The Jon Boat

By Pentatonic

Chapter 1. The Thunderstorm
Summer, Age 14. Before Freshman year at High School.

It was a hot, humid, summer day. My family and I were spending the summer at my grandparent’s cottage on Ringer Lake. My name is John Hoorn and that summer I was 14 years old. My father would spend long weekends with my mother and me and return home to work during the week. My mother taught school, so she had the entire summer free to spend at the lake.

Since I had spent summers at the lake for many years, I had made friends with a couple of boys my own age who lived year round in the town of Ringer Lake. One of them, Carl Bush, was my age, and like me, he was small and slender. It appears that puberty and growth spurts were taking their sweet time getting around to Carl and me.

I had picked up a rather sad looking jon boat the prior year, and had spent a lot of time sealing up the leaks, painting it, fixing the oarlocks, and replacing the thole pins. Its sole means of propulsion were two oars. It was a major part of my entertainment during the summer. I used it for fishing for blue gills, red ears and perch and exploring the more remote parts of the lake where the power boats could not go. Often times Carl would accompany me on these excursions, but for some reason I seemed to end up doing most of the rowing.

I had been taught lifesaving, but for some unexplained reason, my parents did not want me to swim alone. So. when I wanted to swim, I would search out Carl or Ralph Siddons. The interesting part of this was that Carl’s and Ralph’s parents thought that my lifesaving training made our swimming safer. Well, I went along with this because I was taught to use the “buddy system,” where you did things with at least one buddy, for safety.

My family had just come up for the summer, and the weather had turned hot, so on this hot, humid day, I was dressed in a T-shirt and old cut-off jeans. I brought a pair of old trainers, and wore a pair of flip-flops when in the boat. I embarked in my faithful water craft and went to look for Carl. Carl’s family’s house was not on the lake, so I rowed to the community pier, tied up my boat and walked to Carl’s house, which he shared with his mother and sister Emma. There was no mister Bush evident. Mrs. Bush had divorced him some years ago for reasons which I later found to be important.

Carl’s mother answered the door. “Carl went over to the library. He said that he wanted to get some books, but I suspect that he went there to just get out of the house. He shouldn’t be too long. You can wait for him here, or you can take a hike to the library.” I decided to wait for a while and cool off. It appeared that Emma also was out. She was Carl’s sister, a year older than Carl, and rather attractive.

“Would you like something cold to drink while you wait?” Mrs. Bush asked.

“Yes, if it isn’t too much of a bother.”

Mrs. Bush went into the kitchen and returned with two glasses of lemonade. “Sit down and relax,” she suggested. I sat in an old easy chair, and Mrs. Bush sat on the sofa, facing me. It had been hot work rowing that morning, so I quickly finished my lemonade and set the empty glass on the coffee table in front of my chair.

“Let me get you a refill,” she suggested, and bent over to pick up my glass. When she did that I was able to see her cleavage. For some reason, she smiled and slowly stood up. She then took my glass to the kitchen.

After seeing what I had seen, I felt a little hot and bothered. “Thank you for the lemonade, but I think that I’ll head down to the library and look for Carl.”

“You sure you don’t want more lemonade?” she asked.

“No, I’m okay,” I answered, and headed off to the library. I found Carl hunched over one of the library’s public terminals. When he saw me, he quickly switched to a different screen.

“Hey, dude. Want to go swimming?” I asked. Carl and I used to swim just about every day, but, as far as I knew, he hadn’t gone swimming so far this summer.

“Naw, I was thinking of vegging here all day.”

“That’s not a good idea. How about just kicking around town, maybe get something to eat,” I suggested.

“Are you paying?” Carl asked.

“Yeah, my mom gave me some money.” I said.

“Well, then what are we waiting for? Let’s get some hotdogs, fries and root beers, and eat them at the picnic grounds.” The town had built a shelter in a large open area, and put in some softball fields. It was generally known as the “picnic grounds,” for the lack of a better name.

“Sounds good to me,” I said, “you taking out any books?”

“Naw, I just came here to return some books and check out some stuff on the internet,” he replied.

“What stuff? Anything interesting?” I asked.

“Naw, just stuff,” was Carl’s rather evasive reply.

I figured that Carl was uncomfortable letting me know what he had been looking at, so I let it drop. I did wonder why he had gone to the library to use the internet and not use his family’s computer at home. Then it came to me: he didn’t want any record of his browsing where his mother or sister could see what he had been up to.

We made our way to the hotdog stand, and then headed to the edge of town to where the picnic grounds were located. I guess it was too hot and humid for most people, and the picnic grounds were empty. We sat at a picnic table and had lunch.

“Hey,” Carl exclaimed, “I was looking at some history of the interurban trains in this area, and there was a line not far from here. We could walk there and check it out.” The old abandoned interurban line was even further out of town. There was a dirt two track road from the town to the line.

Out here the trees had grown up and much of the road was shaded. This was good and bad. Good, because we were not in the direct sun; bad, because we could not see the sky. The first inkling that things had changed was the sound of thunder.

“Hey, it sounds like a storm is coming,” Carl said.

“Obviously,” I responded.

“Let’s head back to the picnic ground. Maybe we can get to the shelter before it hits,” Carl said in an excited voice.

No such luck. We were halfway between the old interurban line and the picnic ground when the sky opened up. We ran the rest of the way to the picnic ground, but to no avail. By the time we got to the shelter, we were both soaked.

“I don’t like the lightning and thunder,” Carl said in a frightened voice. He moved closer to me, as if I could protect him. His T-shirt was so soaked, it clung to him and was practically transparent. It was then that I noticed what looked like straps over his shoulders. I had no idea what they were.

“Hey, whatca wearing under there?” I asked, pointing to his shoulders. It was too hot to wear even a T-shirt, but wearing something under it made even less sense.

His face began to redden. “Nothing,” he replied.

“No, there’s something,” I persisted.

He just stood there, looking at me. His face was even more red. “If I tell you, you’ve got to keep it a secret. Will you do that?”

“Of course,” I said. Now I was really interested.

He pulled off his T-shirt, and there was some kind of garment there. Not having any sisters, and being rather naive about girls, I had no idea what it was. “What is that?” I asked.

“A camisole,” was his reply. I could see that it looked like something a girl would wear, but the word “camisole” meant nothing to me.

“Is that something a girl would wear?” I asked.

“Yeah, sorta.”

“Then why are you wearing it?” was my question.

“Well, sometimes they turn up the AC at the library, and it can be cold with just a T-shirt,” he offered in the way of an excuse.

I snorted in disbelief. “Come on, tell me the truth. I won’t tell anyone.”

“You promised,” he said. “The reason I’m wearing it is that my nipples have been bothering me when I don’t wear it.”

I was dumbfounded. “How is that?” I said softly.

