Sometimes one doesn't know when to stop...


by StacyInLove

Copyright © 11/22/2000 by StacyInLove

I was working a minimum wage job at the mall and found a full shopping bag by the trash compactor one night. People often used the mall compactor to get rid of odd things. A quick peak in the bag showed what looked like electronics and medical supplies in the dim light. I didn't have time to really check it out but thought it looked interesting enough to run out to my car. I could give the bag a closer look later at home.

In the light of my tiny apartment that night, I discovered electrolysis equipment and several years' worth of female (and other) hormones! Everything was new and unused. I had found strange stuff by the compactor before but this took the cake. Though I was a little weirded out by it all, I was curious enough to read what everything did. It was obviously for some guy who wanted to look like a woman. Aside from the female hormones, some were clearly meant to counteract a man's own hormones. Even the sound of "chemical castration" made me cringe.

I couldn't imagine what would make someone want to use the stuff- and then throw it away unused. I could only imagine some poor guy planning to take drastic steps but chickening out in the end. I could also see why he used the anonymity of the mall dumpster. I was even nervous about my garbage men finding this stuff in my can.

So I stuffed the bag into the back of my closet. My plan was to toss it out at some other anonymous dumpster at a highway rest stop when I had the time. The risk of being caught bringing the bag to the mall dumpster where I worked was out of the question.

I was on the closing shift for the rest of the week and almost forgot about the bag. On my day off, I pulled it out of the closet and was getting my keys and wallet together to get the bag out of my life forever. The electrolysis equipment was on top, which triggered a memory of some girls talking about how painful the process was.

Though I still planned on getting rid of everything, another part of me was curious about just how painful it was. My guess was that it was not as bad as the girl's let on. I still don't know why, but I decided to try to zap one little hair- just to see. One little hair being permanently removed would never be missed.

So I set it up by the couch. I never even thought about using another body part other than my leg. I dropped my jeans enough to expose my thighs and sat down on the couch. I brought the needle to my leg.


It did hurt! But what really surprised me was that the little jolt was making my underwear bulge! The taboo of what I just did was oddly sexual.

"This is nuts," I thought to myself. But there was a definite urge to zap another hair to feed my growing hard-on. OUCH!

The intensity of my arousal surprised me. After only a few more zaps, I went to take off my underwear. I was too close. I came in my underwear before I could get them off!

If I didn't have to take the time to get undressed to change my underwear, I might have taken the bag out to the car right then- and gotten rid of it somewhere. As it was, the short time it took to get changed and to pack up the electrolysis equipment was just long enough for the memory of what just happened to arouse me again. I knew it was a mistake, but I put the bag back into my closet.

I thought about what I did all day at work the next day. I kept going back and forth between hating myself for not getting rid of that bag- and between the thought of zapping a few more hairs again.

The bag was out of the closet again that night. It could have gone either way. My car keys were in my hand.

"Just one more time won't hurt," I thought.


The bag was back in my closet later that night. And the night after as well.

Electrolysis quickly became like a drug to me. Though I kept telling myself I wouldn't do it anymore, I was permanently zapping leg and body hairs every night. Fortunately, even MY body had enough hair so that no evidence of my nightly sessions was noticeable. Electrolysis is a long (but deliciously painful) process.

I was keenly aware of the taboo of it all. Though I never even considered wearing women's clothes, feminization was definitely the end-result of electrolysis. Still, I didn't want to look like a woman in any way. The process of electrolysis itself was what turned me on. I was very careful to spread my efforts out so that I would not have any "patches" of smooth skin. I told myself I could stop whenever I wanted. I guess a lot of addicts think that very thought.

But I started to do it so often that it was taking more and more zaps to get me going. My sessions started getting longer. In spite of myself, I started to think about the other stuff in the bag that I saw every night. One night, I read the dosing instructions again. With mosquito-bite- like welts still fresh from my zapping, the reading brought me quickly to a raging arousal. I had no intentions of actually taking any of it though.

After a few nights, I couldn't help but memorize the dosing instructions. The electrolysis and reading had soon become "old hat" and didn't get me as aroused as they did in the beginning. Still, it was something I enjoyed doing. To make it "fresh", I actually put the proper doses on the table next to me during one of my electrolysis sessions. A few nights later, I even put a glass of water out too- as if I were actually going to take the stuff!

