NOTE TO MYSELF: I'm alive . . . at least, I think I am . . .
More darkness. Then light. And I appear to have struck my head against a wall. The pain is excruciating.
Momentarily stunned, I lie with my back against a wall trying to assess where I am and what has happened. I look around. I seem to be in a shower room of some sort -- like at a "Y" facility or . . . a locker room maybe . . .?
Water from an overhead shower head fall nears me. I touch my fingers to the aching lump on the back of my head and discover I'm bleeding. I look down at myself. I still appear to be 10- or 11-years old and male (thank God!) but beyond that, I don't know what's happening or where or who I am. I do know that if my recent history is any guide, in a moment or two I should begin to him myself adapting to whatever new reality I've stumbled into.
I stand and lean my hand against the wall. I'm still dizzy and disoriented from my arrival in this new place as well as my accident. I must be groggy from the my fall because I appear to be changing and I didn't even notice. I watch in fascination at my hand -- laid flat against the wet wall -- slowly starts to slide upwards.
Thank God I'm getting older, I think to myself. I turn off the shower and weave drunkenly toward a doorway. I find that I have exited into a bathroom facility. There's something not quite right about it, but I can't put my finger on what's wrong. Then I notice what's missing -- there are no urinals. That means . . .
SHIT!
I move as quick as my aching head would allow to a sink with a mirror. It only takes one look to see I'm back on the "Penny track!" Already my hair has regained pageboy length and I note that my boyish features have softened into considerably more female proportions. However, this trip is different from my last trip on the "wild side," because this time I seem to be heading toward the far side of puberty. I can see my body taking on a rounder sort of shape -- not a woman yet -- I don't look old enough, but definitely not a boy's shape.
I glance down at my scrotum. My testicles have already retracted and the now empty sack is already reforming into the outward appearance of the labia. I glance up and notice the nipples on my chest have shifted from neutral brown to pink, and that a slight swelling seems to underlie the tissue. My eyes seem wider apart and bigger and my face has the slightly more angular lines of a young female.
I feel a slight tingling at my groin and notice that the small beginnings of downy fuzz are beginning to appear on my nearly formed female genitalia. I have the awkward look of a 12-year-old. My breast buds are much more pronounced and the nipples have swollen to a slightly larger size. My hips, buttocks and thighs are beginning to attain the rounded swell of femininity. If my waist seems smaller, it's only because my hips and ass seem to have a life of their own. My hair hangs down below my shoulders and the slightly protruding "pooch" of my uterus dominates the area of my belly just above the crotch. The fine hairs of my genitals are darkening and growing fuller. My breasts has continued to swell -- not much there -- but I'd never be allowed out without a bra at this point.
I remember reading all these stories about men who find themselves somehow turned into women. No matter how short, geeky, unattractive or normal they were as men, they are always transformed into a young boy's wet dream ideas of what a woman is: always beautiful, always large breasted and wide-hipped, and always sex-starved.
Well, as someone who happens to have actually gone through such a transformation, I can tell you emphatically that I did not turn into some buxom blond goddess, nor did I suddenly have an overwhelming desire to have sex with men -- or even to explore my new equipment. The only thing I really remember is the shock of seeing my familiar self transform into a less familiar person. I did not become some new person out of whole cloth, what I became was a female version -- albeit younger -- of Peter Heidegger.
At about age 13 or 14 thereabouts, I had the classic proportions of a post-adolescent female. My hips and butt were round, but not overly so. I had a pair of modest breasts with slightly large nipples -- only slightly larger than a quarter. My hair had reached mid-back and I knew that the process was slowing. The girl looking back at me -- and do not be mistaken, I was a girl -- a girl about 14 or 15. She had blondish-brown hair, stood maybe 5'2" or 3", weighed about 100 pounds or so, had roughly a 32"-33" bust -- but beyond that seemed to be not much more than a carbon copy of my sisters at that same age.