He did not immediately answer. We stood there for a moment as the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled. He finally spoke. “Remember, you promised,”

He looked at me as if he wanted reassurance of my confidentially. “A few weeks ago, I noticed that my nipples got bigger and more sensitive. Mom took me to the doctor, and he said it was a hormone imbalance, which is not uncommon with boys our age, and the problem would eventually go away. He suggested that I wear this until then, ” he said, pointing at the camisole.

“Could I see them?” I said without thinking this might make Carl uncomfortable.

“I guess so,” he replied and took off his camisole. His nipples and his aerolae were much larger than they had been the prior summer, and his nipples stood erect. I also noticed that he seemed to have the beginning of breasts.

“Satisfied?” he questioned. “Remember, you promised to say nothing about this.”

“Okay,” I replied. “You know, they look a lot like girls’ tits.”

“Thanks,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “That is hardly something I wanted to hear from you.”


He stood there for a few moments, and then put the camisole and his wet T-shirt back on.

“Anyone else know about this?” I asked.

“Only my mom and sister, and now you. My sister thinks it’s funny as hell, and offered to lend me a training bra and some of her clothes. At least she did, until mom made her stop. My sister can be a real pain sometimes,” he added. Carl’s sister is a year older than Carl, and a very attractive teenage girl. I didn’t ask if he ever wore any of his sister’s clothes.

I looked outside of the shelter and saw that the rain had let up a bit. There still was some thunder, but it was more distant. “Maybe we could head back to your house. If we go now, it’s not likely that anyone will be outside, and they won’t see what you’re wearing”

“Okay,” he said, and we started toward his house, through the rain.

His mother was waiting for us as we entered Carl’s house. “I got worried when the storm hit,” she said, “I was hoping that you found a place to keep dry, but I see that wasn’t what happened.”

The storm had brought in some cooler air. “I think you should get out of those wet clothes, and I’ll put them in the dryer. I’ll find something for you to wear while your clothes are drying.” With that, she left the room, only to come back a few minutes later carrying a bath robe. It was pink. I put it on. It looked rather girly.

Carl looked at me, and smiled. “You want to dry your hair? I have a blow dryer in my room.”

“No, I don’t think I’ll do that. As a matter of fact, I have to take my boat home. The seats will be wet, and I’ll have to bail it out before I start, so whatever I am wearing will get wet again.”

Carl saw a flaw in my logic. “You gonna dump the water from the boat on your head?” He snickered at his own cleverness. I ignored his question.

About a half hour later I looked at the clock. “Uh, I think I better go now. It looks like the rain has stopped, and I want to get my boat back to the cottage,” I said.

“Okay,” he said, “let’s see if your things are dry.” We went to the dryer, and in fact they were dry, and still warm. I grabbed them, and looked around for a place to change.

“You can change in my room.”


We walked up to his room. I expected him to leave, and give me some privacy. He didn’t. I turned around, faced the wall and took off the robe.

“Modest, are we?” he said with a chuckle. I noticed that he was intently staring at me.

I said nothing but put my clothes on. “Well, I’ve got to be going,” I said. I picked up the robe which I had been wearing, and started back downstairs to return it to Mrs. Bush.

“Thank you for everything,” I said, as I offered the robe back to her. “Well, I guess I’d better take off, before it starts raining again,” I added.

When I got to the boat, the first thing to do was to bail out the water from the rain. My PFD was soaked, so instead of putting it on, I put it on the transom seat. I sat in the rowing seat, pushed off, slid the thole pins of the oars into the locks, and started back to my grandparents’ cottage.

My mother met me at the door. “I was worried about you until Mrs. Bush called me and said that you were drying off at her place. That was very nice of her”.

“Did you have a good time?” she then asked me.

“It was okay,” I answered.

“What did you and Carl do?”

“Stuff. We played computer games until my clothes were dry.”

“What did you wear while your clothes were in the dryer?”

“A robe which she had laying around. I didn’t pay much attention to it.”

My mother gave me a knowing look. I wondered just how much Mrs. Bush told her.

Chapter 2. The Island
Summer, Age 14, continued. Before Freshman year at High School.

It was some time before Carl or I mentioned the events of the day of the thunderstorm. Then, one day, a week or so later, my parents told me that they were going back home for a few days, and suggested that I stay at the Bushs’ house during that time. My mother said that she had asked Mrs. Bush, and Mrs. Bush said she and Carl would be delighted.

After my parents left, I packed a picnic lunch, enough for Carl and me. I put two PDFs in the boat, along with my swim suit and towels. I got in my boat and rowed to the community pier near Carl’s house. I walked to the house, and asked if Carl wanted to go on a boat ride and a picnic lunch on the island. The island is actually a little peninsula in a shallow part of the lake. It really was more of an island, since the piece which connected it to the land was more like a marsh. This made the island accessible by row boat or canoe, but not suitable for hiking or motor boats. This little island had a nice smooth beach of small rounded gravel, which worked well for swimming. There was a clear area near the beach, and the guys and I had taken a picnic lunch there many times. All in all, it was rather secluded.

When I mentioned the island, Carl brightened up and said, “Maybe we could go swimming.” As far as I knew, Carl hadn’t been swimming since his “condition” had started.

“Did your, uuh . . . you know, go away? I asked.

“Unfortunately, no,” he answered. “But I don’t think that anyone will see us at the island, so it’s okay if I go swimming bare chested.

Mrs. Bush said that it sounded like a good idea, and Carl said he was going to get his swim suit and a towel. We walked to where my boat was moored, and headed off to the island.

It seems like none of my friends ever volunteer to row, and today was no exception. I sat in the rowing seat, facing backwards and Carl sat in the stern, facing me. I couldn’t help looking at him. I noticed that his breasts were just as prominent, if not more so than they had been when we were caught in the thunderstorm.

I’m a teenaged boy, and teenaged boys are not known for their tact and sensitivity, so, when we were in the middle of the lake, I decided to find out more about Carl’s “condition.”

“I see they didn’t go away. What did the doctor say?”

“He said it’s a condition known as gynecomastia, where a boy develops breasts. He said it’s usually caused by a hormone imbalance, and it usually corrects itself in a few years,” he answered.

“A few years? Bummer,” I said.

“Yeah, it is a bummer,” he said, “but there is a side benefit.”

“Huh?” I replied, not being able to see any side benefit.

“Yeah, remember when we all wanted to touch Sandy Williams’ tits?”

I remembered. We were not successful.

“Well, I don’t have to try anymore, now that I have a set of tits all of my own. I can grope and fondle them any time I want,” he said, rather ruefully.

It was almost funny, if it wasn’t for the disadvantages.

“My sister thinks it’s hilarious,” he added, “she always wants to look at them, and I even let her touch them on occasion. She told me how a girl gets pleasure when someone plays with her breasts, and she wanted to know if I did.”

“And do you, if I may ask?” I said.