The escalation was quick. First, I had the doses out of their wrappers. Then one night I even "held" a pill in my teeth while I zapped. The next night I just touched my tongue to the different hormones to see what they tasted like. I actually had one of the female hormone pills and a "chemical castration" pill in my mouth with some water one night!

The next night, I swallowed.

I couldn't believe what I did- but couldn't believe how hard I got either! It was unbelievable! Though I told myself it wouldn't happen again- it did. Soon, taking the proper doses of the proper medications became just another part of my sessions. This time, it didn't become "old hat" though. I kept a keen eye out for any sign that the hormone treatments were actually doing anything. I was going to stop at the first hint of any changes.

A month went by and though I noticed my moods were affected, I didn't see any physical changes. My nightly electrolysis sessions were getting longer and longer. My leg and body hair was thinning out gradually but so gradually that it was hard for me to really notice. The changes to my nipples were also gradual. It took a little nipple hard-on to wake me up one day. Thankfully, no one noticed.

I should have stopped right then. By that time however, I was doing my secret sessions for so long that the habit was hard to break. In spite of what I was doing, I still had no interest in looking like a woman. I nervously taped my chest to prevent any embarrassing nipple action the next day. But seeing my doses on the table that next night was not easy to ignore. Like an addict, I told myself that "one more dose wont make any difference." I swallowed them down as usual.

I kept on swallowing them down even as my chest became increasingly sensitive and it felt like little knots were forming under my growing nipples. It was around the time that I noticed two definite swellings on my chest that I also noticed that my body hair was just a little too thinned out.

That night was scary as hell to me. Like I said, in spite of everything, I didn't want to actually look like a woman. I had the bag packed and I was driving it to the rest stop at exit 10 off the highway around 3:00 am. I tossed it casually into a dark garbage bin and sped away.

I almost made it home. I even got off at my exit. The thought of that bag tugged at me though. Looping around the cloverleaf, I was soon back at exit 10. I actually cried at how weak I was- as I dug the bag out of the garbage. I chalked the tears up to the hormones but couldn't help reflect that they were woman's hormones- and that I was crying like a girl.

After another two weeks, I realized that I needed to do something about the swellings on my chest. Know one knew about the tightly wrapped Ace bandages around my chest at work the next day. I cried a lot during those two weeks- but I didn't stop either. The Ace bandages brought me to a kind of decision too. I realized that I would need some kind of corrective surgery to make myself look "normal" again. Though still scared, the realization was strangely liberating. The idea of surgery was a way out. It was a plan.

"If I'm going to have surgery anyway," I thought, "there's no reason for me to stop just yet."

It was a night of bad plans. I also thought that having a smooth body would look more normal than the weirdly thin hair I had.

Now I had a mission. My electrolysis sessions were like an obsession. As I became permanently hairless, there was no denying that I now had grown women's breasts. Though I kept telling myself I didn't want to look like a woman, it was happening anyway. The curiosity of having breasts was too much too. The feelings as I touched myself were too electric to ignore. I looked at myself in the mirror in a detached way- like I wasn't doing this to myself. I had skipped a few haircuts. I had lost some weight, which I didn't think I had to loose. I kept clinging to the idea of the corrective surgery as my reflection slowly became more and more womanly.

I was permanently hairless and my breasts were getting painfully difficult to bind from sight. They kept growing as my body reacted to a puberty that I seemed to have missed as a guy. Looking at my chest every day, I didn't notice that the unnatural puberty was doing other things to my body too. Suddenly, I noticed that my hips and ass were rounding out too!

I was scared out of my mind! I needed to have the corrective surgery to get myself back to normal and fast! Only now I was too scared to go to a doctor. I really did want to stop and throw the bag away at Exit 10 again- this time for good. I couldn't do it though. I trembled as I took the hormone doses out. I cried as I swallowed them.

In spite of my best efforts to bind my growing breasts, people at work were starting to make little comments about me looking different and asking if I was OK. The bindings were almost unbearably painful. Baggy clothes were barely hiding my growing curves below as well.

When I couldn't bind myself any more, I took all my vacation time. My body was reacting almost too well to the hormones. Even though the womanly puberty had made some serious changes already, I started to suddenly "blossom"! As vacation ended, I just couldn't bind myself. I didn't go back to work. I stayed in my tiny apartment like a hermit. Thankfully, the grocery store delivered. My small savings wouldn't last forever though.

