But, below the waist is still all male, and really turned on.. by me!
I put on a black garter belt (still the best way to frame my “surprise”), and
rose up a pair of sheer black stockings, slipping them up my tan, smooth legs
and then fastening the hooks mid-thigh. Well, a nice pair of legs is an asset
for a woman like me (hehehe). But still a most unfeminine bulge is apparent!
So, I slip on a pair of tight black panties, slipping my penis into the hidden
pocket, and folding it back under me as I pull the panties tightly to my waist.
There, nice and smooth, and, I’m female!
I pull my favorite Victoria’s Secret black satin chemis, and slip it over
my shoulders, slide it down over my curves, and smooth it into place.
I ease my long hair out from under the straps and then put on a turquoise satin
blouse, buttoning it only halfway up, to show off the black lace underneath.
I slip on a denim mini and tie the blouse tightly at the waist. I shake my head
and flip my hair around. I look especially tasty today and decide to go out.
But first, I need jewelry!
I put on a triple stranded gold necklace, some bracelets and ring, and a big
pair of gold hoop earrings. There. Almost perfect..but, those fingernails
would look better painted. So, I get out the polish, the heated nail dryer, and
sit down to finish my change. Three glossy coats of Snow Orange later..
Babelon! I look fabulous!

As I walk out to the car, the men out in the neighborhood turn and stare,
appreciatively. So, I give them a show, because I love to tease them.
So, I wiggle my hips (a bit too much) and strut boldly, with a smile, over
to my car. I open the door and ease onto the seat, flashing a lot of leg
and garter-top as I slide myself behind the wheel. After a few minutes of
letting the car warm-up, and a lot of fussing in the mirror, I pull away,
smiling at the men as they stare.

