENTRY: August 14th, 1995.
 
   I'm depressed. The renewed sex life is gone, and gone with a vengeance; I
have tried hourly for weeks to stimulate even one erection, but it's not
working at all. Not even a little, even with vigorous foreplay and Linda's
attentions. I can orgasm wonderfully well, and even have had several multiple
orgasms, without even ejaculating, which is just as well since it would be
messy. But I stay totally flaccid throughout it all. It feels good in a way,
since my penis doesn't tense much anymore, and there is a kind of relaxed,
out of control feeling to the orgasms, which also seem to blast upward
through my body, and send shockwaves through my breast and nipples; I love it
when Linda gives them attention. I've had several rude comments at work about
my body build being more ski bunny than ski instructor; they definitely know
something is up. I miss being able to swim in the lodge pool, but it would
raise way too many questions. But it just feels so weird to have orgasms
with a flaccid penis, and not to be able to make love to Linda, not via
penetration anyway, at all. I'm a little frightened. Maybe it will pass. I
mean, there are shemales who stay on hormones for decades while still
sexually active. They must be able to have erections after their systems
adjust. I'll just stick with it.
 
 JOURNAL ENTRY: September 6th, 1995.
 
   I'm off hormones forever. I haven't had the slightest erection in months,
my breasts are very tender and can't be hidden, and I look very much like a
girl in many ways. I can barely feel my testicles. I think something must be
happening with my prostate, because though it's not severe, I'm having
trouble urinating sometimes. Despite assurances to the contrary, my penis has
_definitely_ shrunk a lot. It's more sensitive than ever, but stimulation
doesn't work quite the same way, and it can get desensitized by too rough a
stimulation. I'm getting cramps monthly, and I start crying for seemingly
no reason at all. Linda left me. She couldn't handle it at all. She is staying
in contact though, and is willing to come back to me if I quit the hormones
and put this all behind me. I've agreed, and threw out every premarin and
provera bottle in the house, and tore up the prescriptions the MD gave me
those months ago. I'll be back in working order in no time, I'm sure, and
if I get tired of having breasts I can always have mastectomy or reduction.
   Hopefully, the effects will subside somewhat. I really do love Linda, and
she loves me. I'm determined to set it all aside and be with her, get married,
have a stable life. I've probably got the world's lowest sperm count, but
a lot of things can be done with fertility, where a man is concerned. There
has to be a couple of sperm produced now and again. I haven't been castrated,
after all. I've been careful not to injure the small remaining testicle masses,
which is pretty easy since they're so small.
   More troublesome is my penis. It's maybe a third the size it used to be,
even flaccid, and still not responding.
 
 JOURNAL ENTRY: January 25th, 1996. 
 
   I'm frightened out of my wits. Linda just stormed out of the house, having
given up on me forever, she says. I can't believe that. I can't afford to
believe it. It's been months though, since I went off hormones, and I'm not
changing back. My breasts haven't diminished any, and I haven't had the
slightest erection or testicle regrowth. If anything, I'm still getting
larger in the bust, and not even my sex drive is returning. I feel so odd,
as my mind struggles with my body. I'm spending an hour a day trying to get
some kind of erection response, but other than a very slight painful swelling,
it's not happening. My body contour is still very feminine and my muscles are
not returning either. I know I'm panicking...it took over a year to get
where I am now, so it'll probably take a while for everything to jumpstart
itself again and get things moving in the other direction. I've just got to
keep calm.
 
   JOURNAL ENTRY: May 10th, 1996.
 
   It's not my imagination. The feminization has continued even without
the hormones, in very subtle ways. I'm mostly stable, but god help me, I'm
not making any reverse progress at all. I tried to see Linda yesterday and
she called the police to have me removed from the property. I tried increasing
self stimulation, hoping that would trigger masculinization, but all it did
was cause pain. I'm totally unable to have an erection. I can barely remember
what it felt like. My scrotal skin is retracting more, as skin does when its
not held out. My penis isn't getting any smaller, at least. I'm going to save
up and see an endocrinologist. My MD has zero experience with this sort of
thing, and doesn't even know what should be normal.
 
   JOURNAL ENTRY: May 15th, 1996.
 
   I saw the endrocrinologist today. I've been here in bed since returning
home, and I've cried more times than I can count. The answer to my questions,
and the results of the tests were simple, but not what I wanted to hear. Where
should I begin? I'm sterile...they couldn't find even a mangled sperm. My
testicles have completely atrophied. They're shut down beyond starting up
again, and most of the cell types have basically gone away or become 
permanently dormant. My body fat distribution is here to stay, he says. Its
too set into my cells and metabolism. My breasts aren't just fat deposits
anymore, they're real glandular tissue that's not going away without surgery.
   The inability to have an erection is irreversible; the impotence is partly
from brain chemistry and neurological changes, and he agrees with me that
my penis has become atrophied also, despite literature to the contrary; he
explained it to me, and the explanation wasn't very encouraging either. The
penile tissues which become engorged with blood during an erection, are not
meant to be in the flaccid state for so long. Like any other skin and vascular
tissue, to maintain shape and size, it requires frequent stretching -- from
spontaneous erections, self stimulation, and sexual intercourse. Without the
erections, the tissues naturally dwindle and condense. And harden. Complete
atrophy set in long ago, he determined. There was never any chance of going
back, after the second year, for me. My body responded well to the hormone
treatments; too well to ever be reversed.
   I asked about my libido. He said he could prescribe testosterone, which
would increase it -- but also be dangerous, and cause increased facial and
body hair. It wouldn't bring back testicle or penile tissues lost to atrophy,
nor enlarge the shrunken prostate, or make the female body contours go away;
he said the words 'irrevocable' and 'irreversible' more times than I care to
think about. 
   He referred me to a therapist, and a plastic surgeon he assured me was
very good with penile implants. I tore up both cards. I don't need them to
tell me I've made a mistake.
 
   JOURNAL ENTRY: January 1st, 1997.
 
   The operation was a success; I am now female in genitals also. I was fired
from work when I announced my transition, but it doesn't matter. I'm making
the best of bad choices, and things are slowly beginning to look up. Linda
is talking to me again, though she has married another ski instructor. I don't
know what the future holds, except that I'm going back on the hormones, and
will try to live a normal life as a woman. I've heard horror stories of others
in my situation who committed suicide, or went insane. I'm not going to do
either. I guess maybe it was fated all along. Slowly, I'm regaining the lost
excitement over the changes. I'm forcing myself to be erotically enthusiastic
about them, and looking forward to having sex, once I have healed in body, and
a little more in mind. I don't know if I'll be entirely successful for not. I
do know one thing though.
   I still _love_ the nipple sensations.
 
FIN