The money eventually did run out. I couldn't pay rent. I didn't know what to do or where to go. I had to be out by Friday. Crying and in a rage at myself, I took out the electrolysis equipment one more time.

"You asshole!" I yelled at myself. "If you want to look like a woman- you might as well do it right!"

I spent my last night shaping brows that no man should ever have. I stared at myself in disgust. I looked like a woman. My bald little penis looked like the thing out of place now. Realizing how stupid I was- I cried my eyes out.

Not many of my clothes fit anymore. I didn't bother trying to bind myself and put on some sweats in a daze. I was too numb to even be scared as I left the apartment, which was no longer mine. Not knowing where to go, I ended up at my parent's house.

The look on their faces when they saw me was too much. Something in me snapped and I mostly stayed in my old room in a daze. There was a lot of crying and hugging. Yes- I wanted to be normal. I wanted to be fixed. I let them baby me and take charge of me. I went to the doctors they took me to. I signed the papers blindly that they put in front of me. I only partly came out of my funk as they told me that I was going to have my "corrective surgery." I didn't know or even ask how they could do anything to make my hipbones smaller or to give me my brows and body hair back. I took whatever pills they continued to give me.

I was numb to the world already as the anesthesia started to work in the hospital. I thought the doctor was talking to a nurse as I heard him say, "Everything is going to be just fine Stacy."

I awoke in a fog of drugs and pain. Panic shot through me immediately! Even in my drugged state, I expected to feel pain on my chest where I thought my breasts would be removed. There was no pain on my chest at all! Instead, a searing pain filled the area of my crotch- like I had been impaled on a large hot spike! I realize instantly what had been done to me- even before the nurse addressed me.

"How do you feel Stacy?"

I had been turned into a woman! I couldn't believe how much of an idiot I was! All that talk about corrective surgery and no one talked about specifics! My god! They had turned my penis and scrotum into a vagina!

I cried. The nurse must have taken the reaction as pain. She adjusted my drip and I soon drifted back into an uneasy drug-induced sleep. They turned me into a woman! I never even tried on a pair of panties in my life- and now I would need to sit to pee! I had become someone named Stacy! Me! A woman! What had I done?!

In spite of myself, I healed. It was pointless to even voice my feelings. My parents and the hospital staff were surprised at my obvious depression. I think they were afraid I might do something drastic. I took the Prozac without a blink. On Prozac, one doesn't feel depression- or happiness. One simply doesn't feel at all. I therefore viewed the panties and woman's clothes that my mother brought me with the utmost apathy. I let her help me get dressed because I just didn't care. I sat there while Mom brushed my hair and applied a little lipstick. My things were in a purse she had brought for me. I was discharged and brought home.

I looked with a detached non-feeling at how they had redone my room. I could smell the fresh peach paint and frilly new bedding. I knew that if it weren't for the Prozac, I would have been crying to see the whole new wardrobe they bought for me- a woman's wardrobe. There was nothing else to do. Without feeling, I realized that I would need to learn to get used to being a woman named Stacy. The pile of paperwork, which included new ID's and credit cards with the name Stacy, only hammered that point home further.

Mom was a little old fashioned and must have gotten caught up in buying clothes for her new "daughter." I don't think she ever bought a pair of pants in her life- and she didn't buy any for me either. Day by day, I learned how to properly dress myself, do my hair, apply my makeup, do my nails. I found it made life easier to not fight my new femininity. Little by little, I was becoming used to the role I couldn't avoid playing. After many months, putting on panties became a non-event. I no longer even blinked when walking into a ladies room. Makeup became as normal as putting on a coat. I slowly weaned myself off the Prozac. Though I had my moments of depression, life was not so horrible as a woman. Without the numbing effects of the medication, I realized that there were aspects I actually enjoyed.

But I never really felt like a woman. I felt like I was still me- but stuck as Stacy. I had no interest in men but was too embarrassed to try to attract a lesbian. I thought of how priests lived their entire lives without sex and mentally girded myself for a life of celibacy.

The thing about being seen as the fairer sex, however, is that men are naturally the pursuers. They only find out if someone is not interested after they have made an attempt- and attempt they did. Some were more direct. Some were more subtle and took their time.