It took four days to arrange for the movers to come and take
everything he couldn’t fit into his car. Then he went home. The
leave was less than satisfying; neither one of his parents were
supportive of his desire to stay on active duty. Anderson visited
his brother and left him the car and his personal gear (including
a fair number of firearms). He did a little bit of traveling, and
presented himself to the military air terminal at McGuire with two
weeks’ worth of leave remaining.
The Air Force sergeant who was at the receiving desk read
Anderson’s orders and then checked a file. She told Anderson to
go check into the transient BOQ and stay there; he’d be notified
when his flight was called. Anderson had taken MAC flights before,
one normally has to wait at the terminal for one’s name to move up
the waiting list. This treatment mystified him, but he just did
as she told him to.
The phone in his room rang a day and a half later. Anderson
switched on a light, picked it up and muttered his name into the
handset.
“Lieutenant Anderson? Master Sergeant Wilkes at the MAC desk.
Your flight leaves at 0430. A car will be at the Q at 0410 to pick
you up.”
“What time is it now?”
“A little after three, sir.”
“All right, thanks.” Anderson set the handset back into the
cradle. Fucking zoomies, scheduling a flight on the rev watch.
Oh, well. He rolled out of bed, shaved and showered. The desk was
open 24 hours, he was checked out by four and waiting for his ride.
An airman came over to him. “Are you LT Anderson?”
“Yes.”
“May I see your ID, sir?” Anderson handed it to him. The
airman looked it over and handed it back. “Come with me, sir.”
He led the way to a “blue steelie,” Air Force lingo for an issue
sedan. Anderson got into the right-side seat. He was a little
surprised when the airman passed by the MAC terminal and drove to
a hangar after passing a security check from the APs, who were
wearing woodland camo uniforms and carrying M-16A2s. The airman
drove out onto the ramp and up to an Air Force C-12, their version
of the Beech King Air. This one had seen better days, it was set
up as a cargo carrier (or “trash hauler”), complete with a load of
cargo. The pilot, a woman in a USAF pilot’s jumpsuit with
captain’s bars waved him on board. Anderson stowed his bag between
two crates and settled into the right seat.
“You might want to put on that headset,” she said. “This old
beast can get pretty loud.”
Anderson did so, adjusting the headset to fit and the boom
mike to almost touch his mouth. “Can you hear me?”
“Sure can.” The pilot ran through the starting procedure with
the economy of motion born of great amounts of practice. She soon
had both PT-6 engines turning. She received her IFR and taxi
clearances, then taxied out to the runway. They had to wait for
the wake of a departing C-5 to dissipate, then they were on their
way.
The flight went to Wisconsin, Anderson guessed. He could
recognize Lake Michigan and he did his best to follow along with
the air traffic controllers working the airplane. Dawn was
breaking when the pilot started her descent. There was nothing but
woods, then he saw a small town next to an airport. When they
landed, he looked with surprise at the collection of airplanes on
the ramp. He hadn’t seen so many tailwheel airplanes in one place;
everything from a few J-3s up to three Twin Beeches, a C-46 and two
DC-3s. There were a few tricycle-geared airplanes, but damn few-
- a couple Cessna 172s, a Mooney, three Bonanzas and a King Air.
Everyhting was painted in civilian schemes, complete with N-
numbers.
It looked like a civil airport in Alaska, except the man
coming out to greet them had an assault rifle slung over his
shoulder. He told Anderson to go to the line shack, then he
started talking to the pilot about refueling the C-12 and unloading
the cargo. Anderson trudged over to the shack. A woman with a no-
nonsense demeanor asked for his ID. She compared the card to a
list, then handed it over. She stuck out her hand and said:
“Welcome to school, Sherry. I’m Doris Stackpole. I’ll be your
training coordinator while you’re here at the school. Let’s get
you situated. Come with me.” Doris led the way out of the other
end of the building.
“What is this place?”
“It’s a training facility for all sorts of students. Some of
the students are training for covert ops, some are here above
board. First rule is: Don’t talk to anybody about who or what you
are or what you are here for. Everything around here runs on a
`need-to-know’ basis. Understand?”
“Sure do.” They had walked across the road to a small area
of townhouses. Doris led the way to one of them and opened the
door with a key, which she gave Anderson.
“This is yours for the duration of your stay.” She showed
Anderson around. The townhouse was on two levels; upstairs were
two bedrooms and a bathroom, downstairs was a kitchen, dining area,
living room, a study (complete with a computer with a 19″ screen)
and a half-bath. “You’re getting this place because it’s so close
to the field, most of your training is going to be in flying.”
“Which of those planes will I be flying?”
Doris shrugged. “If you complete the course, all of them.”
“Even the DC-3?”
“Yes, but you’ll have a few other things to worry about.”
Anderson didn’t like her grin, but he’d do a lot to get a DC-3 type
rating. Doris went to the door. “You have an appointment. Bring
your stuff, they’ll take it and issue you what you need.”
Anderson followed along. They walked to a building almost a
half-mile away. There they went into a room where Doris told him
to strip to his underwear. Anderson did, two women came in and
started measuring his body; one measured, the other recorded. They
traced the outlines of his hands and feet. The real surprise was
when they measured penis size, both flaccid and erect. Anderson
was embarrassed at that, but the two were just doing their job and
did it. Afterwards, Doris gave him a pink terry-cloth robe and
told him to take his underwear off. She collected all of his
things and marched out of the room.
For the first time, Anderson was scared. He had no idea where
he was, had no money, no ID, and all he had was a pink bathrobe.
Doris returned about forty minutes later with some clothes.
She handed him a pair of white cotton panties, “I think you know