“Yes and Yes,” he said, “yes you may ask, and yes it gives me pleasure.”

“What does it feel like,” I said, without regard to Carl’s blushing.

“It’s all tingly. And sometime it makes me hard,” was his response.

I silently rowed for a minute. “What are you going to do when you start school? Will you have a problem?

“I can bind them down with an elastic bandage or the doctor mentioned some kind of top I could wear. I’ve decided to join the band, and that excuses me from PE. I don’t want to even think about what some of the neanderthals at school would do if they saw them in the locker room,” he answered.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” was my comment, “Look, I don’t want to embarrass you, so if you don’t want to talk about it anymore, just tell me it’s none of my business.

“No, it’s not a problem,” he said, “you are one of the few people I can talk to about it. My mom is vague about what the doctor told her, and, as I said, my sister just thinks it hilarious. At least you, as a guy, can understand some of the problems that mon and sis can’t. You probably are the only friend I have now, since I don’t think any of our other pals would understand.”

We were now at the island, and I directed all of my attention to beaching the boat. I got it up the beach as far as I could with rowing. I then unshipped an oar, sat next to Carl to raise the bow, and pushed it further up. I did a good job, because when Carl and I got on the beach, we didn’t even get our feet wet.

I spread an old blanket on the ground and we unloaded all of our stuff, including the picnic lunch, from the boat. I had brought a portable radio in a plastic bag to keep it dry, and turned it on. Carl and I then went behind some trees and changed into our swim suits. It wasn’t long that we took to the water. When we were in the water, Carl said, “I’ve missed swimming, but you can understand that I couldn’t go swimming at the community beach.”

“Yeah, I can understand that.”

After a swim, we sat on the blanket and had our lunch. While eating lunch, I could not help but stare at Carl’s breasts. He ignored my stares for while, but finally he looked at me and put his hands over them, just like a girl would do.

“I’m sorry if I look like a freak,” he said.

“No, you don’t look like a freak,” I said, “I’m sorry for looking at them so much.”

“Now that you’ve looked, do you want to touch?” he added.

I must have turned several shades of red with embarrassment and shook my head. “It’s not a problem,” he said, “actually, I want you to touch them, just to see if having someone else fondle them makes me as tingly as when I do. I can’t very well ask my sister or mom to do it.”

His comment caused me to chuckle. He slid closer to me, until my right side was touching his left. He reached over and took my left hand and put it on his breast. “Now rub gently,” he commanded.

I did, and he made little sounds which appeared to be sounds of pleasure. “Oh, wow,” he gasped, “it’s even better.”

“Do you want me to stop?” I asked.

“No, not unless you want to,” he replied.

I closed my eyes and imagined that I was fondling Sandy Williams’ breasts. This caused a my cock to get large and hard. I opened my eyes, and tried to get it down. It didn’t behave.

While this had been going on, I noticed that Carl had put his left arm on my shoulder, while he continued to make sounds of pleasure.

Carl looked at the bulge in my crotch, and said, “Maybe we had better stop.”

I dropped my hand and Carl moved away from me.

We went swimming again, and then packed our stuff in the boat and headed back to the cottage. We went inside and changed out of our wet swim suits. Since I was spending the night at Carl’s, I packed my pyjamas and clothes for the next day and we walked to Carl’s.

Carl had a full sized bed in his room. The mattress and springs were rather old, and the whole thing sagged in the middle. That evening, Carl and I put on our pyjamas, and climbed into bed. I was slightly concerned, after the events of the day, but I figured that everything would be okay.

I was wrong.

During the middle of the night, I woke up to discover that Carl and I were “spooned” in the middle of the bed, with his breasts against my back. I moved away, and turned until I was facing Carl. It appears that he had also woken up, because he whispered, “I enjoyed what we did this afternoon.” He took my hand and put it under his t-shirt and on his breast. I began to gently massage his breast and play with his nipple. He was obviously enjoying this.

“You’re acting like a girl,” I commented, “are you sure that you’re still a boy?”

“Now that you mention it, I’m not always sure,” he answered. “Does that bother you?”

“No, I’m still your friend, whatever you want to be,” I said.

“That’s sweet,” he replied. To me, that’s something I’d expect for a girl to say, not a boy.

“Do you ever think that you’d like to be a girl?” I asked.

Carl didn’t answer me, and I was genuinely surprised when he put his hand behind my head and pulled my head towards his, and I felt his lips on mine. His actions gave me the answer to my question. I didn’t know what to do.

“I wanted to kiss you this afternoon, and I want to kiss you now,” he said, “that is, if you don’t mind.”

I grunted a reply, not being sure what to say or do. It didn’t matter, since Carl kissed me again. It wasn’t unpleasant, no, it actually was pleasant. One hand on a breast and lips kissing. Needless to say, my cock was as hard as a rock.

“I’m pretending to be a girl, since I have tits. Why don’t you pretend that I’m a girl,” he whispered. I just grunted again. He took his hand away from my head, and the next moment I felt him touch my cock. “That feels good, doesn’t it?”

I finally regained my sense of propriety, and said, “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly, and for the rest of the night we kept our hands to ourselves.

Carl and I spent the rest of the summer with each other, but there was no more touching.

Chapter 3. The Outboard Motor
Summer, Age 15. Before Sophomore year at High School.

The next summer, when I was 15, my parents and I returned to the cottage on Ringer Lake. After we were settled in, I went to the shed and pulled out my jon boat. I set it upside down on saw horses and looked at the bottom. It needed paint. So I headed over to the marina to buy some sealing paint. While I was there, I saw an ancient 3 hp outboard, next to a pile of junk, and I walked over and looked at it.

“That outboard is older than you are,” said one of the marina employees, “hell, it’s older than I am.”

“Does it work?” I asked.

“Naw, some old guy had it in his garage, and I don’t think it’s been run for years. When he died, his children brought it in to sell it, but we told them it isn’t worth anything. It needs a whole rebuild, and even then it might not work. Anyway, all of the people on the lake want big outboards. The only thing that you can power with it is a small rowboat, and even then, it’ll be really slow.”

“How much do they want for it?” I asked.

“I donno. You want to make an offer?” he asked.

“How about $10.00,” I said.

“Write your name and phone number on this card, and I’ll ask them.”

After buying the paint and painting the bottom, I decided to stop by Carl’s and let him know I was back at the lake.

“He’s at the library,” Carl’s mother told me. You can probably find him there.”

I hiked to the library, and sure enough, Carl was there hunched over a terminal. We talked as much as we could in a library, and I told Carl that I wanted to look for a book on repairing small old outboards.

“Why would you want that?” asked Carl.

“I put an offer in for a really old 3 H.P. at the marina, and I want to see if there are any books about fixing them,” I responded. Carl just snorted as I went to the stacks.