As it was, I couldn't just stay in the house forever. I had taken a little job and allowed myself to make some friends at work. One, a guy named Steve, would have been just the kind of guy I would normally be friends with. He made no overtures or advances on me. He just joked and palled around with me- just like one of the guys.

We would all go out after work sometimes. I thought nothing about going out in a group and started letting myself have fun again. Though we would be talking with everyone, Steve and I usually were laughing it up together. I didn't think anything of it when some of "the gang" backed out last minute one night- leaving just Steve and I.

"We don't have to go if you don't want to," he said.

"Don't be silly," I said. "We don't have to have those losers around," I joked. Naívely, I didn't even realize why Steve had offered the "out" for me. His face seemed to light up a bit to my answer. Only when he helped me into the passenger side of his car did I feel a tinge of strangeness- like I was on some sort of date. I forcibly put the thought from my mind. It was just Steve.

We had some drinks and a great time together. He was the proverbial "perfect gentleman" and didn't try a thing. I felt relieved that I worried for nothing after the night was over. I didn't give it a second thought when it was "just the two of us" again the following week.

Steve and I had a lot of fun together and it was becoming pretty routine for the two of us to be doing things together. It was because of this easy friendship that I saw no problem going to a wedding with him.

"I don't know Stacy. I don't think I'll bother going. I'll feel like the lonely idiot. Everybody I know who is going is either married or seeing someone."

"But you grew up with the guy Steve. You've got to go."

"But I'll just feel stupid sitting by myself. Hey- I just thought. Would YOU go with me? It would be fun."

Like I said, I didn't think anything of it. It would be like any other time together I thought. I said yes.

Only now I had to actually get "dressed up" for the first time in my life. I was nervous as hell as I shopped for an outfit. I felt naked in just about everything that I tried. I forced myself to pick out something anyway. I didn't want to make Steve look bad by showing up in a potato sack. I even went to a beauty parlor that morning. I surprised even myself at how beautiful I looked. Steve couldn't stop complimenting me.

People act differently dressed up. It would have felt weirder if Steve DIDN"T hold doors for me or pull out my chair. He basically treated me like I was his date, which I became suddenly aware that I was. Weddings mean dancing too. I tried but ultimately couldn't refuse his pulling me onto the dance floor. Surprisingly, I was having fun- even though I was fighting to prevent my breasts from jumping free of my nothing of a dress.

As luck would have it, the bouquet was practically thrown in my face. Steve did some pretty fancy acrobatics to "save my honor" from the other guys. Suddenly, I felt his hands gliding a garter higher and higher over my silky stockinged legs. I didn't want to like the sensation but was enjoying it in spite of myself. I looked at Steve kneeling before my legs. I noticed the beginnings of a bulge in his pants as his hands reached as high as my thighs! He stopped when we both reached a certain level of discomfort. Standing up, Steve leaned over and gave me a quick kiss before I knew what was happening. It was over before it started. I didn't want to like that either- but hated to admit to myself that I enjoyed the whole episode.

It was basically a perfect night. Steve walked me up to the door of my house while I fumbled for the key in my tiny evening bag.

With the key in the door I said, "Thanks for inviting me Steve. I had a great time."

"So did I Stacy. Thanks for coming with me. You looked so beautiful tonight."

There was an awkward moment before he moved forward. Suddenly, Steve had touched his lips to mine! I was stunned. It was no peck. I was being kissed by a guy! I was even more amazed that I didn't pull away. I couldn't. Somehow, the kiss felt so right. His lips lingered on mine. Gently, I felt his tongue press past my yielding teeth. I could feel my pulse in my breathing. Finally, Steve pulled away. I was confused and strangely disappointed that he had stopped.

We just stared into each other's eyes. I felt things I never knew I could feel again. There was a hungry aching in my crotch that spread to my entire being.

"Can I call you again Stacy?"

He called me all the time. I knew what he meant though. He was asking if I would go out on another date with him. I didn't answer with words. Instead, I flung my arms around his shoulders and reached up to kiss him myself. It was electric.

When we finally stopped, we said our goodnights. Steve turned only after I walked into the house. I couldn't wait until he would call me.

I no longer felt I was a man. I had finally become a woman.


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