Let me explode another myth among all wanna-be transgender writers . . . when I finally realized that I was going to be female, at least for the time being, I finally worked myself into touching one of my breasts. I was half-expected to find my body explode into some kind of female sexual lust at the first touch of my hand on my female nipple -- after all, I'd been reading all those TG stories for years -- well, sorry guys it was about as stimulating as poking my former (and I hate to admit having one) beer belly.
Sure, breasts are smooshier and jiggle a bit, but that's about it. If you want to know what the sensation really feels like, let the muscles on the underside of your thigh relax as much as possible. Then poke it. A female breast moves and feels about the same. The nipples seemed a bit more sensitive, but that's to be expected given all the additional blood vessels in a female breast. I steeled myself for the next crucial examination. Now I wasn't in any mood to give myself a gynecological exam, but if I was about to turn into a sex-slut because I was a boy-turned-girl, I had to know now.
With extreme trepidation and with my eyes closed, I slowly reached down and lowered my hand toward my groin. I felt my fingers touch the outer strands of my pubic hair. So far so good. I slightly parted my legs and probed the outer edges of my vaginal opening. To my immense relief, it didn't feel much different than scratching my balls -- when I had balls. Now I'm sure that things feel different when arousal occurs, but I hadn't experienced that yet, and a girl or a woman in an unaroused state feels about the same as a man.
Sorry guys!
With a sigh of relief that I wasn't about to go around presenting myself like a cat in heat to every man I met, I was able to free my mind and notice, once again, that I was injured. My still wet hair, couldn't disguise the fact that the water was obviously mixed with blood -- my blood! I leaned forward and placed both hands on the sink. I was getting light headed and woozy again. In back of me, seemingly far away, I could hear voices calling. I was too far gone to even look around. I was passing out. I knew that. As the world began to turn black I looked in the mirror once again. In addition to the girl who was me, I had been joined by one or two other girls about my same age. I saw them reaching for me, but then all was black.
I have no clear memories of what happened next, only vague impressions of things. I remember a lot of commotion and being carried around. I also remember being put on a cot that seemed to move. Then I remember people shouting things at me and trying to make me smell something awful. After that there seemed to be a sensation of movement and a noise like a wailing woman -- no, a siren I think. But that's all. My first clear memory was a bright light shining in my eyes and someone asking for a woman named Paula.
I slowly returned to consciousness. I was lying on a gurney -- probably in a hospital. All around me, nurses and doctors seemed to be bustling. I saw a nurse touch the arm of a woman in white.
"She's awake, Doctor," she said.
The doctor nodded and came to my side.
"Paula . . . Paula," she called out softly. "Can you hear me, Paula? Blink or nod if you understand me, Paula . . ."
I tried to sit up, but the doctor laid her hand on my chest and held me down.
"Not yet, young lady, you've had quite a bump. Are you awake enough to try and answer some questions?"
I nodded.
"What is your name?"
"Paula . . .?" I ventured.
"Good . . . good. What's your last name?"
"Heidegger?" I asked more like a question than an answer.
"How old are you?"
Silence.
"Do you remember where you live?"
Silence.
"What are your parents names?"
I was starting to think I was in real trouble when the curtains surrounding my gurney parted and my mother came in. Really! It was mom. She was not as young looking as when I was Penny, but it was definitely my mom.
"How is she doctor?" mom asked.
"She seems to have a concussion, Mrs. Heidegger. She evidently slipped in the girl's shower and struck her head. She also seems to have suffered a slight memory loss. I've examined her x-rays and don't see anything out of the ordinary. I'll keep her overnight, or let her go home with you if someone will be with her at all times."
My mom said she'd stay with me all night and so she left to sign me out. One of the girls I vaguely remembered from the bathroom stuck her head in.
"Paula . . . are you all right?"
I stared at her. Nice cute little thing with large breasts and a cute shape. When I didn't answer, she said, "Paula, it's me . . . Nicole. Don't you know me?"