Because the town of Ringer Lake is on a lake, there is quite a bit of interest in books on boats and motors. I finally found a very old book about repairing outboards like I saw at the marina, and I sat down near Carl and started to read it.

After about an hour, Carl turned off the terminal, stood up, and stretched. “You got any money?” he asked.

“Why,” I said.

“Because I don’t, and I’d like an ice cream cone,” he replied.

“Okay, if you check this book out on your card, I’ll buy you an ice cream cone,” I said. Since I had never got a library card for the Ringer Lake library, I could not take the outboard motor repair book out.

“Deal,” he said, “but if you let it go overdue, I’ll have to hurt you.”

I smiled. Carl hadn’t seemed to grow much in the past year, with one exception. Last summer, I found that Carl had gynecomastia, and he still had it. If anything his breasts were larger, even though he had bound them down. I really wanted to find out about what happened over the past year, but that discussion needed a lot more privacy that one would find in a library, or anywhere in town. As we walked to the ice cream stand, I noticed that Carl was walking more like a girl, and wiggling his behind. I thought about what he had told me last year about maybe wishing that he had been born a girl.

I let the paint dry on the boat for another two days, and floated it in the lake. I loaded up the oars, floatation devices and an anchor, and headed over to the community pier. From there I walked to Carl’s house.

“Hey, I’ll make some sandwiches, and we can have a picnic on the island,” Carl suggested.

“You want to go swimming too?” I asked, well aware of Carl’s gynecomastia.

“Yeah, the island is a good place, and you already know about my condition. I haven’t been swimming yet this summer,” Carl answered.

Carl and I rowed to my grandparent’s cottage, well, I rowed and Carl rode, as usual. I went inside and got my swimsuit, some towels, and an old blanket, and we headed to the island. I think that Carl liked it because it was so secluded. It was almost like a private beach.

On the way to the island Carl said, “Look, I don’t want you to get freaked out, but the gynecomastia is worse this year than last.”

That was obvious. I just grunted.

“I’ve can’t get by with just a camisole. To my sister’s evil delight, I now wear a bra some of the time,” he commented. In fact, I’m using a bikini for a swimsuit,” he said, “That’s okay with you, isn’t it?”

“If it isn’t, what then?” I asked rhetorically.

“I donno,” he said.

“Well, it’s okay with me, as long as I don’t have to wear one too,” I commented. This caused Carl to chuckle.

“Well, with your long hair, you might make an okay girl,” Carl responded. Sometimes Emma gets me dressed in girls’ clothes. Mom wouldn’t mind it if you or anyone else did, but for some reason, she doesn’t want me to. Maybe it’s because my dad dressed as a woman on occasion. My mom caught him with another man and she threw him out of the house. Maybe she’s afraid I would end up like him if I dressed like a girl.”

“Do you like wearing girl’s clothes?” I asked.

“It isn’t bad. I actually kinda like it,” he answered, “but it makes me wonder if I should have been born a girl.”

“How about your hair?” I retorted. Carl’s hair was longer than mine. “Do you ever get mistaken for a girl?”

“Yeah, it happens, especially if my tits are not bound down.”

When we got to the island, we beached the boat and unloaded it. I went behind some trees and put on my swimsuit. Carl was wearing his under his clothes and he only had to take off his jeans and shirt. As Carl had mentioned, he was wearing a bright green bikini. His breasts filled the cups on the bra. “A cup,” he commented, noting that I was staring at his chest.

“Still get a reaction?” I asked, referring to events of the prior summer where I had fondled his then much smaller breasts.

“Even more so,” he said, “you want to try it out?”

“No, I think I’ll take a pass,” I said.

“Chicken!” he said.

We ran into the water, and goofed around like two teenaged boys, well, not exactly, because I purposely tried to keep a respectable distance from him. Carl was not so inhibited, and more than once I found myself in contact with his breasts.

We got out of the water, sat down on the blanket and had lunch. After lunch, we let the sun dry us off. “Hey,” I said, “aren’t you afraid of getting some funny tan lines,” referring to the straps of his bra.

“If anyone sees these tan lines, they’re going to see a lot more, so I don’t worry,” he replied. “But since you mentioned it, maybe I’ll get a little sun all over,” and with that he took off his bra. His breasts were small but delightfully shaped, the kind any 15 year old girl would love to have.

“Holy cow!” I exclaimed.

“Moo,” he responded, cupping his breasts in his hands. We both got a good laugh out of this. This was followed by a serious look replacing his smile.

“Come here,” he said, grabbing both of my hands and pulling us closer to each other. He guided my hands to his breasts and rubbed them. “They miss your attention,” he said softly. I just sat there and rubbed his breasts.

He surprised me by grabbing the back of my head and putting our lips together. I could feel his tongue against my lips, and I finally gave in an let his tongue into my mouth. We finally pulled slightly apart. “I needed that,” he said, “its been a long time since our last kiss.”

I actually liked the kiss, and I actually liked playing with his breasts. Does this make me gay? I wondered.

“I don’t think that I’m into boys,” I said, “I really prefer girls.”

“Then think of me as a girl,” he said, “after all, I have the tits of a girl.”

“Yeah, but...” I said, leaving my statement unfinished.

“Look, I want to tell you something, but you’ve got to never tell anyone else, and that includes my mom and sister, at least for now.”

“I promised that last summer,” I said.

“No, this is different,” he said, “promise?”

“Okay, I promise, What is it that is so secret?”

“I think I’m turning into a girl. When I look at myself in the mirror after a shower, I see girl. I often wish I could wear girl’s clothes all the time and do girly stuff.”

I was dumbfounded. “But you can’t be a girl,” I said, “you’ve got a cock!”

“I’ve looked it up on the internet,” he said, “that can be changed by surgery.”

The thought of someone getting near my male parts with a knife sent chills through my body. I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to do that. “That seems drastic, not to mention painful,” I blurted out.

“From what I’ve read, it’s not that bad. Surgery one day and about a week to recover, and then they send you home,” he explained.

“You can walk after that?” I said incredulously

“Yeah, from what I’ve read,” he reassured me.

“You really want to do this?” I asked.

“I’m thinking about it,” was his response.

I was silent for a moment. “Why are you telling me this before you even talked about it with your mon?” I wanted to know.

“Mom said she didn’t want me to turn out like my father. She told me that my father thought he should have been female, and she really hated that. I don’t think telling her would be a good idea.”

“But you’re telling me,” I responded.

“You’re one of the few who know about me, and after last summer you’re still my friend. I need all of the friends I can get, and you are one of my closest.”

“If I’m gone for most of the year, and you consider me to be one of your closest friends, you need to work on getting more friends,” I suggested.

I’ve been separated from most of the guys I knew,” he responded. “They all seem to be macho types and I doubt they would understand. They may want to beat me to a pulp. But you’re different, more understanding, more in tune with me. Don’t take this the wrong way,” he warned, “but you may be more in tune with your feminine side than they are..”