how to wear them,” she said. Next was a yellow and black t-shirt,
a pair of white socks, women’s blue jeans and a pair of Reebocks
that were white with pink trim. “Other clothes will be sent to
your apartment. Now, let’s go to medical.”
“Another physical?”
“Not like one you’ve ever had before.” This time, they drove.
Doris had the keys to a jeep-like vehicle that ran on batteries.
She drove to a hospital that was a couple of miles away by road,
although it was right across the airfield.
Doris was somewhat right. It was a thorough physical; but the
difference came when they had Anderson lie down for a whole-body
CAT-scan. He almost freaked out; he had to lie on a very small
white tunnel while the machine hammered and whirred. He could have
sworn the thing was going to grind him up. After the scan, Doris
took him to the cafeteria for lunch. The food was about the same
as any other hospital, barely edible.
The PA system paged Doris when they had almost finished. She
left the table to answer it, then returned. “C’mon, Dr. Trotti
will see you now. We’ll find out what he can do for you.”
They finished quickly and left the cafeteria. Anderson wanted
to ask what was going to happen, but there were other people
around.
Dr. Trotti was in his late 40s. He shook hands and led them
into a darkened room. There was a screen on the wall and an
overhead projector that could project computer images. “Sherry,
my field is reconstructive surgery, though maybe should say
constructive surgery. Take a look at this.” He turned the screen
on.
Anderson looked closely. The image was of a woman wearing a
tank top and a skirt that came to just above the knee. Her breasts
swelled the top and showed a little cleavage. The skirt clung to
nice hips. Her face was not that of a raving beauty, but she had
nice cheekbones and didn’t look bad at all. “Who is she?”
“That’s you.”
“What?”
“Yes.” Dr. Trotti shifted to another screen. “This is your
skeletal structure..” He went into a lengthy discussion of how they
could modify Anderson’s skeletal structure to make him look like
a woman, followed by a discourse of what plastic surgery techniques
they could use. Anderson felt the MEGO (for “Mine Eyes Glaze
Over”) factor kicking in. Adding pieces here, taking pieces out
there. It wasn’t his body, it was a biological erector set.
After Trotti said his piece, Anderson asked the key question:
“How much of this is reversible?”
Dr. Trotti considered that. “Most of it is. We can change
everything back that required surgical techiques. You are going
to need a fair amount of electrolysis for us to be able to
accomplish what we need to do. That isn’t reversible.” The doctor
just smiled. Almost everyone he had worked on asked that question.
He had done the reversal surgery on about five percent of those he
had worked on. But he didn’t say anything.
“All right. When does the electrolysis start?”
“Right now,” Doris said. They said goodbye to the doctor and
went to another part of the hospital. There a nurse injected a
painkiller similar to novocaine inside his mouth. She had him lie
on a table, then after about 30 minutes, she started to work.
Another nurse came in and started on the other side of his face.
Anderson could hear the humming of the machines and the occaisional
`zap’ as a needle vaporized an oil pocket. The nurses would wipe
his face with an antiseptic every so often. He was very tired and
since he was feeling no pain, he fell asleep.
They woke him up four hours later. His lower face was wrapped
in a cold mask, it had tubing through which a chilled solution was
circulating. When they took the mask off, one of the nurses
closely inspected his face. “Not bad.” She gave him a tube of
antiseptic ointment and a small bottle of pain pills. “See you
tomorrow,” she said.
Anderson wanted to say something, but his face was numb.
Doris took him back to his townhouse. She showed him the clothes
hanging in the closet, mostly variations of what he was wearing:
jeans, different tops, several pairs of running and aerobics shoes.
There was an assortment of unisex-athletic gear.
“You get food by placing an order through your computer,
though you’ll have to cook it yourself unless you order the
microwavable dinners; I recommend them as you won’t have a lot of
time. The instructions are next to it, it’s fairly self-evident.
You can order any books, tapes, CDs or videos the same way. The
computer also ties into the training database for unclassified
material; you’ll be taught how that works starting tomorrow.
Anything you order will be placed on the living-room table, except
for perishables which will be put into your refridgerator or
freezer. There are some tapes by the VCR to start you off. I’ll
be by tomorrow at 0730. Any questions?”
Anderson made writing motions. Doris found a tablet and a
pen. “Toothbrush? Razor,” he wrote.
“Toothbrush is upstairs in the bathroom. No razor, it’s
easier to work with longish hair. See you in the morning.”
Anderson half-heartedly watched a video, then found a chicken
dinner in the freezer after his face denumbed enough to eat it.
He took a shower and rubbed the ointment over the areas where the
eletrolygists had worked. He soon fell asleep wondering waht
tomorrow would bring.
Tomorrow brought flight training. Doris took him to a
classroom next to the airport. She turned him over to an
instructor named Craig, who proceeded to start teaching him how to
fly by instruments. Classroom work was in the morning, simulator
work in the afternoon.
This routine went on for a solid month: electrolysis one day,
flight training the other. As Doris had promised, all the course
work was on a computer database, so Anderson was able to work on
the rating in the evening. The simulator gave way to an IFR-
capable Cessna 180; Anderson became able to fly an approach to
minimums and follow up with a good landing. “It’s a lot harder in
a taildragger,” Craig explained. The electrolyis was a lengthy
affair, Anderson sometimes had several techicians working on his
body: they removed all the hair from his face, the back of his
neck, his arms, legs, chest, and back. The process was always
accompanied by localized painkillers. They thinned his eyebrows
to ones that could be either masculine or feminine.

