What Should I Do
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

Can anybody love someone as much as my Pete loves me? Sometimes I feel that I am the luckiest girl in the world – or I would be, if I were a girl.

I am almost a girl. I have been on hormones for two years. Hormones affect everybody differently, but in my case they have been a huge success. Sure, my thighs are a bit big, and I have to watch my diet to stop from growing a big soft belly, but look at my breasts and my hips. Womanly, I call them.

I think that looking like this makes it easier for Pete. When he first started going out with me, I was not living fully as a girl. I was just a guy looking for a real man to love me.

I wore my hair long even then, and I am a natural blonde. Pete goes for blondes. I could see him staring at me. I suppose I played up to him a little. I hoped that he would approach me. It is always hard for somebody like me to make the first approach. If he was overtly gay, I might have done that, but he was just so masculine I would have felt a fool asking him to have a gay relationship with me. In fact, I would probably not have been happy if he had said yes. I mean, I sort of felt that any guy who wants another guy is not my kind of guy.

So, I guess the best thing I could do was to femme-myself-up a bit. Nothing too drastic, just tidy up the eyebrows and add a hint of mascara. It was just enough to say to him: “hey, if you are worried about appearing gay, I am not really a guy at all. I am a sissy boy. And we all know sissies are not really guys.”

Anyway, it worked. He followed me on my way home and accosted me in the park. He pulled me into a quiet spot in the bushes. Not roughly or anything like that. Playfully. I even giggled. He told me that he wanted to kiss me, and that he could not hold himself back. I told him to go for it. Then we were in a Hollywood embrace within seconds, trying to lick one another’s tonsils and with our hands all over one another.

I told him we could keep it secret if he liked. I never wanted to embarrass him or make him feel less of a man than he was. But he said that he would like to go out on a date. He said that if he invited me would I go with him dressed as a girl, just so people didn’t stare? I told him that I could do that. How hard could it be?

Well not so easy as it turns out. There is a lot more to this ‘pretending to be a girl’ caper than just getting into a dress and heels. I had to work on it a bit before we went out.

We did not eat out and see a show locally – we travelled to the other side of the city, but we still got spotted by somebody from school. Then it was all over the schoolyard. Pete was getting shit, but he met it head on. He sought me out and he put his arm around me – even kissed me on the head. He told his friends that I was trans and I was transitioning to live as a woman, when I finished high school, or maybe even earlier.

It caught me by surprise. I suppose I thought that maybe I could go through life just being a sissy provided I had a guy to look after me. I was not thinking about changing sex, or anything like that. Not then anyway.

But I was just so proud of Pete coming out like that. Or was it coming out? Anyway, he had his arm around me, and I was his. Whether I was his boyfriend or his girlfriend, it did not matter to me. He was my man.

We first had sex that night. It was great. I mean I could suck him off and that could please him, but he wanted to please me. That is the kind of guy he is. He did not like tugging on my dick, but he introduced me to the pleasures of anal sex – amazing. Maybe not the first time, but as I got used to it, he was filling me up with hot seed and I was spurting my own all over the place.

Pete suggested that I go on the hormones after that, and, well, you know what happened with that stuff. It sort of got rid of my erections too, but stuff was still coming out of me when I climaxed - Just not so messy.

I started going to school in girl’s clothes – sort of, a gradual thing. Colorful tops, then capri pants, then skirts and dresses. Then bras to accommodate the breasts that were growing bigger.

Pete loves my breasts. How can a guy be gay if he loves breasts as much as Pete does?

I told everyone to call me Mandy. It’s short for Amanda, I guess. I will sort out the paperwork one day. School was OK with it. My parents had to sign off on it. Neither of them approve of any of this, but there is not much they can do. I guess they know that nothing can stand in the way of true love.

One positive is that my father really likes Pete. It seems to me that he always knew I would never be a man, but to him Pete is everything that he would have wanted me to be – except maybe he would not have wanted his masculine son to be dating a femme-boy.

So here we are: Prom Night.

It was like things turned a corner with Mom. She helped me with the dress and the choice of hairstyle, and when she saw me ready to go, she started to cry. She said that I looked like a bride. White was her idea! She loaned me the dress earrings.

Pete and I danced all night. Even the funky songs we just slow danced our way through, in each other’s arms. Pete likes to feel my breasts crushed against him, and press his hands into the soft cheeks of my butt. I am soft all over now. That is the way he likes it.

Because I was welcomed there, I went to the ladies’ room and some of the girls told me that I was so lucky to have a guy like Pete who only had eyes for me. I knew it before, as I said, but it’s nice to hear it from others. I am the luckiest girl in the world – or I would be, if I were a girl.

So, as I lay is his bed, after he has come inside me twice before going to sleep, I am thinking about what he has just said to me. He told me that it was time for me to show him that I will never be a man again. It is time for me to lose the prick. He wants another passage to fuck. Something made to measure – to fit him.

Part of me is asking why he would ask this of me. Another part is asking whether he might love me less when I no longer have that special something that I had when he first fell in love with me. But most of me simply cannot refuse him.

I can’t sleep. What should I do?

The End
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© Maryanne Peters 2026