“I have no desire to be a girl.” I exclaimed defensively.

“I didn’t say you should be,” he responded, “and you are taking it the wrong way.”

“Well, if you were a girl, I wouldn’t have to worry about being gay if I kiss you,” I said with a weak smile on my face.

“I don’t think you’re gay. I don’t think I’m gay. You’re a straight guy, and I’m a straight girl, trapped in a boy’s body.

This surprised me an I sat and thought about what he said, or maybe what she said. “If you have this done, I can’t call you Carl anymore,” I said.

“Try Carole,” she replied.

“You’re not thinking about doing this in the next week or so, are you?” I asked.

She laughed. “No, It’s a much more complex and takes a lot of time from start to finish.”

“Like how long?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll have get mom’s permission, and I’ll have to see psychologists first, to determine if I was born the wrong gender. After a bunch of doctors see me, I can get hormone replacement therapy. They’ll give me estrogen. After I start estrogen, I’ll begin to look more like a woman. Then there are more psychologist visits, and I can then start the real life test, where I have to dress and be a woman for a whole year before I will be even considered for surgery. I think I have to be 18 before the surgery I’m not really sure about the procedure, or if what I told you is accurate, but sufficient to say, it is a long process. While I’m going through with it, I’m going to need a lot of support from my friends. That’s where you come in.”

“That’s a lot to dump on me all at one time,” I said.

“I don’t know any other way,” she said.

“Does this mean I’ll be your boyfriend when it’s all finished?” I said.

“If you want to be.”

We sat silently for a few minutes.

“You don’t hate me for wanting to do this, do you?” she finally said. “I think that the idea of it freaks out mom.”

I thought about it, and I thought that there were a lot of guys who would beat the daylights our of her if they found out. “No, I don’t hate you,” I finally said

“Just to know that you don’t hate me now, I’d like a kiss.”

“I don’t hate you, and if you need a kiss, that’s what you will get.”

We leaned towards each other and our lips met, our tongues explored each other’s mouth, and held each other tightly.

“I needed that,” she said. She looked down at my crotch, and saw an enormous bulge. “Wow,” she said, “look what I did to you. I bet if you kissed a boy, that wouldn’t happen.”

I couldn’t be sure of that, not having the experience, except being kissed by Carl last summer.

After a few more kisses, and more fondling of Carole’s breasts and nipples, we got Carole reverted back to Carl, putting on jeans and a loose t-shirt. We packed up the boat, and went home.

A week or so later, I decided to go fishing, and I went to the marina to get some bait. I met up with the guy with whom I had left my bid for the motor. He had a big smile on his face, and said, “The motor’s yours, they took your offer. Fishing was forgotten as I rowed as fast as I could back to the cottage for the ten dollars. I rowed back to the marina, where I paid for the motor, and carried it to my boat.

I was excited about the motor, and immediately began work on it. Since Carl had no interest in mechanical devices, I was left by myself and the motor for extended periods of time between picnic lunches at the island and swimming with Carole..

Chapter 4. Confrontation and Separation
Summer, Age 15, continued. Before sophomore year.

A few weeks later, Carl showed up at the cottage.

“Ready to get your hands dirty and help me with the motor?” I asked cheerfully. Carl gave me a look of disgust. “Then what brings you here?” I asked.

“Can you come back with me to my house?” he said, “something has come up and I need your support.” His eyes were red and it was clear that he had been crying

That could only be one thing, Carl becoming Carole. We decided to go by boat, and a while later were at Carl’s house. Mrs. Bush, and Emma, Carl’s sister, were sitting in the living room with less than pleasant looks on their faces.

Mrs. Bush started the conversation. “Have you heard what Carl wants to do? He’s just like his damn father.” I didn’t even get time to grunt, when she answered her own question. “He wants to become a girl! Have you ever heard anything so silly? You’re his friend, and I want you to talk him out of it!” she demanded. “I’m so embarrassed. What will all my friends think? What will the family think? Will they think that I was a bad mother?”

It appeared that Carl had not told his mother or sister that he and I had discussed it at length, and I did not think it would be a good idea to confess that now, so I just sat there with a blank look on my face.

Carl’s sister then put in her own two cents worth. “All my friends will make fun of me. I’ll never get another date because we have a freak in the house. My life is in ruins.

What was patently obvious was that Carl’s mother and sister were only thinking about themselves, their standing in their family and community, and not one bit about Carl’s well-being. Carl just sat there silently with a wounded look on his face, and tears on his cheeks.

“You want me to talk to Carl?” I asked incredulously.

“He won’t listen to his family, and you’re his best friend. Maybe he’ll listen to you, I don’t know what else to do to get this silly idea out of his head.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to him. Alone. But I really don’t know what I can do.” I said.

“Take him up to his room and talk to him!” his mother demanded.

“I was thinking about going for a boat ride with Carl,” I said.

“Do whatever you have to do but make sure that you talk him out of it.” was the final command.

“Come on.” I said to Carl and walked to the door. Once outside he began sobbing in earnest. I wanted to hug him and comfort him, but I could see his mother and sister watching us as we left. All the way from his house to the boat, nothing was said.

“I want to stop at my cottage and get some things, and then let’s go out to the island. My idea was to get the old blanket to sit on and some snacks and something to drink.

The ride to the island was silent. Only the splashing of the oars and the creaking of the oar locks. I wished that I had got the motor working, but now was not the time to bring it up. We landed at the island, and I brought the blanket and goodies to the beach. Once there, I folded Carl into my arms and held him tightly as he sobbed. “I’m sorry to put you in this,” he said between sobs.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry about. It’s not your fault. You told your family how you felt, and rather than getting unconditional love, they only thought about themselves. I’m the one who’s sorry, sorry that you had to get that reaction.” We finally sat down on the blanket and I continued to hold him.

“Thank you for getting me out of there,” he said, “I don’t know how much more I could take.”

I stroked his face to try to calm him down.

“I’m your friend, and I won’t let you down,” I calmly said.

“I need a kiss,” he said.

What the heck, I thought, we’ve kissed before, what difference would a few more kisses make. It wasn’t like it would make me gay. Not that being gay would be such a bad idea; at least it would protect me from having a wife as unfeeling as Mrs. Bush or Emma. I pulled him closer to me and our lips met, and our tongues intertwined. I could feel his breasts against me, and it had the expected reaction. I wasn’t kissing Carl, I was kissing Carole.

I also knew that I was not going to even try to talk Carole out of becoming a girl. Even if I were to try, I knew that I would not be successful. Anyway, I liked Carole.

We sat there for hours, with me comforting her and giving her reassurances that her decision was correct. If Mrs. Bush could have seen us, she would have been furious.