By the end of the month, Anderson had an instrument airplane
rating and the body hair of a woman.

The third Friday of every month is my day. This is the one day,

or rather night of the month that I truly look forward to. Only

twelve times a year, do I allow myself to totally, absolutely

indulge myself. To be a slut! A total tramp! To luxuriate, and

fulfill my desires that have been pent up inside me since the last

month!

To enjoy fully the sexual cravings I have, the cravings I stifle

until that one night on the town when I unleash the sex crazed

lust starved animal passion inside me. The night I go on the

prowl!

I start my day off slowly, savoring in the preparations for the

fuck and suck fest that will transpire before the night is

through. I always take the day off work, and I’m glad no one at

work has caught on to my pattern of ’sick’ days.

I leave early in the morning for Toronto, although it’s only an

hour from where I live, it is big enough that nobody will

recognize me, especially not after I’ve transformed into the slut

that I will become.

I check into a different motel every month, and unpack my ‘tramp’

uniform. Then I begin the transformation. I shed my clothes the

minute that I enter the room, lay on my bed and play with myself

until I’ve had two or three good climaxes while fantasizing about

the forth-coming night.

With my lust temporarily sated, I run myself a luxurious bubble

bath, filled with expensive bath oils and perfumes. As I sit in

the bathroom, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the tub, I start to

shave my legs. Since tonight is my special night I take much more

care than usual, and even take a few minutes with a pair of

scissors to trim my pubic bush. Then I get into the tub.

I can’t help myself now! The sex drive inside me is too strong,

and as I lay relaxed in the warm bubbly water that feels like

satin and silk against my tender skin, I have to masturbate again

and again! My animal urges are hurrying me along now, and my

hands can’t satisfy my needs enough! I shower off and dry myself

quickly.

My need is welling up inside me! I need cock and I need it bad!

I take the time to powder myself liberally, I know it’s going to

be a terrific night! As I apply my favorite perfume, I wonder

what my co-workers would think of me now. I know the names they

use whenever they talk about somebody as cock crazy as I am, and I

wonder how I manage to control the animal passions inside me as

long as I do each month without them guessing my true nature.

I slowly pull on my black nylons, attaching them to my matching

black lace trimmed garter belt. I am wearing a pair of red satin

panties, and as I rub my crotch lovingly, I have to fight myself

from masturbating again. I want to save my climaxes now until I

get downtown!

I don’t usually wear a bra, but I do whenever I wear my ’slut’

suit. I think the extra padding helps me attract more guys this

way. Black satin and lace tickles my nipples until they’re stiff

and I feel so aroused!

Walking around in just my bra, panties and nylons I feel so

sluttish! I carefully apply my make-up, making my eyes look deep

and wanton. Then I pin my hair back and pull my blond wig out of

its container and put it on. The wig is really long and nearly

white blond. The golden curls cascade over my shoulders, and I

wonder why I couldn’t have been born with hair like this instead

of my mousy brown which I keep trimmed short. I inspect myself in

the mirror, turning slowly admiring every curve. I know that many

men are going to be looking at me tonight, and I want to look just

perfect for their fuck fantasies.