I nodded no and the poor thing burst into tears and leapt to my side and hugged me. I could feel her breasts rubbing against me, and for the first time, I DID feel a little aroused. I felt a little tingling sensation down between my legs. Nothing much, but I did feel . . . stickier. I moved my buttocks back and forth trying to get the itchiness to stop. I felt a nearly audible pop as the lips of my labia pulled slightly apart.
I knew that sound. I'd heard it and felt it on my fingers for years. It was the sound of a vagina starting to lubricate itself. I pushed Nicole away like she was on fire. If I was still a man, my pecker would be standing at attention right now. As it were, I almost convinced myself that I could smell the musky odor of my female secretions. Thank God that mom arrived at this minute and distracted me.
Mom explained my accident to Nicole who proceeded to sob a little more. Fortunately she had brought my clothes with her. They placed the bundle on the edge of my gurney and helped me into the sitting position. I was dressed in nothing but a hospital gown. I could feel cold air circulating around my fanny making me even colder. I stared at the pile. What did they expect me to do? I didn't even know how to put some of this stuff on.
Mom took my hand in hers, looked me in the eyes, and began speaking to me in a tone of voice people generally use when you're deaf -- as if talking louder will somehow make you understand more.
"You are Paula Heidegger," mom said. "You are 15-years-old. Do you understand?"
I nodded.
She rooted through my clothes and found underwear. She handed them to me, all the time repeating things like my name, address, family names, friends, my school. I held the bra and panties in each hand and stared at them. Mom sighed and nodded to Nicole who reached up behind me and undid the ties that held the gown. It dropped to the floor at my feet and I found myself completely naked in front of two strange females. I adopted a classic female pose.
Mom, with the determined confidence of mothers everywhere, reached down and lifted my left leg and threaded my foot through the opening of the panty. While mom was occupied with my bottom half, Nicole pulled my arms through the straps of the bra and I felt her fasten it in back of me. Slowly but surely they got me dressed. I'd evidently gone to school in a jumpsuit, since it only took a moment to get me dressed. My gave me a critical look over before she pulled up the legs of the pantsuit. Nicole pulled over a hospital bed table and opened it to get at the mirror. While mom attacked my hair with a brush, Nicole dabbed my face with makeup, touching my cheeks with blush and adding a brown color over my eyes. She motioned me to purse my lips and she added a neutral pink color to my lips.
Mom left and returned a few minutes later with a nurse and a wheelchair which I was forced to ride in to leave the hospital. Nicole handed me a bag I took to be my purse. Mom left us at the door and returned a few minutes later in a Crown Vic.
The nurse helped me into the front seat and Nicole climbed in the back. After thanking the nurse, my mother turned to me and said, "What do you say to Mrs. Vickers, Paula?"
"Thank you," I said, surprised at the pitch and tenor of my voice now that I was beginning to recover. Thank God for the fall I thought to myself. It helps cover a host of problems. Now I don't have to pretend I know what's going on, I can just look ignorant and people will think it's from the fall.
Once again, I found myself driving through the familiar streets of Dallas and its suburbs. I passed many familiar sights I had visited over the years and in the many incarnations I had experienced after the accident. We passed the strip mall where little Penny took ballet. I wondered if there was still a Penny. Over to my right was the road that lead out toward the abandoned quarry I swam in.
Most disconcerting was passing the house I lived in with my wife and children. A small lump presented itself when I looked at the house -- and saw all the repairs I had promised to do, but hadn't gotten around to. I saw my daughter's bike in the driveway and just as we turned the corner, our front door opened and a woman -- probably Brenda -- emerge.
We continued several miles past my old neighborhood, even past the subdivision I lived in as Penny. Finally we pulled into a driveway and stopped. Mom and Nicole helped me out of the car and into the house. They took me to a room I suppose was mine and repeated in reverse the procedure we'd undertaken at the hospital. When they had me down to panties, mom pulled a flannel nightshirt out of a drawer. I was a very light pink with white alternating stripes and two bows on the shoulders. She put the hem over my shoulders and I forced my arms through the sleeves.