When we got back to Carl’s house he turned to me. “I think that you better go home, and not go into there. They are already extremely pissed at me, you don’t need to be around when they show how pissed they are at you for not talking me out of this.” I could see Mrs. Bush looking at us out of the window, so I though that a goodbye kiss would be inappropriate.

I decided to let things cool off before I would go back to Carl’s house. However, before I could, I received a note from Mrs. Bush, telling me that Carl had been sent to a special camp. The note did not say which camp or give an address. Mrs. Bush obviously thought that I was a bad influence.

Thankfully, I had the motor to work on, and after many hours of work, it finally returned to life. I loved to be able to sit in the stern seat and see where I was going, and I continued my detailed exploration of the lake.

Finally, late in the summer, I received a letter from Carole. She told me that she had someone smuggle it out, since she was not to communicate with anyone other than her family. She said the camp supposedly “cured” people of homosexuality and gender dysphoria. She said it was absolutely terrible and they almost resorted to torture. She had decided to claim that they were right, and that she no longer wanted to be a girl, nowithstanding that the gynecomastia was still there, making everything look rather foolish. She just wanted to get out of there. She knew that home life would be miserable, but it was better than the camp. Her letter sadly said that it was likely that I would never see her, or Carl for that matter, again. There were tear stains on the letter.

Chapter 5. Working At The Marina
Summer, Age 16. Before junior year at High School.

The next year I was 16. My parents were making noises about my getting a job. They thought that I could spend a week at the cottage, and then come home and look for a job. I knew from talking to my friends at high school, that I had zero chance of landing a summer job, since I had waited too long. Be that as it may, I knew that I had to at least make the effort.

As it turned out, I didn’t even have to try. After unloading the car and getting settled in, I went back to the shed and pulled out my boat and the little 3 H.P. ancient motor which I had brought back to life the previous summer. Since I had made sure that there was no gas in it to turn to jelly, and generally followed instructions, I felt that I shouldn’t have any problems with it. I grabbed a gas can, and loaded it and the motor on my boat. I rowed to the marina where they had a fuel pump with pre-mixed oil and gas for outboards.

I filled the fuel can and the tank on the motor and after a few pulls, the motor caught and ran. Hearing the sound, the owner of the marina turned around to look.

“Hey,” he said, “isn’t that the piece of junk you bought from us last summer?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I replied.

“You got it running by yourself?” he asked. “I see that you repainted it too. It looks and sounds great.”

“It was a bit of work, but here it is,” I proudly said.

“How old are you?” he asked.


“Got a summer job?”

“Not yet.”

“How’d you like to work here?” he asked.

I could hardly contain my excitement. “Sure,” I immediately answered.

“What would I be doing?” I wanted to know.

“Whatever I want you to do.” he responded.

“That works for me,” I said.

“Aren’t you going to ask how much you’re going to be paid?”

“I’ve known you for a few years, so I figure that you’ll be fair.” I answered.

“Good enough. For starters, minimum wage, plus an employee discount of ten percent.”

“That include gas?” I asked.

“Sure, but with that tiny motor that won’t be a problem, since it doesn’t use much gas.”

“When do I start?” I asked.

“As soon as you can. How about right now? Go in to the store and tell Edith that I just hired you, and she will get the paperwork ready.” he said.

“I better go back to the cottage and tell my parents that I have a job.” I said with great pleasure.

I told my parents, who were delighted. “Looks like all that time you put in on that motor and the boat is paying off.” my father said proudly.

The hours at the job were long. Because the weekends were the busiest at the marina, I had to work every weekend. This was hardly a problem because I loved my job, and in the course of working there I learned a lot more about boats and motors.

The down side was that I didn’t have a lot of time of my own. I didn’t see any of the boys I knew until Ralph came in to buy some gas.

“I didn’t know you were working here,” he said, ignoring the obvious.

“Yeah, all summer,” I responded, “What are you and the other guys doing?”

“I’ve got a job flipping burgers,” he answered.

“I don’t have a lot of free time, so I haven’t had a chance to look anyone up,” I said. “Do you know what Carl is doing?”

“That’s weird,” he said, “right after school let out his mom sent him to some kind of camp for the whole summer. Never told any of the guys where it is or what he is doing there.”

I feared that it was a repeat of the camp that Carl’s mom had sent him to last summer after he told her that he really was a girl in a boy’s body.

“Maybe they’re toughening him up,” Ralph added, “he had a really tough time at school this last year. He looked weirder than before, and he got picked on a lot.”

“Weirder?” I asked.

“Yeah, he was acting a lot like a girl, heck, he even looked like a girl,” was Ralph’s explanation.

I just grunted in response, and pumped the gas.

A few weeks later I heard from Carl, or rather, Carole. She sent me a letter:

“Dear John:
“I have trouble writing because I have to have my letters smuggled out of here. Mom sent me back to the same camp as last summer. It is terrible. They censor all of my letters coming in, so don’t even try to write.
“For seven days a week, from early morning to late at night they mentally work me over, telling me that I am a boy, and forget all this girl stuff. It’s kind of funny, because I look more and more like a girl. My breasts are even larger than last summer. Not only that, they hurt, because they won’t let me wear a bra or a camisole.
“I miss you and remember all the good times we had together.
“Love, Carole”

It was near the end of the summer that I found out that Mrs. Bush had sold her house and moved away. It wasn’t clear to where she had moved. It seemed that my last connection with Carole was gone.

Chapter 6. Reunion
Summers and fall, Ages 17 and 18. Before senior year at High School and before and at College.

The next summers were not remarkable, maybe aside from the fact that after only one date, Sandy Williams not only let me feel her breasts, but much more. Sufficient to say, I was no longer a virgin. It appears that my time with Carole had not affected my heterosexual life.

I continued working at the marina, moving out of a minimum wage job to one with more responsibilities and higher pay. I even collected some commissions from boat and motor sales.

That fall, I started college at one of the state universities. One weekend in late September, I went with some of my fellow students to a local pizza palace. While there, I saw a waitress who reminded me of Carole. Same color hair and eyes, but much curvier that Carole was the last time I saw her, some two plus years ago.

I made it a point to return to that restaurant, in the hope that the waitress who reminded me of Carole would wait on my table. Two nights later, it happened.

The waitress came to my table. “Hi, I’m Carole, and I’ll be...” She stopped in mid sentence and just stared at me.

“John?” she asked.

“Carole?” I responded.

“Wow, I can’t believe it. So it is you. Boy, have I missed you,” she said.

“Me too,” I replied. “Hey, can we talk?

“I’d love to. I get off work at eleven. How about we meet then?” she said.

I don’t remember much of the meal, aside from some heartburn from the grease on the pizza.

I returned to the restaurant a few minutes before eleven, and gave Carole a wave. She came over to me.

“Let me get my things, and let’s go somewhere where we can talk,” she said.

“Sounds great to me. I can’t believe how fortunate I am that I ran into you.”