Satisfied with my appearance in my dainties, I put on my black

leather mini skirt and my black patent leather, high heel pumps.

I top off the whole outfit with a bright red silk blouse, through

which you can nearly see my lacy black bra. But just in case the

guy’s eyes aren’t quite that good, I leave it unbuttoned far

enough that they can see the lacy frills. Now I am ready for

Yonge Street. I take my small black matching leather purse and

leave the motel.

Look out Toronto, here I come!

It’s just past six when I get out of the taxi near the strip

palaces downtown. Through past experience, I have found it’s a

good place to get picked up. The stores are closed now, and the

only people on the streets are tourists and the night people.

Street musicians are everywhere, trying to hustle a buck, and the

street kids are looking for handouts or trying to bum pocket

change. The hotel trade is good this time of night, since the

hookers don’t come out till much later.

Mostly business men, looking for a cheap thrill from the strip

acts, and a few hours of steady drinking until they have to go

home to their wives and families. I watched one dark handsome guy

in his early forties cross the crowded street. I could tell by

the lust in his eyes that I was turning him on, so as he headed

for the door I wiggled my cute buns over to him.

“Hi good looking” I said in my deepest sultry voice, “Want me to

blow your horn for you?” He looked at me and shrugged then said,

“You sure look inviting babe, but I can’t afford to pay the

piper.”

I put on my best pouting expression and said “I didn’t ask for any

money mister, I’m just a volunteer for the sperm bank and I want

you to make a donation, right down my throat.”

He looked around quickly, and I could tell by the growing bulge in

his pants that he wanted to fuck my pretty face as bad as I wanted

his, no, needed his hot fuck tool between my lips.

I led him by the hand to the alley beside the bar, (a place I knew

so well from previous visits), looked around to make sure nobody

was sleeping behind the dumpster, and dropped to my knees while my

fingers flew at his fly trying to pull that big hunk of cock out

of his pants. It was so hard and so big, that I couldn’t close my

fist around it!

I pulled back the foreskin slowly letting his musky aroma

tantalize my nose before I slipped my painted lips over his shaft.

Oh, he tasted so good! A tangy, zesty flavor, and I started to

slurp my way up and down his pole. I stuck my tongue into his

slit, and the way that his balls contracted in my other hand told

me how much he liked it! His cock head was swelling by the

second, and my head was spinning with desire for his hot cream.

He was my first in a month, and I needed his liquid offering in my

stomach to cool the fire smoldering inside.

I pulled his foreskin all the way forward and let my tongue slip

in between the folds of his skin and his ballooning cock head. I

needed his cum bad, so I started sucking for all I was worth!

“Oh, yeah, suck it baby!” he moaned, “Suck it hard you fucking

slut! Eat my seed, suck my cum, oh fuck! I’m cumming!” He

grasped my head between his hands and shoved his salami down my

throat as his balls erupted and exploded sending blast after blast

of hot, steaming, delicious spunk down my throat. I sucked on his

cock until it started to shrivel in my mouth. I didn’t want to

waste one single drop.

When I was sure he didn’t have anymore to offer me, I let him slip

out of my mouth. I stood up and straightened my clothes and

started to walk away. He called out after me, asking me my name

and the usual bullshit they always do about when can they see me

again and such, but I’m not looking for a boyfriend, and I’m not

available for this kind of thing except one day each month. I

could still taste his cum on my lips, but instead of quenching my

fire, it was burning even hotter. I didn’t need any more friends,

I needed more cock and more cum, lots and lots of cum!

After I turned the corner, I re-adjusted my wig, and put on some

more lipstick. Then I headed for another bar. This time I went

inside and ordered a drink. It wasn’t five minutes before a guy

came over to me and said: “Hey gorgeous, would you like some

company?” I looked him over, and figured him for a junior sales

clerk, the way he was dressed, but he wasn’t bad looking so I

said, “I don’t need any company, but if you have some cum you’d

like to give my mouth, I sure do need some of that.”