I turned and looked at myself in the mirror. I was the very picture of a young lady. Nicole kissed me on the cheek and promised to call me tomorrow to see how I was feeling. She also promised to get my homework. After she left, mom looked at me expectantly.
"What year is this?" I asked.
"1997," she answered without hesitating. I nodded. Whatever was happening to me, at least I was staying in the right year.
I became aware of a need.
A pressure had begun to build in my bladder. I could see an open door in my bedroom leading into a bathroom. I crossed toward it and entered, closing the door behind me. I reached down instinctively for a zipper, but then I remembered who and what I was at present. The lid of the commode was up and I thought back on the words that Sally Rayburn chided me what seemed to be lifetimes ago . . . I can almost hear her voice . . . "Can't you put the lid down when you're finished? All you'd have to do is spend a day or two as a woman, and all your bad habits would be broken."
I dropped the seat and hiked up my nightshirt exposing my panties. Holding the hem with one hand I pulled the panties down to me knees. I stood there transfixed and confused. I technically knew how a woman did this, but I could make myself go through with it. It was as if by sitting down I was surrendering my last vestige of manhood. There was a gentle knock on the door and I dropped the hem of my nightshirt. My mother opened the door and looked at me. One look at my confusion and she closed her eyes for a moment to hold back her tears.
"Can't remember how, baby?" she asked softly.
I nodded.
Very gently she took me by the shoulders and turned me around. She reached over my back and lifted my nightshirt, exposing my buttocks and motioned me to sit. Keeping my front covered, she pulled my knees together and had me lean forward slightly. The increased pressure on my bladder from this maneuver opened a floodgate. There were none of the familiar feeling of a man urinating -- the pressure and flow were much more intense and there was no sensation of having a body part in control like you have with a penis. In a moment, the flow diminished to a trickle and mom showed me how proper young ladies wipe themselves.
It is a very sobering experience to be a woman.
Mom led me to my bed and I was soon asleep. For the first time since I had started this crazy trip through alternate realities, I seemed to stay put for more than a few hours. Over the next couple of days I learned -- my family thought I was relearning -- my life as Paula Heidegger. The dad I had grown up with as a boy was still my dad as a girl. I was the oldest child at 15 with a younger brother and sister.
They kept me out of school for the rest of the week and by Saturday, I was feeling pretty good. I took every opportunity to check every mirror, but the vortex didn't appear. Nicole and another girl named Chrissie -- Chrissie Frosche, Jill's daughter -- came by to see me several hours each day. The doctor absolutely forbid me to shower, so I drew a large bather and lowered myself into the warm and soapy water. Mom, who insisted on being there at first to make sure I didn't pass out and drown went to the medicine cabinet and handed me a razor.
"You're a big girl now, Paula. You've got to pay more attention to your hygiene and appearance. You're going to have to shave a little more often, and a little closer, especially if you expect to wear swimsuits."
So under my mother's gentle instructions, I leaned how a girl shaves her legs and underarms. The more delicate operation occurred when mom had me attack my bikini line. I used to think that putting a razor to your face every morning was a difficult chore, especially during those infrequent times I was suffering from a hangover. But putting a naked razor to those soft and delicate areas of the female anatomy was a sobering experience indeed.
I stepped out of my bath and looked at myself in the mirror, I had successfully, if inexpertly, removed a major portion of my pubic hair -- giving the outer lips of my genitals the bald look of a child and the area above my pubic bone the furry patch of an adult. Mom then took it upon herself to give me a quick overview of the female menstrual cycle.
I was totally grossed!
Thank God I wouldn't have to worry about that for a week or two. With any luck I wouldn't be here for that experience!
Continued in Part 4