“Me too.”

We found a little coffee shop not far away, ordered two coffees and sat down at a table. “Tell me everything that happened to you since I last saw you,” she said.

“Okay, but you first,” I said. “All of a sudden, after that terrible day with your mon, you just kind of disappeared.”

She then started her story.

“Right after you left, my mother called my Uncle Fred. If there ever was a homophobe, it’s my Uncle Fred. She told me that she was sending me off with my uncle, that night. She also gave Uncle Fred her side of the story of what happened. Uncle Fred is one of those kind of people who think that anything out of the ordinary is perverted. Uncle Fred told my mother that he knew of some people who ran a camp that straightened out “perverts like Carl.” I didn’t think of myself as a pervert, but neither Uncle Fred nor mom wanted to hear from me.”

“That evening I went to Uncle Fred’s house. The next day he took me to a barbershop and I got a buzz cut. A few days later, he had made arrangements for me to be sent to this camp. When the time came, he loaded me in his car and we started out. He told me to “hide those goddamn tits.” I told him that I had gynecomastia, and couldn’t.

“The camp was into deprogramming and other horrible mind activities. We were told that we weren’t and never could be girls. We were told that we were nothing but perverts and that they would get that out of us. I later found out that the camp has some attempted suicides and some successful ones. I decided, for my own protection, I would pretend that they were being successful.

“When school was about to start, Uncle Fred took me back home. My mother asked me if I had gotten that girl stuff out of my head, and, just to keep her quiet, I said that I had. Unfortunately, my body had other ideas. The hormone imbalance not only caused the gynecomastia, but was also affecting other parts of my body. My hips grew bigger and my waist smaller. She told me that with my buzz cut, I at last looked like a boy. When I looked in the mirror, I thought that I looked like a girl with a buzz cut, and a few extra parts.

“School was a nightmare. I had trouble hiding my appearance, and I was constantly bullied and picked on. My body was a collection of bruises. I was still in the band, so I was exempt from PE which was the only good thing that happened.

“Mom had already sold the house, and we moved quite a distance away. The next summer mom sent me back to the same camp. A few weeks later, it was on the news that the camp had been closed by the state for abusive practices. I didn’t write to you because if you wrote back to me, mom would go ballistic.

“Anyway, the big break came from, of all places, my sister. She had taken some psychology courses, including one which dealt with gender dysphoria. She realize that what had happened was a big mistake, and that we should all see a psychologist who specialized in gender issues.

“What came out of that was that the psychologist said that I indeed was a girl trapped in a boy’s body, not that my body could be called a boy’s body with my breasts and big butt. My hormone imbalance was more dramatic, and that I would look more female as time went on. The psychologist suggested that we all accept what was happening and that I start on hormone replacement therapy. After a lot of talk, and some unpleasant scenes, mom finally agreed.

“That fall, I started my senior year in high school. I took typing and courses on business skills, and graduated with some employable talents.

“I’m hoping to have gender reassignment surgery one of these days, and as you can see, I’m into my real life test as a female, which I have to complete before I can have the surgery. With my typing and business skills, I have landed a job with a law firm, and I wait tables to earn more money so I can pay for the surgery.

“I have a small studio apartment in the cheaper part of town, and I drive a junk yard reject. Now, how about you?”

“Nothing as exciting as your story,” I said, “I worked at the marina during the summers and graduated from high school last spring. I was accepted at the college here in town and I am looking to go into engineering.”

“Do you still have the boat?” she asked.

“No. A funny thing happened. As you can guess, I used the boat to get back and forth from the cottage to the marina. One day, this guy came to the marina. It appears that he collected antique outboards, and he came looking for old parts which we still had. He and I started talking, and I mentioned my boat and motor. He just had to see them. Well, it appears that he was looking for the exact motor that I had to add to his collection. He offered me an obscene amount for the boat and motor, so I sold them. Since I wanted a car at college, I used the money, plus a little more from my parents, and was able to get a serviceable used car.”

The coffee shop owner was making moves to close shop. We were the only customers left there. Carole looked at her watch. “Look, I’ve got to get up early tomorrow morning for work at the office, so why don’t we plan for another time together,” she said.

“Sounds great.” I replied, and we exchanged phone numbers.

After we walked out of the coffee shop, she turned and faced me. “You were my first kiss. I think about it a lot, and I miss those kisses,” she said, “could I have one now?”

I responded by embracing her and putting my lips on hers.

“Just as good as they were before, if not better,” she smiled.

Chapter 7 A Deepening Relationship
Age 18. After the reunion.

A few weeks later, Carole invited me to attend one of her group sessions. “They are for girls in transition to share their experiences and problems,” she said.

“Why do you want me to go?”

I told the group about you, how you were my friend since we were little and had supported me, and they all want to see you. Maybe they think I’m making it all up. Anyway, I want to show you off,” she concluded with a chuckle.

The group session was fascinating. There were six girls, in one stage of transition or another. They all wanted to know how I felt about Carole and what happened during high school. Carole delighted telling about our time on the island and our first kiss. All of the girls and counselor were fascinated. The girls shared their stories. One or two were sweet, the balance were from bad to horrible. My heart went out to them. They were all facing an uncertain future.

A few months later I finally decided that Carole had to meet my parents. As Carl, she was well acquainted with them, but they had never seen her as Carole. Before that happened, I felt that I needed to fill them in with what happened. They were surprised at first, but slowly came around to acceptance. I think that they saw how much I liked her, and this turned the tide. After that Carole and I visited with them on a frequent basis. They seemed to accept Carole and a delightful young lady, and over time came to like her.

We began to date on a regular basis, as well as her work schedule and my studies would allow. The dates caught the attention of some of my friends at college. “Wow, you’re going out with Carole. Lots of guys had tried to get a date with her, but you’re the only guy who succeeded. What’s your secret?” one of the guys asked.

“A 12 foot jon boat,” I replied.

“Huh? What?” he said.

“Never mind,” I answered. I certainly didn’t want to discuss my past with Carole.

One night, several months later, Carole invited me to come up to her apartment after our date. “I was able to get some beers. You want to come up and have one?” she asked.

“Sure, sounds good,” I answered.

When we were in her apartment, I plopped down on her couch. She went into the kitchen area, and retrieved two beers from the refrigerator. She sat down next to me and handed me a beer. “Cheers,” she said, as she raised her bottle up.

“Cheers, and to old times,” I said, as I raised my bottle. We both took a swig. She put her bottle on the end table and touched my cheek with her hand. I leaned over and we kissed. It was a long and passionate kiss. While we were kissing, I moved my hand to cup her breast.

She broke off the kiss, and pulled her top off. I reached behind her and loosened her bra. I moved my face down and began to lick and nibble her breast. She let out low moans of pleasure. By this time, I was as hard as a rock. Carole moved her hand down and touched my cock. I let out a little moan of pleasure.