He was startled by my remark, but it didn’t take him long to

respond.

“Sure”, he said, “I can spare you about a gallon, but I don’t have

a room close by.” I looked around the bar and noticed that there

were hardly any other women there so I told him to meet me in the

women’s john in two minutes. I went ahead first to make sure

there was nobody in there.

When I found the coast to be clear, I signaled him to come in. As

soon as he entered he wanted to kiss me and feel me up, but I just

brushed his hands away. I didn’t come here for kissy-face crap, I

wanted his prick sliding back and forth between my lips!

I pushed him into a stall, and pulled his pants right down to his

ankles. Then I told him to sit on the water tank while I

straddled the toilet facing his cock. Its size wasn’t very

impressive, but it was growing, and the purple tinge to it told me

that he was getting good and ready!

I licked around his balls first and watched them contract like

little golf balls, hard and ready to burst. I licked my way up

his shaft and was a little disappointed with the soapy taste of a

guy who’s a little too fussy about cleanliness. When I got to the

tip of his cock though, and I tasted a drop of his pre-cum, it

more than made up for everything else. Just a little salty, and

with a hint of garlic is the best way I can describe it.

As I licked his slit, he started to buck and groan, so I clamped

down fast knowing that any second now he would explode and fill my

face with his hot sticky cum. I squeezed his shaft so that when he

blew, it would be much more intense, for both of us!

He yelped when he finally blew his load into my eagerly waiting

mouth, and I used my hand to milk him totally dry.

“Oh, fuck baby. You do that so good!” he said.

I asked him if he was ready for another round, but he said it

would take him a little bit before he could get it up again. Then

he said that he was in town for a convention, and that if I wanted

he would send in one of his buddies while he worked up another

hard for me.

“Sure send him in!” I said, “The more that cum, the merrier I’ll

be.” Well it turned out that he had a lot of buddies with him

from the convention, and I figured I was on about the tenth one,

(being I had lost count past the fourth). I know I’m a cock crazy

slut, but I just couldn’t get enough. I figured I had drank about

forty gallons of hot musky sexy delicious seed and I still needed

more. Then this tall lean guy came in. I told him to sit on the

tank, like all the others, but he lifted me up under the arms,

raised me to a standing position and kissed me! I thought this

guy is crazy! Didn’t he realize that half his buddies had shot

their seed in the mouth he was kissing? But he persisted, and

finally succeeded in getting his tongue into my mouth. He swirled

it there and my head started to spin.

He didn’t try to feel up my tits, he just reached down and grabbed

a hold of my crotch. I did the same to him, and massaged his

stiff prick like he was doing to me.

“Fucking right” he said. “I knew the minute the guys started

talking about the great blows they were getting for free from some

chick who didn’t want anything in return that you had to be a TV

Queen!”

I didn’t say anything but let him raise my skirt and pull out my

own aching rod. It was my turn to sit on the tank, and finally

get my rocks off! He said his name was Jeff, and that he swung

both ways, but that his buddies didn’t know that. It only took a

couple of licks from Jeff’s experienced tongue and then I was

groaning and shooting my seed into his mouth. Jeff kept at me

though, even after I shot my first load, he just kept on slurping

away at my love stick until I came again. It was my turn to kiss

his sticky lips now, and then we traded places. I sucked on

Jeff’s big tool until he let loose with a torrent of hot cream

down my throat!

Jeff asked if he could take me home, but as much as I enjoyed

fucking his face, it was still my night on the town. I left the

bar after sucking off Jeff, thinking I had stayed too long in one

place already. Jeff was pouting, but hey! It’s my night out!

I come here once a month, every month to get my fill of sucking

hard cocks. I have my needs, and one of them is not spending the

night with just one guy. I want as many big hard cocks fucking my

face as I can get. I need as much cream as I can swallow, it has

to last me a whole month, and one guy just can’t give me enough.

Aren’t I a nasty little bitch?