“You like?” she asked.

“You know that answer,” I said.

With that, she loosened my belt and opened the zipper of my pants. My cock, no longer restrained, popped out and stood at attention. She moved her head down, and began licking the tip. Then she stopped for a few seconds and straightened up.

“I’ve wanted to do this ever since that time on the island,” she said, “but you wouldn’t let me then because you said it was too gay. Do you think it’s too gay now?

In response, I just kissed her again. After that she bent over and put my cock in her mouth, began to work it with her tongue, and then moved her head up and down.

I knew it wouldn’t be too long. “I’m cumming,” I blurted out. She kept her mouth on my cock as I spurted my load in her mouth. She straightened up and kissed me with my full load in her mouth. She pushed some of it into my mount, and then moved her head away. I could see her swallow.

“Swallow it.” she commanded, and I obeyed. It wasn’t unpleasant. We cuddled up with each other until it was time for her to go to bed and for me to go back to my dorm room.

A few weeks later, she again invited me up to her apartment. “Business before pleasure,” she announced.

“What kind of business?” I asked.

“I want to schedule my sexual reassignment surgery, and I really want you to go to Montreal with me, to keep me company and be my support. I’d like to know when you might be available,” she said.

“I’m working at the marina again this summer, and our slowest time is late July and early August. I could probably get some time off then. How long do you have to be there after your surgery?” I asked.

“Maybe a week or so,” she said

“Why don’t we shoot for the last week in July?” I said.

“Okay, I’ll check with everyone and let you know,” she said.

“Are we done with business?” I asked leeringly.

“I guess so,” she said with a wicked smile.

“Then pleasure.” I declared.

“Get your lazy butt off the couch and help me make it into a bed,” she said. Her couch was a convertible and made into a bed as is common in studio apartments. We pulled the bed section out, and she took some bed linens, blankets and pillows out from a compartment in the larger of the end tables. We stood on either side of the bed and made it.

“I’ll be right back,” she said, “in the meantime why don’t you lose your shoes, pants and shirt?” With that she disappeared into her combination dressing room and walk in closet. When she returned she was wearing a short silky nightgown, and holding something in her hand which she put on one of the end tables. I couldn’t actually see what it was. She climbed into bed with me and we kissed and fondled each other.

Then she sat up in the bed, with a prophylactic in her hand, which she rolled on my cock.. She then picked a tube of KY Jelly from the end table and rubbed in on my cock. She then reached between her legs and put some on her butthole.

“I want you to fuck me,” she said, “but remember I’m a virgin, so go easy.” With that she lifted her legs up, leaving her butt hole exposed. “Come to me, my lover,” she said invitingly.

I moved in close, and touched the end of my cock against her anus, and began to slowly push it in. She gasped with pain.

“Do you want me to stop?” I asked.

“No! Just keep it up, but go slowly.”

I felt the head of my penis go into her anus. “Keep on coming,” she said, and I did.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“It did at first, but now it feels wonderful,” she said.

I began to slowly move my cock in and out, as she moaned with pleasure.

“Don’t stop, Don’t stop,” she urged.

Suddenly she bucked up and down and almost let out a scream of pleasure. I felt some fluid squirt out of her little penis and on my stomach. With that, I shot my load. I pulled my cock out and we collapsed into each others arms.

It took both of us some time to recover, and when we did she turned and kissed me. “That was like nothing else I ever felt,” she said between kisses.

“I love you,” she said.

“And I love you,” I replied.

Chapter 8 Surgery and Matrimony

When the time came we both went to Montreal. I stayed in the waiting room during the surgery and sat by her side when it was finished. Her recovery was slow and painful, but a week after the surgery she was discharged and told that she could go home. We took it very easy getting on and off the plane. Standing in line was the worst, but you can’t fly without enduring it.

At long last I had her in her bed. “I’ll be gone for a while, but you have my cell number. If you call me, I can be here in twenty minutes. But before I go, I think that you should go potty once more.” Just using the toilet was a long and unpleasant process, and I did not want her getting out of bed to use the toilet if I wasn’t there.

The next day included a surprise. Carole’s sister Emma called. “How did it go?” she asked.

“Okay, I guess. She’s still in a lot of pain and not too mobile. I’m staying with her until she feels better.” I said.

“I have some time off, and if she wouldn’t mind, I’d like to take care of her for a while.”

I let Emma talk to Carole, and it was arranged that Emma would be here tomorrow. I was a little concerned after the unpleasant scene when Carole told Emma and he mother that she was transsexual. However, both Carole and Emma were very happy to see each other.

“How is your mom taking this?” I asked.

“Not as well as she could, or maybe should,” Emma replied, “Most of the time she doesn’t want to talk about it, and when she does, it is clear that she still harbors a lot of anger.

With Emma there, I could go back to Ringer Lake and my job at the marina. I kept in touch by telephone. Emma told me that Carole had used up all of her vacation, sick days, and personal days at the law firm, and that she was going back to work the next day, no matter what. She liked her job and didn’t want to lose it. As for the waitress job, she wasn’t yet up to the long work days it entailed, and the standing almost all day, and if the job was available when she felt like returning, that was okay. If it wasn’t available, that also was okay, since it shouldn’t be that difficult to find another job like it.

It was, some time later, when I was sitting with Carole at her apartment. “There’s something I want to show you,” she said, and with that she handed me three long plexiglass rods of different diameters and rounded at one end.

“What are these?” I asked.


“What do they do?

“They keep my vagina from closing up. I have to use them until I have sex. That’ll be your job,” she said with a wicked grin, “and if you don’t they’ll find a place in your tender body.

I grimaced at the thought.

“On the other hand, you might like it too much,” she mused, “After all, I did.”

Carole didn’t need the dilaters.

It was fortunate that Carole worked at a law firm, because they took care of the name change procedure, which is done in the Court. With the name change order and a Physician’s Statement of Gender Change she got a new drivers’ license in the name of Carole Bush, showing her gender to be female.

Because she had completed the reassignment surgery and had legally changed her name, she could then get an amended birth certificate in the name of Carole Bush, a female.

At the end of Carole’s lease of the studio apartment, we decided to live together, and found a bigger apartment. We stayed there until I graduated.

Shortly after graduation, I knelt before her and asked her to marry me, and she accepted.

Emma squealed with delight when we told her about our engagement, and made it clear that she expected to be Carole’s maid of honor.

“What about mom?” Carole asked Emma.

“I’m not sure,” replied Emma, “let me talk to her.”

In the end, Carole’s mom became a typical “mother of the bride,” and seemed to accept what Carole had done.

Oh, one last thing. Carole and I bought a new jon boat as our wedding present to each other. We didn’t buy a motor, saving that for later. So, when we took the boat out, I rowed and Carole rode. Some things never change.

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